Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (30 page)

Lewis’s
voice was deep and slow, and spellbindingly calm as I remembered. His long
raven hair was streaked with silver, a short beard, and a long imposing nose
extending from a high angular brow. Even in his aged years he was magnificent.
‘I trusted you. I knew you were intelligent but what I did not see was that you
are also very calculating. I should have seen those early signs of rebellion
when you experimented with the
transferral
of souls
between animals, even after I banned you from the practice.’

‘It
is impossible,’ said Oleander. ‘You are meant to be sleeping for a hundred
years.’ Jean hid behind her cowardly.

‘You
have misunderstood the power of the old
strigoi
– those closest to our origins. You tricked me into sleep. You said you
would take care of things, but now I see you haven’t. This boy’s blood,’ he
pointed to
Marek
, ‘has seeped into my resting place
and awoken me and I have read his recent memories. I know what you have done,
Oleander. You have broken code. And as much as I would love more sleep I am
somewhat renewed from these past seven years and I must lead once more until
the coven is back in order.’

‘You
were bad for the circle,’ said Oleander, her commanding voice back again. ‘You
were stuck in the old ways. The messages are clear in your manuscripts. Youth
is the key. You failed to see that. You are responsible for letting our kind
shrivel with age, their souls lying in the ground wasting time.’

‘Like
all the youth of today, you are too eager for a quick solution. The key is
patience. You do not need so many body changes. As soon as the body ages it is
time for sleep. It is a natural course for the
strigoi
.
It can be for a decade, it can be longer, whatever the
strigoi
wants and needs, however many years he or she may want to reverse. Many of
these whom you have trapped in the basement should have been buried so that
they may rebuild themselves. Degeneration is a sign that it is time to rest.

‘You
take a soul each time you kill yet I taught only to take the blood. Taking just
one soul is enough to complete a witch’s immortality. Anything more is greed.
Souls make us powerful, that
is
true, but they are a
drug. The more you take, the more you crave, and the quicker your body
ages.  You knew all this, which is why you encourage the body
transferrals
, so that none of your loyal flock learns the
consequences
;
so that none of them have choices. And
it has got out of control for your hosts are getting younger.

‘I
told you years ago that body
transferral
is to be
used in times of necessity only. It is important for our kind to sleep, to give
other
strigoi
a chance. Too many of us roaming the
earth at the one time
is
bad for conservation across
the species. There would not be enough humans to support us in the way you have
bred our kind.’

‘You
could not handle change,’ said Oleander, fiercely. ‘The
strigoi
must evolve and adapt. There are wars coming. There are signs. I am the
strigoi
of the new generation to lead the battle for our
circle. We must stay young and strong.’

‘I
know the signs are there but we are strong enough, Oleander, and we can fix
things intelligently without a war, as we have done before.’

‘You
are wrong. You would see our circle destroyed with your generation of
weaklings.’

‘Still,
you do not listen,’ said Lewis shaking his head sadly. ‘You have left me no
choice.  I am in charge now to fix what you have done.’

‘You
are still an old man. What can you do?’

At
this the grotesque ones stepped closer, surrounding Lewis and Oleander. ‘We
have no burial to replenish – she banned the practice and punished us,’
said one.

Lewis’s
jaw was clamped hard, his eyes fixed upon Oleander, who raised her chin
defiantly. Jean had already slipped away from the room unseen, leaving Oleander
to fend for herself.

Oleander
took a step back.

‘It
was only temporary, until they yielded to my rules.’

Lewis
raised his arm and I felt his power in the room. The walls were moving; stones
shook from their resting places. I could only imagine what the full magnitude
of his power could do. Oleander once said that he was one of the oldest and
strongest of our kind.

‘You
were my shining light and more beautiful when you looked like your mother,
before you chose this bland, sickly cover.’

‘Stand
back or I will…’

‘What,
Daughter? You will kill me?’

Daughter?

‘There
is nothing you can do,’ said Lewis. ‘And if only you knew how this pains me
so.’ I felt a burst of energy from Oleander. Lewis stopped for just a second
but then he walked forward again. Her strength depleted, she had used much of
her powers tonight. In full power she was still no match for Lewis.

‘You
failed to understand in your impatience for perfection to care for the rest of
your circle. You did not build them tombs to protect them, to allow them to
rejuvenate. You have failed miserably and under the code of the
strigoi
you must be imprisoned.’

‘But
Lewis...Father…’ pleaded Oleander, now abject.

Lewis
turned to the grotesque. ‘I am back as master of this coven. Some of you need
to rest peacefully and grow stronger. For some of you, your time is not yet to
sleep but to feed. I will set you free but whilst in your hungry states you
must still show caution.’

‘We
are too weak to hunt,’ said one of the grotesque and the others agreed with
murmurs and cries. Lewis took hold of Oleander and pushed her into their arms.

