by Scott Bury
“Did they… did they…” Javor stammered. Just say it. “Did they…rape you?”
She shot him a hot glance, then looked at the ground. “No.” And she pursed her narrow lips until they almost disappeared, a look that Javor would come to know very well.
Photius made them move on again, back under the trees. But they didn’t go far before he chose a campsite for the night. He made as comfortable a place as he could for Danisa, then took Javor to look for food. “Does anything strike you as strange about her?” he asked.
“Well, the whole situation is strange—she’s tied to logs in the middle of the road? With no one else around? But then, so much is strange, Photius. Monsters, a dragon, a gryphon, me running through the wilderness with a strange old man who talks all the time about legends and ancient empires. So, really, this isn’t much stranger than the rest of my life for the past couple of months.”
“Well, something else that seems odd is that she was abducted, then left as a sacrifice—without anyone to ensure that the sacrifice actually happens. What if she had escaped on her own?”
“Well, I don’t think that would be …”
“Does it not strike you as coincidental that she was left in the road just before we arrived? And did it not seem very easy to rescue her?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Do not forget, Javor, that we are being pursued by enemies of many kinds. Do not forget the horsemen on the road. They could catch up to us at any time. Danisa seems to be a helpless victim, but she could also be the bait for a trap. Let us remember to be careful.”
That night, Photius and Javor shared the watch again, leaving Danisa to sleep through. Javor fretted through his shifts. He kept imaging the horrors he had seen already, the creatures from Ghastog’s mountain or the lizard-like thing from the ridge in the rain, creeping up behind him. Every sound, every creak of branches, every hoot of an owl was terror. And now, he was frightened not just for himself, but for Danisa, as well. Then he would look at her sleeping face, the way she held her hand close to her face as she slumbered, and he felt both comforted and vigilant at the same time.
Worst of all were the sounds of wolves howling, sometimes distant, sometimes near. When they howled, neither Photius nor Javor slept, but sat back to back, staring into the shadows until their eyes hurt.
But the daylight times that followed became the happiest time in Javor’s life. The sun rose high, the weather was almost always clear and warm. Walking alongside a beautiful young woman who wore nothing but a thin tunic and occasionally an ill-fitting cloak, Javor could temporarily forget the previous month, the deaths of his family, the horrors of battles and demons. His focus narrowed again until his world was nothing but Danisa and the ground below his feet. Photius would have to touch his shoulder just to get his attention off Danisa.
Daytimes were beautiful with Danisa. She walked with Javor most of the time, and although she didn’t talk much about herself, she asked him a lot of questions. “Where are you going, anyway?” she had asked that first day. Photius had said they were travelling to Constantinople for Javor’s education, and she seemed to accept this.
She asked Javor about his home and the things he had seen on his journey. He was reluctant to say much at first, and she would narrow her lips again when he would not answer directly. Over the hours and days he relaxed and told her details. She seemed interested in his family, especially the few tales he could tell about his great-grandfather. And when he told her about Bilavod, she was entranced.
“A gryphon and a dragon! But those are fairy tales! You’re just teasing me because I am a girl.”
“No, it’s true. The gryphon seemed to want to help us, but I had to cut off the dragon’s foot to drive it away.”
“Oh, come now. Everyone knows you cannot pierce a dragon’s hide.”
“I know. But I have a magical dagger.”
“And where did you find a magical dagger?” she asked with a very sceptical expression, her lips drawing thin again.
Oops. So he had to tell her about Ghastog, about the attack on his village. He wept when he told her about his parents, and then he could not speak for a long time after.
Even though he was happy by day with Danisa, Javor’s nights began to fill with nightmares, of deep brooding dread that he could never remember when he woke. Often, he would waken in the middle of the night, sweat soaking his head, to see Photius sitting nearby, staring into the shadows, and Danisa lying near the dying fire. As he would drop back into sleep, he sometimes felt the ground below his head sucking him back, pulling at his spirit. He fought it, wasting more precious hours of sleep until Photius shook him for his turn to watch.
