Wildwood Dancing (5 page)

Our guests sat down at the big table, whose wood was gleaming white from Florica’s daily scrubbing. Petru had escaped, muttering something about sheep. Like many of the valley men, he never had much to say in company.

“Shall I take the last batch of pastries out of the oven, Florica?” asked Tati, stifling a yawn. At Florica’s nod, she lifted the tray out of the blue-tiled stove, her hands protected by a thick padded cloth, her cheeks flushed from the heat. She was wearing her dark hair in braids pinned up on top of her head, and even in her working gown and apron she looked lovely. The pastries smelled nutty and wholesome. Gogu stuck his nose out of the pocket again, sniffing.

“You look well prepared for winter, Florica,” commented
Uncle Nicolae. There were strings of garlic in their dozens hanging from the rafters, along with bunches of herbs and garlands of little onions; the Night People would not be visiting Piscul Dracului this season if Florica could help it. “We’ve a good supply of cheeses and salted meats set aside this year. You girls must let us know if you run short of supplies for the table.” Both houses had storage caves in which such foodstuffs could be kept for months in cold weather: it was one advantage of living in the mountains, where winter gripped long and hard.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Tati said. “Would you care for a pastry? Cezar?”

“Jena,” said Florica, “that frog’s eating my best plum preserve.”

Gogu had escaped the pocket and was approaching the nearest jam dish in very small hops, as if he thought this would go unnoticed. I picked him up as unobtrusively as I could and stuffed him back in the pocket.

“You still have the frog,” commented Cezar, frowning.

I could see he was about to launch into one of his speeches about how unsuitable a frog was as a young lady’s pet: an argument I had no answer for, because I could not explain exactly what Gogu was, only that
pet
was a woefully inadequate description for my dearest friend and advisor. It seemed a good time to change the subject.

“Where’s Paula?” I asked. The others were all here. Stela had retreated to the warm nook by the stove and looked more asleep than awake.

“Writing,” Tati said. “She has some work to do for Father Sandu. She went straight back upstairs as soon as Father left. Iulia, will you go and fetch her, please?”

Our coffee glasses were of Venetian make, and very fine; I had seen both Uncle Nicolae and Cezar looking them over with the appreciation of born merchants. They were a set of eight, each glass a different color, with holders of silver wirework wrought in an exquisite pattern of stems and butterflies. As for the coffee itself, it was Turkish. The Turks were overlords of Transylvania, and not everyone viewed them kindly, for their presence among us had been attended by conflict, though the princes they set up to rule us were no better or worse than others in the past. Father had said Turkish culture was full of refinements, and that the Turks made excellent trading partners, as long as one knew the right way to talk to them. We had seen the lovely items he brought back after he bartered with their merchants: silk carpets from Persia, which seemed alive with intricate patterns of scrolls and flowers; musical instruments of flawless finish; and cunning boxes with hinged lids and hidden compartments, decorated with brass inlay. We did not take coffee very often—Father was of the opinion that one could have too much of a good thing. It had seemed to all of us that this morning’s farewell more than justified a treat.

Gogu wasn’t really supposed to have coffee; it made him jumpy. All the same, Iulia had put a little green saucer by my glass. I began to pour the thick, dark brew from the coffeepot into the glasses, hoping I was not so tired I would spill it on someone’s lap. Tears pricked behind my eyes. I’d have given up a lifetime of treats to have Father back here now, well and happy, sitting at the table telling a story of some faraway, exotic place he’d visited and the intriguing folk he’d encountered there. I’d have given up coffee and pastries in a flash to see his smile.

As soon as the others returned and sat down, Cezar began an inquisition. “I understand you’ve been busy writing, Paula.” His tone was bland. “Letters?”

“I’ve been preparing for a lesson.” Paula delighted in talking about her studies. “It’s about historical invasions of the Transylvanian plateau.”

“Go on,” said Cezar.

While my cousin’s attention was on Paula, I poured some of my coffee into the saucer.

“You know the name Transylvania means
the land beyond the forest
in Latin,” Paula told Cezar, sipping her coffee. She always seemed able to drink it piping hot. “The wildwood has played a major part in saving the folk of this area over the centuries, did you know that? Down in the lower regions, the settlements were overcome and ransacked by one conquering force after another. Up here on the plateau, folk just vanished into the woods when they heard the invaders coming. The marauding armies simply couldn’t find them.”

