by David Wise
"Ask me what?" said Marielle.
"It is not important now," he answered. "It can wait until after the dance."
The fiddler once again lifted his instrument to his chin and began to play, spawning a dark, hypnotic melody. The five women beside the fire rose and formed a circle. Each held a black silk scarf in her hand, tracing circles in the air.
Lizette stepped into the shadows, then returned with a small bundle. She unveiled its contents slowly: a drum with a livid hide, a pair of slender white sticks, and a string of tiny silver bells. She passed the instrument to the man seated beside the fiddler, then tied the bells around her ankle. When she had finished, she stepped into the circle of dancers.
The women began to move slowly with the music, hips swaying, arms writhing like charmed white serpents to the fiddler's dark tune and the drummer's sensual beat. Their black skirts swirled in the shadows, layer upon layer of silk and gauze fluttering about them like crows'wings.
Lizette left the group and approached Marielle. "Come and dance with us," she said, extending her pale hand. Her eyes were lowered seductively, and a faint smile played on her lips. "Come and dance with me."
Marielle hesitated. Damius's arm slipped from her shoulder, and he leaned in close. "Yes, join her," he urged softly.
The fiddler picked up the pace. The women opened their circle, and Marielle stepped to the center. A tempest of arms and silks whirled around her. Each body entangled her for a moment, then set her free as another took its place. Lizette joined her in the vortex and grasped her hands. They began to spin as one, turning round and round until Marielle grew dizzy and her legs felt weak. The music reached a crescendo, then stopped abruptly. Marielle and Lizette collapsed to the ground, exhausted. The dance was done. The five women nodded at Marielle and disappeared into the shadows, leaving only Lizette and Damius beside her.
Damius stood. "I must see whether the storm has lifted," he said. "I will return shortly. "He bent and kissed Marielle on the cheek. "I enjoyed the dance," he whispered. "I hope it pleased you as well."
Marielle started to rise and follow, but dizziness overcame her.
"Stay with Lizette," said Damius. "And keep her company. "When Marielle turned her head, he was gone.
"Yes, stay with me," said Lizette, lying at Marielle's side. She leaned over and kissed Marielle on the knee. "Damius has kept much about you hidden. Tell me about your tribe."
"There is little to tell," Marielle replied, withdrawing her leg. "I'm sure it would bore you."
"Not at all," said Lizette. "We meet so few others when we travel."
"My tribe also keeps to itself."
"Are there many of you?" asked Lizette casually.
"Twenty-seven," Marielle answered. "Twenty-eight with the new baby."
Lizette paused. "The baby. . "she said softly. "Such a gift. If it is healthy. ."
"It's quite so," Marielle replied.
"And so it should be," said Lizette. "Tell me, how old is this child? "
"Not yet a month."
"So sweet," murmured Lizette. "Is the mother young? "
"Just seventeen. But already she has three children."
"That must be very nice for her," Lizette said evenly. "And is the father handsome, like Damius? "
"Handsome," Marielle replied. "But not like Damius."
"No, of course," added Lizette. "Not like Damius. Are there no other babies but this one? "
"No. Only one child was born to us this year. Why does this subject interest you so? "
"Surely you must have noticed that we have no children ourselves," Lizette replied.
"I thought perhaps they were simply sleeping."
"No, not sleeping," said Lizette softly. "Gone from our midst. Ours is not a fortunate tribe, Marielle. We have been cursed with barrenness. But perhaps, you yourself might change that, should you decide to remain with Damius."
"He has yet to ask," Marielle replied.
"But he will," said Lizette, rising to her feet. "And you will say yes, won't you?"
Marielle did not answer.
"Of course you will," said Lizette. "It was meant to be." Damius returned and announced that the storm had ended. Lizette said good-bye to them both, disappearing in the shadows.
Damius took Marielle by the hand and drew her to her feet. Then he led her into the passage from which he had come. As their path rose, so too did the mists, until Marielle could see nothing around her. Damius gripped her hand tightly and bade her not to let go. They walked for what seemed an eternity. Marielle heard a strange sighing all around her. Then the fog grew less heavy. Trees took shape. They were in the forest, at the clearing in which they had met the night before.