One night, he woke with a shock to see Danisa’s face, illuminated only by moonlight, inches from his own. She looked worried.
“What is it?” he asked, sitting up.
“You were thrashing in your sleep and calling out. It was a nightmare.”
Tendrils of a dream faded from his memory as he tried to call them to mind. He couldn’t remember anything definite, just a feeling of panic that also faded in the soft moonlight. “I’m all right now,” he answered. She nodded and leaned forward to kiss him softly on the forehead. “Go back to sleep,” she whispered.
But Javor couldn’t sleep after that. He sat down beside Photius, who stared into the darkness. Neither of them said anything, but sat together until dawn.
In the morning, Danisa seemed especially attentive to Javor. She kept asking him if he felt rested and how he felt in general. She smiled at him a lot and made little jokes. She laughed and skipped ahead as they walked across meadows. She picked flowers and put them in her hair. Javor was perplexed and very, very pleased. Even Photius seemed to relax a little and smiled at her. That night, she slept very close to Javor; he woke once as he felt her back curve against his chest. He put his arm over her thin body and slipped back into sleep.
During the next few days, Danisa’s good mood continued. And Javor’s mood rose along with hers. They found more opportunities to be alone together, out of Photius’ gaze, even as they continued south. Once, Javor tried to interest Danisa in his favourite activity, climbing trees. Without any warning, he leaped up, grabbed a branch well out of Danisa’s reach and scrambled up. “Come on, it’s great!” he called down to her.
Danisa just looked up at him. “How?”
Javor reached down as low as he could, grabbed her hand and pulled her up. They were both astonished at his strength. She clung to the tree’s bole.
“Climb up higher with me, so we can see farther,” he said.
Danisa just shook her head. He saw that she was trembling. “You won’t fall. Just hang on. Look how steady these branches are.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and said “Please take me down.”
Javor did not understand it. He looked up then at the view. He could see rolling hills and the ever-present mountains. Closer, an exasperated Photius walked toward them.
“Come down from there, you two! We still have a long journey ahead!”
Javor looked farther down their path: nothing but trees under a clear sky. He shook his head and then carefully helped Danisa down.
Then next day was very hot, and even Photius slowed his pace. They came upon a pond and Photius announced they would rest there for the day. They set up a camp. Photius swam in the pond and then said he was going to look for herbs.
Javor took off all his clothes but his trousers. Danisa looked at him for a long moment, her lips apart. She saw a tall young man with a deep and broad chest and muscles rippling under fair skin. He looked back at her, liking what he saw: a slender brown-haired girl smiling at him, wearing his own tunic. It gaped open at the top, exposing enough of her breasts to stop his heart. Together, they jumped into the pond and splashed each other. The wet tunic clung to Danisa’s skin and became almost transparent. Javor stayed low in the water to hide his arousal, but she saw it and laughed merrily.
Drying under the
summer sun, Javor had never felt better in his life. Is this what happy feels like?
A sudden summer storm came that evening. Photius found his own shelter, leaving the two young people in each other’s arms under a huge fallen tree. The thunder startled Danisa and the rain chilled them both. They cuddled closer together and as suddenly as the lightning they were kissing. As the rain ran down over their skin, they were making love, softly yet intensely. And as the rain lightened and stopped, they held each other’s naked bodies close and fell asleep.
Danisa woke with a gasp in the morning and pulled away from Javor. She covered herself quickly with the old tunic and wouldn’t speak to him the rest of the day.
Javor could not understand her. Making love to Danisa was the culmination of his hopes since he had rescued her. But she would not walk with him anymore, instead staying close to Photius.
The first time they were alone, Javor put his hand on her shoulder, but she slapped it away. “Danisa, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you last night?”
“Shut up!” she hissed, and stalked away. Her face was red and he could not see her lips. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said.
