Diaries of the Family Dracul - The Covenant with the Vampire Part 16

The look of hurt betrayal on his face broke my heart. I wound the fingers of my left hand tightly round the crucifix until it cut into my flesh, and cried out to think my husband so under the vampire's spell that he was lost to me forever; to think that the blood which flowed in his veins-and the veins of our child-tied us irrevocably, eternally to the monster.

To think those bonds of blood could never be loosed, and that my child was doomed to tread the path of his unhappy ancestors.

Silently, I called upon Saint George, to wield his shining sword, and with one sweeping deadly blow, sever those crimson ties.

My despair must have shown clearly, for at the sight of it, Arkady choked, and all the anger seemed to leave him abruptly. He sagged with exhaustion, and in a low voice full of misery, asked, "Do you have any idea what you imply, by saying these things are true?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Poor Mary. My sweet darling, I have tainted you, the one I love most, with the evil here. I have brought you and our child into a viper's pit. It is all true...

Uncle is mad and a murderer, just like my father, his accomplice, and I am destined to become like them..." He buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the same vision of bloodstained generations that had visited me, and said, "My child! My poor child!" His torment was so keen I felt it, too, and could only stare sorrowfully at him as we were both stricken to silence by the utter cruelty of the truth. I waited, hopeful that he would come to his senses, that I could convince him to flee this place with me.

"You are no murderer," I said, with trembling voice. "But Vlad is strigoi, and he controls you. Let me bring you Zsuzsanna's diary. She has written of how he drank her blood..."

But I had not spent my childhood being taught to love and revere Vlad, and the vampire's blood did not flow in my veins. It was easier for me, a strong-willed outsider, to resist Vlad's mesmerism, to accept the truth, than it was for my poor husband. He raised his face and said hoa.r.s.ely: "Oh, Mary... Mary... It only proves that she is as mad as I. Go. Go now! I can bear no more!"

When I hesitated and opened my mouth to contradict him, he raised his voice: "Go!" And he went back to the chair beside the coffin, retrieved the pistol, and retook his place as guardian of Zsuzsanna's corpse-unaware that by so doing, he served neither reason nor loyalty nor love, but the most malignant of purposes.

I think his "uncle"-or more likely, his grandfather, removed by two dozen "greats"-has more influence over him than we shall ever know. At that moment, I saw Vlad"s eyes in the flickering gloom, heard in my mind his mocking laughter: So we thought he could be so easily outwitted, did we? So we thought Zsuzsanna was ours to do with as we wished?

Arkady's expression was hard, unreachable, as he turned his profile towards me and sat gazing down, grief-stricken, at his sister's voluptuous corpse, radiant in the wavering candlelight. I knew it would do no good to argue with him then, and so I left, downcast, defeated, but telling myself that exhaustion would most certainly claim him later that night.

It did not. He sat with her through the night of the eighteenth, and when, this morning, I learned from Dunya that he still remained by her side, wild-eyed, near delirium from refusing food and drink, my heart sank.

The funeral took place at noon. It was the most pitiful of affairs. Only four of the servants came, as tales of Zsuzsanna having died as a result of the bite of the strigoi had caused the rest to stay away. They came first to the drawing-room, and stood before the open coffin to pay their dead mistress a respectful moment's silence, with caps removed. Ion wept, and I thought I detected in his sorrow a hint of the indignant anger I had seen in Dunya, when she had first learned of the broken covenant. He tried to slip his own crucifix into his dead mistress's hands, but Arkady, watching jealously, s.n.a.t.c.hed it from him. For a moment, I thought my husband would fling it; instead, he thrust it in his pocket so that it might not be retrieved and shouted at the old gardener in Roumanian. I felt terribly sorry for the old man, and wished I could speak his language so that I could comfort him, for he regarded my husband with tearful bewilderment but replied not a word.

Ilona and Dunya came too, and stood gazing at the corpse with uneasy reverence, and more dread than sorrow-for they knew better than any the startling changes which the domnisoards body had undergone. The bright fear in Ilona"s large eyes said that she, too, understood her mistress would rest neither peacefully nor long, that the casket was a wooden womb which would birth a child perfect, beautiful, and monstrous.

