Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (26 page)

I
ran into a room, empty but for clothes strewn on the floor. I tried several
more doors but they were not there. I turned to the right and soon arrived at a
dead end. I still felt their presence with Zeke’s thoughts hanging in the air.
I burst into the closest room but there was
no-one
.
Several candles were lit around another portrait; the face of a man was
illuminated in a circle of light. He had an angular face, intelligent eyes, and
draped in
coloured
robes like a priest, and obviously
from a time before mine.

Although
empty, the presence of others was very much alive. I could hear Zeke’s heart
beating fast. I pulled apart heavy red curtains on the back wall to reveal a
door. Through this I saw stairs leading down into darkness. My shoes shuffled
and echoed on each stair as I headed downwards into what I could only describe
as a black hole.

Jean’s
sickly sweet cologne led the way but more noticeably an earthy smell filled my
nostrils, of other
strigoi
nearby. Oleander had also
been here recently.

I
was alerted by new sounds and thoughts. It was Zeke again but this time
excitement was replaced by distress and the sounds of whimpering. At the base
of the stairs I pushed open a heavy wooden door to enter a vast chamber nearly
as big as the great hall. Several doors led off from this room with caged
fronts. Marble columns surrounded a stone structure in the
centre
.

I
approached it cautiously. There were whisperings and I sensed so many of my own
kind. This distracted me until I heard shuffling just out of my vision. I
turned to see Zeke but no sign of Jean.

Some
grotesque being had enfolded him in its arms. Demon-like yellow eyes glared at
me through peeling mottled skin, not unlike the old crone who had arrived at
the island. It was hairless, its bones protruding. There was a rancid stench of
rotting flesh. One long
taloned
finger rested on
Zeke’s throat. When I stepped towards it, the creature hissed at me, revealing
long carnivorous teeth. It held Zeke tighter and I could see and smell the
faintest pinprick of blood on his neck.

‘What
do you want?’ I asked.

‘Stay
away! This one’s mine,’ it said in rasped, broken speech. There was an
animal-like possessiveness about this creature and I was fearful now that Zeke
would quickly become its food.

I
knew I must destroy this thing when several more stepped out from cages now
opened, surrounding me. I grabbed the creature around its neck and pieces of
its flesh came off in my hands. Fooled into believing this was a weakling I was
thrown back and lost my balance falling hard on the floor, my chest winded.
This was a living gargoyle since there was no other word to describe such
ugliness, with the power of a
strigoi
. I closed my
eyes and pushed the creature backwards with my mind but it still would not let
Zeke out of its hold. More grotesque creatures advanced, close enough to smell
their hot and putrid breath.

‘Enough!’
Jean stepped into the light. The creatures hissed at him as they bent their
heads submissively, retreating slightly. The boy was then released.

‘What
is this place?’ I asked Jean, breathlessly, a firm and protective arm around
Zeke who was trying hard not to look at the beasts. For the first time I was
relieved to have Jean’s company.

Jean
laughed. ‘You mean you do not
recognise
your own
kind?’

Lies!
That was not possible. These were vile demons, not like the magnificent
strigoi
I mixed with.

‘
Neve
!’ called one of the creatures, its gaze directed to
the room’s entrance.

I
turned to see that Celeste had entered. She looked shocked at first and then a
mixture of disgust and shame washed across her face before she ran from the
room. The creature
who
had called out the name started
to wail – horrible shrieking sounds – before several others dragged
it away. I was now horrified to see that the dark rooms, surrounding us, were
full of similar beasts; most prevented from leaving by iron bars across their
cells. This was a prison.

‘You
are lying. These are not
strigoi
.’

‘Why
should I lie? There is nothing to gain by it.’ There was an element of spite in
his words. I sensed nothing but malice and disliked the way he kept glancing at
Zeke as if to devour him. Zeke held on to me tightly, his face burrowed into my
coat, as he attempted to block out the ghastly scene.