‘No!
You cannot do this,’ she threatened, punching her fists at her fellow
strigoi
. Their greedy claws reached for her, grasping
strands of her golden hair.

Lewis
turned away.

‘Please…’
she begged as she sank and disappeared amongst the festering bodies.

It
was at this point that I thought he would falter and not hand her to that
horrendous fate but then the others had begun dragging her deep into the
dungeon. Her screams caused the candles to flicker, the sounds eventually
fading into nothing down the halls.

Lewis
noticed me as if for the first time and nodded, before walking towards
Marek
.

‘No,’
I said, ‘please do not hurt him.’

Lewis
turned to me instead. I felt in awe as I always had in his presence. In the
past I had witnessed the strength of his craft.

‘You
seem quite fond of the witch,’ he baited. ‘He has rejected our kind and killed
some of my circle. I cannot allow an adversary to live. He could prove
dangerous in the future.’

With
that he turned back towards
Marek
.

‘He
is Marissa’s boy,’ I blurted quickly, fearing
Marek
could be dead in an instant. ‘You can trust him.’

The
words stopped Lewis short.

‘I
did not see that in his thoughts. There are no images of Marissa.’

‘He
never knew his mother. She died shortly after he was born.’

Lewis’s
eyes were distant and there was only silence. ‘Oleander didn’t tell me she had
a brother.’ He stood over
Marek
, searching for
something, perhaps a likeness to someone he loved long ago. ‘I will heal him
and then he must leave here. I do not condemn those witches like his mother who
refuse the blood magic. We have choices.  Marissa taught me that at
least.’

Lewis
placed his gnarled hands on Marissa’s son and light poured into his body.
Marek
cried out during the repair, his body in spasms on
the stone floor.

When
the healing was complete, Lewis did not shift his gaze immediately. There was a
thick scar across
Marek’s
chest like a piece of rope
twisted and hard. It was a mark he would have for life but his heart was
beating strongly again.
Marek
lifted his head to look
around him, flinching slightly at the hands that had just released him.

‘Jean
is gone,’ Lewis said, perhaps reading
Marek’s
thoughts. ‘You could spend your life looking for him but you will never find
him. In time he will return for there is something here he wants.’

I
did not question how he knew these things; his knowledge and understanding was
old and beyond many of our new generation.

Then
to me: ‘Send this man and the wolf away from here and keep a watchful eye on
the castle. Tomorrow I will return to my library but there are others I need to
attend to now.’ He looked towards the empty passageways where the grotesque
ones had taken Oleander.

‘Will
you stay, Lewis?’

‘Yes, Zola.
For as long as it takes to repair the circle.’ And these words comforted me.

‘And
Oleander…’

‘I
will let the others feed on her a while but she will live. I will see to
that. These strigoi are not strong enough to kill her soul but she will need a
new host body, and what else happens to her here is best not talked about.’

‘Why
was I not told that Oleander was your daughter?’

‘Before
she returned to me… from her time with her mother…I had a messenger come to me
in a dream to tell me that a child of Marissa’s would lay claim to all the
covens across the lands.  I asked my loyal
strigoi
to keep the secret of Oleander’s origins from any new blood
who
joined our coven, fearing that no good would come from such knowledge. If
someone else received such messages, Oleander’s life would be in danger and
perhaps our coven also.’

‘Could
the child they referred to be
Marek
?’

He
frowned at this and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. When I turned, he was
already gone.

Marek
leaned on me heavily as I guided him up the stairs. He appeared disoriented and
kept asking where we were headed.  I did not answer. I was too busy
digesting Lewis’s final words:
Many will
die by a hand more powerful than my own.

I
wondered what foretelling was this and whether he spoke of
Marek
or Oleander; and if the
prophesy
had now passed, or
had not yet begun.

Chapter 14

Marek

I was aware of things happening:
the brush of cold stone against my shoulder, Zola’s arms around my waist, and
Zeke sniffing my hand, which hung limply by my side. But it was like walking in
a dream. I know I had come close to death, yet I did not feel unwell, just my
sense of reality seemed damaged.  It was not until we were out of the
dungeon and in the main hallways once more that I felt a weight lifted from my
mind and soul; and the feeling that my thoughts were once again my own.

Strigoi
stood in doorways looking lost. They all sensed what had happened and let us
pass. Their futures would take a different path, and perhaps the days of the
feasts were over. Some, possibly those loyal to Oleander and afraid of
retribution, had left, seeking a life for themselves elsewhere.

Celestina
was crouching on the great hall stairs like a cat, with her eyes narrowed. ‘You
will die, both of you,’ she said sharply. ‘Jean and Oleander will come back and
kill you.’ This one remained loyal to Oleander. She spat at us as we passed. A
weak
strigoi
, and a lower order, she knew she could
not fight us.

