Diaries of the Family Dracul - The Covenant with the Vampire Part 11

The great clock in the hall has just struck two, but I still cannot sleep, despite the fact that Arkady insisted I take a small sip of the laudanum. He took a great deal of it himself, being as agitated as myself, though he tried to hide it because he was trying to comfort me in my terror. That was shortly before one o'clock. Now he is snoring loudly, while I struggle against the unpleasant, helpless dreaminess induced by the drug. It has the opposite of its intended effect: I fight to stay awake, for I prefer to have my wits about me in critical times.

I am so frightened. Writing is the only thing that calms me these days. My hope that we would soon leave Transylvania was short-lived. Arkady returned very late from speaking with Vlad yesterday evening, and this morning he would give no details of that encounter, but only said that it would be "a little while longer" before we are able to take our holiday.

I know what that means. In a "little while longer," I will definitely not be able to travel. It is already risky enough as it is. I could tell from Arkady's subdued demeanour that Vlad has refused our request, and they have had an argument, and my good husband could not bring himself to tell me. He spent the day traveling to and from Bistritz, then went directly to the castle, and returned home quite late, after I had retired.He did not come to bed, but remained in his study. I knew this because I could not sleep, in part because I was bitterly disappointed about the postponement of our holiday, but also because I felt a growing uneasiness over Zsuzsanna. She seems quite improved, and her colour is better than it was when I first arrived at the manor. She was even up and about today. When I visited her in her bedroom, she was dressed and sitting in the window-seat, gazing out the open window to her left, at the forest in the distance. As I entered, she glanced over her shoulder at me, briefly, with a child's smile, then pointed excitedly at the distant pines.

"Look, there! Do you see it?"

I crossed the room and stood behind her to squint, and saw nothing but forest, so far away that the trees were really quite indistinguishable from each other. "What is it you see, Zsuzsanna?" I asked pleasantly, and without thinking, placed a hand upon her shoulder.

"An owl!" she exclaimed. "Can you see him? There, to the right-up in the very highest branches."

I could, of course, see nothing, and stammered a reply about her eyesight being quite remarkable, which seemed to please her, though really I knew" it had to be the product of fancy. She could have made out nothing at that distance.

It was not her imaginary sighting which troubled me, but the sudden realization that my hand rested upon a shoulder which was normal-as perfect and healthy as its mate, and indeed, her entire spine, which was now quite straight.

She turned, and, trying not to ogle, I sat beside her on the window-seat and we had a brief conversation about how much better she was feeling. Her only complaint was that she did not have much appet.i.te. I finally told her that Arkady had been sick but was entirely well now, and she seemed politely concerned, though not upset by this news. I also told her that one of the servants' dogs had recently had puppies, and hinted that the best of the litter could be reserved for her, if she wanted, but she was not at all interested. She seemed preoccupied, and kept glancing out the window as if looking for something.

At the end of our talk, she rose and saw me to the door. It was not my imagination: she was taller, and walked without a trace of her formerly p.r.o.nounced limp.

This worried me. I know it did Dunya, too, for when I relayed this to her, her lips pressed together tightly, and she shook her head, saying: "I do not understand, doamna. It is not a good sign."

I then asked her to explain more fully the covenant, the Schwur of which she had spoken.

She would not do so until I took her to my bedroom, and locked the door; and even then, she kept glancing nervously at the window. Her tale was so simple yet eerily elegant that I made her stop and speak slowly, that I might record it here, in her own words: The Testament of Dunya Moroz This is the story of the covenant with the strigoi, which my mother told to me, just as her mother told her, and her mother before her.

More than three hundred years ago, now almost four, the strigoi was a living man, Vlad the Third, known to most as Vlad Tsepesh, the Impaler, voievod of Valahia, to the south. He was greatly feared by all for his great ambition and his bloodthirstiness, and for his crimes he came to be known as Dracula, the Son of the Devil.

