After they had been together for a year Helena began to suspect she was pregnant. Tragically, she never had a chance to share the wonderful news with the man she worshipped.
When Istvan Baka was infected, he was practically elderly for medieval times. At thirty-three he had seen his share of death and sorrow, had lost two wives and five children. Such things were expected and accepted as part of life then, but that didn't mean it was easy.
One day in midwinter he was caught up in what he was doing. As the room grew darker, instead of putting his paints and brushes away for the day, he lit more candles and continued. When he stopped for the night, it was dark outside. He left the monastery wanting nothing more than to hurry home toward the warmth of a fire lit hearth, a pot of stew, two children, and a wife that made him smile with anticipation and hunger for her.
Istvan Baka had pulled his coat around him. The night was still, but the dark made it colder than his usual homeward trek. There was a waning moon, half bright, but it was almost impossible to see the path through the forest without a lamp. He had to go slowly or risk a misstep. He was thinking about the warmth in his cottage where Helena would have something wonderful, perhaps lamb stew, warming on the hearth.
His thoughts were thus occupied when he heard a rustle and a whimper in the woods.
He stopped abruptly, turning his ear toward the sounds, but heard nothing more. After a few more steps, he decided it was an overactive imagination replaying tales of horror from childhood. The first indication otherwise was a woman’s scream. He ran toward the sound, but was brought to an abrupt halt by a deep gash sliced open in his neck. That was followed by another and another.
He was left alone on the cold mountainside to freeze to death or bleed out. Baka did neither. When the sun rose the next morning his body had not died, but his humanity had. His brain had regained control of a body too weak from loss of blood to respond. With great effort and exertion of will, he slowly dragged himself to a crevice behind a rock and covered himself with branches.
There he stayed for a time. Days perhaps. He did not grow stronger, but his weakness was overcome by a thirst he had not experienced before.
Helena was beside herself with worry. She had been to the monastery three days before and was told that he hadn't been seen. She began searching the mountain between the monastery and the cottage, praying all the while she looked for some sign of what had become of him. There were rumors that people were sometimes attacked by wild animals. Some such thing might have occurred, a wolf perhaps. So she looked for signs of blood or torn clothing or worse.
Distraught as she was, she had not noticed the sun was low in the sky. Being caught in winter after dark on a Romanian mountainside was dangerous by any standard because the temperature plummeted at sunset. It was the pink moment called gloaming, when twilight turns to night, that the unfortunate young wife walked close to where Istvan Baka was hiding. It was then he knew what his body craved and he was taken over by instinct.
When Helena drew near his hiding place, the beast occupying Baka's body marshaled his remaining strength and grabbed her ankle. She was frozen by surprise for an instant which was all it took to jerk her to the ground and underneath him as he sank his new fangs into the neck of the woman he had loved with his heart if not with words. She was instantly paralyzed, as Baka had been, but, unlike Baka, she was drained of every drop of blood until she was past pain and, supposedly, past the concerns of this life.
Baka felt no regret. He did not recognize the person whose life was forfeit. He felt only that he was stronger than at any time in memory. The lifeless body that would have soon been mother to his child was carried to a deep gorge nearby and thrown over. By the time it was found, if ever, people would assume she had died from a fall.
And so began Istvan Baka’s new life as a vampire.
***
CHAPTER_7
Elora had fallen in love with her husband's forest. It was everything she'd longed for as she'd spent the first decades of her life in another dimension, mostly confined to palace grounds, closely watched, guarded, and restricted at every turn. The New Forest was a dream come true, its wilderness a balm to her spirit. It represented what she needed and treasured most - freedom.
She first fell in love with the Forest when it wore snow in deep winter. She had crossed an ocean to reunite with her mate, not knowing that he would give her the home she craved on so many levels. In spring, she was enthralled by the spectrum of greens as new leaves sprouted, not to mention the riot of random color, wild flowers so abundant it would seem they had been deliberately seeded. In summer, the streams and wild life settled into a rhythm of slow contentment as the sun lingered longer in the north with welcome warmth and light.
Elora proclaimed each new season at the cottage to be her favorite, but at that very moment, she was certain it must be autumn. She enjoyed every part of it, watching the leaves turn fiery colors then reluctantly let go of branches, and feeling the air turn crisp enough to put an extra bloom in her cheeks. Instead of riding, she was walking the forest that day, partly because Ram was so afraid she would take a fall while pregnant and partly because she loved the sound of leaf crunch under her boots.
Every day he was gone for several hours overseeing the renovation of the house. He still thought it was a heap, but when it came to making his mate happy, he was all in. A year before, after he had watched the video of her hearing before the triumvirate at Jefferson Unit, he had sworn that she would have the best of everything from then on.
That was before she barely survived a vampire attack and infection. His commitment to her happiness was redoubled after that.
The commute alone took nearly three hours round trip. The horseback ride to Black-on-Tarry was almost an hour followed by a twenty minute drive depending on traffic. Ram had thought vampire slaying was taxing, but that was before he'd begun trying to keep subcontractors to a schedule. Plus, he'd never been away from Elora for so much of every day since they'd been mated. It was an extra incentive to insure each deadline was met, so they could move in and be done with bloody separation and commuting.
