Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (16 page)

‘You
must not touch,’ said Oleander.

When
I circled the replica house and peered in through the tiny windows to the
darkened rooms inside, I felt a buzzing in my ears. The sound reverberated
through my head.

Zola
entered hand in hand with Zeke who looked around at the books in awe. As I
stepped away from the house the buzzing noise faded.

‘Ah,
I was hoping you’d come by soon,’ said Oleander.

Zola
nodded at her admiringly. ‘Perfect,’ I thought she said, though I am still
unsure of the exact word since she spoke in such a hushed tone.

‘Take
Marek
dancing now,’ said Oleander, turning back to
the books on her desk dismissively. ‘Let him enjoy the festivities.’

Before
I could object to Zola that I had never danced, she pulled us both again into
the crowds, and I
realised
how impolite it was that I
hadn’t enquired of Oleander’s recent illness.

Celeste

I followed Jean back down the
stairs to what would be my accommodation and all I could feel was contentment.
I did not take my eyes off his back
,
so
compelling was his semblance
. He looked like an angel in his white
attire and his smile was so dazzling I found myself smiling back. We entered
the dark pit and he carried a candle to illuminate the empty hallways and low
ceilings of a manmade tunnel of stone.

Off
the hallway were rooms cut into rock with metal bars across each opening. I
could not imagine who had been imprisoned in such cells. We reached the end at
a large iron door. Behind the iron doors was a small room with no windows, and
just a chair where he directed me to sit. As I did, those feelings of
contentment dissolved and I was left with a feeling of disgust. When I looked
up at Jean he was no longer an angel, just a demon with the coldest blue eyes I
had ever seen. He had put a spell on me again as he had done back in the city.
I had warned myself but still I did not heed.

He
did not say anything for several minutes but simply looked at me with his too
handsome face and pouting lips. He reminded me of a spoilt fanciful child.

‘I’m
sure you have heaps to say,’ he eventually said cruelly, and then laughed at
his own joke.

I
felt menace oozing from the very walls of this place. Stained shackles on the
floor told of torture and death.

‘Can
you hear that?’

In
the distance I could hear the sounds of a festival. ‘Tonight we are celebrating
for our leader is very happy and wants to let everyone know how she feels. She
plans to have many more parties. The noises could drive you mad. Why, you ask?
Oh, yes I can hear you, Celeste. Your thoughts are loud in my head though you
would feign complete disinterest. That is why we knew you would be a nuisance.
You pictured Zola dead too many times. Dead – by your own hands.’

I
widened my eyes.

‘Surprise!’
he jested, spitefully. ‘Never mind my dear, we have found other uses for you.
You will make a wonderful present for our mistress who is always hungry for new
life. Some might say she is insatiable. She will be down here to visit you when
she is free. Your fate is completely in her hands.’

Jean
stared at me again knowing I couldn’t respond. It was a form of torture I was
sure. People thought I was stupid because of my lack of speech. But you can
learn more from someone if you neither speak nor react. Eventually he left,
taking the lantern so that I was alone in darkness.

I
sat in the corner with my back to the wall, waiting for the sound of a key, and
wondering if I would have been safer on the farm. I thought much of
Marek
who was meant to be my
saviour
.

For
hours I heard music and laughter. Sometimes I had to shut my ears with my hands
for it began to fray my nerves. When the noise eventually died down I began scratching
at the
stone walls
hoping that something would give,
but there was nothing. Just darkness.

Chapter 7

Marek

The sun had just risen when the
festivities were over. It was a most extraordinary night – women and men
so amazingly beautiful, not a plain face to be seen, and more food and beverage
than I had ever seen in my life.

I
was shown my bedroom but it was hardly a room. It was bigger than my house on
Gildoroso
. From my window on the second floor I watched the
last of the guests disappear into the forest. There were no carriages and they
left on foot, their bright attire disappearing into the gloom. Once I would
have thought that impossible but I was slowly getting used to the strangeness
of our kind. They moved faster than humans and did not feel the cold. I thought
that Oleander must have been mistaken. There could not have been human guests
with them tonight as there were no carriages or carts to be seen.

I
was not feeling entirely well though. My father would have noticed that my
island complexion was gone from a ruddy brown to a pallid yellow, and my weight
had shrunk. There was something not completely right about me. It seemed I
could never get enough to eat. I craved food constantly, particularly meat.

I
paced the room, my heart racing. I was suddenly filled with guilt that I had
not thought of Celeste all night. If Oleander would guide me, I could use my
powers to travel east, where I suspected Celeste was headed to find her family.
Sometimes I thought I could sense her close by. It was fleeting and difficult
to describe, the heightened hearing and smells similar to a dog perhaps.