‘These
are
strigoi
. Beings just like us except returned to
our original form. For that is the price of immortality my friend. You have to
find a new body every few years if you want to stay looking handsome.’ He
laughed again. ‘It is happening to me now and I am in the market for a new
one.’ He looked me up and down with the hungry smirk of a cat.
‘Though there are better, younger bodies than yours.
I would
prefer your soul instead.’

I
took a cautionary step backwards.

‘It
won’t hurt a bit. Oleander will be angry for a while but she will soon see my
way, and I will make up some story about how you tried to kill me first. She
idolises
me far above you.’

Jean
stepped towards me again and I found that I was unable to move my legs, forced
to release my hold of Zeke. My untrained power was no match for his. He leaned
forward and drew back in a great breath, breathing me in. A rush of blood rose
up through my body; so powerful was this force that I tasted blood in my mouth.

‘Jean!’
There was a sudden release and I collapsed on the floor. ‘What are you doing?’

Zola
bent down to me. ‘Are you all right?’ I nodded, wiping away a drop of blood,
which had escaped my mouth. Zola was angry. ‘You should not be here.’

‘What
is this place?’

‘It
is a dungeon…’ She was afraid to tell me. ‘Jean, you should not have released
them,’ and with her power she slammed the cell doors shut to retain the
ghoulish escapees.

I
pushed past them roughly, taking Zeke with me who was whimpering like a dog,
still fearful that there were creatures lurking in the fringes of the room. I
would ask Oleander. She would surely explain that I was not like one of those
creatures and nor were the
strigoi
in the ballroom.
Though the look on Zola’s face told me what I feared the most.

Chapter 11

Marek

As I headed through the hallways, Zeke
tightly in my arms, I passed the open door of one of the guestrooms. I didn’t
know the
strigoi
inside but I had seen him before. He
was absorbing the blood from a woman who had arrived by carriage earlier that
night. A human no doubt tricked into thinking it would be a wonderful night,
tantalised
by the beauty of her
strigoi
host. Her dead husband’s jewels and inheritance to be taken and pocketed by the
soul taker but only after every ounce of blood had been siphoned first, and her
body discarded in the canal like so many before her. In the corners of the
room, several other
strigoi
waited eagerly for their
turn.

Back
in my room I did not show fear to Zeke, and neither could I let him out of my
sight. He looked silently at me for some sort of answer but there was nothing I
could think to say. His eyes were puffy and red-rimmed and his thoughts were
wild. I carried him to my bed and touched his forehead. Heat radiated from my
hand and he fell asleep in seconds, the memories of the evening erased.

My
window faced the moon, which lit a pathway through the tall trees, showing the
way out of here. The fall of snow had eased. Some of the
strigoi
were leaving the festival, their light banter travelling on the breeze. No
human could see or hear these. By the time they thought they heard a sound, or
felt the rush of wind, there would just be the flutter of leaves, and a few
light indents in the snow.

I
paced the room. My head was noisy and full. Sounds from the gala below were
magnified in my head making it hard to think. Slowly I shut them out with my
craft, something Zola taught me. Once clear of sound I was free to assess. Zeke
was in danger here. Zola could not always be here to watch over him, though I
could not completely trust her either. In fact, there was
no-one
here for me. My own life was on a knife’s edge. The encounter with Jean had
confirmed this.

Questions
swirled through my head. Why was I here? What was Oleander’s real purpose for
me? I was nothing more than a murderer – a villain and an enemy to my poor
loving father and other humans. Why had I not seen that until now? Had I been
hexed? I remembered my recent kills and the sudden dawning of my crimes weighed
like a cloak of lead around me. What would my father say? He would look at me
in horror. He would disown me and it would be his right. For I was no longer
the son he thought I was.

I
felt a surge of anger and picking up a book I threw it across the room hitting
the doll that Irene had given me. It crashed against the wall and fell to the
floor, splitting open the delicate head of the figurine. A piece of parchment,
folded tightly, was wedged inside. It would have been painstakingly fed through
a small hole in the bottom.

It
was a letter scrawled. Someone had hurriedly written this and the style changed
slightly from time to time like the author had paused and left the writing
table. I looked at the bottom to see that it was signed from Irene.