They had settled into a morning ritual of having breakfast together before he left. Then Ram would ask, "What are you two going to do while I'm gone?"
"Going for a walk and maybe taking a nap," she would reply.
"Do no' go too far," he would say. Then she would smile in answer which was not an answer at all. Blackie would pad behind him, seeing him to the door. Ram would look down at the dog and say, "She's all yours and you better be takin' good care of her."
Blackie would sit, swish his thick tail bone back and forth across the wooden floor twice, and look at Ram with such intensity it would be easy to believe he was trying to send a telepathic message.
Then, every day, after Ram left, Elora and Blackie explored the Forest. On that day they were entering a part she'd never seen on foot before. Usually Blackie ran a zigzag pattern ahead of her to as far away as fifty feet, but at the moment, he was sticking close and acting protective, glued to her side, ears straight up on alert, and neck extended as if he was seeing something she couldn't.
Elora reached down to absently stroke the soft black fur between his ears. He didn't raise his gaze. The only detectable reaction was that he leaned into her legs, putting just enough pressure on her to say, "I know you're there." She tried to follow a line from his nose to see what was so interesting. Just then she caught something out of the corner of her eye to the right. Blackie saw it, too, and jerked his head in that direction, but nothing was there. It was like a shadow that left her wondering if it had been a trick of the light or even an hallucination. But Blackie wouldn't have seen an illusion that originated in her mind, occurring in the same direction at exactly the same time.
She decided to investigate. "Stay close."
Elora made a habit of talking to Blackie when they were alone as if he could understand her. It was more for her benefit than his. Of course he was going to stay
close. He was perhaps the most magnificent German Shepherd in all the world. What else would he be doing? As a bonus to loyal companionship, she also found him to be an excellent keeper of secrets and other confidences.
Ram had once told her that there were creatures in the forest who had not gotten the memo that it's supposed to be a civilized century. Now she wished she had questioned him further about that. When she and Blackie had started off on a walk, she hadn't really planned to go this far. She had no weapon except her exceptional strength and a small utility knife that she'd dropped into the pocket of the long sweater she wore. Blackie, of course, had incredibly powerful jaws and teeth that would scare vampire if he pulled his lips back for a full reveal.
As they continued through the forest Blackie was becoming more and more agitated. At the same time, she was seeing more shadows out of the corner of her eye. They zipped by like flashes, making no noise and leaving no impression. Woman and dog continued until they climbed to the top of a small hill and there they stopped abruptly. The land dipped in front of them forming a small valley. On top of the rise on the opposite side stood a dolmen the exact size and shape of the famous one on the Burren.
"Great Paddy," she whispered to Blackie.
Before she had time to fully appreciate how astounding it was to discover a six-thousand-year-old national treasure, a large gray wolf leaped effortlessly upon the flat stone and assumed the same alert pose Blackie had been keeping: ears forward, neck extended. Blackie moved in front of Elora, tail touching her legs, and warned the lupine that he wouldn't be tolerating a move toward his person. He was growling so low she could barely hear it, ruff standing up on end to make him look even bigger and more formidable.
For an indeterminable time, Elora, Blackie, and the gray wolf stared at each other. He was perhaps thirty feet away, but she could see that he looked shockingly intelligent. Slowly several other wolves began to emerge from the forest, where their coats were camouflaged by shadows, and from under and behind the megalith. They regarded the newcomers with curiosity, but did not display aggressive behavior at this distance.
She observed that the gray wolf was so intent on watching that he never moved a muscle. Sentinel. Before backing away, she counted thirteen wolves with distinctive coloring and markings, all beautiful.
So this is your home, is it?
Noticing that there was just enough time to get back to the cottage before the light failed, she backed away slowly and didn't turn her back to the pack until she had put another thirty feet between them. For half an hour she saw the movement of shadows running through the forest on both sides. They're giving us an escort out of town.
"We're still being watched."
She talked quietly to Blackie. The wolves clearly made him nervous and he looked behind them every few seconds. The problem with being predator class was that, unlike animals of prey class, eyes only see what's ahead and not what's behind.
Suddenly they were alone in the forest again. She looked at Blackie. "Wow. That was quite an adventure, huh?" He looked behind him again. She expected he'd processed so much stress that he was going to need an extra helping of dinner chow.
They started toward the cottage again, moving a little faster. Her mind was swimming with the wonder of what she'd just witnessed. How many people get to experience that?
She wasn't sure what was more miraculous: discovering a healthy, thriving wolf pack or discovering that a healthy, thriving wolf pack was living in a dolmen that had been built and deserted thousands of years before. For all she knew wolves might have been occupying the cavern beneath for that whole time.
Her thoughts wandered back to the large gray wolf and she laughed out loud.
"I think I'll call him Stalkson." She looked at Blackie. "Stalkson Gray."
Blackie looked up at her as if to say, "We're forming relationships now?"
