Lamia Ch 5

Chapter Five

Elena fought back the urge to conjure the vision of her mother that evening as she lay in her bed trying hard to dismiss recent memories from her mind. Part of her wanted to see the spirit for comfort and sympathy, but she could not help but feel great shame and humiliation in her current state. It had been only two nights since Andrei had assaulted her, and she still felt very weak and vulnerable.

The swelling upon her face had gone down somewhat, but the bruises and cuts remained prominent. She could move her jaw again with ease, but it still hurt to speak or turn her head at times. It would perhaps take a full month to heal.

Elena put the Amulet back around her neck and lay back in her bed, forcing the thoughts of Andrei’s assault to depart. She wanted only to rest and try to forget what had happened, but it was difficult. Andrei’s actions had altered her perception of the world, and had left her quite shaken. She still felt as angry and as violated as she had the day it happened, and she wondered if her feelings over the matter would ever subside.

Elena was not someone who could easily forget about the past, and she all too often dwelled upon it. There seemed little point in dwelling upon anything else. Thinking about the present only brought new turmoil, and there seemed no brighter future on the horizon.

She decided there was no more point in trying to sleep, for her troubled mind would give her no relief. She decided to slip out of her room to fetch a book from Mircea's study. Reading always helped her to sleep. She had been reading some of the fables of the Greeks that Mircea possessed in his library. These tales were mostly in badly faded scroll or wooden tablet form, but most were still readable. Some parts of the texts had faded over time, leaving gaps in the tales that were filled in by the imaginations of village elders who recounted the tales orally. It was amusing to hear the inconsistencies in the tales from each elder, but in every version she heard there remained one consistency; evil was always defeated. It was a stark contrast to her reality where evil seemed to reign uncontested.

She sat up from her bed with some lingering pain and rested her bare feet upon the chilly stone floor of her room. The fire had gone out and the only light was that of the stars and the crescent moon which beamed their soft, nocturnal glow through her open view hole. It would not be enough light to read by, however. She would need to fetch a candle from elsewhere in the hall.

As she stood up, she caught a glimpse of some movement within the courtyard from her bedroom view hole. She approached the view hole to have a better look and saw three dark-robed figures entering the courtyard from the palisade gateway, along with a wagon pulled by a single horse. One of the dark-cloaked figures sat upon the wagon and held the reins, leading the wagon into the courtyard. The travelers were almost completely hidden in the shadowy backdrop cast from the palisade wall, but Elena could still make out their shapes as they moved.

As they passed beyond the shadow of the wall the moonlight fell upon them, and what Elena then beheld made her uneasy. The three of them wore identical dark-gray, hooded robes that completely concealed their bodies and granted them near invisibility in the darkness of the courtyard. She thought them to be beggars at first, or worse yet wandering lepers who concealed their decaying flesh beneath their robes. From what little she could make out from within their hoods, she beheld white, expressionless faces with no distinguishing features. Their faces seemed almost made of stone and she could see nothing of their eyes. It was an odd and frightening thing to behold.

As they turned to approach the bronze door to the hall, the faces within the hoods came better into view, and she realized these were not faces but masks. They each wore an identical white mask that seemed to be made of polished clay. The masks had simple holes for the mouth and eyes, but other than this had no distinguishing features.

She recalled how Dragos had told her about wandering lepers, and how they often traveled about wearing masks and long robes to conceal their hideous faces and forms from the healthy. Elena could not fathom how they could have been allowed to enter the village. Surely if they were lepers, the guards would have turned them away. Even Mircea’s minions were not so foolish as to allow in carriers of plague.

Elena then looked to the horse and the wagon of the travelers, and immediately recognized them both. These belonged to Mircea. She stared out at the travelers in confusion, wondering if it was possible Mircea had returned and was among them. She wondered what insanity would drive her uncle to travel with disease-ridden lepers, if that was what they were. If Mircea was among them, she could not tell which of the three he was.

Then she remembered something. Elena thought back to what Dragos said of Mircea’s travels and of the accounts of the villagers and traveling merchants. She wondered if these men could have been members of the death cult rumored to live by the sea.

As she watched the figures move towards the hall's entrance, Elena noted that they walked in a very peculiar manner. Their robes did not sway or swagger with their movements, almost as if the cloth was stiff or as if there were no legs within them to make them sway. Not ready to believe they were spirits, she decided she was simply tired or could not see them very well.

The robed figure atop the wagon disembarked and joined his companions upon the earthen courtyard. They then slowly made their way to the door of the hall, walking single file in a lethargic manner. Elena focused her attention upon the wagon, curious to see what it contained. She found it bore no burden. If it was Mircea, then he had not returned with the bodies he had exhumed from the necropolis. She wondered if perhaps they had been used as raw materials in the macabre rituals of the worshippers of Hades.