“Interesting,” said Cezar with an edge in his voice. I tried to warn Paula with my eyes, but she was addressing herself earnestly to our cousin.

“Folk are afraid of the wildwood, of course,” Paula went on. “There are so many strange stories about it. But it seems to me the forest shelters and protects people. Ow! Jena, you kicked me!”

I caught her eye and she fell silent. It was a long time since Costi’s death. All the same, this topic was not a good one to raise with Cezar, nor with his father. For all that, Uncle Nicolae seemed quite unperturbed; he was starting on a second pastry.

“This land’s seen cruel times,” said Florica. “My grandmother had tales that would turn your hair white.”

“Shelters and protects.”
Cezar’s hands clenched themselves into fists on the table, and the bright chamber seemed suddenly full of shadows. “Hardly! Ensorcells and destroys, more likely. You can’t have forgotten what happened to Costin, Paula.” His use of his brother’s full name indicated how upset he was. “Jena herself nearly drowned that day. This valley has a hundred other tales that echo our own—a hundred other children lost, a hundred other travelers wandered into the forest around Piscul Dracului, never to be seen again. The very names of creatures that dwell in the wildwood put a shiver down a man’s spine: lycanthropes, goblins, witches, and Night People.”

Gogu had drained the saucer and now crouched by it, trembling.
I don’t trust him, Jena. He makes me edgy
.

“That’s just the coffee,” I muttered.

“What was that?” Cezar gave me a sharp look.

“Nothing.”

“To call the wildwood a sanctuary is almost … sacrilegious,” Cezar continued. “Everyone knows the forests in these parts are places of extreme peril, full of otherworldly presences. Florica would agree with me, I’m certain.”

“Folk do say it’s unsafe, Master Cezar,” said Florica. “On the other hand, maybe it’s more a matter of how you look at things. Of getting back what you give. It’s always seemed to me that if you offer respect, you get respect in return, even when you’re dealing with those beings you mentioned.”

“There’s a certain wisdom in that,” said Uncle Nicolae. “And it sounds as if Paula knows her history.”

“I must disagree with you, Father.” Cezar’s jaw was set, his eyes cold. It was a look familiar to me, one I did not like at all. Once he was in this mood, there was no cajoling him out of it. “Where did your sister learn these theories, Tatiana?”

Tati blinked at him in surprise, a piece of pastry halfway to her lips.

“I can speak for myself,” Paula said, her tone level, although her arms were folded belligerently across her chest. “Father Sandu and I have discussed this at some length. As he is a priest of the Orthodox faith, you can hardly claim his lessons to be contrary to the teachings of the Church. It’s true about people taking refuge in the forest. There are documents—”

“If you girls will excuse me,” said Uncle Nicolae with a smile, rising to his feet, “I’ll just go out and have a word with Petru before we leave. Cezar, don’t be long. We’ve work to attend to at home.”

If he’d hoped to calm an approaching storm, he was unsuccessful. As soon as he had left the kitchen, Cezar started again. “This should be brought to an end right now,” he said, looking as grave as a judge. “Before any more damage is done.”

“What do you mean?” Tati stared at him.

“This teaching, these visits by the priest. History, philosophy, Greek … Most men get by well enough without that kind of knowledge, and a woman can have no hope of understanding it. It’s putting dangerous ideas in Paula’s head. In my opinion, Uncle Teodor showed a lamentable lack of judgment in ever allowing it.”

There was a silence. Paula went very red in the face, and the rest of us stared at Cezar, appalled. Tati recovered first.

“Father entrusted the welfare of our younger sisters to Jena and me, Cezar,” she said calmly. “This is hardly a time to begin questioning his judgment—he’s only just ridden out of the courtyard. And I might point out that you’re not so very much older than I am. It’s not for you to pronounce on such matters.”

“Besides,” I put in, “there is a purpose to Paula’s education, and to mine. Since we have no brothers, Father’s going to need us to help with the business as we get older. Paula’s languages will be an asset. History helps people avoid making the same mistakes over and over. Geography allows a merchant to find new markets before anyone else does.”