The
snowfall had stopped and the sun had burrowed through the clouds so that a
narrow shaft of light hit my face. My eyes felt heavy and I decided I was tired
after all. Fully clothed, I began to retreat to my bed when I saw movement.
Returning to the window I watched a horse and rider enter the basement of the
castle and caught a glimpse of red-gold underneath a riding hat.
Zola
.

I
left my room passing many other empty bedrooms as large as mine. It was the
first time I had thought about who else might live in Oleander’s castle apart
from Zola, Jean and the serving staff. With the visitors gone, the castle was
empty of sound. I followed the long hallway to a set of narrow stairs that
twisted and turned down into the lower levels of the house. There were both
sweet and
savoury
smells, also the delicious steaming
waft of bread rising led me into the back of the galley. One of the cooks stood
over an animal carcass, its throat slashed and blood pouring into a bowl.

The
cook and her assistants stopped like they had been caught doing something
wrong. I mumbled an apology and found a back door. This led down into an
enormous basement room with a canal. The castle, I would shortly learn, was
built over a natural watercourse, which eventually emptied into a river; a
convenient means for disposal.

As I
walked along its edge I noticed a piece of clothing floating on the surface of
the water close to the side. When I bent down to examine it I found that it had
snagged on the rocky edge. I tugged at it slightly but there was some
resistance. Another jerk and I felt it disengage. But as I lifted the cloth
higher I saw that it covered an arm, and the shrunken face of a man lay just
below the surface. I jumped back in fright, releasing the dead man. The arm,
along with the rest of the body, sank away from me into the murkiness.

I
turned to run in search of Oleander but Jean stood waiting near.

‘Hello,
Marek
,’ he said in a tone that suggested we were good
friends, but from my nightmares we were not. I had noticed him at the party but
he had kept his distance. Only once did he come near before Zola whispered into
his ear and he disappeared again.

‘This
canal attracts all sorts of things. The mountain waters flow through here. That
was probably just a beggar who fell upstream. He will float and disappear
downstream, and probably not surface for miles. It is also a perfect way to
dispose of a body, do you not think?’ He asked this wearing a silly grin that
did not require a response.

The
corners of my mouth flickered nervously.

‘I
jest, dear boy,’ he said thumping me on the back.
‘All sorts
of things float down here, carts and carriages, ladies’ shoes.
It is
rugged country. People drown and float away.’

When
I looked up to see what new expression he was wearing he had gone, and so was
any trace of the dead man. For anything that fell into the water would most
likely never be found. It was filthy brown in
colour
and I wanted to be away from it quickly.

I
walked the bounds of the castle. My boots crunching in the thick fall of snow
upset the crisp, still air. Giant fir trees reached into the white-grey sky
forming marching lines as far as I could see. I had only seen the castle at
dusk under a fall of snow and now I examined its features. It was three floors
high and some hundred yards in length. I peered up to the lowest turret. Faces
depicting human terror were etched into stone, with fires burning behind them.
Whoever the artist was had great skill but had too fond an interest in murder
and hell.

Now
that the air had cleared I expected to see other buildings nearby but there
were none. Even across the valley there were no cities and nothing on the
horizon. It was miles from anywhere and I thought curiously about the men and
women who had left a short time ago, wondering where they were headed,
travelling fast on foot with the aid of their craft.

I
wandered towards the front entrance. Ghoulish faces with demon horns on wolf
bodies stood as if in the attack position: the marble beasts guarding the
stairs. Their glassy eyes stared back at me. This entranceway was so
uninviting, exactly as Oleander would want.

‘They’re
just stone. Don’t let them put you off your tour.’

Zola
stood behind me wearing riding trousers, an unusual change from her normal
girlish costume, and asked if I wished to ride with her. I declined, badly in
need of sleep.

‘Do
you know where I might find Oleander? I need to speak to her urgently.’

‘Why?
What is the matter?’

‘I need
to tell her something.’ I did not want to discuss the matter with Zola.
Something told me she might already know and perhaps had something to do with
the body of the man. She was also very close to Jean. Though I so wanted to
believe the opposite of everything I had been thinking about her, for she was
someone who was much in my mind.

Zola
looked upward and I followed her gaze.

Oleander
watched me from the lower windows near the entrance.

I
opened the large doors to find her there, waiting. ‘Oleander, I am glad to see
you. There is something I want to talk about.’

She
smiled, looking fresh for someone who would have had as little or no sleep as
I.

‘There
was a body in the canal. Jean said that it is someone who has fallen in
upstream. I don’t trust him…’ I halted before relaying again my concerns about
recent events, as suddenly they seemed trifling in the new light of day.

‘All
sorts of things float under here. How terrible that you had to see it. Jean is
one of my closest friends. He likes to make everything sound dangerous but he
is all puff. You will learn to trust him. One day you will be the best of
friends. You’ll see.’

A
rush came over me like a wave in the sea. I sat down and rubbed my temples and
the floor felt like it was turning liquid and I might sink. The nausea was back
with a vengeance.

