A Forest of Wolves (5 page)

I walked toward him, respectfully stepping around the gravestones.

The graveyard contained an equal mix of old, crumbling stones and newer tombstones. The grass was maintained; there were no weeds within the perimeter. A few bouquets of flowers adorned a handful of the graves. Some plots had wooden crosses stuck in the grass in front of the stone.

“I'm sorry for your loss,” I whispered.

“Thank you.” He pointed to the grave at his feet. “My daughter-in-law. May God bless her soul. She was a kind, soft-spoken woman. I've been out here for three nights waiting for her to rise.”

I bit my lip. “Rise?”

“Yes, my lady. Rise. I hoped it would be tonight. It gets lonely waiting out here, though.”

“Where's your son?”

“At home in bed. He doesn't think she'll rise.”

“He doesn't?” I stepped closer to the grave. At least the entire family wasn't superstitious. Was the old man delusional?

“No. My son said placing the stones over her legs would be enough. He wouldn't let me decapitate her or put a stake in her heart when we put her in the ground. He fought me tooth and nail. But she's going to rise. I'd bet my life on it.”

I remembered passing a group of peasants when I ran away from the castle a few weeks ago. They'd carried an open casket on their shoulders, sobbing and chanting as they marched in the funeral procession. Inside the coffin, the head of a recently deceased corpse was separated from its body. The neck was cleanly severed through the spine and the head sat beside it. The peasants removed the head after death to prevent the deceased from returning to life.

A wolf howled in the distance.

Something moved in my peripheral vision and I scanned the darkness for the culprit. A chill ran over me.

“Don't mind those wolves. They won't enter the graveyard. They're smart animals. They sense the unholiness around us.”

I gazed at the trees, willing my eyes to see in the darkness. Was there a pack of wolves out there? I didn't have a weapon and the old man only had the blade. We couldn't take on a pack of wolves—an old man and me? We wouldn't stand a chance. If I screamed, someone might hear me, but by the time they came to our rescue, we would both be wolf bait.

“Don't worry,” he reassured me. “We are quite safe . . . from the wolves at least.”

“I'll have to take your word for it. Forgive my ignorance, but earlier you mentioned stones. What does putting stones over the deceased's legs do?”

“It's all right; it isn't ignorance. We do things differently out here. I know who you are, by the way. You're the fancy lady Petr's boys brought back from the castle. The chancellor's daughter, yes?”

I wasn't the chancellor's daughter, but no one knew that critical piece of information. Not yet. “That's right.”

“You don't prepare your dead in the castle?”

“Putting stones on their legs and decapitating their corpses? No. We bury our dead in the crypts under Saint Vitus Cathedral.” I lowered myself to the grass and tucked my legs under me.

I was fascinated by this conversation. This wasn't my first taste of the peasants' allure of the supernatural. Most of Bohemia's outlying villages were superstitious. It was intriguing to witness their customs and traditions firsthand.

“Ah, that's why you don't have a problem at the castle.” He scratched a nonexistent beard. “It makes perfect sense. Your dead are buried safely under the cathedral on holy ground. No vampire could rise from there.”

“Vampires? That's what you believe your daughter-in-law will become?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Please call me Mila.”

“All right, Mila. I'm Anton. And yes, I believe my daughter-in-law will become one of the undead. I'm sitting guard to protect the rest of my family. I won't let her destroy them. I'll sit here until the sun comes up, as I have for the past two nights.”

“Do you think she was bitten by a vampire? Is that why you believe she'll turn into one?”

“Something evil happened to her. She was as gentle as a kitten. Quiet. Dutiful. A good wife. Then she started acting crazy and irrational. Her face became deathly pale and she would mumble to herself. She died a week later. We don't know why she died, but I tell you what, she resembled a corpse days before she passed.”

“Hmm.” I had nothing else to offer.

“We strapped her to the bed during her last days and she fought even harder. I rubbed garlic over her and she spit in my face.” Anton studied me. “You don't believe in vampires?”