There are many stories of his terrible cruelty, especially to those guilty of betrayal or deceit.

Adulteresses would have their womanly parts cut out, then were skinned like rabbits, and their skins and bodies hung from separate poles where all in the village could see.

Sometimes a stake would be driven between their legs until it emerged from their mouths. Those who politically opposed Dracula died horribly as well, skinned alive or impaled.

Sometimes he impaled guilty mothers through the b.r.e.a.s.t.s and speared their unfortunate babes onto them. He could bear no insult to his pride. There is a tale told that a group of amba.s.sadors came from Italy, and removed their hats; beneath were skullcaps which, according to their custom, they never removed, not even before the emperor.

"Good," said Dracula, "then let me strengthen your customs," and he ordered the caps nailed to the men's skulls.

Despite his cruelty, Dracula was respected by his people, because during his reign no one dared be dishonest, or to steal, or to cheat another, because all knew recompense would be swift. It was said one could leave all one's gold in the village square and never fear it would be stolen. Dracula was admired, as well, for his fair att.i.tude towards the peasants and his courageous fight against the Turks. He was a skilled and brave warrior.

But the day came when, in the midst of a campaign, one of his own servants, in truth a Turkish spy, betrayed and slew him.

His men believed him dead. But the truth was that Dracula saw his coming defeat, for the Hungarian and Moldavian forces had recently departed, leaving him vulnerable to the Turks. It is said that at that time he was so hungry for blood and power he made a pact with the Devil to become immortal through blood-drinking so that he might rule forever, and that he antic.i.p.ated his own death, knowing that he would rise soon thereafter.

Once undead and immortal, the strigoi brought his family north from Valahia to the safety of Transylvania, where the Turks were not such a threat, and where he was less likely to be recognised. He claimed to be his own brother, but the truth of his ident.i.ty came to be whispered on the people's lips.

He soon set himself up as domnul of a small village. He was fearsomely cruel to those rumini who disobeyed, but generous to those who served faithfully. But soon times became difficult for the villagers. Many died from the strigots bite, and those in nearby towns were terrorised as well. Soon the population dwindled, and the survivors discovered how to keep the strigoi at bay. Some brave souls even tried to destroy him, and the strigoi became frightened his evil existence would soon come to an end. It became difficult, too, to keep secret all that was going on at the castle. He may control the mind of one man, or two, or even more, at the same time; but he cannot control the actions and thoughts of an entire village. And so he could no longer keep secrecy about what was happening at the castle. The tales spread all over Transylvania, and soon he was in danger of starving.

So he went to the village elders and made the covenant: He would not feed upon any in the village, and would support them more generously than any domnul in all the land, and make certain the wolves did not attack the livestock, if they in turn would protect him, help him to feed upon outsiders, strangers, and keep silent regarding the covenant.

The villagers agreed, and the town prospered; no one was killed except those few foolish souls who disobeyed. A generation ago, when the world was torn apart and starving because of Napoleon's wars, we were safe and well fed. Because of the strigoi, we have never gone hungry in a land that knows hunger. Cattle and horses no longer died when wolves attacked in winter, and the rumini lived well-so well that it became the custom to offer voluntarily those babies born too sickly or crippled to survive, of which there are many now, for few outsiders settle in the village because word of the covenant has spread throughout the countryside.

He also agreed: No strigoi but him, for the good of all. He pierces their bodies with stakes, then decapitates them, so they will not rise as undead.

For all the good he has brought us, we villagers fear him; for there are many stories of the terrible punishments he inflicts on those who break the pact, who try to harm him or warn those chosen as his victims. No one who ever tried to destroy the strigoi has survived.

Many villagers grumble and wish him harm; they grumble, and grow fat off the proceeds of the strigois fields.

They say, too, he has a similar covenant with his own family, an agreement that he will harm none of his own, and that the rest of the members may live in happy ignorance of the truth.