Damius drew her close and kissed her fiercely on the mouth. Desire flared within her as if she were nothing but dry tinder and he the spark. She slid her hand beneath his tunic.
"Tomorrow," he whispered. She felt him press an object into her hand: the ebony ring.
"I must ask something of you, Marielle," he said. "And your answer will seal our fate. "He took the ring and placed it on her finger. At once, the silver band contracted, fitting her snugly. For the first time, she noticed the small white stones encircling the ebony gem. No longer beautiful, the ring appeared to be a mouth. Damius stroked the side of the gem three times. A tiny barb rose from the center, forming a sharp and eager tongue.
Marielle gasped.
"Lizette told you of our plight, did she not?" Damius said. "We are childless. It is a curse that you alone can lift. Draw a drop of blood from the baby in your tribe tonight, and bring it to me here. No one must see you draw the blood, else your efforts will be spoiled. It is a small thing we ask. Yet it means everything to my tribe, and to us both."
Marielle began to protest, but he raised a finger to her lips. Then he pulled her tight against his chest and whispered into her ear. "Do this for me, Marielle, and I will come to you tomorrow night and always. Fail, and I can never return. "Before she could answer, he stepped away and disappeared into the mists.
Marielle stood in the clearing, dazed and alone. She stared at the strange ring upon her hand. The barb had withdrawn. The white stones had vanished. Damius's words echoed through her mind: Fail, and I can never return.
She tugged at the ring. To her relief, it slipped off with ease. For a moment, she thought of throwing it into the brush. Then, tears welling, she tucked it into a small pocket within her skirt and began the walk back to camp. Morning broke, turning the woods from black to dull gray. By the time the familiar vardos came into view, the sun had begun to burn away the mist. The women in the camp were stirring, building a fire and preparing the kettles.
Marielle walked toward her wagon. Annelise intervened, a phantom from nowhere. Marielle brushed past her, but the phantom followed behind.
"You look dreadful," chattered Annelise. "What happened to you?"
Marielle cringed at the sound. She did not want this attention, nor could she bear this concern.
"I took shelter in a cave during the storm," she replied. It was, after all, the truth.
"I warned you not to leave when the sky was so threatening," chided Annelise.
"So you did," replied Marielle. "But I am all right, as you can see."
"Even Sergio was wondering where you were. If you had not come back soon, we might have begun a search."
"Sergio has not bothered himself with my whereabouts before," said Marielle wearily.
"That's not true, Marielle. But in any case, we are leaving soon. Sergio has decided to break camp tomorrow. I thought you'd like to know."
Marielle did not answer. Annelise clucked her tongue and walked away.
The hours of the day passed slowly, as if in a dream. Marielle completed her chores by reflex. All the while, she watched Annelise and the baby, and thought of the task Damius had set before her.
Sweet, unsuspecting Annelise. Marielle could simply ask to hold the baby, she knew, and Annelise would comply. Then the deed would be eas
y. Still, Marielle hesitated. It was only a drop of blood, a tiny prick, she told herself. But she sensed it meant more. How could she do this thing that Damius asked? Yet how could she not?
The afternoon faded. Marielle thought of Damius, and an unbearable longing took shape within her. It fed on her strength like a parasite, pressed hard against her chest, twisted around her heart.
As the sun sank past the trees, she seized her chance. Annelise was seated at the rear of her wagon with her baby while her toddling young sons wrestled before her. The middle child stumbled and fell, then began to cry. At once, Annelise went to his side and examined the damage. Blood streamed from a rip in his trousers.
"Let me help you," Marielle offered. "I can take the baby while you see to Nicolai."
She extended her arms. Annelise thanked her and presented the baby, completely absorbed in her injured son's plight.
Marielle stepped away. Then she drew the ring from her pocket and slipped it onto her finger. At once, it tightened to fit. She stroked the side three times, just as Damius had done. The barb sprang forth, and the stones at the edge of the ring appeared, a circle of tiny teeth, forming a macabre grin.
