VROLOK

by Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  Vlad said calmly, “Your brother came to me last night and told me that you had threatened him. He told me that you wanted your father’s sword, which he had rightfully inherited. I told him that not even you would kill your own brother—not because you loved or even respected him, but because you lacked the courage to confront him. I was right. You did lack the courage to face him. Instead, you sneaked up behind him and slit his throat. You demand justice? Then you will receive it!”

  Vlad unsheathed his sword and swung round, sword in hand. The traitor’s disembodied head hit the ground before his body did. His eyes were blinking and his mouth open, as though still trying to gasp for air.

  Shaken, Alexei left his hiding place and approached Vlad with the intention of giving back the cloak and sword.

  “No, keep them,” Vlad said. “You are more deserving than he ever was. Nobility is not something that is in the blood. It is in the soul.”

  The two Wallachians whom Alexei had seen earlier pushed their cart up to the body. One of them picked it up while the other knelt before Vlad and said, “A message has arrived from the Carpathians, my Lord.”

  “What is the message?” Vlad asked.

  The Wallachian took a nervous breath, “Your wife has killed herself.”

  Alexei shuddered, and a silence seemed to fall instantly upon the whole camp as they watched.

  All of Vlad’s men, all of Vlad’s enemies watched in disbelief as the warrior―the Devil―swayed. His legs gave way beneath him. His hands clutched at his face, and he fell to the ground in anguish.

  DENN DIE TODTEN REITEN SCHNELL

  FOR THE DEAD TRAVEL FAST

  CHAPTER ONE

  The door burst open. Anna did not flinch. She sat still, gazing into the fire. She remained unperturbed by her abrupt intruder.

  She had been expecting a visitor in some shape or form. The intruder paused for a moment and stared at her. She could feel his eyes searing into the back of her head. Anna was not a stranger to this man. He had always admired her. She had always been a voice of reason in the village and even amid the chaos that was going on around her, she was calm and completely rational. The intruder began to speak.

  “Vlad’s dead.”

  Anna turned her head and glanced up at him, a look of contempt on her face. Yet when their eyes met, her look softened to one of compassion. She started to feel pity for the stranger. He was a young man, but today’s events had stolen part of his youth—a part that he would never get back. His clothes and hair were soaked in perspiration, and yet it was cold outside. His hands were trembling. He was frightened and Anna knew why.

  Everyone in the village was terrified. Homes were being deserted, possessions abandoned. No one seemed to care about their valuables anymore. Everyone was running away, everyone except Anna. She was the only one who was calm, the only person who was not in a state of panic.

  Suddenly a loud, shrill scream came from outside. Anna’s visitor turned around quickly to see who had screamed and why. Fortunately, his worst fears had not yet been confirmed. It was just a young girl who had been told that her husband was among the dead.

  Anna stood and walked towards the window. As she did so, the floor creaked beneath her feet. The young interloper turned back to look at Anna for a second time.

  “That will be the first of many screams you will hear this night,” said Anna. “My son?” she inquired.

  “Murdered.”

  “Who killed him?”

  “Isabella.”

  Anna shook her head, “You lie.”

  “It’s the truth!” the soldier said vehemently.

  “It is not the truth,” Anna replied, firmly but softly. “I’ll ask you again. Who killed my son?”

  The young man sighed and told Anna the truth: “The English.”

  Anna nodded in recognition.

  “You must leave,” he said pleadingly.

  “I’ll stay. She won’t harm me.”

  “How do you know for certain?”

  “I know.”

  “But how do you know…”

  “I know!” Anna retorted. “I know,” she said again, calmly. “I know because my father told me…many of my childhood memories have faded now, but this one still remains clear and vivid to me. I was playing on the road to Bistrita. It was a bright day, and the sky overhead was filled with sunshine. As I looked further down the road I could see nothing but dark skies in front of me. It seemed like a warning, as if the heavens were telling me to stay where I was. Of course, I did not heed their warning. I wandered a little too far and I was about to return home, when I noticed a man lying on the edge of the road just in front of me. As I approached him I could see he was obviously sick or injured. I kneeled down beside him. His eyes suddenly opened and he grabbed my dress and pulled me closer to him. He just held me there in front of him, not saying a word, just looking at my face. I could not tell you what colour eyes he had, whether he was fat or thin, young or old. But I will always remember how he looked at me. His eyes were cold and harsh. He looked so afraid that he in turn frightened me. He was completely desperate. He pulled my ear down to his lips and whispered to me, “Leave me…for the dead travel fast.” He let go of my dress and I ran all the way home and did not look back once.

  “When I got home I told my father what had happened and that he had to go and help the wounded man. My father told me not to worry. He went over to my mother, kissed her on her forehead, and left the safety and security of our home. My mother sat me on her knee and held me tight. She was frightened and I had never seen her so afraid.

  “My father came home the next morning unharmed. He told me there was no one there and that I must have imagined the whole thing. I knew I had not but he was so stern and adamant that I did not argue with him. Later that day I heard him whispering to my mother that I was not to be allowed out on my own again.