Zeke
sniffed the air, perhaps seeing if there was any trace of Jean. I wondered if
he understood what had happened or whether he was just living on animal instinct
and in the moment.

‘Can
we track Jean, is it possible?’

‘
Marek
, Lewis explained that you would be wasting your time.
Jean is long gone and clever, and his power and strength comes from his soul,
not the young shell he is in now. He will hide, perhaps for years, perhaps even
amongst humans. One day though, if he comes back…’ Zola looked at the wolf. ‘I
am hopeful, but it is all I can be at this stage.’

Once
back in Oleander’s library, Zola explained some of the events and I turned,
wishing to seek out my sister, despite all she had done.

‘
Marek
, there is nothing you can do for Oleander now…
nothing.’

Zola’s
expression was steadfast and I relented. She assured me that Oleander would
live. This, I understood, was a different world, a different order. Things
would be dealt with in
strigoi
ways.

‘I
have something to show you,’ said Zola. ‘Follow me.’ She led me over to the
dollhouse at the far corner of the library. A faint humming came from this
corner. Zeke whimpered slightly, then growled at the house.

Zola
opened the tiny doors and windows of the house. I looked inside. There were
hundreds of small figurines on the stairs, in rooms everywhere.

‘What
is this place?’

‘It
is Oleander’s experiment. It is the house of souls.’

The
noise increased slightly and the sound was becoming more distinguishable, more
like wailing.

‘They
are crying,’ said
Marek
.

‘It
is not so much a cry, as a vibration, their energies reverberating from their
ivory casings. They do this when they hear someone standing next to them hoping
someone might hear, especially when Oleander is not in the room.’

‘They
are just dolls,’ I said incredulously.

‘No,
Marek
, they are the souls of people trapped whilst
their bodies are being used by the
strigoi
. This
began shortly after Lewis disappeared. Oleander first began the process using
animals for body
transferral
, but stopped for fear
that they might hunt her down. She ordered Jean to track down all the host
animals and kill them. She thought this was a safer way to dispose of souls.
Zeke was the exception. Perhaps she was more fond of him than we think.’

‘Yes,
I have experienced first-hand how she treats those she cares most about,’ he
said cynically. ‘But why trap their souls at all? Why not kill their new form
afterwards and release them to heaven?’

‘Oleander
believed that those souls might wander the earth in misery searching for their
old bodies. They would be tormented wretched spirits causing havoc, and perhaps
finding ways of
demonising
her. It would be hard for
even a
strigoi
to fight such an enemy.

 ‘She
believed this was the only safe way to keep a close eye on them. It became her
obsession. She would spend hours in here painting her dolls. They aren’t made
from ivory. They are made from the bones and hair of her human victims.’

I
said
nothing
as there were no words to describe this
horror.

Their
cries intensified, perhaps from my own acute senses. This room was so filled
with melancholy. I could not take it and rushed out, Zeke in tow. Even from
outside their cries rang in my ears and I closed my hands over my ears.

Zola
touched my shoulder. ‘Celeste is in there somewhere. It is what I wanted to
show you.’

I
returned to the miniature castle tentatively with a semblance of hope. I began
examining the dolls, and each time I picked one up, I felt it vibrate even
stronger. I whispered Celeste’s name expecting a sign – anything apart
from the buzzing – but it was useless. There was nothing. The more I
looked the more the dolls began to look alike: bland, unsmiling faces, some
with fair hair, some dark.

‘I’m
sorry
Marek
,’ said Zola. ‘There are too many.’

She
was right. ‘Can these souls ever return to their bodies?’

Zola
was about to answer when someone entered the room.

‘Is
this what you are looking for?’

Celestina
stood in the doorway. She held her likeness in the palm of her hand.

I
stepped towards her.

‘Stay
back or I will smash it.’

‘
Neve
,’ said Zola. ‘Don’t!’

‘I
am not
Neve
.
Neve
is old
and ugly and dead as far as I am concerned. I am
Celestina
now.’

The
three of us were locked in a circle, each of us afraid to make the first move.

‘Zola,’
I said. ‘You once said that
strigoi
can kill other
strigoi
.’

Celestina
answered for her: ‘You kill me, you kill Celeste’s body too.’

Zola
took a deep breath. ‘
Marek
, I feel I brought you into
this with trickery and I want to say sorry.’ Zola turned to
Neve
.
‘I’m sorry for you too,
Neve
, but it is a question of
who now deserves a second chance. Perhaps you have had your time.’

She
flew across the room. ‘This is for nearly having me killed.’ It was
instantaneous and
Neve
did not expect it. Zola had
her mouth on
Neve’s
neck and began to suck hard.
Neve
scratched uncontrollably at Zola’s face and back and
then just as quickly the fighting ceased and she was
paralysed
.
And then I saw it: a faint ghostly mist rising from the lips of Celeste’s form.