Marielle pulled the white blanket away from the baby's smooth, chubby leg. She had to choose the site of the wound carefully; otherwise Annelise might see it. She probed the cocoa-brown folds of flesh just behind its knee. Then she inserted the barb. The baby shrieked.
"What now?" asked Annelise, her voice rising with irritation. "No sooner do I get one son settled when the next begins to cry."
"I'm not sure," Marielle replied, struggling to remain calm. "You know I haven't got your touch, Annelise. Perhaps he just misses you."
Annelise patted Nicolai on the head, then turned to Marielle and held out her arms. Marielle released the writhing bundle to its mother, who cradled the baby and began to coo. Still, the creature wailed.
"This is strange," said Annelise. "Surely you must have noticed something."
"I did see a black fly," Marielle replied. "Perhaps it stung him."
"Oh, my poor, poor dear," said Annelise soothingly, searching the baby's limbs for signs of a bite. She spied a red mark behind the baby's knee and kissed it. "That nasty fly. Mama will make it better."
To Marielle's relief, the baby quieted.
She tucked the ring back into her pocket. The deed was done. Now, she need only wait until after dark. Just a few hours. Then she would slip away, never to return.
The hours dragged. The baby slept peacefully. Finally, Marielle bid the others good night and climbed into her vardo. She gathered her treasures — a few pieces of jewelry, a carving made by her father, a miniature portrait of Magda, crafted by an artisan years ago. Then she placed them in a makeshift sack. When she was certain only Yuri remained by the fire, she slipped out and entered the forest.
Damius was waiting at the trysting place, surrounded by mist. He held out his hand.
"The ring," he commanded. His voice was deep and calm.
Marielle pulled it from her skirt and presented it. He smiled faintly as he took the ring and laid it before a large granite rock in the clearing. Then he drew her into his arms.
"Say my name," he whispered.
"Damius," she murmured, drunk with anticipation.
Marielle felt her clothing melt away, one piece at a time, just as it had when she met him before. Then Damius too was naked, a pale statue carved from stone. A yellow flame burned deep within his eyes, mirroring her own internal fire. He pulled her to the ground.
The mist grew heavy and wet. White hands slithered across her body, leaving a trail of searing heat wherever they passed. The cool mist melted upon her flesh and formed tiny streams that raced toward the ground. Damius's pale skin merged with the fog, blurring, until only his shiny blue-black hair remained distinct, sliding across her torso. Marielle sank her fingers into the silken mane. She was delirious, adrift upon an undulating sea of moss.
Then she heard a woman's laughter nearby, soft and faint. She turned her head toward the sound and glimpsed a ghostly figure. Lizette was crouched before a granite rock. She was naked and white, with a mass of gleaming black snakes for hair. Marielle tried to call out, but the words caught in her mouth. Damius groaned above her.
Lizette lifted a tiny object from the ground and held it aloft in the moonlight. It flashed white, then black. She clutched it toward her breast, and it became a small, squirming creature, wrapped in a glowing white shroud. Lizette laid the bundle upon the rock. The mists swirled, consuming the form. When the fog parted, the offering had vanished. Damius, too, was gone.
Lizette stood in the clearing, smiling slyly. "Marielle," she intoned. "I say thy name, and make thee ours."
Then she too departed, drifting away into the night upon the sound of her own laughter.
Marielle was alone and cold as the dead. She lifted her hands toward her face. The fingers had turned black. Though she had never seen this sign before, she knew its meaning. Black hands marked those who had wronged the Vistani.
Then the screaming began, distant and faint. She rose, drawing her garments around her. The screams grew louder. They seemed to emanate from within her own head, yet she knew the voice belonged to Annelise. An image took root in Marielle's mind. She raced back toward the camp. She had to know if her vision was true.
When Marielle reached the tribe, Annelise stood by the fire, her face twisted and red with grief. In her hands lay a bloody shroud. The other members of the tribe stood around her. As Marielle approached, Annelise turned and held out the bundle. A tiny arm fell away from the cloth — limp, shriveled, and black.
"Devil!" rasped Annelise.