Mihai and frail, dear Ion helped Arkady carry the casket into the tomb, which was a great struggle for the three of them; and because the others had left, no one had prepared the tomb for the ceremony. Zsuzsanna was laid to rest-no, not to rest! Not unless I can coax Arkady to leave her tonight-without flowers or candlelight or song in a tomb grimly festooned with spiderwebs and dust.

Rumpled and wild-eyed and unshaven, Arkady spoke. I do not remember what he said; I felt through the whole ceremony unwell, on the verge of fainting, and was relieved when it lasted no more than a few minutes. And then our somber little group trudged out-all except Arkady, who sat on the cold stone floor in front of his sister's coffin and drew out the pistol, clearly intending to sit vigil.

I was too distraught to try to plead with him anymore, and wanted only to hurry outside and be free of the still, oppressive air in the tomb, but Dunya paused to speak to him in Roumanian. In response, he took aim at her with the pistol.

We left him there. What else could we do? All the words in the world cannot help him or his sister at this point.

I had Mihai take a message this afternoon to the castle, saying there would be no pomana this evening, as Arkady was indisposed.

Like the servants, I am prepared to flee. I have packed the trunks, and now need only to retrieve my poor husband. I am determined to make good on my promise to Vlad: We will not stay.

Dunya says the vampire cannot cross running water, except in his coffin of earth. Very well; Arkady and I shall make our escape at morning, and will not stop until we cross the Muresh River, which we should make by dusk if we drive the horses hard. Until then, we will remain ensconced in the nursery, which Dunya has made a safe haven, with garlic wreaths at the window and door, and everywhere else, the portraits of saints. She keeps a candle burning in front of an icon of Saint George, who wields a sword, ready to lop off the head of dracul- the dragon.

The Devil.

I remembered it was the word by which Mister Jeffries referred to Vlad; Dunya has explained to me that the villagers call Arkady's family by this name.

I have been praying to Saint George, too-praying that he will protect my husband and child. I would kill the dragon with my own hand, if that were possible, but Dunya says it is too dangerous to attempt and that, during the day when it is safest to destroy him, the door to his resting place remains locked and bolted, and is too heavy for any single soul to break down. Those who have tried have all met violent deaths.

How many centuries must we wait for the holy dragonslayer to incarnate on this earth and deliver us from this monster?

Dunya and I have discussed what must be done to bring Arkady out of the tomb, to prevent Zsuzsanna from rising as strigoi tonight. It seems impossible that he could stay awake much longer; but if he does, it is my plan to go to him, like Delilah, offering to ease his thirst... with a draught containing laudanum. If sweet words will not coax him, then the poppy will.

The sun is lower in the sky; it is time.

Saint George, deliver us.

Chapter 11.

The Journal of Mary Windham Tsepesh 19 April, addendum.Dear G.o.d, he has infiltrated our little haven of safety! He sleeps among us-and I cannot go warn my husband, who is at the mercy of another, more monstrous, child about to be born.

Vlad knows everything we planned.

While Dunya, poor innocent p.a.w.n, knows nothing. She smiles sweetly at me even now as she pours me a cup of pain-relieving tea, unable to decipher the mysterious legends I scrawl across the page-quickly, before the next wave of agony comes. I fear this will be the last diary entry I shall ever make. I will leave it where my dear husband can find it, should he survive this night.

The pains started shortly after I returned from speaking to Arkady in Zsuzsanna's tomb and was walking with Dunya back to the manor. In the middle of the gra.s.sy lawn, I sank to my knees, reaching out, and in my flailing distress caught hold of Dunya's dress just beneath the collar.

The fabric at her neck gaped to reveal the tender skin just above the collarbone, and the two small red marks there-round, with white centres.

Grief pierced me like a sword, filling me with the same icy agony as the instant I learned, so many years ago, that my mother and father were dead. True, Dunya is still alive-she breathes, she speaks, she moves-but she is as lost to me as my parents, long buried in the cold earth.