  “Years later my father explained to me what had happened and why the man had said what he did. He told me not to fear them. I was never to be afraid. Our family would always be protected as long as Isabella lived. She had promised one of our ancestors hundreds of years ago that she would always protect us. She has kept her promise…do you think that she will break it now?”

  “Did you ever find out what happened to the wounded man?”

  Anna turned around to face the stranger, slightly surprised that he was still there. She had half expected her visitor to have left in the middle of her story.

  “No, I never wanted to know what happened to him. Would you?”

  “This still does not change anything,” the soldier continued, “for your son is dead. She did not protect him.”

  “If my son is dead it is only because she could not protect him. You have to go now and try to save your family.”

  As the stranger turned to leave Anna called after him, “What is your name?”

  “Simon,” he answered.

  “Hurry away, Simon, for I fear she is already watching us,” advised Anna.

  Anna returned to her chair and sat down. A single tear rolled down her cheek, the only discernible sign of her grief. A few minutes passed and the door opened again. This time it was someone she knew. It was Catherine, her son’s wife, with their children. Catherine was panicking like everyone else, but she tried to compose herself and sat down beside her late husband’s mother.

  “Everyone says we should leave! My husband’s dead! I think we should leave!” Catherine cried out, although Anna could hardly make out what she was saying, for she was rambling and blurting out incoherent sentences.

  “If you leave, I cannot protect you. Isabella will kill you, and your children will be brought back to me. Don’t you understand? All those people out there, they are all dead! No one is going to survive. She’ll kill them all. She won’t stop until everyone whom she thinks betrayed Vlad is dead.”

  “But…”

  “Be quiet! I have to tell your children what’s happening here. They have to understand.”

 
Anna motioned for her grandchildren to sit in front of her and listen. They all looked so young, and she didn’t want to tell them, but she felt she had to. Anna had waited until her son was eighteen before she had told him, but things had changed. Vlad Dracula was dead. Anna began speaking to her grandchildren.

  “What I have to tell you is very important. It is part of our heritage. You may not understand, but you do have to listen.”

  Anna leaned across and took a stone from the wall; a book was hidden behind it. She took the book from its hiding place and opened it. On the first page was a letter from the writer of the book to the reader. Anna sat silently and read the letter to herself, as she had so many times before.

  Dear Reader,

  My name is Isabella Zelonka. I am not the Isabella that you will read about in this book, although my name will be mentioned. My mother’s name was Katya. The last thing she asked me to do before she died was to write this book, so that generation after generation of our family could read it and know our family’s story.

  I have pieced this book together from stories my mother told me, stories Isabella told me, and rumours and whispers that I have listened to ever since I was a child.

  My advice to any future reader of this book is to read it carefully and pay heed to every passage. For this book was not written as a historical account—it was written as a warning.

  Written in the year of our Lord Fifteen Hundred and Fifty.

  Anna sighed and began to speak: “This book was written over three hundred years ago.” She turned the page and began to read aloud.

  The chapters of this novel that are written on the succeeding pages are not the passages that were written by Anna’s family, but they are the story that was told to the author. What follows is Isabella’s story, an account of how she became a Vampire. Anna’s family gave testaments to these events, but those were destroyed more than one hundred years earlier.

  TRANSYLVANIA

  THE LAND BEYOND THE FOREST

  CHAPTER TWO

  Our story begins in a different time. Anna’s ancestral book has not been written and fifty years have passed since Vlad Dracula collapsed on the mountain at the news of his wife’s death.

  The story of Anna’s family begins in a village in the Carpathians. The village is bustling with activity because a young girl is about to be married and this young girl’s name is Isabella.

  Isabella was beautiful. No, more than that, Isabella was perfect. Her hair was raven. Her lips vermilion. Her eyes were the darkest green, like the forests in the north, and her skin had an ivory glow. She shone like a goddess among mere mortals.

  Isabella was aware of her beauty—how could such a creature not be aware of her own elegance? Despite this, she was good-natured. She was proud, not arrogant, precocious, yet respectful and very, very, impetuous.

  Isabella had few friends, not because of circumstance nor even because of lack of favour, but by choice. Isabella would not consider anyone she could not trust completely to be her friend. One of the few friends she did have was a young girl named Katya. The two girls had known each other and been friends all their lives.

  Katya had been born with a crippled leg and when she was very young she could hardly walk. One day when Katya was only four years old she had lost her footing and fallen. The other children of the village were making fun of her and laughing, but one child came apart from the others, kneeled down beside Katya, wiped Katya’s tears away with the hem of her dress, smiled and helped her up. This child was, of course, Isabella. She looked like an angel coming to rescue Katya from the harshness of the other children. On this day their friendship was formed and it would be an enduring friendship, and Isabella’s loyalty to Katya would last for longer than either girl could possibly realise.

  Katya had recently been married and was on her way to help Isabella prepare for her wedding. When Katya arrived Isabella was ready and waiting for her.

  “You’re dressed already,” Katya began.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” replied Isabella.

  “You look beautiful, Isabella. But, then again, you always do.”

