And for Kelley Granzow and her lifemate Rick
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Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Dr. Christopher Tong who is a continual source of information. It was his brainchild to use the Carpathian language as the proto-language of the Hungarian and Finnish languages. Dr. Chris Tong (www.christong.com) is fluent in several languages, did undergraduate studies in linguistics at Columbia University and graduate studies in computational linguistics at Stanford University. He has also studied the world’s great spiritual, mythic and healing traditions for the past thirty years (and personally participated in several of them). He is also the founder of The Practical Spirituality Press, and the author of several books on “practical spirituality.” Thank you, Mary for speaking Hungarian and giving us a place to start!
Contents
Acknowledgments
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Appendix 1Carpathian Healing Chants
Appendix 2The Carpathian Language
1
Natalya Shonski drew the pair of black leather trousers up over her legs and settled them on her hips where they molded to her body. Leather helped prevent injury during battles and she was certain she would be running into trouble tonight. As she pulled on the soft leather camisole, she glanced around the meticulously clean room she’d rented. The inn was small, but colorful with tapestries on the walls and bright patterned covers decorating the bed. Her weapons were laid out with great care over the beautifully woven quilt.
She began to slip various weapons into the specially made compartments and loops in her leather pants. Throwing stars with razor-sharp edges. Several knives. A belt that provided her with room for more weapons and extra clips for the twin guns she fit snugly into the harness under each arm. She put on one of her new peasant blouses and donned the brightly colored fur vest the local women wore for warmth, effectively hiding her arsenal.
The long skirt not only hid the leather pants, but also helped her to blend into the local population. She’d chosen a colorful one, rather than the severe black kind the older women often wore, and tied a scarf over her tawny hair to further disguise herself.
Satisfied she looked as much like a local as possible, she shoved two Arnis sticks into the well-worn loops on her backpack and opened the doors to the balcony. She had deliberately chosen a room on the second floor. Her many enemies would find it difficult to approach unnoticed while she could escape easily to the ground below or go up and over the roof.
Natalya rested her hands on the balcony rail and leaned out to survey the countryside. The small village was nestled at the bottom of one of the tall jagged peaks that formed the formidable Carpathian Mountains. Numerous small farms were scattered across the green, rolling hills. Stacks of hay dotted the meadows and led the way up the mountain to the timberline. Above the heavy forest were rocky peaks, still glistening with snow. She felt as if she’d stepped back in time with the simple homes and the rustic way of life, yet she felt as if she’d come home. And that was truly odd. She had no home.
Natalya sighed and closed her eyes briefly. More than anything in the world, she envied these people their families. Their laughter and children and the love shining in their eyes and on their faces. She longed to belong somewhere. Be needed by someone. To be treasured by one single person. Just to be able to truly be who she was, share a real conversation. . . .
Her fingers found deep grooves in the railing and she found herself rubbing the polished wood, the pads of her fingers stroking along the grooves almost in a caress. Startled, she examined the scores in the hardwood. It looked as if a large bird had dug talons deep into the railing, although the marks were old and the innkeepers kept the intricately carved balcony polished and free of splinters.
She inhaled the night air and stared up toward the top of the mountain. Somewhere up there was her goal. She had no idea what drove her to come to this particular spot, but she trusted her instincts. She needed to climb to the top and find whatever it was that wouldn’t let go of her. Thick mist hid the mountaintop, enveloping the peak in an impenetrable cloud. Whether the cloud was natural condensation or a preternatural warning made no difference. She had no choice but to climb the mountain, the compulsion driving her was far too strong to ignore.
Natalya took a last look toward the swirling white mists and headed back into her room. There was no point in putting it off. She’d spent the last week mingling with the people in the village, establishing friendships with a few of the women and getting a feel for the area. She found she needed human companionship although her life was very solitary. She enjoyed the time spent with the local women and had gleaned quite a bit of information from them, but she was always saddened that her friendships could never go beyond the surface. It made for a lonely life and she yearned to belong somewhere, to let someone like the innkeeper, Slavica Ostojic, know who and what she was just so Natalya could have the luxury of being honest with someone she truly liked.
The hallway and stairs were narrow, leading to the sitting room below. The room opened into the dining hall on one end and a bar on the other. Many of the locals drank beer in the evening and visited together after a hard day’s work. She waved to two or three people she recognized, her gaze automatically scanning the rooms, noting exits, windows and above all, new faces. Several men sitting at the bar glanced at her. She catalogued the lined faces, the friendly smiles and assessing glances, filed them away just in case she met up with them again.
One pair of eyes flicked over her face, giving her pause. The perusal was quick, but it was thorough. He was reading her in the same way she was reading him. He certainly noticed the backpack with the double Arnis sticks and her ornate walking stick. Natalya turned away with a quick smile for the owner of the inn, grateful she could make her exit gracefully. If there was a sentry watching, she didn’t want him to know her plans.