At this point we were disturbed by a knock as Ilona came to change the linens. Dunya started guiltily and left at once; I had wanted to ask her more about the family covenant, but she is clearly reluctant to discuss it in the presence of the other servants-and little wonder, for by speaking of it to me, she risks a dreadful penalty-so I shall have to wait.

I thought about Dunya"s strange tale tonight as I lay sleepless, worrying about Zsuzsanna, about my husband, about my child, who would soon be born into this strange and fearful house.

In the midst of my fretful wakefulness I fell into an abrupt dream-state, similar but deeper and harder to shake off than that evoked by laudanum. At first I thought sleep had come at last and welcomed it gratefully, for it was altogether pleasant.

I floated in that blissful state for an unknown period of time until I became gradually aware of a solitary, hypnotic image dominating my consciousness: Vlad's dark green eyes.

I forced myself awake at once, and sat up groggily in the bed, my heart pounding with anxiety. I knew- knew, though I could not explain how I had come by such a revelation- that he was with Zsuzsanna once again. I rose and stole on bare feet over to the velvet curtains. Light shone beneath the door, bearing witness that Arkady was still across the hall in the study.

I raised a hand to lift a curtain aside-and hesitated, telling myself that I was being ridiculous, that Dunya was at-that very moment with Zsuzsanna in her room, that her stout little presence and the garlic ensured that no harm would come to them.

Yet I could not shake the premonition of danger.

Timidly, I pulled the curtain back an inch and peered through the crack.

The moon was waning, and the night no longer so bright, but my eyes were accustomed to the darkness. I detected nothing on the grounds between our bedrooms, and was just about to let go the curtain and chide myself for being unnecessarily anxious when I realised that Zsuzsanna's shutters had been flung back.

I strained harder to see, but in the darkness, could only be sure that the shutters were open. It was impossible to judge whether the sash had been thrown up. I leaned closer, nose almost touching the window.

A dark, growling form hurled itself out of the shadows and struck the gla.s.s with such force that it cracked scarcely an inch in front of my face.

I screamed in surprise. The attacker fell back, but gathered itself and once again charged, pressing against the gla.s.s its snout and a long muzzleful of sharp yellow teeth, bared in a hideous snarl.

I dropped the curtain and ran for the door, by which time Arkady had already thrown it open. To my surprise he brandished a pistol, as though he had stood by ready and armed for just such an emergency. He threw his arm up to push me away from the danger, and, following my terrified gaze, pulled back the curtain and aimed the weapon just as the wolf lunged for the third time, again cracking the pane and rattling the window in its sash.

He fired into the darkness, staggering slightly as the weapon kicked in his hand; the pane shattered with a high, crystalline tinkle. I expected to hear a yelp, a shrill whine, but all without was silence. I was too frightened to get close enough to peer out, but Arkady's quizzical, uncertain expression said that the animal had simply vanished. He leaned forward and peered carefully out the window, and I stepped as close behind him as I could, mindful with my bare feet of the gla.s.s, and craned my neck to see over his shoulder.

There was no evidence whatsoever of the attacker, save for the shattered, saliva-smeared gla.s.s.

He turned towards me then, and I confess that my nerves gave way at that moment, and I did something I had never done before in front of my husband: I wept like an hysterical, terrified child. I know it worried him terribly to see me like that, and I wanted to stop at once, as he had been through so much himself recently-but it was some minutes before I was able to get control of myself. Sobbing, I begged him to take us away to Vienna. He promised he would, but I know he said it merely to quiet me. He could not at that moment entirely meet my gaze.

Ion and Ilona came knocking at the door, in response to the gunshot; Arkady dismissed them brusquely, then brought out the laudanum in a desperate effort to calm me, but drank more of it than I.

How can I permit myself to sleep? No normal creature could have lunged two floors to strike the gla.s.s. I am so frightened. Frightened to think what will become of Zsuzsanna; frightened to think what will become of my child.