She froze in place when she saw one of the figures stop suddenly in his tracks and turned to face Elena’s view hole. The figure stood there motionless and she met the black, empty eye holes of his mask from across the courtyard. She could not tell if the figure was looking at her or not, but the gaze filled her with dread none the less. After a moment he turned his gaze away, and continued to follow his companions to the bronze door of the hall.

Startled, she backed away from the view hole and hid back into the darkness of her chamber. Whoever these strangers were she wished to have nothing to do with them and avoid them if possible. Unfortunately if they were her uncle’s associates then she would likely be meeting them, much to her dismay. She went back into her bed and pulled the blankets over her eyes wishing to pretend to be asleep in case she was called upon.

Fear and wonder would not allow her to rest that night. After a few futile moments of trying to regain sleep, there was a knock at her chamber door. She did not go to answer it immediately, pretending to be fast asleep. Whoever it was knocked a second time, determined to wake her and Elena got up and reluctantly headed to the door. She took her evening robe from the dresser and quickly put it on, then looked at the door in wonder of who it might have been. Mircea was the only one who would ever disturb her at such a late hour, but Dragos would also come to wake her in case of an emergency.

She opened the door slowly, and to her amazement found Dragos standing in the hallway with a lantern in hand. He gave her a bemused smirk that vanished quickly when he saw the hostility in her eyes at having been disturbed.

Dragos seemed in good spirits, and when he was pleased that sometimes meant trouble for her. Elena sensed that she was in for another difficult evening.

"The boyar has asked for you," he said with satisfaction.

Her fears had been confirmed. Mircea had returned and she wondered how much Dragos had let slip of recent events to him.

"What have you told him?" she demanded in a distrusting tone.

"I assure you, I have said nothing," Dragos replied humbly. "However, when he sees you, you will have to tell him something, My Lady.”

He was right. Seeing the bruises upon her face as clear as day would make him inquire as to what happened, and then she would have to tell him. She could try to omit certain details, but she could not lie to her uncle. Deceiving him always failed. Whatever she told him, he would become displeased with her. He would punish her for taking matters into her own hands in issuing punishments. He might even kill her if he learned she had nearly been seeded by a serf. The fact that she had been almost beaten to death was of little consequence to him, surely. She was his property, and for a serf to damage his property was a grievous crime.

She closed her eyes and sighed, realizing how things would likely go from bad to worse very shortly. "Very well, take me to him," Elena said with dismay.

He led her down the hall to the throne room. The hallways were unlit and seemed deserted that evening, which was not unusual at that hour. The boyar’s hall conveyed a deep silence, however, that suggested it was emptier than usual. Even in the latest hours of the night, some noise could be heard in form of snoring or occasional fornication. Tonight all was silent.

Dragos led her with his oil lamp though the darkened hallways to Mircea’s throne room. The lamp was the only light to be seen. The halls had been left in darkness that evening, and no sign of fire light could be seen beyond the doors of any chambers. She was tempted to ask Dragos what was happening, but decided he would not divulge his master’s intentions to her if he did not have to. She had not the will to argue with the old goat that evening.

They came to the throne room door and Dragos knocked upon it before opening it. Before anyone acknowledged him, he put his hands upon the wooden handle and pulled at the door with some effort. As the door opened, Elena saw the throne room beyond was in total darkness. If there were occupants within, they were not at all visible.

She followed Dragos and his lantern inside, and when he stopped in the center of the room, three masked figures came into view. Her heart began to race at the sight of them as she realized these were the strangers from the courtyard.

From the two far corners of the room, white masked faces peered at her through the darkness. They had found their way to the throne room, or more likely had been invited in. They stood staring at her motionless, like statues.

The third among them sat upon Mircea‘s throne and she stared at this one curiously. Unlike the others, the one on the throne had removed his hood revealing familiar long, dark hair which hung loosely to his chest. His robe was also open at the front, revealing fine clothing consistent with a man of nobility. He wore a scarlet robe beneath the gray traveling robe, and this fine garment was lined with dark wolf fur, and at his belt was hung a familiar, bejewelled falx blade. Upon his hands were the same black leather gloves that she remembered Mircea wearing a few times. She had no doubt it was him.

The masked men in the corners on either side of the throne seemed to sink back into the corners when Dragos entered with his lamp. Elena watched their retreat with great curiosity, wondering if the firelight made them uncomfortable, or if they were trying to conceal themselves. She had already seen them, however. There did not seem a point to hiding now.

The masked tyrant upon the throne did not even flinch at the sight of Dragos’ oil lamp He did raise a hand to Dragos, however, halting him from coming within several paces. Elena watched him put his gloved hands to his face and slowly removed his mask. A familiar, pallid and narrow face came into view, and Elena soon met the inhumanly yellowish-green eyes of her uncle gazing back at her. His face was vaguely visible from the light of Dragos’ lamp, but she could tell something was different about him. He seemed less then his usual omnipotent self. He looked older, withered and frail. Creases in his face had become more pronounced and dark circles appeared around his eyes. He looked as if he had aged several years or taken deathly ill during his short absence, though she did not think that possible.

