Filipa snarls. “Why would you need to know how to use a bow?” she snaps. “And why would you ever need to know how to live in the wild? Do you plan to run away with this stranger and live in the wild with him?”
“Oh, Filipa. Sissa. I’m not a child anymore.” Aramei walks toward the window and peers out. “You have cared for me all of my life, even before Mother died, you were always there for me.” She turns around at the waist to see Filipa. “But you can’t be my mother forever.”
Filipa inhales a deep, aggravated breath and combs her hair away from her shoulders. But she avoids this particular subject and moves quickly onto the next.
“Tell me what this man told you,” she says in a calm, stern voice. “What is this about the black wolves in the mountains?”
Aramei’s petite shoulders rise and fall as she stands peering out at the vast blanket of white covering the landscape. She turns fully around to face Filipa, “Maybe the black wolves that Viktor spoke of and the Black Beasts of legend are one in the same; I do not know, but Viktor has told me that they are growing in numbers. And that they are different from the gray wolves we see on the mountains.”
Filipa tilts her head to one side, looking upon Aramei curiously. “Yes,” she says, “different as in more savage, but not because they are these…beasts. You would do better not to believe such things, too.”
Aramei snaps around, her arms still crossed with her delicate fingers peeking over the bend of the elbows. “Why, Filipa?” she says. Her voice is laced with discontent, which stuns Filipa momentarily. “Because they fear them?” She makes a slashing motion with her hand out in front of her. “When are you going to start thinking for yourself?”
Aramei turns her back on her sister, partially fed up with the prospect of being just like everybody else, but also it was hard for her to be so firm towards Filipa, to speak her mind for once.
“Are you saying you believe what this man tells you?” Filipa has lowered her tone and seems to be attempting to be more understanding towards Aramei. She moves behind her, placing her hands gently on her shoulders.
Aramei turns to face her. “Viktor did not tell me anything of the Black Beasts, Filipa…I believe in them on my own. I always have, since I was a little girl and I….”
Aramei looks away from Filipa’s engaged eyes, seeming afraid or ashamed for whatever she was about to say.
“What is it, Aramei? Tell me.”
Aramei raises her soft green eyes to Filipa once more, “…I do not believe that Mother died of the fever.”
Filipa’s chin draws back in a suspicious motion. “What are you saying?”
Aramei walks away, leaving Filipa standing by the window. She paces the room once and then stops, staring down at the clay vase their mother had made two years before she died. She remembers the vision of her face, staring up at her from the bed the day she told Aramei a dark secret. She remembers how her mother clutched Aramei’s dress tight in her hands as she leaned over her sweating body amid the soaked bed covers. Her skin was pale gray and sickly, her green eyes tired and fringed in red, inflamed by the infection coursing through her body.
“I was attacked by a beast,” her mother said, her voice straining and raspy and desperate; sweat glistened on her face like hot wax. “You must kill me, my dear child! You must—.”
Aramei wipes away a tear with the tip of her finger.
“Sissa,” Filipa says in her most loving voice. “Please….”
“I believe Mother was killed by one of them,” Aramei says. “I was only ten then and thought that the fever was only poisoning her mind, that it was making her say things.” She turns around. “But I believe in my heart that she was telling the truth.”
Filipa stands there, stunned by Aramei’s admission. For a long moment she can’t seem to say anything, but Aramei soon realizes that Filipa doesn’t believe her. Or, also afraid of the superstitions, she doesn’t want to believe her.
“I want you to stay away from this man,” Filipa says with a bit more care than before. “I beg of you. He is turning you into someone I do not know.”
Aramei, not wanting to create a divide between her and her sister, nods once to acknowledge Filipa.
But soon after, it would be Viktor himself who would cause Aramei to stay away from him.
Chapter 14
Balkan Mountains – Eastern Serbia – Winter 1761
JUST DAYS AFTER THE savage death of Vela, Aramei, bundled in her heaviest winter clothes and boots, sets out alone to meet Viktor in the forest. Last night he came to her window and asked that she meet him at sunrise past the eastern border of the valley that merges with the woods.
He told her to come alone.
She had spent many days with him alone and had grown to enjoy his company and the many things he was so willing to teach her. She hopes that on this day he will teach her more, maybe of hunting the black wolves that Viktor spoke of, those that keep killing the village’s livestock, the ones that killed her horse and left nothing but half of the carcass behind.
Aramei tucks her knife down into the front of her coat where it’s hidden well behind the thick fabric. Although she trusts Viktor and has no reason not to, she has always at least carried her knife along. It gives her a sense of security even if she’s fully aware that he could easily overpower her if he wanted to.
She ignores the fact that she has any reason to carry a knife around him at all, makes herself believe it’s just precautionary when truly her heart knows something her mind isn’t telling her.
She slips out before Filipa wakes up, but that was always an easy thing to do because Filipa had always been a heavy sleeper and never likes to get out of bed early if she can help it.