The other members of the tribe formed a line beside her. Annelise's mother stooped to the ground and picked up a stone, then flung it with all her might. Marielle felt a sharp blow against her forehead. Blood flowed down the side of her face. Another rock struck. And then another. Marielle did not lift her arms to protect herself. Warm blood filled her eyes, shutting out the mob before her. When the fourth stone crashed against her skull, she sank to her knees and cried out in agony.
She could not see the mists as they rose up from the soil to envelop her battered form. Yet somehow she felt them within, as they transformed her to nothingness and lifted her in their ethereal embrace. When at last they drained away from her body, the scene around her had changed. Her tribe was gone. So too were the stains upon her skin. She was pale and unmarred, glowing white like the swollen moon overhead.
Before her lay the mouth of a great cavern. Its walls were red and glistening. In her mind Marielle heard the faint cry of a baby. She passed her hands over her hard, warm stomach, and knew that the curse had been lifted. From deep within the cavern came the ghostly strains of a fiddle, summoning her forth. She walked toward the sound, ready to greet her new tribe.
Caretaker
"It is too dangerous, Lord Vasili," they said, using the name I'd provided them since my real one was often a burden when dealing with the general populace. "There are many perils in the night. Please stay here with us and be safe. "They'd gathered close to each other in the doorway of the Vallaki Inn, not one of them daring to put so much as a toe past the threshold now that the sun was well down.
"The night doesn't trouble me," I truthfully replied, shrugging on my cape as I strode into the empty street. "Any perils may look out for themselves. "My cavalier manner shocked them. Though too polite (or fearful) to say it, I could read in their faces they thought Lord Vasili a fool or a madman for venturing forth into the dark. Having been both at one time or another, I took no offense at their opinion. I even found myself laughing a little at their sincere concern for my well-being as I swung up on the lead horse of the four harnessed to a great black conveyance bearing the Von Zarovich coat of arms. "Have no worries on my behalf," I added, gesturing at the device. "I serve Strahd von Zarovich, and he always looks after his own."
At this, two of them surreptitiously made a sign meant to protec
t one from the evil eye. The others shifted uneasily at the reminder of Barovia's lord, though they could thank him for putting gold in their pockets for their goods, which were now packed away in the coach. This was the attitude that inspired me to occasionally adapt another name when traveling. My reputation was such that any business I wished to personally conduct was always severely hampered. The people either were terrified or overwhelmed me with ceremony, or both. Better to allow them the illusion that they were dealing with Lord Strand's able envoy, Vasili von Holtz, rather than the dread Strahd himself.
One might question why I even bothered to attend to so humble a task as purchasing certain supplies for Castle Ravenloft, but the fact was that I enjoyed the distraction. The night air was good — when I bothered to breathe it — and the horses needed the exercise. Besides, as the merchants had correctly pointed out, there were dangers in the night. . but who better to deal with them than myself?
With their fears settled, or at least momentarily distracted, I was about to depart when one of them pointed at the western sky with awe. It was lighted up as if the sun had reversed course to make an unorthodox return. Clouds hanging over the area reflected a hellish orange glow back to the earth.
"A fire," she murmured. "And a big one. What can it be? "
"It's miles away," opined another. This was confirmed when someone ran to the top floor of the Vallaki Inn to get a better look.
"What's out there?" I asked, standing in my stirrups, craning my neck with them. I knew Barovia well, but had not been west of Vallaki for several years.
"Farms, Lord Vasili," someone answered. "The fields must be afire. There are clouds. Perhaps some lightning struck the ground and. ."
I left them to futile speculations and whistled my horses up. Within minutes I was clear of Vallaki and heading west at a steady trot. Crossing the fords of the Luna River, I noticed with dismay that the fire glow did not seem perceivably nearer, indicative of its distance. How far? Five miles? Ten? The horses were too slow for my curiosity. Throwing a silent command into them to ensure they would steadily continue along the road, I stood high in the stirrups again, this time grasping the ends of my cape and throwing my arms wide. My body began to rapidly shrink; color faded from my vision, but far away objects grew sharper and more easily discemable. Clothes and skin blended, transmuting into silken fur and the delicate span of wings; the west wind caught their black folds like a sail. With an effortless rush, I rose high over the rattling coach.