Mircea looked to his companions on either side of him, and then looked back at Elena. “Do they make you uncomfortable?” he asked her.

Elena looked to his guests and noticed they had completely disappeared into the shadows at the rear of the room. She could no longer see them. She shook her head complacently to Mircea.

Mircea gave her a cruel smirk, and leaned back in his throne before looking to Dragos. He narrowed his eyes at the light in Dragos’ hand.

“Give her the lamp, Dragos," Mircea ordered him. “And then leave us.”

Dragos handed Elena the lamp and then turned to bow to Mircea before leaving. He closed the throne room door behind him, leaving Elena alone with the monster on the throne and his strange guests. Elena did not know why Mircea wanted her to have the light, but it did make her feel more secure somehow as she held it in her hands.

"You look as if you had been trampled by a horse," he commented dryly.

She said nothing. Elena was afraid of what he might have already known. She decided she would wait until he asked to see how much he truly knew.

Mircea gave her a wide grin. "I know what happened,” he said, much to her dread. “And I was pleased to hear how you dealt with the whelp."

In fifteen years he had never spoken in praise of her. It was a strange and sickening feeling to be complimented by him. Elena continued to hold an indifferent gaze upon the boyar’s aging face, and said nothing.

"I had my doubts as to how you would fare," he went on. "Honestly, I would have wagered you would forgive Andrei. At best I thought you would have turned a knife upon yourself in self-pity and disgrace, but no, you have surpassed my expectations. Alas, you are more of a Basarab than you know. You would do your father proud, I think."

His praise of her actions turned her stomach. The fact that she had pleased him made her wish she had shown some mercy upon Andrei. She wanted to speak out in her defense but clearly he had more gloating to do.

"Dragos did not tell me," he assured her. "Mongrel, you should know well that all that takes place within my domain is known to me from the moment it happens. From the half-whispered scorn of malcontent serfs, to the throes of lust and carnality in the bed chambers of lovers; all is made known to me."

Elena had no doubt he spoke truth of his abilities, but she merely nodded her head as he rambled on in self-worship. To Elena, it did not matter how he knew, but only what he planned to do about it.

"It was a very fitting punishment. There was symmetry to it. In truth, I do not think even I would have been so creative."

Elena gave him a sour smirk and then looked away carelessly. "I took no pleasure in it," she said dismissively. “It seemed so trivial.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You lie!" he uttered abruptly. “You planned Andrei’s fate with creativity.”

"If you think I am lying, than perhaps you put too much faith into your insight of my nature.”

"Perhaps I should put my faith into the trinkets of earthen Mystics as you do?" he replied in curiosity as he pointed to the talisman about her neck. "Perhaps that will show me more about you than words alone could tell?"

She had forgotten that she still wore the amulet about her neck. She stopped herself from clutching it protectively, and tried not to seem apprehensive or frightened. She did not wish to make him think it was sacred to her. Elena feared what he would do now that he had seen it. She had kept it hidden from him for several years, fearing he would come to suspect its power.

"It is only a luck charm," she said, trying to downplay its power. Elena even lifted it from her chest so that he could see it, hoping its simplistic design and composition would serve to quell his curiosity. "It was a gift from a seer who visited the village some years ago."

"Yes I know of these seers; these Mystics who call themselves disciples of the land. I find it curious that their influence grows among simple folk. It seems to give them hope. Tell me, mongrel, does it give you hope?"

She chose her words carefully, not wishing Mircea to think of the charm as something threatening. "It gives me nothing!" she said dismissively. "It is only a piece of jewellery. If you wish I will discard it."

"No, on the contrary," he said almost desperately. "I would encourage you to seek out these Mystics. They may prove to be the very enlightenment your soul longs for. Perhaps, in turn, you could enlighten me."

She wished Mircea had not sanctioned it; otherwise it may have interested her to do so. He had a vested interest in the Mystics of the earth, which meant he wished to know if they were a threat to him, or if they possessed something of value. Either way, she wished to discuss something else before he decided she was already a part of their order, thus earning his enmity and wrath.

"The journey must have been a long and arduous one, boyar,” Elena commented. “You seem sickly and weary. Perhaps I should you leave to rest?"

"How touching to hear that you are concerned for my well being," he said scornfully. He then held one of his gloved hands before his face and looked at it curiously. "Rest assured, mongrel, I am not dying. I am merely changing."

She did not know what he meant by that and in truth she did not want to know. She was more interested in knowing what he had done with the bodies he had exhumed, what had happened to the money he had taken and who these guests of his were. Elena doubted she would get answers from him; therefore, she did not bother to ask.

