Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (15 page)

We
passed the stone creatures, whose eyes seemed to follow us through the window,
and continued along a pebbled entrance before crossing a small bridge over a
stream. Narrow arched windows framed with snow peered at us as we trotted along
the lengthy entranceway. Bats circled and swooped around spires reaching high
into the skies, and the sounds of their screeching put a chill up my spine.

Our
journey ended at the base of wide stairs leading to large heavy wooden doors.
More terrifying stone beasts, like the ones from the holy book, guarded the
base and the top of the stairs.

‘Isn’t
the castle magnificent?’

I
agreed with Zola but there was also something foreboding about its measure, and
the absence of life in its shadow-less surrounds. It seemed devoid of soul; a
giant carnivore sleeping through the winter, waiting to rise and swallow all
who dared enter.

‘It
is so isolated. Why would my sister choose such a place?’

Zola
chided: ‘
In
time you will grow to love this place.
Nowhere else will seem like home.’ Even her confidence did not put me at ease,
and the thought of permanence this far north had never entered my mind.

At
the sound of our arrival, servants greeted us and opened our carriage doors.
Others appeared from nowhere to carry our bags and Zeke and I followed Zola to
the entrance. Zeke was
mesmerised
by the face of a
stone beast and I had to gently pull his arm to break him from his trance. We
entered a foyer with a high domed ceiling with
coloured
lead lights. I could hear the sounds of muffled voices and music behind double
doors that were just ahead. There was a pattern on the floor of the entrance,
the edge of a circle paved with small purple gemstones.

Zola
rushed ahead and pushed open the next set of doors. What was behind them was
beyond belief, and in sharp contrast to the building’s exterior.

I
entered this room cautiously as if I had entered someone else’s private
fantasy, so bizarre and foreign was the spectacle before me. The
colour
and glitter overloaded my senses and it was several
moments before I was composed in mind to take in my surrounds. Young women were
dressed in long silk gowns, lace, velvet, and tall elaborate headwear with
colourful
plumes and pearls. Their dresses were covered
with tiny pearl buttons, or crystals or rose brocade, with lace above and under
their breasts, their waists pinched tightly and their skirts wide with masses
of fabric floating in circles around them. Their hands, neck, and ears were
laden with gold, sapphires, and other precious stones. They were the most
beautiful women in the world. Their feet were decorated with tiny patterned
shoes, some also with crystals, buttons and bows on the toe. Young men were
also dressed finely in silken trousers or tights, soft leathers, brocade
waistcoats and tunics. They too were
bejewelled
and
all of them striking and handsome.

Servants
carried trays of wine while musicians played stringed instruments. Zola pushed
through the crowd and took in the sea of faces, greeting them each with a nod
as she passed.

It
was strange that there were no carriages outside yet so many participants.

People
looked at me as I entered and then looked away as if I was nothing special.
Zola, however, greeted many people, kissing everyone on both cheeks and
dragging me behind her. Once she introduced me as Oleander’s brother those
looks lingered and people whispered. I was suddenly very interesting.

Zola
pulled me into the dancing crowd. It was overwhelming and I felt dizzy from all
the buzzing, the laughter and the music floating around me.

Eventually
Zola joyfully grasped my hand and Zeke’s, ushering us to the side of the room
for some air. She smiled widely and was radiant beyond words. Her cheeks were
flushed and her eyes glistened. Whether it was the excitement of the moment, or
the fact that she had noticed me as a love interest for the first time, she
leaned into me and pressed her lips against my cheek. I turned my head so that
my lips touched hers before she danced away from me flirtatiously. I was giddy
as I followed her. One man, his face caked with white powder, and his hair long
and dark like mine, touched me on the elbow as if he knew me. I inclined my
head out of courtesy but it was clear he was just curious.

When
I looked for Zola she had disappeared into the crowd with the boy. I turned
around craning my neck above the sea of tall hair and velvet. There was a
moment of panic when I couldn’t see her anywhere and I felt that I was drowning
in a sea of people.

Then
there was a hush that spread across the room. The music stopped abruptly and
the festivities were stalled. Women and men stopped sipping red wine from
goblets of gold and glass. Zola appeared at my side once again, holding my
wrist but looking away from me and upward. I followed her gaze. Two staircases
wound up towards a common platform, beneath large candelabras. In the
centre
of the platform stood a young girl close in age to
me. Her hair was the same
colour
as sand pebbles. Her
gown was magenta with a pattern of gold flowers, and
panelled
with stripes of gold and cream. There was a modest smile on her pointed face
and I saw that her eyes were emerald green. She was undoubtedly the most
exquisite girl I had ever seen.

‘Who
is she?’ But even as I asked the question I knew. Her eyes, which were
wandering the crowd, had settled on me.
Brother.
The word was whispered
into my ear but turning I found
no-one
close beside
me. I felt suddenly winded: pressure like a fist sunk deep within my chest. I
took a breath for release.

I
could hear the sounds of her heartbeat melding with mine. Together they pounded
loudly as in one beat, deafening, blocking out all other sound. She removed her
gaze and turned to focus on other members of the crowd. This action released
the pressure, and yet, at the same time, I felt as though my heart had been
pulled from my body. I so badly wanted the feeling to return so we were still
connected.

Oleander
descended the stairs unhurried. The crowd clapped as she entered as if she had
just returned from an extended leave. If she had been wearing a crown it would
make more sense, so in awe were the people,
clamouring
for her attention and to get a closer look at her as if seeing her for the
first time. She beamed at her subjects for I know no other way to describe
these adorers, yet at the same time I understood; it was an odd perception that
perhaps I was feeling unworthy of her attentions.