“I see.” Cezar’s tone was chilly. “So your father sees no ill in Paula’s view that witches and lycanthropes and bloodsucking Night People are friendly creatures who want only to help us? How would you feel if little Stela here went out into that benevolent forest one day and was torn to pieces by some monstrous beast? What if she fell foul of Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood? What price knowledge then?”

I pictured my smallest sister in her pink gown, dancing under the trees of Ileana’s Glade with her happy group of assorted friends, her rosy face wreathed in smiles. I thought about the Night People. Cezar was both right and wrong. A person couldn’t understand the Other Kingdom if he’d never been there—if he’d never experienced how beautiful it was, how magical and precious. Yes, it was dangerous as well, but dealing with that was a matter of putting Florica’s wisdom into practice: to give respect and get respect in return, and at the same time to be always watchful. Our cousin was not alone
among the folk of the valley in his attitudes. There were those who believed the Other Kingdom to be a devilish place, full of presences out to destroy humankind. The margin of the wildwood was hedged about with crucifixes; the trees on its rim were thick with protective amulets.

“Cezar,” I said, working hard to keep my voice calm, “if you think you must challenge Father’s opinion on this matter, please do us the courtesy of waiting until he returns from Constanţa, then speak to him personally.” I made myself smile at him, ignoring the anger in his eyes. He gave a stiff nod. Then he took my hand and raised it to his lips, startling me so much I sat frozen and let him do it. Iulia exploded into a fit of nervous giggles.

Gogu made a wild leap, aiming for my shoulder and overshooting by at least an arm’s length. He landed heavily on an oak side table, skidded, and thumped into the wall. In an instant I was on my feet and had him cradled between my hands. I could feel his heart pounding like a miniature drum. His body was possessed by a quivering sense of outrage. There didn’t seem to be anything damaged, save his pride.

“There’s something extremely odd about that creature,” said Cezar, eyeing Gogu suspiciously. “It just serves to underline my argument. A place in which a child can find an oddity like that frog is not a safe place to wander about. It is not the benign realm of your theory, Paula. Ideally, the forest around both Vǎrful cu Negurǎ and Piscul Dracului should be felled entirely.”

Perhaps he did not hear our indrawn breath of pure horror, for he went boldly on.

“That would keep those presences I mentioned away from our doorsteps, as well as opening up additional land for grazing. The shepherds don’t like coming up here, not even onto the pasture areas, and with good reason. The whole of the eastern hillside is wasted as a result. A complete clearance, that’s what I’d like to see. As for the frog, you should get rid of it, Jena. You’re a young woman now. If you must have a little companion, and I know ladies are fond of such things, a cat or a terrier would be far more suitable. I would be happy to make inquiries for you. That creature is … peculiar.”

I could think of nothing to say. I was used to his attitude to Gogu, which had grown stronger as I had become older. As for the forest and its dwellers, there was a reason why Cezar feared them, a reason that made perfect sense to anyone who had not had the privilege of entering the Other Kingdom.

“Aunt Bogdana likes pastries, doesn’t she?” I said brightly. “Florica, could you pack up some of these for Cezar to take home? I’ll see him out.”

On the way to find Uncle Nicolae, Cezar paused in the hallway, arms folded, his face half in shadow. “Jena?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re angry, aren’t you?”

“No, Cezar. I may disagree with your ideas, but that doesn’t mean I’m angry. It’s hard to be angry with someone who once saved your life. When you talk about Costi, I can still see it.”

His features tightened, his dark eyes turning bleak. “Me
too, Jena. I wish it would fade, but it doesn’t. Ten whole years. Every night I dream of it. It won’t go away.”

“It was an accident,” I said, the pale waters of the Deadwash filling my mind, with the remembered terror of floating away from the shore—farther and farther away—as a thrilling game turned into a dark reality. “Nobody’s fault. It was terrible, yes. But you need to look forward now.”

“When I’ve destroyed every one of those creatures out there, when I’ve broken their world and stamped on the pieces, then I’ll look forward,” Cezar said. His words set cold fingers around my heart.

“Even if you did all that, it wouldn’t bring Costi back.” We were going over old ground here. And the more we did so, the less ready he was to change his mind. Ten years was a long time. Wasn’t time supposed to ease grief? It seemed to me that Cezar had grown sadder and angrier with every year that passed. “Hating people doesn’t mend anything.”