by P. L. Kurup
He leapt overboard and sank beneath the frigid sea as he’d hoped. Grabbing varieties of fish, crab, and lobster from all about him, he drank until his craving ceased. After which he swam away from the ship, reeling at the thankless way the crew treated him.
Although he couldn’t see land, his instincts told him he headed the right way. In time, he noticed the flotsam and jetsam of human life floating nearby, then a shoreline emerging in the distance. Samuel reached the beach and walked onto its sandy platform. Covering a hundred miles of raging ocean didn’t fatigue him in the slightest, and he retained his striking good looks. Samuel approached seven teenagers sitting on the beach. They were the same age as Alexandra and displayed the same innocent stares.
“Can we help you, sir?” asked one of them.
It was Russian they spoke. Samuel took a moment to learn the nuances of the dialect as he’d done with Spanish and Chinese. Minutes later, he replied in Russian, “I don’t need any help. I know where I am going.”
Samuel marched off and heard them mutter curses at his rudeness. Of course, they didn’t realise he was doing it to save their lives. He walked for hours, and whenever his hunger returned, he dug into the soil and plucked whatever unfortunate organism that dwelled there to consume.
That night, he lay on the ground pondering what he was. What Lucas did to him was not a blessing but a curse. And he so envied those who died. His eyes fluttered shut, and he slept where he lay, looking pathetic and alone.
xxx
Water splashed on him and he jolted awake to see an angry, old man standing over him.
“I want you to leave. If you don’t, I will be forced to kill you,” the man said.
“I am sorry, sir. Please forgive me.”
Samuel scrambled to his feet and walked away, bearing no grudge against him.
He voyaged for most of the day and saw the landscape alter from lush green fields to towering mountains. During his journey, he wondered if France had changed in the twenty years he’d been away. He’d heard that revolution was no more, and that France was ruled briefly by a new ‘king’ named Napoleon Bonaparte. Samuel didn’t care who had taken Louis the Sixteenth’s throne. All that mattered to him was returning home and absorbing the sights and smells of his beloved land.
xxx
He crossed the border from Russia to Romania and took in a little town called Transylvania. The place was home to the enigmatic Castle Bran, an edifice perched on a rocky crag with a gushing river to its side. Samuel paused by the castle gate and was incapacitated by bouts of pain and sorrow. He sensed thousands of souls dying within its walls. Saw rivers of blood flow down its cobbled path. He lurched from the gate feeling no kinship with its murderous owner; one Vlad Dracula.
He left Transylvania and kept to the forests and woods, and by the next morning, he had crossed into Austria. His desire to see France surpassed all else, so he sprinted through the villages and took short cuts through the countryside. His stamina and speed allowed him to travel for days, and he was so determined to reach his country, that he overlooked the breathtaking mountains that shaped the land.
Samuel came to a stop at an insignificant dusty road and stared ahead. There were no signs anywhere, yet he knew that one step forward would put him in France.
He took the critical step and fell to his knees.
“I am home!” he shouted. “I am finally home!”
In the distance, he saw the outline of a man walking along the road. Samuel jumped to his feet and ran to him in a flash. The stranger, who was in his fifties and carried a leather bag over his shoulder, came to a halt when he saw the ballistic Samuel.
“Where did you come from?” the stranger enquired in French.
“Everywhere,” Samuel answered. “It’s so good to see you, monsieur.”
“I… I feel the same way,” the man stuttered, getting away from him.
Samuel’s next quest was to return to his chateau, which he calculated was two hundred miles due east from where he stood. As he advanced through the countryside, the fragrance of wild roses enveloped him like a secure blanket. His eyes closed taking in the sublime aroma.
France was all around him and he was pleased and proud to encounter it again.
Chapter 20
At last, he ambled down the road leading to his home. A sense of relief washed over him when he saw that his beloved chateau was still standing. The trail he took was one he’d walked countless times. First, with his parents, then with his childhood friends, and then with Alexandra.
He drew closer to the chateau and squinted because something wasn’t right. Shifting back a few unruly branches, he laid eyes on a disheveled building that displayed nothing of its former magnificence. An army of vines crept up its walls, every window was boarded up with planks of wood. Though the scene filled him with disappointment, he marched to an iron gate now rusted and hanging off its hinge. Squeezing between its bars, he stumbled on a mound that lay just in front of him. The grass covering the grounds was overgrown and littered with weeds. The roses that flourished on his wedding day were no more, and stagnant water collected in the fountain. He stumbled through the burdensome terrain and reached the front door.
Crossing into the foyer, he saw dry leaves gathered in every nook and corner. The paintings of his family were absent as were the two Ming vases on either side. Samuel shuffled to the far end of the foyer, crushing leaves on the way, and entered the mirrored hall where he and Alexandra once danced. The glittering mirrors lining the length of the hall were cracked and dirty, the crystal chandeliers overhead no longer existed. He almost abandoned the room, when he noticed a remarkable sight. Samuel walked to the other side of the hall, and set eyes on Alexandra’s portrait which still hung on the wall. His mouth slackened on seeing the words, “’The Count’s Whore,’” scribbled across the artwork in white paint.