Dear
Marek
, I pray that you read this in time. Oleander
searches my thoughts constantly to see if I am loyal. I have learnt to lock
thoughts away in my mind from years of being a servant in this house, but I am
getting older now and it is not so easy. I fear my time is short on this earth
and to be honest, I am now looking forward to moving to the next world. If I
stay here I might not even have that chance.

Marek
, when I saw you I couldn’t believe my eyes.
There was a mixture of sadness and relief that you turned out so well. However,
I do not know if you are a
strigoi
or not. You know
that there is a difference between a
strigoi
and a
witch,
Marek
. A witch, at least, has a human soul.

Nothing
is
as it seems in this house. Make no mistake, the
strigoi
are demons. You know they weren’t always this way. It
is the choices they made and it is Oleander and her new breed who have taken on
this darkest and oldest of witchcraft: the stealing of human shells in their
quest for perfection.

Your
mother left here many years ago. She wanted a different world for her child,
Oleander.

We
met
Ricco
travelling south, a wonderful man and it
breaks my heart to know that, in the right place, Marissa and he could have had
a wonderful life together, and Oleander would have perhaps turned out
differently.

Before
your mother was caught and imprisoned in a filthy cell to live with vermin, she
asked me to take her daughter far away to prevent the same fate. She believed
that her daughter would have a better chance with me. How sad she would be
today if she saw that it wasn’t true, that I had failed her trust and brought
her child back to this horror.

I
am ashamed to say that it is because of me we came back here. And knowing that
your sister had the craft I could not bear to see her suffer the same fate as
your poor mother. She was ten at the time and we were starving. It was a fierce
winter. I was a single woman without means. I begged for our food. Oleander was
so scrawny I did not think she would last the winter for she had not yet come
into her craft. That was when I decided to return to Lewis. He took us both
back.

I
do not have much time. I wish I could tell you more. You are in danger
Marek
: real danger. They are changing you into something
that you are not. They have been poisoning your wine with human blood.

There
are people here who will consider you a threat to their own power. Do not trust
anyone and leave if you still can.

There
is a picture of your sister on this wall. Remember her how she was. I regret
that Oleander cannot be saved. There may still be time for you.

God
be with you
Marek
,

Irene.

My
hands were shaking as I turned the parchment over. On the back was a picture of
a creature not unlike what I saw in the dungeon. Beside it was Irene’s
handwriting.
This is the price for immortality.

I
stood up to survey the portraits on the walls in my room. Strange anonymous
faces and none there to resemble Oleander, though, one face looked familiar. It
was familiar because the girl in the picture looked a lot like me. And then
suddenly I knew her, the real Oleander, the one my mother had tried to protect
from all of these horrors.

Yes,
it was Oleander. The golden-haired beauty belonged to someone else at some
point. On the wall was a dark-haired girl with golden brown eyes like my own.
It was a wonder that I failed to notice. The narrow long nose starting from
high between her brows, the high cheekbones and the almond shaped eyes. It was
her, my sister. The sister I never knew.

Zeke
stirred, his breathing was heavy, forced into a sleep I had filled with good
memories to erase the images from the dungeon. I picked him up and carried him
over my shoulder.

In
the hallway I passed a servant. I whispered: ‘
You
should go. You are not safe here.’ He stood looking at me the way cows do in a
paddock of thick grass. He was confused, thinking,
where would I go?

I
had to find out the truth,
then
I would leave here for
good. Whatever it took I must rid myself of the demon inside even if it meant
my own death.

Oleander
was calling me. She was whispering in my mind. She had already sensed my
dissent.

Celeste

There was a sound of rustling from
outside my place of darkness. People movements I’m not sure, but any noise was
reassurance that I still existed. Oleander hummed to herself constantly. I was thankful
for the humming. Without some sort of sound I thought I would go mad. Most of
the time I was left to ponder in my own thoughts and dwell on my memories.
Sometimes I had to imagine my hands in front of my face to keep myself focused,
but sometimes I drifted in space.