“I've never seen one. That's not to say they don't exist, but I have no knowledge of them.”

“They're real all right. Vampires feed on the weak. They stay hidden in the shadows and make people believe they don't exist. Most of them.”

“Some vampires don't hide their existence?”

“Have you ever heard of the countess in Hungary?”

“Ah, yes,” I said.

The Countess Elizabeth Báthory of the Kingdom of Hungary had recently been accused of several hundred murders. Apparently, she liked to kill the daughters of local peasants. The killings had gotten so out of hand that the Crown in Hungary had to take action to investigate the disappearances and murders. Life was more barbaric in Hungary, but this had reached a new level of embarrassment for the monarchy in Budapest.

I sat my lantern next to the grave. Twin lights lit the space between us causing shadows to dance off the stones.

If I wasn't so caught up in Anton's story, I'd probably have been frightened. I should've been frightened. I was in the middle of a dark graveyard talking about vampires with a complete stranger.

But I was fascinated. “The countess killed dozens of girls, right? I heard the Hungarian Crown will arrest her soon.”

“She's a vampire.”

“Really?”

“As plain as day.”

“Why do you say so?” I asked.

“She would take her victims—all young virgin girls—and drink and bathe in their blood. The blood kept her young and vibrant. Think about it: She never ages, she drinks blood; the woman is cruel as can be, shuns religion, and her skin is as white as snow, or so I hear. She's a vampire all right.”

“Huh.” I pointed at his large blade. “And when your daughter-in-law rises, what will you do to her?”

“I'll behead her and rebury her corpse. May God rest her soul.” Anton gazed up at the sky.

His response was so definite. Brutal. But, in his mind, he was doing it out of love and protection. It was hard to understand. I looked up at the sky, too, to clear my head.

Millions of stars filled the sky. The sight made me feel insignificant and I remembered the night I brought Marc to King Rudolf's Astronomy Tower. The king had recently received the viewing instrument from an Italian man named Galileo. The mechanism allowed one to see the stars in greater detail.

Marc and I had operated the instrument on a circular platform in which the tower opened up to the sky. I would never forget how the thousands upon thousands of stars glittered like diamonds in a sea of absolute blackness. They sparkled with varying degrees of brightness and I swore I could touch them with an outstretched hand. Now, here in the graveyard, the feeling was the same—the stars were so close and I was overwhelmed by the vastness of it all.

“Are you all right, Mila?”

The memory faded. “I'm fine.”

“My daughter-in-law will rise soon and it's not going to be safe when she does,” Anton said. “You should go back now. Lock your door and hang garlic from the doorknob. Tomorrow, have Marc paint the doorway with goat's blood.”

I stood. “I'm sorry again for your loss.”

“Thank you.” He scratched his beard. “Mila?”

“Yes?”

“You seem like a nice girl, but remember, you're a long way from Prague Castle. Life is different out here. It's not safe. And the Crown isn't the only thing you should be worried about.”

W
hen I returned from the graveyard, Marc wasn't back from his meeting at Igor's. I had forgotten to stop by the well to retrieve my bucket, so I still had no water for soup. After listening to Anton's stories, I wasn't going outside in the dark alone.

I closed the door behind me and lit the lantern on the table. The small flame flickered, creating shadows on the wall. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long moment with my eyes glued to the window. I couldn't see outside—it was pitch black—but was something out there? Was someone watching me?

Anton's stories were nonsense of course, but I couldn't deny the fact that I was scared. What if they were true? What if vampires were real? Was it so outrageous to consider that such things existed? I'd been sheltered in the castle for seventeen years. Maybe believing in the supernatural was normal.

No, I was being silly.

Nevertheless, I retrieved garlic from the shelf. I had nothing to string it with so I peeled half of it and rubbed it all over the door handle and frame. When I was done, I set the half-used bulb on the ground in the doorframe.