“Slavica.” She took the innkeeper’s hands in hers. “Thank you so much for the wonderful meal.” She spoke in English because Slavica worked hard to perfect her language skills and always practiced. Deliberately she led the woman away from the bar to a more secluded spot in the sitting room where prying ears would not be able to overhear their conversation. “I’m heading up into the mountains and I’m often gone for days at a time while exploring. Don’t worry about me. I’ll return eventually. Give me a week at least before you panic.”
Slavica shook her head. “It is after sunset, Natalya. Here in the mountains and forests there can be . . .” She hesitated searching for the right word—“unrest. It’s better if you explore during the day when the sun is bright and there are people around you.” She looked up and met her husband’s eyes across the room and smiled.
Natalya instantly felt a pang of envy. She loved to watch the innkeeper with her husband, Mirko, and their daughter, Angelina, together. Their love for one another was always so obvious in the small little glances they exchanged and their many touches as they brushed by one another when they worked.
“I’ve gone out every evening and you’ve never objected,” Natalya reminded her. “And nearly all of those times were after sunset.”
Slavica gave her a faint smile. “I feel the difference tonight. I know you will think I’m superstitious, but something is not right this evening and it is better you stay here with us.” She patted Natalya’s arm. “There is much to do here. Mirko will play chess with you. He is qui
te good. Or I will teach you more about the local herbs and how to use them to heal.” Slavica was a trained nurse and renowned for her healing skills throughout the district and for her knowledge of the local healing herbs and how to use them. The subject fascinated Natalya and she enjoyed spending time in Slavica’s company while the woman imparted her knowledge.
Natalya shook her head, regret lingering in her heart. Slavica was the kind of woman that made her ache to be part of a family and community. “Thank you, Slavica, but I have protection.” She pulled the cross hanging on the thin silver chain from where it was hidden beneath her shirt. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”
Slavica started to protest, but stopped herself, pressing her lips together firmly. She simply shook her head.
“I know what I’m doing,” Natalya assured her. “I’m going to slip out through the kitchen if you don’t mind. I’ve got food and drink enough for several days and I’ll be back in the middle of next week if not sooner.”
Slavica walked with her through the dining room. Natalya risked another glance at the man sitting at the bar talking to Mirko. He seemed absorbed in the conversation, but she didn’t trust him. He had shown interest in her and it wasn’t the interest of a man looking for a woman. She had no idea what it was, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. She gave a small nod toward the man. “Who is he? I haven’t seen him in here before.”
“He travels through this way many times on business.” Slavica’s expression gave nothing away. “He’s very quiet and I don’t know what his business is.”
“Is he married?”
The innkeeper looked alarmed. “This man is not for you, Natalya. He is welcome here as all travelers are, but he is not for you.”
Natalya didn’t dare risk another glance in the man’s direction. He was far too observant and she didn’t want to draw his attention. She walked through the dining room into the small kitchen. There was the inevitable sheep’s cheese and baskets of potatoes. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking for a man.”
“I have seen the yearning on your face and in your eyes when you look at children. When you see married couples,” Slavica said gently. “You wish for a family of your own.”
Natalya shrugged carelessly, avoiding the other woman’s gaze, not wanting to see the compassion she knew would be there. Was she becoming that obvious? When had it become so difficult for her to hide her feelings beneath her carefully cultivated “flip” personality? “I like traveling. I wouldn’t want to be tied down.” It was a blatant lie and for the first time in her life, she knew she had given herself away.
“It is natural to want a family and a man for yourself. I waited to find the right one,” Slavica counseled. “Even when my parents and neighbors thought I was too old and would never find him, I thought it better to wait than to make a mistake and tie myself to someone I didn’t want to spend my life with. I waited for Mirko and it was the right thing to do. We have a beautiful daughter and this place and that is enough. We’re happy together. You understand, Natalya? Don’t give yourself away to just any man because you think time is running out.”
Natalya nodded solemnly. “I understand and agree completely. I’m not feeling desperate to find a man, far from it. I’ll see you soon.” She pushed open the kitchen door, gave a cheery wave toward the frowning innkeeper and hurried out into the night.
After the warmth of the inn, the air outside was cold, but she was prepared for that. She walked briskly along the narrow road leading toward the mountain trail. An empty horse cart passed her and she called out asking for a ride. The farmer hesitated and then stopped for her. Natalya caught up the hem of her skirt and ran to catch up before he could change his mind. Most of the locals used the horse carts rather than cars. They were simple vehicles, a wagon on tires pulled by one or two horses. They were used for everything from transportation to hauling great sheafs of hay.
“Thank you, sir,” she said as she tossed in her walking stick and climbed aboard. She settled herself toward the back of the cart, not wanting to make the farmer more uncomfortable than he already seemed to be hauling a strange woman around.