“I am glad you’re not here to see this, Alexandra. You would be heartbroken,” he stated.
He spun round and saw, Henri, his loyal servant, who now resembled an elderly man.
“Did you do this?” Samuel asked, pointing at the portrait.
“I believe it was one of your other employees,” Henri replied.
“Why did you let them? This is a picture of my wife. You know how much I adored her,” cried Samuel.
“I let them because I don’t have to protect you anymore. You are nothing more than a forgettable moment in my life.”
Samuel stared in disbelief at his servant, and watched as a dozen more trespassers flooded the room. Many of whom he recognized as being part of his household. The entourage included an aging Ava worn down with life.
“You look the same, sir. You haven’t aged in twenty years,” she said.
She and everyone else turned to the mirrors and gasped when they couldn’t see his reflection. One of them shrieked in alarm. Another held their cross at him, which failed to weaken him as it’d done in the past. More people came in, most of whom he didn’t know, until twenty-five stood before him.
“What you are is impossible,” Henri proposed.
“I am still the same person,” Samuel explained, opening his palms. “You mustn’t be afraid of me.”
The mob edged closer, but Samuel refused to run unconvinced that some of his closest friends would attack him. Henri and several others pulled him to the ground and assaulted him without restraint.
“Let me go. I haven’t done anything to you,” Samuel shouted, struggling to believe he was being set upon again.
“You lived in the lap of luxury while the rest of us starved. You lived in a chateau that could’ve housed twenty families.” Henri kicked him with enough force to rupture his heart. “To make things worse, you look as if you haven’t aged a day. You irk me beyond reason, Count Samuel d’Orleans.”
Samuel’s eyes flared. Shoving away his attackers, he bounded to the ceiling and clung to it with his bare hands. He hissed at his abusers, making them scatter.
“You’d best leave me alon
e or live to regret it,” Samuel cautioned.
“We don’t want any trouble. So go away and never come back,” Henri replied with less confidence.
Samuel released his grip from the ceiling and landed on the marble floor with a thud. The cuts and bruises on his face and body repaired with their usual swiftness, forcing the crowd to murmur.
“What are you?” Ava asked feebly.
“I am a vampire, my dear. And I could destroy all of you if I wanted,” Samuel answered nonchalantly.
Ava was the first to flee, followed by the rest of the posse. Staying would be pointless, so Samuel abandoned the mirrored hall and returned to the garden.
He took his time walking through the grounds, savouring the surroundings, despite its disheveled state. When he approached the rusty iron gate, he glided over it and settled on the other side. He kept walking and didn’t look back once. The chateau was dead to him now. He knew in his heart he would never return. He took off his shoes, feeling a sense of freedom in doing so, and rambled for hours, haunted by the servants’ horrific deeds.
“Ungrateful fools!”
xxx
His journey took him passed uninhabited landscapes full of valleys. Months on board ships full of stinking people made him appreciate the solitude of the countryside. The desolate land made way for a hamlet lined with tiny red houses. The peculiar town urged him to stand in the street and admire the broken-down chimneys, cracked walls, and unswept verandas. A group of raucous locals emerged from nowhere and encircled him.
“Come and join the harvest celebrations,” said an inebriated young woman.
“I can’t stay,” he replied.
“Don’t be so boring,” she replied, kissing him. The girl’s eyes widened at the iciness of his lips. “Sir, you’re not alive.”
He pushed passed her and strode off, much to the dismay of several villagers.
Once back on a solitary road, he debated whether he and Clara would cross paths again. It was a possibility considering they were both immortal, and his teeth ground at the prospect.
xxx
After three days of travel he arrived in a region littered with mountains. The temperature was below zero, and if he were human, breath would’ve curled from his lips and goosebumps formed on his skin. He scaled the peaks, and bit by bit, mountain ranges gave way to grassy knolls.
Samuel pushed on with the same determination, when suddenly, his body slammed against a barrier so dense that it halted him completely. The obstruction comprised a mass of woven branches. Gazing through the gaps in the mesh, he saw a dark forest worthy of sustaining mystical creatures. A smile crossed his lips as he felt obliged to go inside.
Chapter 21
He rammed into the branches, shattering them with ease, and drifted into the forest. Almost at once he felt the atmosphere drag, as if laughter and happiness were replaced with foreboding and sadness. He was weakened by hunger, so he grabbed the nearest animal and fed on it. The wealth of creatures in the wood presented many blood types to consume, and he enjoyed feeding at his leisure. At night, the darkness transformed trees and animals into indistinguishable blobs. He paid no attention for the most part. However, on seeing the outline of a woman standing nearby he perked up. The lady, who was in silhouette, stared at him intensely, and Samuel frowned at her boldness. Examining her, he noted that she was too tall and lean to be any woman he’d met in recent years, including Clara.
“Who are you?” he called out.
“Don’t you know me?” she asked him.