Elena looked one more time to the corners of the room, but still could not see the strange masked beings. She wondered if they would be staying within the hall that night and if she would need to tend to their needs and comfort.

"Shall I prepare chambers for our guests?” Elena asked, still feeling more than one pair of eyes upon her as she spoke. “Will they be staying long?"

"No,” Mircea replied. "I will attend to them myself."

"Very well," Elena replied with a nod. Mircea clearly did not wish to even introduce his companions to her, and their business in Sighisaoara would likely remain a mystery for the entirety of their stay. Elena began to wonder why he had bothered summoning her that evening. She wondered if he merely wished to look upon her condition with amusement.

Mircea took out a scroll from his cloak and held it out before his eyes. She recognized it instantly. It was the same scroll that Dragos had shown her in the throne room three days ago. It was the letter from Apulon. The seal had been broken, meaning Mircea had already read it. As he unrolled it, he gazed at her with an unusually troubled expression. She wondered if the letter perhaps warned him of the Huns or contained some other distressing news.

"The letter is from Apulon," he said to her after a drawn out silence. "It is from your father.”

Elena stared at Mircea with some skepticism, and gazed at the fine parchment in Mircea's hands. She studied his eyes to see if there was something he was keeping from her. In turn Mircea studied her, no doubt gauging her reaction to the news of the letter.

"You are to join him, before a week from now.”

"How so?" Elena asked in disbelief.

Mircea was clearly not lying. Her mind raced with questions, doubts and fears. Her father was a man who she did not know, and was in many ways dead to her. Why would this stranger call upon her now after all these long, dark years? Elena had come to dismiss her father as a man who had abandoned her, and she assumed her father cared nothing for her. What could he possible want with her? Elena had spent most of her life trying to forget the nightmares of her youth, but now it may have been that her past had now finally caught up with her.

At that moment she wanted to rip the letter from Mircea's hands to read it for herself and get to the truth of the matter. If Mircea was consistent in keeping things from her, however, he would refuse to tell her everything the letter said.

"It seems your reluctant father has somehow learned of your true birthright!" he said. "It was as I feared and there is a spy among us, divulging information to him.”

“But why must I leave?” Elena demanded. Her hands shook with anxiety and she struggled to keep composed before Mircea.

“My dear brother wants you at his side. He wants what he believes was always his, and why not for who am I to stand in the way of such a heart-warming reunion? Strange that you have just come of age and now he chooses to call upon you. Though, I wonder, would it be your wish to leave, mongrel?"

She stared at Mircea with great suspicion. He may not have placed great value upon her, but surely he would not let her go so easily and willingly, unless he had something to gain from it. There was nothing but doubt and confusion in her mind at this situation, and she barely put thought to Mircea’s question as she pondered these things.

“What does it matter what I wish?” she replied coldly and sternly, letting the rage in her heart run forth. "Would you would simply let me go so easily? Have I displeased you somehow?"

"You are not worth going to war over, mongrel, if that is what you are implying,” he replied dismissively. “I would discard you as surely as I would a lame animal! You will leave tomorrow morning and go and see just how terrible a man your father truly is. Once you come to know Veradius, you will pray to return here to me!"

Elena stared at him blankly and clutched her amulet instinctively. Returning to Apulon was a dream she had long ago abandoned. Now, in her twentieth year, she was being thrust back into a world she had all but forgotten. She felt nothing but confusion and apprehension. There was no telling what awaited her in Apulon, and what type of man her father was. Mircea would have her believe he was a monster, and she already knew him to be a murderer. Elena did not want to go and find out that she had left one monster behind only to become the property of another. Elena had come to accept her place in Sighisoara, however horrific. At least here she knew where she stood and what to expect.

“I have decided you shall return to him, mongrel,” Mircea proclaimed. “But you will not go alone. I shall appoint two of my hall guards, Goran and Stanislau, to go with you. They know the way and will see you safely through the wilds.”

"You may think to try and flee on your way to see your father and take your chances in the wilds," he said with suspicion. "I would not recommend it. You will find the wilderness of this country to be merciless and treacherous. Like many things in this country, the forest has its own dark secrets. Do not stray from the road, mongrel, for it will be the end of you!"

"Thank you for your charitable concern, boyar," she replied dryly.

"Do with this wisdom as you wish, but if you find yourself lost from the path, pray for a quick death!"

"I shall remember," she said, wondering what horrors he could be speaking of that could compare to the horrors in his hall.

"Go and rest now," he said to her. "You will need your strength for the journey ahead."

She bowed to him for what she hoped would be the last time and turned to leave. He gave her no words of farewell to depart with, and in turn she spoke nothing to him. She did recall a vow she had made to him once as she left the throne room, however. It was the vow she made when he mutilated Pascu. She promised to destroy him that night. Somehow Elena felt there was still plenty of time to see her vow through.