  Isabella gave her the usual obligatory coy smile. “And you get bigger every time I see you!” she said enthusiastically.

  “I know,” Katya said patting her stomach. “If it is a girl I’ll call her Isabella.”

  Isabella smiled at her friend. “You are so sweetly sentimental, Katya,” she said, and then she looked over to where her grandfather’s sword stood against the wall and began to speak again. “I wish he could have lived just another year longer.”

  Katya saw the sadness in Isabella’s eyes. “He would have been proud of you today…you and Nicolae,” Katya reassured her friend.

  “I know. He was a good man and I miss him.” A flower gently fell from Isabella’s hair.

  “Let me fix it,” Katya said. Isabella picked it up and stretched out her arm to put the stray flower into Katya’s hand. As she did so, the top of her dress fell away and her shoulder was revealed. Katya’s expression darkened as she glanced at her friend’s shoulder. “It seems…” Katya paused. “It seems…to be healing well.” Isabella looked at Katya inquisitively. “Your shoulder,” Katya gestured.

  “Oh, yes, it does not look as bad now as it did. It will never heal completely. She has left me with a permanent scar.”

  Katya paused for a moment and then said, “In time you will forgive her.”

  Isabella’s eyes narrowed and dulled, her lips tightened into a scowl. Katya became almost frightened by the look of hatred that came across her friend’s face.

  “I will never forgive her,” Isabella said through clenched teeth. “She had everything I had always wanted and I never said a word. When I had something she wanted she tried maliciously to take it from me.”

  Katya was now sorry she had mentioned the scar and tried to change the subject.

  “Do you remember the day we found Nicolae?” Katya asked. Isabella’s smile gradually returned.

  “Yes, it must be at least ten years ago now.”

  “Has Nicolae told you yet?” Katya inquired.

  “Told me what?”

  “Oh, nothing, he will tell you himself in time…Isabella, you don’t still go up there, do you?”

  “Oh, no, Katya, don’t worry, of course not.”

  Katya’s husband poked his head round the door of the room and said, “Are you planning on missing your own wedding?”

  Katya looked at Isabella, caught hold of her hands and smiled. ”Forget about the years that have passed,” she said. “Look to the future. You have so much happiness ahead of you. You have to allow yourself to at least forget and be happy.”

  Isabella leaned forward, kissed Katya’s cheek and left to go to her wedding.

  During the ceremony Katya did not listen to her own advice and thought about the events that had shaped Isabella into the person Katya saw before her.

  Isabella had been born nineteen and a half years before her wedding day. Her mother had died in childbirth. Although her father was devastated by his wife’s death, he soon remarried and had another child with his second wife, Isabella’s half-sister, Natasha.

  Isabella did not have the happiest of childhoods. Her father could not bear to look at her because she reminded him of her mother, and he did not pay her much attention. On the other hand, he spoiled Natasha. Isabella’s stepmother encouraged this. Her stepmother also encouraged Isabella to visit her grandfather as much as possible.

  Isabella did not object to this, for she loved to visit her grandfather. Most of her happiest childhood memories included him. Isabella delighted in listening to the stories he told about fighting during the Crusades. Usually Isabella brought Katya with her to her grandfather’s house; he lived about a mile outside Isabella’s village and taught both girls how to read. They would walk to his house every day for a lesson.

  On one such day, a beautiful day in the middle of summer about ten years before the wedding, the two girls were nine years
old and they were at Isabella’s grandfather’s house as usual. They were agitated and fidgety and could not concentrate because of the heat. Isabella’s grandfather was finally forced to tell them to go out and play because they certainly were not getting any reading done. The children went out and started to run about in the sun. Isabella’s grandfather always kept a watchful eye on them. He was never too far behind them, especially when they went into the forest.

  Katya and Isabella had decided to pick berries, but Isabella soon became weary of this and started to run away from her friend and grandfather. When she was just out of sight she crouched down and hid behind a bush of wild berries, and placed her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound of her own giggles. She could hear her grandfather and Katya calling to her. The calls were getting louder and louder as they approached; she decided to move further from the path. Isabella stood back up and started to run again. Katya spotted her and began to chase after Isabella.

  Isabella continued to run for a few seconds more. She was not looking where she was going and she soon tripped and fell. She sat rubbing her leg, which had been slightly hurt by the fall. She looked over and was surprised to see that it was a young boy’s leg that had caused her to lose her footing. She moved over to take a closer look.

  The boy was lying unconscious on the forest floor. He had a bruise from a bump on his head. He looked a few years older than Isabella. By this time Katya and Isabella’s grandfather had caught up.

  “Don’t ever run off like that again, Isabella!” her grandfather shouted at her. He had been frightened by his granddaughter straying from the path. “Do you hear me?” he continued when Isabella did not answer.

  “Yes! Yes!” Isabella shouted back.” Come and see what I have found.”

  Isabella’s grandfather bent over to see what Isabella was pointing at through the foliage on the forest floor.

  “Is he alive?” Katya asked. Isabella’s grandfather gently positioned his hand just over the boy’s mouth. He could feel the hot breath of the child on his hand and he answered Katya’s question.