She could hardly wait to get back to the cottage and plug the sat card into the portaputer. She'd spent some time thinking about dog breeding and doing research. Due diligence is what they called it in this dimension. She'd calculated that it would take about twenty-four years to develop a new breed. She knew what she wanted: German Shepherds with no hip dysplasia issues.
That's when inspiration hit. She could solve the problem of hip dysplasia by going back to the original source - wolves. If she could figure out how to introduce some wolf DNA, she knew she would raise the best dogs the world had ever seen. And she would call them Alsatians.
She didn't mention the wolves when she had dinner with Ram. He would probably go his special brand of Ram nuts. Blackie lay with his head on his paws and glanced at her every couple of minutes as if he was waiting for her to divulge the results of their exploration. The dog was making her feel guilty, but really, it was for Ram's own good. It was cute that he was so over protective about her condition, but it had its downside, too. Like cramping her style. Plus, every woman needs to retain a little mystery. Right?
After dinner she withdrew the portaputer from its hiding place. She only had an hour of battery life left, so she knew she would have to search fast.
She learned that wolves had occupied Ireland for at least thirty-four thousand years. They were called Mac Tire in Irish Gaelic, meaning Son of the Countryside, because of folk tales about people who could understand their speech.
Irish wolves were reported to be big, weighing one hundred twenty pounds on average, coincidentally exactly the same as Blackie's weight.
It seemed the species is technically canis lupus which meant that Ram and Elora had both been right. Since she preferred wins over draws, she wouldn't be volunteering that factoid any time soon.
Trying to find a way to introduce wolf stock into Elora's project looked problematic from what she could find. The easiest way would be to wait for one or more of the young females to be injured in a fight and left to die. Not a happy prospect, but maybe some other way would present itself.
She quickly scanned the rules of wolf society. Among other things she learned about the range of differences in vocal communication: growls, snarls, barks, bark-howls, growl-barks, long distance howls, defensive howls, social howls, whining, and whimpering. It was a relief to learn that most of their communication by body language is shared with dog behavior, which meant she was on familiar territory.
At every opportunity thereafter she and Blackie returned to the grassy bank that faced the dolmen lair to learn the ethology of the pack. They would sit and observe for a couple of hours at a time. Eventually the wolves became accustomed to their presence and their behavior became visibly less guarded.
In addition to Stalkson, Elora began to name the wolves according to markings or personality traits. She never advanced closer to the lair, but counted on natural curiosity to bring the risk takers closer to her when they were ready.
Surprisingly, it was two submissive wolves from the bottom of the pack hierarchy who turned out to be the adventurers. The female Elora had named Flame came within five feet. She was one of the smallest wolves in the pack and had a few splashes of orangey fur. As the little female came closer to investigate her head bobbed and weaved with every step. Elora almost laughed out loud thinking she should have named her Dancer.
Stalkson lazed on top of the flat stone as if to say the view was good enough from there. Elora could tell that, while he appeared disinterested, he wasn't missing a thing.
Blackie watched the approach calmly without making any aggressive moves or noises, which thrilled his mistress. Apparently he sensed that there was nothing to fear from the brightly marked welcome committee, not that he would have hurt her, but he would have warned her off if he had thought there was a good reason.
Elora made a mental note to bring a treat and the next day returned with pockets full of dried "doggie chicken". Blackie wasn't thrilled about any of it, not luring the wolves close to his mistress and certainly not doling out treats that should rightfully be his to stray wolves. But, he tolerated it because he deferred to the wom
an who had saved him from the hell cage.
She loved him. He loved her back and wouldn't hesitate to die for her. If she wanted wolves close by, even though he thought it inadvisable, he would put up with it.
Each time they came, the pack initiated the habitual escort about a quarter of a mile away from the lair, keeping pace on either side. The process was reversed when they left.
There was one particular wolf that Elora always saw before any others. He was easy to recognize because he was dark brown all over with no splashes or blotches or stripes. His eyes were the same color as his coat which made him mono-color and that was a distinguishing marking of its own. She thought about calling him Brownie or Cocoa, but decided neither of those names was dignified enough for a wolf with such an important job. She settled on calling him by his position. Point Wolf.
The gorgeous female Elora had named Luna displayed a lot of interest in the daily dance between Flame and Elora. Elora would try to lure Flame close enough to take a chicken treat from her hand. Flame would tease by coming close enough for Elora to feel the wolf's breath on her hand and then dart away as if Elora had suddenly morphed into a gorilla-sized Tasmanian Devil. All the while Blackie sat patiently prone next to Elora like an Egyptian statue, calmly observing without making any sudden movements or noises.
When the day came that Flame actually grabbed the treat between her teeth before scampering off with her prize. Elora looked at Blackie, grinned, and gave him a treat as well. Stalkson had begun to relax into ambivalence. He pretended not to care about their presence, Blackie's and hers, but all the while Elora could tell he was vigilant about watching. He knew where they were and what they were doing. This treat-stealing development seemed to renew interest in the spectator section of the rise. When Flame decided to return for seconds, Stalkson rose up as if he could get a better view of the proceedings.
A Summoner's Tale - The Vampire's Confessor (Black Swan 3) Page 6