“You didn’t hurt me, you idiot!”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Just shut up, will you? Never mention last night again, to anyone!” And that was all she would say to Javor for a long time. She asked Photius about the Roman Empire, and Photius, delighted to be asked, talked the rest of the day.
Chapter 13: The stricken village
Danisa never took a watch at night; that was left to Photius and Javor. The old man did not say anything about it, and Javor would not let himself resent the fact that, of the three of them, only Danisa could sleep through the night.
But Javor started to feel that resentment at the end of an especially exhausting day. It seemed that they climbed up hills all day long. At night, clouds hid the moon and stars and stifled the wind. The air was damp, heavy, oppressive. Danisa ate the food the men found without saying a word, then stretched out on a mossy bit of ground and closed her eyes.
Photius took the first sleeping turn and was soon snoring. Javor found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. It seemed pointless: without a fire, he could barely make out Photius’ head in the darkness, couldn’t see Danisa except as perhaps a slightly darker shadow on the ground. he couldn’t see whether there was anything between the trees.
He experimented, closing his eyes and opening them suddenly. Almost no difference, he decided. With his eyes closed, he could see diffuse, dim blue lights that, when he opened his eyes, were replaced by deep grey and black shadows.
Gradually, Photius’ snoring faded. Javor closed his eyes one more time and then saw Elli from Nastasciu. They walked hand-in-hand across a meadow scattered with white flowers. The sun was warm on their shoulders, and they were laughing.
They came to a stream, and then Elli wasn’t Elli, but Danisa, and then she changed again into another woman he had never seen before. He realized they were both naked.
Javor leaned forward and kissed the strange woman on the mouth. She parted her lips and drew his tongue into her mouth. They lay on the ground. He could see—no, somehow he just knew, she was much older than him. She rolled on top of him, trailing kisses over his jaw, his chin, onto his throat. Every kiss made her seem older. Her hands roamed over his naked skin, and her kisses became nips and bites. She kissed his throat hard, sucking the skin into her mouth until it hurt.
A sharp pain penetrated his neck, and his eyes flew open as he gasped. The sun was gone the sky was dark, and Javor felt cold. He was back in the night under the oak tree, and there was a terrible pain in his neck. He groped at it and felt something … hairy. It fluttered and Javor cried out.
Photius was awake instantly, reaching for Javor. “What is it, boy?” Something at his neck squirmed and fluttered and sprang away into the darkness and Javor felt blood trickling down the side of his neck.
“Strigoi!” Photius hissed. He held his staff near Javor’s face, illuminating a wound on Javor’s neck: two small round incisions. “Bloodsuckers! We’ll have to be more careful.”
Danisa woke and gasped when she saw the blood on Javor’s neck. She found a piece of cloth to dab it as Photius reignited their cooking fire. He rooted through his pack for some dry leaves, crushed them and rubbed them onto Javor’s wound. He gave the young man water to drink and told him to sleep. But Javor could not sleep—he was terrified. He remembered hearing stories of the bloodsuckers, who would bite people on the neck and turn them into more undead bloodsuckers, doomed to hide from the sun and roam only at night, always hungry for human flesh.
After that, they chose their campsites earlier in the day and kept the fire burning through the night.
Two days later, they came upon a village. It had no stockade, no wall; its only protection was a low ridge and a stand of trees. In a rough clearing stood a dozen or so low, crude round huts. In the centre, a small communal fire gave only smoke, no warmth. Javor didn’t see any gardens or fields for crops.
And there was almost no sound. No one spoke. Even the wind was still. A few apathetic faces turned toward them as they entered the circle of huts, then turned away. Javor saw that every person who looked at them tended someone else who was lying prone on the ground. No one spoke; a few chewed slowly on dry crusts of bread.
Javor drew back when he saw their emaciated faces, grey skin and lifeless eyes. “It’s a pestilence! Let’s get out of here before we catch it, too!”