The
crowd parted and as she gazed and touched the hands of her subjects she was
making a pathway. It ended with me. Up close she was not like I imagined my
sister to be. This girl with the grace of a woman far beyond her years was
perfect in every way. She was like a doll, so small were her hands and shoes.
So delicate she could not have weighed more than a bale of hay.

‘Follow
me,’ she said. We wove our way to the far side of the room. People touched
Oleander as we passed. It was close to
reverence
as I
would ever come to witness. A footman opened a large wooden door with brass
handles that led into a library. The wide polished floorboards, covered with
oriental rugs, creaked as we entered. Books lined the walls on oak shelves
stretching high up to the ceiling; the largest collection of manuscripts I had
ever seen.

Oleander
lifted her hand and a fire blazed in the hearth, though, I
realise
now, this action was more for effect than need. Most of the heavy curtains were
drawn except for one window beside a large ornamental desk. Outside was a thick
fall of snow; the brightness of which sent a shaft of silvery light across
several open books. Someone with a neat hand had written in these, each line
perfectly parallel with the next. One book had seen many years, its edges brown
with age.

On
another table were tiny ivory dolls with faces engraved. Brushes stood in open
jars of paints. Some of the dolls were only half-finished, eerily faceless yet
their bodies decorated with rich
colours
of similar
costumes worn by those guests in the ballroom.

‘Thank
you for coming,
Marek
,’ said Oleander softly. ‘It is
so good to finally meet you.’

Without
thinking I stepped forward and swooped her up in my arms but she stiffened and
smiled at me in the way a frustrated aunt might treat an exuberant nephew.

‘Yes,
I am so glad you came,’ she said, stepping away from me and adjusting her hair.
I had clearly overstepped a boundary here, and inwardly cursed myself for being
so youthful and forward. I decided to be more formal in my approach and stood
humbly composed until otherwise commanded. Clearly, my arrival was overwhelming
for her too.

‘I
have wanted to meet you for years though it has never been the right time,’
said Oleander.

I
wanted to ask her a thousand questions. ‘I do not understand. Why wait for so
long?’

‘You
were too young, and I was unprepared.’

‘Father
would have wanted you to come back. He thinks you died. If he knew you were
alive he would rejoice.’

She
laughed from deep in the back of her throat. ‘
Father!
Is that what you
call him?’

This
confused me.

‘
Marek
, there is something you need to know about our kind.
Many of us are dying. We have married with human blood and it has produced our
poorer cousins who are taught to be ignorant of their potential. By poorer I
mean weaker. We are phasing ourselves out. It is time the balance of power was
returned to us.’

I
thought for a moment and checked my words carefully. ‘Are you trying to say we
are becoming more human? Is that what you mean by dying?’

‘You
are smart,
Marek
.’

‘And
what is wrong with humanity?’

‘Mortality.
That is what is wrong with it!’

‘Well, my dear sister.
I have grown up with the idea that I will die. It does not disturb me
so.’ This had to be one of the strangest conversations yet I was intrigued
nonetheless.

She
smiled so sweetly and innocently, and I was reminded of the girls on the island
living their carefree existence with simple pleasures. ‘Then you have no idea
what you are missing. I can show you all that. I can show you that it is
important to make ourselves stronger, to maintain our bloodline. That is why
you are here so that we continue to grow in number.’

‘I
do not know what you mean.’

Oleander
walked to the table and flicked through the pages of a book. ‘Did you know that
there were more of us than humankind once? That we were so evolved that we
needed little sustenance to keep our existence. No. I did not think so. Zola
has told you nothing, which is a good thing really, for she does not understand
as much as she thinks.’ With that she frowned slightly, making her face less
than the perfection I had thought it to be. ‘We have been serving humans for
years and it is time to change.’

‘I
do not know where this is going.’

Oleander
thought a moment and then the sweet look in her face returned. ‘Later, Brother!
Enjoy the party. We will have so many more times to talk. I’m just so happy you
found your way here.’ Her manner changed and she moved forward to take both my
hands to hold them to her chest. Her sudden forwardness was both warming and
perplexing, leaving me wondering how to act with her.

‘All
those people in that room…are they human?’ It seemed strange that I asked such
a question considering I had always been one and still, at that point, believed
as such.

‘No.
Most are not. And some are human guests who have just come for the night, and,
of course, the servants.’

I
shuddered as I remembered the fishermen.

‘What
troubles you?’

I
told her about the dream that seemed too real, describing the faces of the
fishermen as they fell from the boat – human husks floating down the
river. I wanted her to reassure me that there would be no such occurrence yet
it seemed so foolish to have said this out loud.

She
went to speak but there was a knock at the door and an older serving lady
walked in carrying a silver tray and decanter. She set them down on a low table
and then left, never once looking up from her task. On the tray was a selection
of dishes filled with fragrant meat. I
realised
it
had been some time since I had eaten and Oleander gestured for me to help myself,
which I did. Oleander then poured me a glass of blood red wine from the flask.
Suddenly thirsty, I drank quickly and Oleander poured me another while watching
me intently.

‘You
need to keep eating and drinking the wine,
Marek
. You
are too thin. We will put new flesh on your bones here. You will never want to
leave.’

‘And
Father…what do I tell him?’

‘He
is not my father.’

Papa would have been hurt by that
but it was not for me to say. As I walked
around the room I examined many shelves lined with books. At the back of the
room was a doll’s house, a miniature version of the castle. I took a closer
look inside. The detail of the spires was a work of art.