‘You
don’t look well, dear brother.’ She clapped her hands and a servant arrived
carrying a flask. ‘Here, perhaps this will calm you.’

I
sipped from the cup and after a few moments my mind was clearer. ‘I’m sorry,
Oleander. It’s just that much has happened since I left the island and
sometimes I am unsure what is real and what is not.’

‘It
is most likely exhaustion. The cold and the distance have probably affected
you. Sometimes a sleepless night can change your perception. You need to rest.’

I
struggled to remember what else I wanted to speak to her about.
Celeste.
‘I need to find my friend, and wonder if you could help me. I would like to
return her to her family.’ I then proceeded to tell her briefly about Celeste’s
life.

Oleander
widened her eyes. ‘How tragic for the poor girl,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Of
course,
Marek
, I will help you. But first there are
things we need to teach you about your craft. I simply cannot let you go off
without the knowledge. It would be completely irresponsible of me.’

‘But
it is important that we help Celeste first. I do not want her to find trouble
in her travels for I have seen much in the way of barbarism and she is so
young…’ I stood up too quickly and again had a dizzy spell.

Oleander
steadied me and I was surprised at her strength. ‘Relax, dearest boy. You know
you are my brother and I will help you in any way I can. Last night was just
the beginning. We have so many festivities ahead of us.’

I
agreed for it was harder not to, but I vowed to continue with this conversation
later when I was feeling better.

‘Good.
Now go and have some breakfast in the dining hall, then get some sleep before
the small affair I have planned for this evening. I will not join you for
breakfast. Jean and your little friend, Zeke will keep you company.’ The
thought of Jean discouraged me but I was looking forward to seeing Zeke again.

I
headed toward the rooms off the foyer to find a lavish dining room with a table
for over thirty people. I was all alone and wandered around the room lifting up
vases and silver and looking at miniature portraits of strangers.

Oleander’s
maid walked in carrying a tray to the far sideboard. I guessed she was of
middling years or older, but the lines in her face and her knuckled hands told
of life with hard work and drudgery.

How
would I have looked – an overgrown island boy in velvet and stockings and
lace at my sleeves. The telltale that I was not of this house was my wild black
hair, once again loose.

I
turned back to view figurines in a glass case. Reaching in to examine one,
something touched my elbow and I turned quickly to find the servant looking up
at me, her eyes roaming my face frantically.

‘Is
everything all right?’

‘You
must leave here,’ she hissed.

I
asked her to repeat her words, so low and desperate was her tone, but she
turned back towards the doorway. Her thoughts were unreadable: nothing but a
jumbled mass of
colour
and random words.

‘Ah
Irene, Oleander requires you urgently,’ said Jean tersely. His face was
powdered white to match his hair, his jacket the palest of yellows with gold
thread, and lace at his cuffs. Although his tone sounded joyous, there was
subtle menace in Jean’s insistence.

Irene
scurried away and I was positive that Jean did not see her press an object hard
into my hand as she passed. I tucked this into the base of my sleeve before
Jean turned to give her a warning look upon reaching the door.

Zeke
was clad in dark blue velvet with his strawberry-gold hair combed straight. He
looked as one born to comforts, so easy was he slipping into his new role as a
pampered pet. There was no talk about his parents; those memories of another
life put to the back of his mind. I could not help but think that we should be
finding a proper family in a town where he could run with sticks, joining other
boys, and tending geese and gardens among his chores.

Irene
returned carrying trays with small bowls of creamy soup, pastries filled with bacon,
and fried breads. Trays of cheeses and dates were also served with sweet rolls
made from sunflower seeds, and honeyed water poured into painted floral cups.
The drink was heavily spiced and more aromatic than the mead I was used to
;
and oddly addictive. Zeke reached for food hungrily but
was stopped by Jean who explained that it was rude to grab. He showed Zeke how
to elegantly use a soupspoon, and keep the hot liquid steady, and the polite
use of a napkin to delicately wipe the grease from his mouth and fingers. His
lessons were only partially mastered as Zeke’s eyes darted anxiously at the
food as if it might disappear before he got a chance to eat it all.

‘So,
Marek
,’ said Jean. ‘What shall we do today? Perhaps
some
hunting?
I would like to teach Zeke to ride a
horse today. Can you ride?’

‘Yes
I can. I used to ride the wild horses on the island. However, I think I might
sleep a while.’

‘Life
is too short for sleeping,’ he urged. ‘Oh well, it is just Zeke and I.’

This
last comment bothered me. The thought of Zeke spending time alone with Jean
hunting did not sit well. He did not strike me as someone to whom a child’s
welfare should be entrusted. Strangely though, I was feeling
revitalised
since I had drunk Oleander’s wine and relished
the idea of breathing in cold pine air, away from the staleness within the
castle. An
odour
not unlike old meat seemed to line
its walls. I finally agreed to accompany them.