I released a horrified wail at the sight; Dunya thought I cried out in the anguish of childbirth. I wanted to flee, to run away into the forest. At first I struggled, and would not let her lay a hand on me; but I was soon forced to let her help me back to the nursery.

Once there, I fought not to shudder at her touch, too disabled by my condition to do anything but let her tend me. But she has been as gentle, as devoted as a sister. I look now at her loving, guileless face and can only weep.

Monster! Monster! Someday I shall make you pay for what you have done to her, to Arkady's sister!

I can see in Dunya's eyes that she, unlike Zsuzsanna, is entirely unaware of what is happening to her; my dearest friend has become my most dangerous foe, and she does not even know it. How long has he used the poor innocent girl? Did it happen recently, or has she been his since the night she slept in Zsuzsanna's room? Does she slip out to him at night, when we are asleep? Has she always been his spy?

Or did I betray her by telling V. I know of the covenant? Is this how her faithfulness to me is rewarded?

I cannot bring myself to tell her, to rend her heart. Dunya, my loyal Dunya! The strigoi has won. You and I both are lost...

Pain again. I can write no more. G.o.d help us.

Chapter 12.

The Diary of Arkady Tsepesh 21 April, addendum on separate parchment. 1 A.M.

I sit listening to my wife's screams as I write a warning to the child who is now being born.

Days have pa.s.sed since last I wrote in this journal, and in the interim I have experienced more grief and horror than words can convey. Zsuzsanna died and was laid to rest in the family tomb. Of that period I remember only the instant she died in my arms, her beautiful dark eyes fixed on her uncle's.

The whole event is a blur; my will was broken slowly, inexorably, by first my father's, then Jeffries", then my sister's deaths. And when the talons of control crushed my mind as I sat three days earlier in this same room, this time they would not release their grip.

Oh, but what I have seen this night transcends any previous terrors. What I have seen so shocked me to my very essence that I emerged out the other side of madness, and am sane.

Sane-and for the first time in my life, no longer a puppet.

Let me record, then, what I can remember clearly. I have stated here all I can remember of my sister's death; I was apparently awake three days and would not eat, and remained with Zsuzsa in the tomb, but of this I have only fleeting recollection.

My wife came to me less than an hour before dusk the day Zsuzsanna had been buried. This I remember well because of the emotions it provoked, and because of what followed.

I remember sitting in the tomb on the cold marble floor beside my sister's sealed casket, my back propped against the cool wall, elbows on my knees, both hands grasping the revolver. I was in an odd state of consciousness, neither waking nor dreaming, but somewhere between the two, where dreams seemed free to intrude upon and merge with reality.

I had been inside the windowless building since midday, and had left the great stone door open that I might better hear and see an intruder's approach. The door opened on an antechamber, which contained dozens of older coffins, and a narrow corridor led back to a second wider chamber, full of even more deceased, to which had been added the alcove where my immediate family was buried. Only a small shaft of sunlight penetrated the outer chamber into the alcove, leaving it dim and shadowy, but my eyes had grown accustomed to the lack of bright light, and I was able to tell by the increasing gloom that the day was waning.

I fell into a strange waking dream wherein I imagined that my father, mother, and Stefan lay perfectly preserved atop their coffins. As I watched, they rose with the slow, silent dignity of the dead to sitting positions, opened their eyes, and gazed down on me with expressions of benevolent concern.

I was most of all surprised to see my mother-and quite clearly-for I had no memory of her whatsoever, only a vague mental image based upon a small oil portrait of her my father had, which was painted some years before they were married. I knew from the painting that her hair had been pale, but when I saw her sitting upright atop her casket, I was most amazed to see how much she favoured my wife. Oh, she was larger of bone and build and bosom, with a square jaw and wider face, but the resemblance was undeniably there, especially in the eyes. She wore a low-cut white silk gown with short puffed sleeves and a wide blue ribbon beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, in the form-revealing, immodest empire style that had been popular more than twenty years ago, when women dampened their dresses to make them better cling. Her long curling golden hair was tied back with more blue ribbon, but otherwise allowed to fall free like a young girl's.