I have been warned.

No, worse-I have been overtly threatened. I know this, for in that terrible instant when my face was separated from the snarling wolf's by less than an inch of gla.s.s, I saw deep into his wild, intelligent eyes.

Hungry, compelling eyes; eyes of darkest forest green.

He knows that I have found him out, that I understand about Zsuzsanna. That I am trying to persuade Arkady to take us away. Dear G.o.d, somehow he knows, and with a mother's instinct I know that he will never let me or my husband or child leave this place.

Zsuzsanna Tsepesh's Diary 17 April.

The shutters are all open.

I was too weak to close them, too weak to replace the garlic, too weak to maintain the charade. It is just as well; now, from my bed, I watch the first rays of the sun pour through the window like melted b.u.t.ter, spilling across the grey, silent room, over sleeping Dunya, over the mounds of my legs beneath the quilt.

My strong, perfect legs.

The light is so radiant, so golden, so bitterly beautiful that my throat aches with tears unwept. This is the last dawn I will ever see.Through some peculiar resolve of will, I have found the strength to write. I am determined to leave behind the record of my pa.s.sage.

But for whom?

I am dying. I know that my lungs will cease to breathe, my heart to beat; yet I am a.s.sured that the end I confront is not truly death, nor the existence to which I go truly life. For I know all that he knows, and my melancholy at the thought of pa.s.sing from this brief, unhappy, crippled existence is tempered by a growing awe, a growing joy: my shroud will be a chrysalis, from which I shall emerge beautiful, perfected, immortal.

Our communion is complete. Last night, I knew when Dunya would fall beneath his spell, knew the precise moment when he would arrive. I had freed myself from the restraint of my nightgown and was waiting for him by the window inside the shaft of moonglow, lifting my arms before my wondering, wide eyes, beguiled by the radiance of that silvery light on my naked skin: already I could see sparks of pink and gold, the beginnings of that glorious, opalescent fire in my own flesh.

Out of that magnificent brightness he appeared beside me. I said nothing, but lifted my long, heavy hair from my neck and presented myself to him, knowing it would be the last time he would sup there. He wound my hair tightly round his hand and pulled my head back, back, with the other hand pressing my waist to his.

His teeth found the tiny, tender wounds again; I shivered as they sank, quickly, neatly, into my flesh, shivered again as his tongue began to work, rapidly at first, to encourage the flow, then slowly, voluptuously, but drawing hard, with such pressure that I moaned at the pain.

Despite the discomfort, I did not struggle, but permitted myself to fall at once into that deep, delicious swoon, my heart racing with excitement at the knowledge (his, and now mine) that he would feed ruthlessly, beyond satiation, that he would once again take me to that uniquely sensual precipice at the threshold of death... and then beyond, across the great abyss.

I sensed his pleasure, too-the pleasure I had known myself two nights before, the ecstasy of utter power over another's life and death, of ultimate seduction, of pure animal hunger appeased: the fierce, b.l.o.o.d.y joy of the hunt and the kill.

And he knew my ravishment; and even, submerged, my slight, bitter remorse at leaving this life without having tasted fully of its delights.

Thus it was he stopped, having drunk but briefly (and now, I know, sufficiently). I whimpered as he withdrew, but fell silent as he lifted crimson, dripping lips to my ear and whispered, "Zsuzsa..."

I heard the worlds contained within that single word. I heard his question veiled therein, and in my sigh, he heard consent.

He let go my hair; it swung, soft and loose, against my bare back. The hand at my waist eased its grip and I staggered back, struggling for balance, but not yet weak, not yet drained of strength.

Yet he had drunk enough to be uncannily powerful. With the hand that had held my hair, he loosened the clothing that separated him from me-not freeing himself entirely, but revealing again the broad expanse of chest, unscarred, free of any sign of the wound which united us.