The
mist slid across the room aimlessly. As if made from paper it began burning
around the edges, until eventually no part of it remained.

Zola
stopped. ‘Quickly! Smash it!’

I
smashed the doll and a light grey vaporous cloud rose up from the fragile bone
fragments. Celeste’s soul snaked its way towards her own body, but then stopped
suddenly and began to float in another direction.

‘Her
spirit thinks the body is dead,’ said Zola.

Zola
placed her hands over the body to heal but the spirit kept rising.

‘Call
her,
Marek
.’

‘Celeste!’
I called.

The
vapour
halted for a moment then once again continued to
travel.

‘Her
soul thinks it is time to move on. You must call to her. You were closest to
her. She will listen.’

‘Celeste!’
I shouted. ‘Come back! We can heal your body.’

The
cloud stopped moving, suspended above us.

‘I
will not let anything more happen to you.’

Her
spirit drifted slowly downwards then spread out to surround me in fine mist. I
began to shiver, the soul so cold without the warmth of a beating heart. Then
suddenly the mist merged into a long twisting tail before floating past and
quickly into the mouth of Celeste’s almost lifeless body.

Zola
checked her heart. ‘It’s not beating.’ She put her hands on Celeste. ‘Come here
Marek
! I need your help. I am still weak.’ Together
we pushed our powers into Celeste’s body searching through her until we reached
her heart and there we discovered the faintest beat. We smothered it with our
invisible hands and suddenly Celeste gasped.

Her
eyes opened and they scanned the room fearfully. I took her in my arms.

‘Are
you hurt?’

She
looked at me uncertainly.

‘Can
you speak?’

Celeste was puzzled and still said nothing. I took
her hand and helped her to stand. She looked warily at Zola before throwing her
arms around me and weeping into my chest.
My
Celeste had been returned.

Because
of
Neve
I knew that there was nothing wrong with
Celeste’s voice, and hoped that time would heal this impediment. I believed
that whatever traumas had caused her to be silent could be cured with kindness
and time.

Zola

Marek
took the dolls and one by one smashed them on the floor. Each time,
their life force, a fine grey mist, rose to the ceiling and disappeared. He
said it was better that they had a chance of finding heavenly peace than none
at all.

I
saw no reason to object. Any possibility of returning to their bodies was
futile and I did not share Oleander’s fears of ghostly retribution.

‘I
am surprised she did not breathe them all in,’ he said.

‘It
is not the same. It does not work that way.’ How can I explain to those not
like us, who do not wish to understand, and who cringe from such habit? The
soul is only part of it; without the blood of the fresh kill, it is stale and
tasteless.

At
the castle entrance,
Marek
asked me to come with
them. I could never return to the way I was nor would I wish it. It was
unthinkable. His island was not ready for a
strigoi
.

‘No,
I have my place here. And how would you keep your islanders safe from the likes
of my kind? Do you really want me to wreak havoc there?’

Marek
smiled for the first time in a while. He was radiant when he did, his dark hair
blowing around his face. I did not want him to leave. I wished he was a
strigoi
and we were hunting together. But that was not
something I could say aloud, especially when there was a human standing so near.
I wondered how much Celeste knew or understood. I wondered if she knew that
Marek
had the taste for blood and although he had cured
himself he would never be able to erase the memories of the feeling of euphoria
when he too drank from her kind.

‘Perhaps
you will come back,’ I said.
Marek
looked away and I
knew then that he did love me. That he loved both Celeste and me. But for now
he had chosen Celeste. She was not that worthy of such a prize. If I slept a
few years or even a decade, I would have more youth and beauty on my side and
this might draw him back. It was not for Celeste that I was letting him go this
easily. It was for
Marek
. Setting him free allowed
the door to stay open for his return.

‘What
happened to
Neve’s
soul back there in the library?’

‘Her
soul died, perhaps rejected by heaven as it was written – the doors
closed to all souls of those fallen angels years ago, along with their
descendants, when they turned their backs on their God in search of adventure.’

Marek
nodded. Maybe now he had faith in the scribes of the ancient ones. ‘My belief
is that being a witch is closer to human, and a means to redemption and passage
to heaven.’

I
doubted his belief though I could not be sure of anything anymore.
Marek
had already proven us wrong by ridding himself of
strigoi
blood… for now anyway.

‘There
is something I want you to do,’ I asked. ‘That old woman in the house in the
forest… I want you to check that she is well. I may not be able to go back
there for quite some time. I think Lewis will be keeping a careful eye on all
of us.’

‘Who
is she? You never told me.’

I
could not bring myself to tell him. He would have to learn the truth himself.

‘I
have not always been kind, as you know,’ I said. ‘But I do not forgot the
people who helped make me who I am.’