To her surprise he spoke. Most of the older married men were quite reserved around younger, single women. “What are you doing out this late? The sun has gone down.” He glanced nervously around him.
“Yes it has,” she agreed, avoiding the question. “You’re out late as well.”
“It isn’t good,” he said. “Not this night.” He kept his voice very low. The concern in his tone was unmistakable. “Better you should allow my wife and I to put you up for the night. Or I could take you to the inn.” He was looking up at the moon, at the clouds swirling over it, partially blocking the light and it was clear he didn’t want to turn back. He shook the reins to speed the horse up.
Natalya glanced up at the sky and the boiling clouds that had not been there minutes before. The heavy mist obscuring the top of the mountains spread like bony fingers, reaching up toward the moon and lower for the forest. Lightning edged the mist in golden arcs. Thunder rumbled in the distance, centered mainly over the mountain.
She slid her hand inside her fur vest and touched the handle of her gun. “The weather changed fast this evening.” And it wasn’t natural.
“It happens that way in the mountains,” the farmer said, clucking at the horse with urgency. “It’s best to take cover until things settle down.”
Natalya didn’t reply. She had to get to the top of the mountain. Had spies let her enemies know she was close? Were they waiting for her? She turned her attention to the countryside passing by so quickly. Was there movement in the shadows? If so, she had to lead trouble away from the farmer. They had traveled far past the perimeters of the village and well out into the rolling hills where farms dotted the landscape.
She stayed alert, watching for signs of an impending attack, her senses flaring out into the night, reaching for information. She inhaled, taking the night air deep into her lungs, working to unravel the stories the wind brought her. The wind carried the stench of evil. The whisper of movement in the forest. The scent of wolves, restless beneath the moon. Her chin lifted. So be it. She didn’t go looking for fights. She was, in fact, usually the first to walk away, but she was tired of being pursued, of looking over her shoulder every minute of every day. If they wanted to fight, she had come prepared, because this time she wasn’t going to turn away.
The farmer pulled the cart onto a narrow lane. The horse slowed to make the sharp turn and Natalya jumped off, waving at the farmer as she hurried away. He called out to her, but she kept going, walking briskly up the hillside toward the timberline.
The moment she was certain she was out of the farmer’s sight, she stripped off the brightly colored skirt and blouse, folding them along with the scarf and tucking them into her backpack. The double Arnis sticks went into loops at the back of her belt for easy retrieval. Her entire demeanor changed as she gripped the familiar walking stick. She strode with tremendous confidence, weaving in and out of the hay sheaves until she was clear of the farms. A walking path led up the mountain, a trail for goats, not humans, but she took it because it was the most direct approach.
She crossed through a field of alpine flowers, the blossoms everywhere as she pushed through the high grasses toward the slope of timber. The moon was almost completely hidden by the darkening clouds, and the closer she got to the forest, the louder the thunder boomed. Flowers and grass gave way to bushes and scrub. Large boulders dotted the slope. A few heartier flowers had managed to find their way into the crevices. The trees were small and very scraggly, but as she wound her way through two more switchbacks, the vegetation changed completely, growing fuller and taller.
Natalya had studied the Carpathian Mountains. She knew the range was one of Europe’s largest homes for carnivores, rich with brown bear, wolves and lynx. The mountains stretched across seven countries in Central Europe and the heavily wooded forests were one of the last refuges left to
Europe’s rare and nearly extinct birds and larger predators. Although home to millions of people, the Carpathian Mountains boasted huge tracts of land that remained utterly wild and dangerous.
She paused to examine the pristine forest surrounding her. The area received twice the rainfall of surrounding regions and the amazing forests and green hills gave evidence of the amount of water that fed the river systems below. The vivid colors of green drew her into the coolness of the forest almost as a compulsion would. Why did she know this place? How had she dreamt of it? How did she know that when she took the path on her left, which was no more than a deer path, it would lead her deep into the interior and she would find the faint trail that would take her to the very top of the mountains, right up into the swirling mists where few people ventured to go?
She moved fast along the path, using a light, ground-eating jog that took her through the brush quickly. She had to make it to the top of the mountain and find the entrance to the caves before sunup.
The forest grew more dense, the plants more exotic and lush as she hurried through the seemingly impenetrable trees. Swaying branches interlocked overhead, blocking most of the moonlight. Natalya had no problem seeing where she was going. In addition to excellent night vision, she’d always had a sense of radar that prevented her from running into obstacles.
She moved through the forest swiftly but with instinctive caution, fully alert, aware of the smallest of rustlings, the silence of insects and the faintest of scents that would indicate she wasn’t alone.
Her mouth went suddenly dry and her heart rate increased. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled with unease. She was being stalked.
Behind her shadows slipped around the trees in an effort to surround her. Natalya continued jogging at the same steady pace. As she ran she transferred her grip on the walking stick to the familiar grooves at the top of it in preparation for a fight.
Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS Page 78