Thirty minutes of walking in the frigid winter air, Aramei sees Viktor’s figure approaching her in the distance. She raises her gloved hand to wave at him and her smile brightens. She pulls her woven hat tighter around the edges of her face, trying to warm her ears.
“You came,” Viktor says, but he’s not smiling back. Nothing about his face suggests that their meeting will be like any of the others and instinctively Aramei’s hand disappears underneath her coat. She looks all around her without moving her head, wondering what’s caused him to appear so alarmed.
He moves to stand in front of her, the thickly-packed snow crunching under his leather boots.
“You must leave these mountains,” he says with a forceful urgency. “You cannot stay here.”
Aramei shakes her head, perplexed by not only his demeanor, but now his words as well.
She takes one step backwards, her eyes darting all around every which way.
“Why, Viktor? Why do you say these things?”
He steps toward her, closing that one-foot she just created, but she doesn’t move. “Because I must,” he says. “Come with me. You will be safe under my protection.”
“No…,” she shakes her head once more, taking yet another step back, her face hardened by doubt. “I cannot just leave my family, I—”
“Milady, you have to.” He reaches out and takes a hold of her shoulders and she freezes with fear. “Please trust in me.”
Aramei jerks her body back, forcing his hands away from her and she takes two steps to the left.
“You expect me to leave my father and my sister to go somewhere with you because it’s not safe for me here?” she says, her small voice rising with every syllable. “Yet you won’t tell me why. And worse, you would want me to leave my family behind?”
She’s put off by the very thought of it, were it not for that she might’ve actually listened to him.
Viktor lets out a deep, heavy breath and brings his bare hands up in front of him, balling them into fists. But then he seems to think better of what appeared to Aramei as some kind of impending outburst, and he lets his fingers unfold from his palms. The soft lines around his mouth are deepened only briefly, accentuated by the scruff of his facial hair. He has grown a long, dark goatee since the summer and he we
ars it braided now; a heavy weave of hair that winds down to the top of his chest. His handsome green eyes stare at her under dark brown eyebrows and a matching frame of hair that falls around his face and drapes his broad shoulders.
“A war draws closer to this valley every day,” he says, softening his hardened eyes, but not his voice. “I do not care about any soul in these villages except for yours and I mean to save it.”
“But it is my soul to save,” she says, her eyebrows hardening. “What war, Viktor? The Turks? Russia? Who could be invading now?”
Viktor reaches out a hand, but pulls away when he sees that she quietly detracts from it.
“This is a war of a different kind,” he says. “Between my people and those who were once my kin.”
Aramei senses that there is something hidden in his words, but it’s too vague to give her any reason to probe further. She buries her hands inside the sleeves of her long coat, each hand shoved in the opposite sleeve, and tightens her arms over her chest to shut out the freezing air.
“Aramei, listen to me,” his voice grows intolerant and it only makes her more leery of him. “If you stay here you will die. I can help you...you have to leave with me.”
“Not without my family!” she shouts; a wisp of visible breath spats from her lips like a puff of smoke. “Why do I feel like you are lying to me? Why can you not understand that my family is more important to me than my own life?” Her hands break free from her sleeves and she motions them out in front of her, her once gentle face now misshapen by confusion and disappointment. “And if you cared for me at all…Viktor, you would not ask me to leave them.”
Viktor’s face falls underneath his winter scruff, the tense look in his eyes vanquished by something deeper. He takes a deep breath and suddenly kneels in front of her in the snow; one knee is bent upward, the other lying pressed against the ground. He reaches out his arms to her in a desperate, pleading display, “I beg of you to come with me…because…I have fallen in love with you, Aramei of the Valley, and because of who I am, your family will never approve of our joining.”
Aramei’s eyes grow wide. Her breath is caught in her chest and she feels like she’s lost control of her thoughts suddenly. Absently, she shakes her head over and over as if to deny his admission on her ears.
“Love?” she says, unbelieving. “No…Viktor, I never meant…I never meant to lead you to love me. Forgive me, please, for it was not my intention. I take full blame. Forgive me.” Her backward steps become more numerous and her fears more profuse. She had never even remotely contemplated love with Viktor. She never visualized the two of them sharing more than company and friendship. Aramei had only ever wanted to become something more than a wife of the valley, she wanted to see the world and her dreams had only ever been occupied by travel and experience, but she rarely had time to dream of love.
Her idea of love was freedom.
“I’m sorry,” she says again and goes to leave, barely turning her back to him because there’s still this strange feeling scratching away at the back of her mind, warning her that she isn’t safe, that even though he has professed his love for her, that it is not without danger.
Viktor, unable to retain his dominant emotions, reaches out quickly and grabs her by the back of her coat. She gasps and her heart solidifies like metal inside her chest; for a moment it refuses to beat. Her green eyes are wide with fear as she looks up into his angry face horribly warped by rejection.
Aramei looks down quickly at his hand as it makes its way to her wrist, his strong fingers clutched around her tiny bone with enough force to cause her pain. She tries to jerk her hand away, but his grip is like iron and she can’t move it.
“You’re hurting me!” she cries out. “Let go!”