Revealing far, far more.Oh, I have lived a sheltered life, yes, but I had read of le pet.i.t mort, the little death, and wondered at the term. I laughed as I reached for the instrument of my execution- albescent, as cool and smooth and hard beneath my fingertips as marble. Shuddering at my spidery touch, he joined softly in my laughter, for we saw in our shared mind's eye the same vision, evoked by my own thoughts from his ancient memory: The forest of staked dead, four centuries ago. The adulterous and unrepentant wives he had ordered to death in his capacity as voievod. How they had shrieked! How they had fought when forced down on their backs against the muddy spring ground outside the castle, while the smiling, appreciative prince watched. Five burly rumini per woman to spread her like a star: Two to pin writhing torso and arms down, two more, one gripping each kicking calf, to part the legs wide.

And only one to thrust the pine stake (ten feet long, wider than a strong man's arm and generously oiled, sharpened to permit rapid entry, but the tip blunted just enough so death might not come too blessedly quick) up between those whoring thighs.

There are none he hates worse than the faithless; none he loves more than the loyal.

Oh, the screams, as justice penetrated the traitorous! Oh, the strangled cries as the poles were then hoisted aloft, anch.o.r.ed in the ground, and the weight of the body allowed to more deeply drive the punishment home! Men who dared betray the voievod met their fate in similarly metaphoric fashion, gored through the a.n.u.s. Sometimes the offenders were suspended for days, by which time the stakes extruded from stomachs, or throats, or sometimes, most elegantly, from gaping, death-stilled mouths.

The image filled him with sudden fire, which then engulfed and consumed me. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be so thoroughly pierced; to open and feel him emerge like a blooming calyx between the petals of my parted lips.

His hand was still upon the small of my naked back, but gentle; I pressed against him, anxious, impatient, threw my arms around him, pleaded with him, begged him to take me, now, now, now.

He did not move. His lips, dark with my blood, curved slyly upwards; heavy lids lowered over those brilliant and alluring eyes. He seemed as young and handsome then as Kasha- no, even younger, and more innocently beautiful, the archangel, the light-bringer, before the Fall. He shook his head, and I understood.

He would not take me. I had been the seductress all along; I had summoned him to me. He had broken the covenant only at my insistence, because of my need, and if he were to break mortal, familial taboos to consummate our marriage in the flesh, it would have to be my doing, as well, I would have to take him.

He remained motionless, a marble statue as I locked my fingers behind his muscular neck and hoisted myself aloft like one of the doomed adulteresses, pulling my torso at first too high, then slowly easing downward until I discovered the effective angle.

I locked my legs around him, and with a swift, violent motion, impaled myself. Impaled myself. Again. Again.

He gripped my hips, his knifelike fingernails cutting into my flesh, and thrust forward till he could fill me no farther. With a savagery that terrified and tormented and delighted me, he tore at my neck with his teeth, transforming the pinp.r.i.c.ks there into gushing wounds. The warm river of blood overflowed his hungry mouth and cascaded over my breast, my stomach, trickling down to where we two were joined.I writhed against him as he drank until my skin was sticky with blood; until I was spent and throbbing with pleasure; until I was dizzy and faint and once again overwhelmed by the peculiarly languid, ecstatic sense of death's approach. My arms fell back, too weak to cling to his neck. He alone supported me, one hand spread at my hips, the other between my shoulder blades.

At last, he withdrew from my neck, from between my legs, and lay me back on the floor near the open window. I stared up at the sky, at the waning moon, and the sheer blinding brightness of it pained my eyes, yet I could not tear my gaze from its brilliant flashing- colour beauty. I saw colour everywhere: in the shimmering, mother-of-pearl moon, in the stars, in the stand of evergreens far beyond, which had never before been even visible to my naked gaze from this distance. I could see the bright blues and reds in my quilt, see the green in Vlad's eyes as he knelt to clean the congealing blood from my body with his pink tongue. My vision in the darkness was keener, more remarkable than a raptor's.