Oleander
gave an exaggerated sigh.

‘Put
him down on the lounge.’

‘I
will not let him go. It is not safe for him here.’ It was
Marek’s
voice and I was suddenly alert. I lived for the warmth of his tone. I’m here, I
screamed, wanting to pound at my prison walls, but of course when you are just
a soul without flesh you have no way to make sound.

‘We
do not kill children,
Marek
. They are far more
important to us living. And Zeke will soon be able to come and go as he
pleases, a fantasy by all children do you not think? He will know freedom like
he has never known.’

‘You
lie like you have lied about everything,’
Marek
said
with a break in his voice. Never had I heard him so distraught. ‘Tell me,
Oleander, why me? Why did you have to lure me here?’

‘You
are my brother. Family needs to stay together. And, of course, I love you.’

‘How
can you possibly love me? I saw my future below this house.’

‘Yes,
I know. That is a pity. Jean is very bad for leading you there.’ Oleander’s
tone sounded uncaring in contrast to her words.

If I
could I would tell
Marek
everything I’ve heard for
I’ve been here long enough to hear Oleander and Jean’s private discussions. I
followed
Marek’s
progress through their stories. I
learnt of his first human kill just after it happened. I heard how he fought
hard against the demon spirit within him. And I heard how he lost the fight.

‘Oleander,
why do this? Why change me into something else?’

‘You
are meant for greater things…’

‘The
way I am now is not who I am. You tricked me and fed me human blood.’

There
is silence.

‘Someone
told you. Was it Irene?’

‘Did
you murder her?’

‘She
was against my leadership from the start, and she had the potential to be a
troublemaker, but I didn’t kill her.’

‘Was
it Jean?’

‘Oh,’
said Oleander. ‘Perhaps… There are always consequences to one’s actions, and
she had a choice.’

‘She
was the last link to our mother and she was a good person. She did not deserve
this life. Rewarded for her loyalty by death.’

‘Do
you not
realise
what humans did to our mother? How
they repaid her kindness by torturing her to death? Did you know they made me
watch them burn her feet to see if she knew the whereabouts of others? She
could have escaped but she died for us,
Marek
. She
pleaded guilty and died to satisfy her executioners, so that they would not
falsely look elsewhere for someone to burn; so that you and I could disappear
and hide like rats. She died for another human also: your father. I hate him
for that. She thought that her sacrifice would keep
Ricco
safe and free from persecution.’

‘Do
not talk about my father,’ shouted
Marek
despairingly.

I
struggled with images of his wretched mother. I could only imagine what he was
thinking.

‘Our
mother was a soothsayer also,’ said Oleander. ‘She could sometimes see far into
the future. When I was small she warned me that one day there would be a coven
war. But what she didn’t see was that it
will
be a war
that I plan to declare. The
strigoi
of this world do
not have the sort of leadership they need. I can lead them.

‘I have
lost many valuable members of my circle through petty disagreements and
disloyalty. I need to recruit new members.’

‘Tell
me…what do you want from me?’

There
was a pause. ‘You are strong,
Marek
. I don’t know how
strong yet but you can be trained to be a powerful
strigoi
.
With you by my side we will win the war.’

‘Oh,
sister, I despise you too much to go into battle for you and the rest of your
miscreants. Our mother would not be proud that such a daughter turned out to be
nothing more than a delusional savage…’

There
was a sound of something falling heavily on the floor.

‘There
now, perhaps you will not be so insolent, little brother!’

More
silence.

‘Do
not forget that I am a leader of a very powerful group,’ she said and I sensed
the fury behind these words. ‘I have to think of my real family. The
strigoi
. Humans are worthless. You were born a witch,
Marek
but with the misfortune of growing up with humankind
who has been brainwashing you with their talk of false goodness, suffocating
your mind with their feckless teachings. They are not like us.
Witches being raised by humans has
the same effect as humans
raised by wolves. There is no education, and therefore no freedom to be who you
truly are. I have taken you to the next stage of your power. I have given you
safety and brought you to where you belong, and yet you are still ungrateful.’