He marched up to her, then staggered back. “Alexandra.”
He noticed that she retained the same long golden locks and hazel eyes she had twenty years ago. He reached out to touch her and she dissolved into nothing.
His eyes opened and he found himself sitting on the damp ground and leaning against a tree. He resented the dream’s betrayal and jumped to his feet, not wanting to fall asleep again. The voice inside told him to go north. Doing so, he stumbled onto a narrow ledge with a cavern on one side. He picked up a stone and threw it into the gorge, but he never heard it strike ground. Samuel backed away from the canyon and navigated the convoluted ledge. As he took the last turning, he stared ahead in awe.
Before him lay a sprawling castle with broken windows and a courtyard thick with weeds. It seemed no one had inhabited the place for decades, and it reminded him of his own ill-fated chateau.
“This will have to do,” he said glibly.
He marched into its courtyard, dodging fragments of carriage wheels and discarded weaponry, and approached the entrance. Stepping over the threshold, he saw a staircase that stopped a metre before it reached the upper floor. The overpowering scent of damp lurked all over, as did the ominous aura of death. A bloodstained saber lay in the centre of the foyer, and next to it, was a pastel handkerchief. The items were covered in dust and seemed like they’d been there for half a century.
He heard a creaking and trudged to the back of the castle to find a door swinging to and fro in the wind. He edged a heavy rock against the base of the door and prevented it from closing. The castle was bordered on every side by the forest, which gave the dwelling an isolated feel. As he admired the scenery, he noticed that birds and animals were absent from the castle walls.
“They’re afraid of me,” he whispered.
Their reaction filled him with guilt, but he consoled himself that he never killed for sport or vanity. Samuel walked back to the foyer and entered a side room that still had its drapes closed. The dim room was covered in dust, and twigs, leaves, and branches tumbled at his feet. He looked round to see shelves stacked with books, a writing bureau edged to the side, and an armchair facing the window. The position of the chair disturbed him as it was misplaced. Samuel yanked the chair back and cowered as it exposed the skeletal remains of a man dressed in aristocratic garb. Probably the once proud owner of the castle.
He left the study, walked up the broken-down staircase, and leapt onto the second floor. To his left was a modest room offering a daunting view of the ridge, and ahead of him a long corridor with rooms on either side. The ceiling was blackened by smoke from burning candles. The soot-covered floor had several holes in it. He walked through the hallway, glancing at the rooms as he went by, and saw they were furnished by velvet floor-to-ceiling curtains and four-poster beds.
Inside the last room, a woman’s violet gown lay on a chair; the dress looking pristine despite its age. His astute sense of smell detected her perfume. Though, there was no sign of the woman nor any of the other guests certain to have stayed there. The painting of a middle-aged man in ceremonial uniform hung on the wall next to the window, and Samuel laid eyes on the castle’s owner for the first time. The surreal atmosphere was enhanced by a rotting plate of food and a half-drunk glass of wine resting on a table.
Having inspected the room, he carried on down the corridor and thrust open a faded wooden door at the end. In front of him was a colossal kitchen with a grand fireplace in the rear. It wasn’t too ridiculous to picture fifty servants toiling away in the castle’s heyday. He strolled in and spotted another door at the back. It was humble enough to be the pantry, but instinct told him otherwise. So he walked over and nudged it open with his fingertips.
What he witnessed wasn’t a pantry at all, but a vast ballroom complete with chandeliers and agate floors.
“Astounding,” he declared.
Samuel entered the room and saw that the immense windows on one side allowed in only narrow slits of light due to their grubbiness. He imagined dozens of people dancing there at the castle’s zenith - music and conversation flowing from every corner - food and wine being consumed a plenty. His own aristocratic past came to mind and he raised a mournful brow.
He wanted to explore more of the castle, so he raced out of the hall and returned to the long corridor. His senses picked up a discrepancy in the middle of the corridor and he stopped by an unassuming wall. There was nothing extraordinary about the panel, yet Samuel fixed on it.
He knocked on it five times, and the wall slid back to reveal a dark and lengthy passageway. Samuel strolled in, his brilliant eyesight allowing him to see the area perfectly. The path was just wide enough for him to pass through, and he ducked his head every now and then to avoid collisions with the ceiling.
He came to another door which was locked. Slipping his fingers in the space under the door, he gripped the wooden frame and tugged. The iron lock crumpled like paper, and the door flew open. His mouth turned upwards when he saw a chamber that was the same size as his chateau bedroom. Inside was a chair, a desk, clothes, and barrels of food and water. It was a hideout of some kind and he believed that such a room at the chateau could’ve prevented their capture. The calmness he had a moment ago was replaced with frustration. He ran back through the passageway and burst out of the corridor. Whereupon he hurried to the top of the ramshackle staircase and jumped through the gap in the stairs. Samuel landed in the foyer with a titanic thud. His vampire legs didn’t break or even sprain, and he suffered no pain. The leap quelled his anger enough for him to dust off some of the gravel that had collected on his clothes and go outside.