She seemed so young, even younger than Mary, and looking down on me with confident, tender brown eyes, gave me a smile that made all grief and madness and heartache fall away.

Beside her, Father sat, and my throat constricted to see him young and strong and unbowed by grief.And then Stefan rose beside them, a thin, k.n.o.b-kneed, smiling-eyed child, and in those shining orbs I saw a love, a tenderness that had been absent from the eyes of the moroi who had led me into the forest, the moroi who had no doubt been a malevolent imposter.

At the sight of them, the familiar skull-crushing pain seized me. I cried out and held my head between my hands, pressing hard as though to blot out my consciousness.

Yet, surprisingly, the pain could not cause these images to disappear. My family remained, and directed affectionate smiles at me. I panted, disabled by the agony, but my fear began to ease in their presence; and as the fear eased, so did the pain, only slightly, but enough to permit me to open my eyes and look upon them.

Their appearance evoked no trepidation in me, as Stefan's materialisation once had, for they emanated such intense concern and love-all for me-that I began to sob out of sheer wonder and grat.i.tude.

In the past weeks, I had seen little of good and far too much of evil, but when my family appeared round me, I felt it was a sign that good would triumph after all -that the evil which had littered the forest with skulls would be defeated, and justice done. I felt-I felt (even now it is difficult to speak of it without a welling of emotion; the sense was so strong) that though they were dead, my family put their arms around me, tried to give me strength. Most of all, I felt my mother wished me to know that love would conquer all despair, that all my grief and confusion would vanish if I would merely listen to my heart.

I believe this even now, with all my being. If there is absolute Evil in the world, then certainly there must also be absolute Good, which revealed itself to me through the love of my dear, dead family; a Good powerful enough to break through the mental bonds which held me enslaved.

Tears of joy streamed down my face-and in the midst of this amazing revelation, I heard footsteps at the entrance to the tomb. Yet I was too overwhelmed by emotion-by love-to be frightened or to raise the revolver.

And when I heard my wife's voice, at the same time frightened and determined, softly call my name, I knew it was a sign. I understood my family's message then: that I was lost, enslaved by misery and confusion, but Mary's love for me-and mine for her-could dissolve the vampire's hold over our family and save our child.

Hopeful, I set the gun on the floor by Zsuzsanna's casket and struggled to my feet toward the source of that lovely sound.

Yet I was too dizzy and weak to remain standing. I sank back to the floor just as my beautiful wife's silhouette entered the alcove. A stray beam of sunlight glinted off her face, revealing eyes glistening with tears.

"Arkady?" she said, her voice high and uncertain; eyes unaccustomed to the dark, she hesitated, unseeing, only feet from me, then took a halting step forward. A second ribbon of fading sunlight fell lower, across her bosom, and gleamed blindingly off the little gold cross and the faceted crystal decanter in her hands.

"Here," I replied, and watched as she peered into the shadows and caught sight of me.

I suppose I sounded weak and pathetic, for she said, "Oh, Arkady," with such pity and anguish, I was stricken with love for her. With great difficulty because of her swollen stomach, she set the decanter on the floor beside us, then struggled to sit. I tried again to rise, and managed to meet her partway and awkwardly help her the rest of the way down.My dead family had vanished by that time (though the terrible pain in my head remained) so that we were surrounded only by silent caskets, but I felt their love encircling me still.

And so I encircled my wife with my arms, and pressed against her and the child.

She wept quietly a time, without making a sound, but I felt her tears warm against my neck. After a time she lifted her face, and said in a voice calm but weary as my own, "I have been so worried about you. If you continue this way, you will make yourself ill. Please...

come home with me."

The pain gripped me again so hard I moaned, to her dismay and concern. But as much as I loved her at that moment, as much as I would have given my life to make her happy-I could not honour her request. Why? I told myself at the time it was grief; I thought I did not trust V. or anyone else to protect Zsuzsa's body. I thought that if anything happened to it, I would not be able to live with myself. And yet... The truth was I remained because some external force demanded, compelled that I remain; because the invisible claws still gripped my poor, confused brain.

