Dhampir

by Barb Hendee

  She studied history and languages on her own. Lord Corische knew she was trying to improve herself and did not interfere, but neither did he take an active interest, seeming to shy away whenever she was entranced in some text. Rashed, however, openly approved of her efforts and, to her surprise, started teaching her mathematics and astronomy. He showed little interest in most of her books, but was apparently educated, instructing her from memory alone. It was the most she’d learned about his origins somewhere in the great desert lands he referred to as the Suman Empire. Her ability and interest in academics gave her more cause to appreciate her new life—should she call it life? There was so very much to learn and study and absorb, and she’d never given any of it a moment’s thought. She’d never known that anything beyond her small world of spiced turnips and Edwan even existed. How droll, how sad.

  Although she studied astronomy and languages diligently, Teesha learned little about the other household members. Parko grew more difficult to speak with as time passed. Often he would be out at night, only appearing when Corische wanted him for something. He seemed to have an awareness that told him when his master would expect his presence. On the other hand, Ratboy would annoyingly pop out of dark corners whenever he felt like it. She caught him watching her intently several times, only to have him turn away with dramatic disinterest when discovered. He was always polite but bored and discontent—something of which she took careful note.

  Throughout that second year, Corische began to make guests in the house a regular event, at least once per month.

  In the third year, a caravan came through the village. She hurried out early after dusk in time to purchase a large piece of rich, dark burgundy brocade and silver thread before the merchants closed their tents for the night. For the next month, she worked in secret, sewing Rashed an exquisite tunic. She finished it early one evening and sat waiting in the main hall, knowing he would be along sometime soon, as always.

  “Here,” she said. “I thought you could use something new in your limited wardrobe.”

  He offered no response when she handed the wrapped bundle to him. He took it with only a slight twitch of puzzlement in his left eyebrow, wasted no time snapping the binding strip, and unwrapped the muslin to display the tunic.

  Rashed looked at Teesha once, quickly, then back down at the tunic, staring for a long moment. He said nothing to her as he turned away, but his hands shook slightly as he carefully refolded the muslin around the tunic and then walked toward his own chamber. It was not until later in the year that she would realize why he didn’t start wearing it immediately. He would only wear it on the rarest occasions when expected to look his best for guests, and when he did, he was conspicuously concerned with anything that might cause the slightest stain or smudge on the fine fabric.

  But that evening, Teesha sat quietly satisfied as Rashed disappeared down the side hall, her gift in his hands. He thought himself so guarded, but he was so easy for her to read. She told herself the gift was only meant to sway him further to her side. But he had looked pleased, hadn’t he?

  It took a moment, distracted with Rashed as she was, before she sensed the eyes watching her. She turned her head slowly with a scowl, expecting to catch Ratboy lurking in the corner again, but she couldn’t have been more wrong.

  The sight that met her eyes would have made anyone else, even one of her current household, back away—but not Teesha. She froze, unable to speak, and perhaps experienced a moment’s fear. Then her eyes grew forlorn as if her heart had been shattered all over again. No tears fell, for the dead no longer had the ability to weep. She tried and failed three times to speak, then stumbled halfway across the room to stop short. A smile finally came to her lips.

  Edwan stood at the foot of the stairs in his hideous, transparent form.

  Perhaps she’d been living in a nightmare so long that seeing the ghost of her dead husband did not strike her as traumatic. Perhaps death was too intimate a thing for her to be repulsed by his visage. She smiled wider, cutting short a small laugh of relief.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “Since . . . beginning,” Edwan said, though the sound didn’t quite match the movement of his sideways lips speaking from the half-severed head upon his shoulder. “I saw . . . he did to you.”

  Teesha’s smile faded. “And you left me alone?”

  Language seemed difficult for him, but she could still read his familiar face, pale and bloodless as it was.

  “You have not been alone,” he said, almost petulantly, his words growing clearer. “I was afraid to show myself. I exist at the moment of my death.” His body turned, for he couldn’t move his severed head and it was the only way to pull his closing eyes away from her.

  Teesha stepped close, glancing quickly about to make sure no else was there. She reached out to touch him, but her hand only passed through his chest without even a tingle on her flesh. Edwan’s eyes opened.

  “You are beautiful to me,” she said, and she meant it.

  “Then leave this place. I am bound to you, and if you leave, I can follow.”

  She was astonished. “Edwan, I can’t leave. I’m bound to my master.”

  “Is that why you’ve changed yourself? Why you work to make this place and yourself so beautiful for him?”

  For a moment, she thought he spoke of Corische, then she caught the quick twitch of his eyes toward where Rashed had left just moments ago. She couldn’t find any way to make him understand the years that had passed. There wasn’t enough time before someone would come in and discover him, so she comforted him with soft words.

  “We will be free, my Edwan. I have planned it.”

  Another year passed. Sometimes Teesha could feel Edwan nearby, even when others were present. None of them appeared to notice the spirit, only she. She studied and never once let pass even the smallest opportunity to do some kindness for Rashed. She bought special irons to heat, so she could curl her hair elaborately before pinning it up. Her dresses became simpler and darker in color but more elegant. Occasionally, Rashed would knock on her door and come in to find her primping or trying on some gown. After he left, Edwan would reappear in thinly disguised agitation, and Teesha would parade for him, telling him all she had worked for and how it would soon be time to leave. She did not allow herself to dwell on the unwanted thought that Rashed’s opinion of her gowns was the only one that mattered.