Viktor thrusts her body forward and their chests slam against one another. She can feel the heat of his breath all over her face, making it feel like a layer of sweat has formed over the surface of her skin. “You refuse me?” he spats with venom in his voice. Her heart slams against her ribcage, the blood shooting through her veins like scalding hot water. Her lungs would be heaving rapidly if she could pull her chest away from his, but the weight of him restricts them, as if she were pinned to the ground with a large rock on her chest.
“I said let go!” She screams out, and half a second later her free hand comes up against his face, her fingernails digging into the skin under his eyes and along his cheekbones, but it doesn’t seem to faze him.
A deep growl reverberates through his body and he stares down into her tear-streaked face as a man she has never met, one that had never been kind to her. One she had mistakenly grown to revere. This is a man with a darker soul, one who she never would’ve befriended if she knew the true depths of his real self. She struggles in his grasp like a butterfly whose wings are trapped between his powerful fingers. Tears barrel from her eyes and her heart beats so fast now that she briefly pictures it exploding. Is that what he wants? Would Viktor rather see her dead than to see her run away from him?
The thought intensifies her fears just when she thought she couldn’t be more afraid.
In a split second, Aramei, without having any sense of plan, instinctively thrusts her free hand into her coat and fumbles for the hilt of her knife. Once she has it, her hand comes out of the confines of the thick fabric and the glint of the silver blade is distinct enough that it catches Viktor off-guard. And in only a half a second more when he pulls away from her, Aramei plunges the blade right into his chest. She screams out as the pain of realization devours her, as she sees what she has done, what she knew she had to do.
Viktor clutches his hands over the wound and the bloody knife tumbles into the snow.
Aramei stumbles backward and falls, but she can’t stop looking at him, peering deeply into his eyes as if frighteningly mesmerized by them in their final moments of life. She tries to look away but it’s as if Death himself is forcing her to look, punishing her by refusing her any reprieve.
Viktor falls to his knees and looks down at his hands in shock and disbelief. Blood pours out of the wound and oozes in-between his fingers; a pool of red soaks up in the snow as his body begins to lean forward. “Why?!” Aramei screams out at him. “Why would you make me do this?” She nearly chokes on her own tears.
Viktor’s face begins to emit heat, his skin becoming inflamed and red. The veins in his neck appear on the surface, hard and bulging and moving like worms underneath the surface of the skin. But under his eyes and around his cheeks and temples, tiny veins appear that are black. Aramei’s breath catches, sucking in the frigid air, burning her throat and her lungs. Her bloody gloved-hand comes up over her mouth and nose, her wide eyes peering over the edge of her index finger. She knows this is her chance to run away, that she’s wounded him enough that she can go back to the safety of her family, but the sight before her shatters her will and grounds her boots to the snow. Viktor’s eyes have become solid black pools. He struggles to breathe; his throat seizing rapidly at the air almost as if the air is poison and he’s choking on it. His bloodied hand still presses abrasively against his chest.
And suddenly, as if his whole body has turned to stone, every muscle ceases to move and his expression locks in a horrific, painful display. He falls face forward into the snow and doesn’t move again.
Aramei’s hands now press firmly against her stomach, her fingers grasp at one another in a restless, chaotic motion. Her eyes have remained unblinking the past many seconds and are starting to burn. Finally gaining some sense of dire awareness, her flight-response kicks in again. She rips away running through the snow-covered forest, tripping many times over hidden debris in the forest bed before finding her way to the edge of the valley. She has run for so long and so hard that when she makes it out of the cover of the trees, she falls to her hands and knees, gasping for air and dry-heaving violently before finally able to expel the food in her stomach.
Aramei lies on her side against the snow, covered only by the inadequate warmt
h of her coat. Her hands and feet are cold to the bones, but she can’t go any farther. The weight of what she experienced combined with her body’s unwillingness to push further; Aramei is doomed to lie in the snow until someone finds her, or until death claims her.
Chapter 15
Present Day – In the Cabin
MY MIND IS HURLED from Aramei’s chaotically, the colors and shapes of the scene zipping past me so fast and unexpected that I come out of it on my hands and knees, puking my guts up. My back arches as I heave violently onto the floor, a pool of vomit in front of me, which only makes me sick again as the revolting stench rises into my nostrils.
“Adria!” Eva says running up the stairs.
I’m trying to catch my breath and I move inches away from the vomit and roll over onto my back on the floor by the bed. My vision is doubling, tripling, until finally it pulls together into focus. Eva kneels down beside me; I feel her knees pressed gently against my side, her hand smoothing back the sweating hair from my forehead. “You’re done for the day,” she says with resolution in her voice.
I still can’t meet her eyes. I stare up at the tall ceiling, letting the patterns and swirls in the wooden rafters dance in front of my eyes, but I don’t actually see any of it. All I see are the memories of the vision I just came out of.
“You need to lie down and rest,” Eva says, trying to help me up, but I motion for her to move away.
“No,” I say shaking my head against the floor. “I have to see more. I need to go back under.”
The Ballad of Aramei Page 15