Now I understand.

But at the time, I did not question my reasons. I merely stroked Mary's golden hair and murmured, "My darling, I cannot leave. But if you wish, you may stay here with me. I will keep us both safe."

She tensed in my arms, "But you haven't eaten or drunk in two days."

"Ilona brought me some tea in the drawing-room," I said, but that had been-a day ago?

Two? I could no longer judge time. I had no sense of hunger, but my thirst was great, and I looked longingly down at the decanter on the floor.

Mary seemed to read my thoughts. She reached for the decanter, removed the gla.s.s which had rested inverted over the stopper, and poured some of the contents into it. "I knew you must be terribly thirsty," she said, in a caressing, coaxing tone. "I brought you tea with a little plum brandy in it; still warm, to keep the evening chill away."

The floral, fiery fragrance of the tea and slivovitz was heavenly, tempting, as was the high- pitched melody of the liquid filling the gla.s.s. I realised then how my parched throat ached, how my dry tongue adhered painfully to the cottony inside of my cheek. I seized the gla.s.s from my wife's hand and drank it down greedily, draining it in three swallows, unmindful of the tea that dribbled down my chin.

"More?" she asked, and filled the gla.s.s again before I could reply. I began to drink again, eagerly-then hesitated after the second swallow, alerted by instinct. I drew the gla.s.s away, stared at it, then stared at Mary.

My conniving wife. My loving Judas.

I swallowed, then flexed my tongue against the roof of my closed mouth, savouring critically: yes, there was the flowers-and-earth taste of the tea, and the sting of the brandy... but there was another component as well, faint but altogether familiar.

The bitter taste of opium.

The compulsion said to be angry; to scream at her, berate her; to hurl the gla.s.s against the marble wall and see it shattered into a thousand pieces. But the memory of my love for my family gone and my family yet to be stayed my hand. I set the gla.s.s down and said, sadly, "You have betrayed me."

A shaft of red, dying sunlight shone behind her, leaving her features in shadow, but even in the gloom I saw her determination in the squareness of her shoulders, the lift of her chin.

"For love's sake," she said. "To save you and the child. Arkady, come with me."

"I can't," I replied, and released a sob. "Don't you understand?"

As I spoke, she rose to her feet, then gazed down at me. Her voice was utterly weary, utterly determined. "Yes. Yes, I understand. He controls you-but he will not for long."

And she left without another word, moving out into the feeble sunlight with the fixed expression of one resolved to be victorious. I knew she would merely wait a brief time for the laudanum to do its work, then return.

Yet the instant she was gone, I gave way to the unreasoning fury. How dare she be so blatant about her plan? For I knew that she intended for me to fall prey to the laudanum in my weakened state, then with the aid of accomplices would fetch me. And what would they do to poor Zsuzsa, once I was conveniently removed?

I stood, s.n.a.t.c.hed the decanter and gla.s.s and threw them blindly, then turned from the tinkling shower of shards to sink to my knees, pitching forward until my forehead rested against cool marble. Thus I remained, in a state of utter despair and confusion, both in love with my wife and full of unreasoning rage towards her.

As I huddled there, the sun set and the shadows lengthened, then faded altogether into gloom. Soon the opium began to lower its soft grey curtain over my faculties, and sleep threatened. I struggled against it, tried to force my wandering attention on the sounds outside the tomb, to listen for intruders who would certainly soon come. But I fell into another half-waking, half-dream state, my face still pressed against the floor, my hands against my closed eyes. I felt the talons sink into my brain once more, but this time I yielded peacefully and did not struggle.

The darkness around me filled with a preternatural brilliance and I lowered my hands to see Uncle's green eyes, ablaze with an interior incandescence. Yet the dark outline of his form remained invisible-only his eyes appeared, though I clearly heard him speak.

Be strong, Arkady. Stay awake but a little while longer, and all will be well.