I hoped no one was watching me.

I closed the door and crawled into bed with the lantern lit. It took forever to fall asleep, and when I finally did, I had nightmares about Kladno being assaulted by a Royal Army of vampires.

Marc came home in the middle of the night. He blew out the lantern and slipped into bed beside me. I slept better with him next to me despite the room now being in total darkness. I didn't tell him about my trip to the graveyard.

I fell back asleep, but a sharp knock woke us up not long after that. I opened my eyes; it was barely dawn.

“Do we have to answer it?” I asked. “Can you not be the leader of the rebellion for one morning?”

“It might be important.”

“Or it's your Uncle Igor again, with his latest theory about my being a spy for the Crown.”

Marc kissed my nose. “You have to admit, the man is persistent.”

“And crazy?”

“I can't argue with that.” Marc climbed out of bed and stumbled to the door. He wrenched it open and I smelled a whiff of the garlic I'd rubbed on the knob the night before.

Stephan stood outside. An uncharacteristic grin claimed his flushed face. “Marc, you have to see this.”

“See what?”

Stephan shook his head. “I won't ruin the surprise. Come see for yourself. I promise you will not be disappointed.” He hurried from the door.

“What is that all about?” I asked.

“I don't know, but I have to go.” Marc jogged after him, holding his shoulder so he wouldn't jostle the wounds on his back.

Stephan's coyness heightened my curiosity. What was the harm in following them? They hadn't told me that I had to stay behind.

I followed the men.

The ground was wet from the morning dew and my shoes sunk into the muddy grass. The dress Ruzena had given me was too big, so I held the folds of my skirts as I ran, which slowed me down. I wore no corset beneath my gown—that was a luxury—only my chemise.

Marc and Stephan were on the street ahead.

Stephan darted between two houses and disappeared from the road. Marc slipped between the houses, too. Both men were now out of sight. I hadn't lost them, though—I heard other men in the distance.

What was going on?

I reached the narrow strip of land between the two houses. Crowded gardens claimed the space behind the homes, except for a small clearing where the land met the forest.

I stopped when I reached the clearing.

Twenty rebels with their weapons drawn circled something. They stood close together, looking down at whatever it was in the middle of their tightly drawn circle. What were they looking at?

Marc and Stephan approached the group.

Tension filled the air despite the men laughing and smiling. They were proud of whatever they had caught. Was it a large animal?

Henrik's tall frame stood head and shoulders above the others in the center of the circle. His presence in the group heightened my curiosity.

The rebels parted for Marc to show their capture.

Marc went rigid; his spine straightened and every muscle in his shredded back tensed.

I couldn't see through the wall of rebels; they were too big and burly and crowded too closely together. What could cause such a reaction in Marc?

I shoved past the men and entered the circle.

Henrik crossed his arms over his broad chest, beaming with satisfaction.

A man knelt on the grass at Henrik's feet. His head was lowered, so I couldn't see his face. The man's hands were tied behind his back and his mouth was gagged. The rebels had caught a prisoner. Was it a member of the Royal Guard? Was it someone I knew? Why was Henrik so amused?

My stomach sank.

Gleaming blades were pointed at the man's throat, but he'd ceased struggling. He sat limply in the middle of the rebel circle. Defeat was etched all over his body. His shoulders were hunched. The man was filthy—as if he'd been out in the wilderness for days when he was captured.

“Raise your head,” Henrik said to the prisoner. “Now. Show my brother your face.”

The prisoner didn't move.

A rebel kicked the man in his lower back.

The prisoner lost his balance and, because his hands were tied, he fell hard on his face. The crowd roared with laughter as he struggled to sit up.

Henrik helped him to his feet. “Up you go.”

The prisoner silently stood beside Henrik.

Henrik smiled at Marc from ear to ear. “I found someone you were looking for, Brother.”

The prisoner's head rolled back and the long, scraggly, ginger-colored hair fell away from his face.