And I heard everything: every stirring in the forest outside, even Arkady's snoring in the bedroom across the grounds from mine. I heard the soft movement of sheets as Mary tossed in the bed, and knew she was awake. I heard the beating of my own heart, as deafening as it was achingly pleasurable, and nearby, Dunya's steady heartbeat and stertorous breathing. I could smell the warmth of her flesh, smell the scent of living blood mingled with my own-the cooling blood of the dying, the blood of the near-Changed.

And then Uncle- No, not my uncle. My husband drew back from my now-unstained body, and ran his tongue over his bloodied lips. Looking deep into my eyes, he said, "It is not yet finished."

I understood; and with agonising effort, lifted an arm to his head and guided it to my neck.

Astoundingly, the deep gashes there had already entirely healed. I felt no pain, no tenderness, just the feel of his tongue against smooth, undamaged flesh; and then I felt his lips move against my skin as he smiled. I smiled, too, weakly, for I knew it meant the Change was nearly complete.

Yet he hesitated; then brushed his lips against me as he moved his head down, over the ridge of my collarbone, down onto my breast. He encircled the nipple with his tongue, then paused, delicately settling his teeth there, until I felt the sharpest of them dent the very center of that pink-brown flesh.

Despite my weakness, I felt a sudden thrill at the realisation of what he was about to do. I laced my fingers tightly into the hair at the nape of his neck and forced him against me.

He pierced me once more, for the final time, and I gasped as I felt his teeth sink sharp into that tender, dark skin so near my heart. He sucked like a babe at my breast, with each pull of his mouth and tongue causing a renewed throb of pleasure between my legs. I cradled his head in my arms, a loving madonna surrendering my lifeblood to this infinitely old and wise saviour-child, my progenitor. He drank until my arms dropped and I could cradle him no more, until I descended into veiled, shadowy rapture, into dark, mindless ecstasy.

For hours I knew nothing. I remember the distant sound of an explosion, but it was merely a faint silver ripple against the deep velvet background of darkness.

Then, just before dawn, I emerged from my trance to discover he had gone, and left me in my nightgown in the bed. I was consumed by an urgent need to write this, my final entry, and so reached for the diary hidden beneath my pillow, and the pen and ink at my night- table.

At times I feel a stirring of fear at the realisation that death is so close at hand; but then I shut my eyes and allow myself to drink of his constant presence, his depth-less intelligence, and I know I am not alone. The knowledge of what I am soon to become comforts me. I go to the tomb victorious, certain of my resurrection.

To whoever reads these words: Do not weep for me, and do not judge. The life to which I go is far sweeter than the one that I have known.

The Diary of Arkady Tsepesh 17 April.

It is late morning, almost ten o'clock. Mary has risen and gone downstairs. I write these words in bed, staring out at the bright sunshine filtering through the open window.

Hoping to dispel gloom, I have pulled the curtains back, but from my comfortable vantage point against the pillows, I can see the light glint off the cracked, pockmarked pane. Last night's horrors-indeed, the whole, jumbled confusion of yesterday's puzzling revelations- seem distant, veiled by the lingering mental fog induced by laudanum.

To think that this bit of broken gla.s.s was all that stood between my wife, my child, and Death-!

Mary was quite beside herself with terror last night -and so was I, though to comfort her, I hid it. While I was reading in the study, a wolf leapt directly at the window while she was gazing through the pane. Had it burst through the gla.s.s- I cannot even write the words, cannot bear to think of the mildest harm coming to her or the child. Last night she wept as she begged me again to take her from here, and the sight of her thus tore at my heart. I promised I would.

But I cannot see my way clear to accomplishing it. Even so, I must try. I have never seen Mary hysterical- but then, never in my life have I heard of a solitary wolf attacking a human so boldly. In those precious moments when rationality returns, I can dismiss it as a strange, random event, as meaningless as it was distressing.