  During this phase, she actually had little to do with her master. He never touched her and rarely sought her company unless they had guests. He even stopped reveling in her obedience and simply took it for granted, as he did with Rashed. Then one night, Corische invited six lords and their ladies from southern Stravina for roast pheasant and aged spring wine.

  Both Corische and Teesha had become skilled at pretending to eat. Consuming food wasn’t impossible for the dead. It simply provided no sustenance, and only raw foods, particularly fruits, had any real flavor for them. Cooked flesh tasted bland and nearly repulsive. Wine was at least tolerable, sometimes pleasant.

  While Corische tried to draw one of the noblemen’s attention to an exquisite tapestry that Teesha had ordered from Belaski, she politely interrupted and asked the gentleman a question. She phrased it in the old, little-known Stravinan tongue spoken mainly by nobles with too much free time and too high an opinion of their bloodline. It was easy enough for her to snatch the surface thoughts from the gentleman’s mind to perfect her accent by the time she finished her first sentence.

  The nobleman smiled in delight, thumping his glass down as he responded. Everyone at the table suddenly switched to conversing avidly in the nearly dead tongue—everyone, that is, but Lord Corische. He sat in mild discomfort at first, perhaps a bit nervous that he had no idea what was being said around him, and then Teesha caught his eye.

  She looked at him with all the disdain she had amassed in the years with him, and it flooded through her gaze to wash over him.

  Realization dawned on Corische,
and his discomfort turned to barely contained outrage. Teesha felt the initial sweet bite of satisfaction, a unique blend of triumph and revenge. The culmination of her plan was coming soon.

  Shortly before dawn, after all guests were safely in bed, Corische found her by the fire. Lately, he had begun to dress like Rashed and now wore well-tailored breeches and a dark orange tunic, his chain mail abandoned.

  “Do not forget your place, my lady,” he said sarcastically. “I was displeased at supper.”

  “Truly?” She raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows and watched him take in the sight of her low-necked, black gown and plaited chocolate hair. “That is because you are not noble and could not share in our discussion. You are not even ancient.” Her tone remained even and polite. “I know Rashed believes you to be old, but his good heart is easily fooled. What were you in life, my lord? A mercenary? A caravan guard? However did you escape your own master?”

  Her goading struck a chord, and he stepped back, voice ragged. “You will not speak to me this way.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  She could not disobey, but she would now openly despise him.

  It took a little more time for Corische to fully grasp what she had become, and in turn, he began losing his contentment. More often than not, his frustration caused him to behave like a mannerless thug. Teesha, so much the noble in all things that mattered now, made him look coarse and low when they were seen together. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t catch up on the few years she’d spent training herself while he played at his rank like an uneducated soldier. He reacted with anger, threatening her into submission, which she readily gave because she knew it wormed into him even sharper. If she altered herself and began looking and behaving like Teesha the serving girl again, how would his noble acquaintances respond? She was the only true hold he had upon his place in rank and society.

  He changed tactics and began anew. First came the compliments whispered in her ear at feasts for guests—and all watching saw the eagerness in his eyes and the revulsion in hers, mixed with a touch of well-played fear. Then came the gifts, such as a pearl necklace shaped like petals he presented her at a holiday dance given by a neighboring lord. She flinched with a shudder as he put it around her neck, her eyes like a doe’s running from the hunter. And last, and only once, in private he tried to confess how fond he’d grown of her—how deeply fond—and was answered by her flat and cold expression.

  Corische began going on long hunts, sometimes staying out all night, only to arrive home in time to beat the dawn.

  If Teesha felt even the slightest sorrow regarding her existence, it only involved Edwan, who watched somewhere unseen. But she hid it away carefully, especially when she began to play seriously with Rashed.

  By now, it was no secret to any in the household that he adored her in a white knight manner. For all his passionless ways, Teesha had made it so. She sewed him fine clothes, comforted him with kind words, and took over mundane tasks like arranging for his laundry. She made a point of seeing to his needs first. Stepping up the process, she began to sometimes approach him as he worked on accounts, placing a tiny hand on his shoulder while speaking with him. As always, she pushed aside thoughts about the solid feel of his collarbone and reminded herself that he was her tool. When she was alone again, Edwan appeared in her room, on the verge of despair.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Seducing that desert man.”

  “We need him, Edwan.” She spoke flatly and calmly, without anger or sorrow. “Can I drive a stake through Corische’s heart? Can you? Can you lift the bar from the doors?”

  Her husband moaned and vanished in a flash. She regretted his pain, but the situation couldn’t be helped. They needed Rashed.

  The next night, her master rose and left at full sundown. She sat by the fire pit, sewing. When Rashed walked in, she smiled at him. He nodded, turned to leave, and then stopped.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Sewing a table runner.”

  Rashed shook his head as he stepped up to stand in front of her, knowing she was well aware of what he meant.