But Photius wouldn’t go. His brow furrowed more deeply than usual. He took one of the villagers by the chin and looked into her eyes. A thin young woman wasted well beyond her years, she did not react. He went to another villager kneeling in the dirt. Javor thought he looked like a grandfather, but he was really no more than thirty. Again, Photius lifted his chin, gazed into his eyes and looked at his neck. He checked four more villagers the same way. “It’s not a pestilence. It’s strigoi. The bloodsuckers that attacked you the other night. They’re minor demons that feed on the blood of the living. Look here,” he said, and lifted another villager’s chin. He pointed to two small wounds, angry red on the grey neck of the thin man. “You had these same wounds the other night.”
“The strigoi have colonized this village. They come every night and drain their victims’ blood until they’re just barely alive, then return the next night. In this way, they can survive for months before the village succumbs and they move on to the next village.”
“Have you seen this before?” Danisa asked.
“Strigoi infest this region. They are notorious among my order. Javor, do you want to help these people?”
Javor wanted to run as fast as he could, but something in him made pity stronger at that moment. He nodded.
“Good. I’m going to gather some herbs in the forest before nightfall. While I do that, I want the two of you to look through all the huts here and gather all the garlic you can find.”
“Garlic?” But without answering, Photius disappeared into the trees. Danisa and Javor started looking through huts.
The first one that Javor entered disgusted him. Rats rustled in the darkness, squeaking in protest as he shuffled through the villagers’ meagre possessions. He found a strand of garlic cloves tied together near the door. A villager sprawled on a straw mat, staring at him silently. He took the garlic and went to the next hut.
In hut after hut, he found the same situation: one or two people lying down, alive or dead, he couldn’t tell. Rats ran without fear through the homes, their droppings crunching under his feet. Some homes had garlic, others none. By the time he was done, he was carrying a score of garlic cloves plus two heavy strands, and his hands stank. He put them in a pile on a flat, clean stone near the centre of the village. Danisa had found even more and piled them together. In all the time they had rummaged through every hut, none of the villagers had spoken; they barely even moved. Only a few looked at Danisa, but without interest, the way sheep woul
d.
Photius returned carrying leaves and weeds. He started pulverizing leaves and boiling water, mixing things together. The villagers sat listlessly. Not one has even asked who we are or what we’re doing. Photius filled a bowl with mixed, crushed leaves and boiling water. He blew on the mixture to cool it, set it aside, and poured more water into other bowls. He touched his lips to the first bowl and judged it to be cool enough, then brought it to the thin young woman he had examined earlier and held it to her lips. “Danisa, come help me,” he ordered when the woman didn’t respond.
Reluctantly, Danisa stepped closer to the village woman. “Hold her head up,” Photius said. Danisa fluttered her hands and shook her head. Photius glared at her impatiently. Danisa brought her hands close to the sick woman’s head, then stepped away. “I cannot,” she whined.
Photius shook his head and called Javor over. The young man tilted the sick woman’s head up and held her jaw as Photius poured some of the liquid into her mouth, but she wouldn’t swallow; her mouth overflowed and the liquid dripped off her chin onto her lap.
Shaking his head, Photius dipped his fingers into another bowl that held some paste he had mixed, and smeared it onto her throat. They went to another villager, an emaciated man who looked old, but something told Javor he could not have been more than 20. They repeated the process, but this time the man drank a little of Photius’ potion.
Holding the man’s head, Javor shifted uncomfortably. The amulet, against his skin under his thin tunic, chafed his chest. He slipped a hand under his tunic to move it, dropping their patient’s head. Photius scowled and muttered.
As Javor’s fingers brushed the amulet, it seemed to … vibrate. He jerked his hand away, jostling the patient. Photius glared at him again as the villager slumped lower. Javor shrugged. How could it be vibrating by itself? What does that mean?
Photius gently lowered the villager to the ground and then went to another, who also apathetically sipped a little of the potion. They dosed several more villagers before Photius said they should eat. “Look to see what stores we have in our packs, Javor. I wouldn’t touch any of the food in this place,” said Photius.