  “I know you despise Corische. But there are aspects of him you don’t know. He is glorious in battle. That is where his power lies.”

  “Is that why you followed him?”

  Rashed looked hard at her, perhaps finally suspicious. “Do you honestly want to hear this? I thought you cared little for the past.”

  “Certain aspects of the past are quite important to me. I’d like to know how someone like yourself became a slave to a low-born creature unfit to kneel at your feet.”

  Stunned by her bluntness, Rashed paced for a moment, his face filled with puzzlement.

  “I was fighting near the west of il’Mauy Meyauh, a kingdom of the Suman Empire across the sea. My people were at war with a group of the free tribes of the desert. I don’t know where Corische came from, only that his own master died by accident in a fire. I did not understand at the time, but now wonder how one of our kind could ever fall to an accident. Once free, Corische wanted to secure himself by creating his own pack of servants. He was careful, and only chose men easy to control like Ratboy . . . and Parko, my brother.

  “Parko disappeared from our camp one night. I followed his trail and found Corische. We fought. Even as just a mortal, I made him earn his victory. In the end, he pierced my heart. As I bled to death, he made me an offer. At that moment, all I could think of was that Parko would never get along without me. Strange, foolish thought. When I awoke, I was Corische’s servant. He took my inheritance and forced us all to travel north. We crossed the sea into Belaski. In Stravina, he found patronage under a powerful mortal lord. The master and I distinguished ourselves in battle for him. In five short years, we were appointed here, to Gäestev Keep. After the warmth of the south, this place was a frozen prison until . . .”

  “Until I came and made it beautiful?” Teesha finished, almost impishly.

  He nodded silently.

  Teesha could see him slipping into the relief he’d gained since she’d started making changes in the keep, but this time she wasn’t going to allow him that release.

  “This isn’t our home,” she hissed, and Rashed backstepped once in surprise at her sudden change of tone. “No matter what I’ve done to it, it’s his. We merely exist here. And that’s all we’ll ever have!”

  Rashed stared at her for a time longer than any silence Teesha could remember between two people. His eyes were no longer filled with suspicion. He was confused, and Teesha’s long careful nurturing of his desires began to take hold.

  “What would you have us do?” he finally asked.

  “Leave, go southwest to the coast, make our own home.”

  “You know we can’t,” he said gently. “He will always be our master.”

  “Not if he’s dead . . . finally dead.”

  Now it was Rashed who changed his demeanor, voice cold, hushed, and almost vicious.

  “Don’t say such things.” He dropped to sit on the bench, glaring at her, but his eyes shifted about as if he was looking for Corische to suddenly enter the room.

  “Why not? It’s true,” Teesha retorted. “You serve him, but I see the anger under that cold mask you wear. You bought his rise in power with your family’s money and your own skills. Yet he treats you—all of us—like property, nothing more, and we will never escape until he is gone.” She slid off the bench and knelt, touching his leg, her voice low to match his. “If I stay with him much longer, I’ll find a way to end my existence.”

  Rashed pulled back but continued to stare down at her. “If he were gone, would you leave this place with me?”

  “Yes, and we’d take Ratboy and Parko. We could make our own home.”

  Rashed finally stepped completely away and walked toward the heavy front door. He stopped and half turned, but he did not look at her. His jaw clenched.

  “No, it’s not possible.” He jer
ked the door open with both hands. “Don’t speak of this again.”

  But the seeds were properly planted. Alternately kind and cruel to Corische, Teesha easily managed to keep him home more often. Sometimes she flattered him, and he drank and fed upon her words. Sometimes, out of Rashed’s presence, she would quietly insult Corische, making cutting guesses about his low birth. Behaving more and more like a fool of desire, he restrained himself from lashing out, shrank back, and sought some new way to solicit her approval. He never gave her verbal orders. She became the master and he the slave, and she despised him all the more for it.

  Corische may not have let his anger out at Teesha, but it still burned inside him. In a fit of rage and frustration one night, he broke the handle off a broom and beat Parko with it. Such an action could never have harmed one of them, but Rashed came running in to see why his brother yelped out in fear. He did not interfere, but Teesha saw clouds darker than disapproval pass over his desert warrior’s face.

  At every opportunity, Teesha drove Corische to desperation, especially when Rashed was nearby, seeking to portray their master as a petty abuser—which he was—and Ratboy, Parko, and herself as the abused. Rashed’s expression grew more grim each night. Teesha bought a painting of the seacoast and hung it above the hearth as a less-than-subtle reminder, one that Corische wouldn’t comprehend. She managed to quietly call Rashed’s attention to it whenever possible. Large and well-crafted, the painting with its dark, cresting waves was a physical image of what they did not have—freedom to leave and see new places.

  There finally came a night when she knew Rashed was on the edge. She tried several times to engage him in conversation, but he refused to respond. It was time for the last step. And Teesha waited until the following evening, when all five of them had barely arisen after dusk.

  They were gathered in the main room, busy with mundane activities, and she leaned in close to Corische’s ear, and whispered, “I believe I met your mother a few nights ago. She was a gypsy hag working in a caravan tent, selling herself for two coppers per man.”