Blood Red (9781101637890) (34 page)

Once they were well away from the—well, she could only think of it as a “den”—she broke into a trot. There was no point in being quiet now, and she wanted to get back to a safe point before she spoke aloud. Dominik did the same and followed right behind her, trying to put his feet in her footsteps to confuse their path, until they got to the little cleft where they had left the horses.

It was not unlike the cleft in the rock back at the first shifter cave, except that it was shallower and there was no cave at the back of it. They had left the horses tied up to a young tree about the girth of a bracelet, right beside a trickle of water, and there was enough grass beneath it to keep the horses satisfied for now.

When we have to leave them . . . I must tie them loosely, scatter the oats around them, and give them orders to pull free and run by sunrise.
She hoped this cleft was far enough from the shifter den that the shifters wouldn't scent the horses. She hoped no bears or real wolves would get them overnight.

Then again, she doubted that bears or wolves would come this close to the shifter den. Likely the only animals around here were things the shifters wouldn't trouble to kill.

“I need to do a magic working. This isn't going to be like anything you have ever seen before, Dominik,” she said, as they paused and took some deep breaths, leaning a little against the horses' rumps. “It—it isn't even exactly a ritual, or a spell, or anything of the sort. I'll tell you the truth; when it comes to all the magic that I actually know, I'm completely at my wit's end for remembering
anything
that will do us any good at all.”

He nodded. “Nothing I could think of would, either,” he admitted, grim-faced. “We need a Hunt, but—blessed Virgin, how could we ever be so cruel as to try and make one up out of Petrescu and his villagers? And nothing we summoned, not even from my family or Markos', would get here in time.”

She nodded, lips compressed into a thin, hard line. “But I finally remembered that I did something by accident, once upon a time when I was a child and as desperate as we are now, that worked beyond anything I should have been able to do. I'm going to try something of the same thing, this time on purpose. And we'll see what we get.” She took a deep breath, and dropped her hands to her sides, shaking them out. “This probably isn't even going to
look
much like magic. So . . . well, all I can do is try.”

She dropped all of her shielding. After all, she hadn't even known what shields
were
back then, much less been able to raise them. She needed to be the opposite of what she usually was; she needed to return to that pure, innocent state of childhood, when she had no idea that—some things weren't possible.

Maybe . . . maybe in that state of purity and innocence, anything was possible.

And she closed her eyes, made herself entirely still, and . . . opened herself to the forest, to the hills and mountains, to the earth beneath her. Opened herself to all the life around her—which was the thing she had done instinctively and in a panic as a child.

This time she had no fear that the
vârcolac
would sense her. She knew now what she had not known then—that the shifters were entirely
un
natural. That they were not in tune with the Earth, because their magic, like the magic of all of those who used blood-engendered power, was the opposite of Earth Magic. That they divorced themselves from the Earth, in a sense—attuning themselves only to the opposite powers of corruption, evil, and decay. What she did . . . well, they wouldn't even know she was doing it. The only reason that shifter back in Grossmutter's cottage had known what she was doing was because, untutored child that she was, she had called for help to anything that could hear her. This time, she was going to call for . . . only good things, wholesome things, anything natural, and tied to the Earth, that might be inclined to help her.

But it would leave her completely open and at the mercy of whatever answered her. Back in Germany, she knew what she would get. But this was Romania. And what answered her might not be friendly to her. The Saxons—Rhenish in her case, but spirits and Elementals wouldn't know the difference—might not be regarded kindly by the native Romanian spirits and Elementals. She hadn't sensed any animosity, but the truth was, she just didn't know. The Saxons had brought their own creatures with them when they arrived centuries ago. Had they displaced the natives? Did the natives resent that? Never mind how long ago it had been, Elementals remembered favors and grudges for millennia. . . .

She was counting on Dominik's presence—and the fact that they were trying to rescue Markos from something utterly foul—to temper that. But there were no guarantees. And if whatever came decided she needed punishment as an interloper rather than aid as an ally, well . . .

Well, then I will beg for help for Markos and submit to any punishment it might deem my due
, she thought, reconciling herself to it. There was, after all, no choice. This was their best chance to save him. Probably their only chance. He had believed in her, and stood up for her, and taken her side. She could not do less for him.

She gathered all the power that was within her, as she had as a child. She tried to put herself in the attitude of supplication—not groveling, but as one who has exhausted all other options, and will accept with an open, grateful heart whatever might come to her aid. And she waited, until the moment felt right, as the tension built, as the metaphysical arrow waited, and the bowstring was drawn back, until the mystical quarry was in her sights, and the arrow was ready to leap from the bow, and the moment was
just right—

And the moment came, single, whole and perfect.

Please!
she called out, making her whole body ring with their need.
HELP US!!

Just as it had that moment, so long ago, the entire forest seemed to ring like a bell. It was as if a shudder, an earthquake—no, a
power
quake—went through everything, and a moment after that . . . came an enormous
silence.
Nothing made a sound, not a bird, not a leaf, not the horses next to them. Not even the wind. For that moment, everything in the forest was completely, utterly still, and everything that had breath, held its breath—

Dominik looked as if she had struck him between the eyes with a hammer. Even his handsome moustache had lost its life, and drooped as if stunned.

She, too, held her breath, staring at the opening to the cleft in the hill where they had taken shelter, wondering what, if anything, was going to answer her.

Then, she had her answer.

There was light, golden light, building out there in the forest. It was a clear, pure light, of a sort she had never seen before. For a moment, it looked as if the most perfect sunbeam ever created had pierced the canopy and was illuminating a spot right where the cleft opened up into the woods. But then the light got stronger . . . and stronger . . . and began moving toward them.

Rosa clutched the saddle, knees going weak. She hadn't exactly hoped for this . . . she hadn't allowed herself to hope for anything.

But whatever had answered her, it was powerful. More powerful, maybe, than that avatar of the Great Hunter that had appeared to help her with the first Romanian shifter, the one that had worn the first copper medal. But there was more than just
one
being answering her call this time.

The light formed into shapes, and then into solid creatures. Human-formed, but definitely not human. The power played around them like a halo.

It was a procession of maidens, pacing two-by-two toward them.

But oh! Such maidens as these she had never seen in her life, and reckoned she never would again.

The first lot were the most impressive, and most beautiful of them all. There were two of them, with long hair flowing down to the ground, hair the actual color of gold, golden gowns, and eyes the color of the sky. Their faces were impossibly beautiful, and still—like statues come to life.
“Zâne,”
whispered Dominik, eyes bulging, moustache bristling, as they neared and then divided, facing and standing one to either side of them. “They are like—guardian angels.”

Before she could respond, more paced forward out of the light. The second lot, six of them, walking toward them in a line of three pairs, were also beautiful, but dressed in mail coats over white gowns, and their hair was more the color of white gold. Their faces were
anything
but still. They smiled, lazily, and even though they were wearing armor, they swayed as if they were dancing, seductively.
“Iele,”
Dominik said, and shivered, as they cast voluptuous glances at him. He looked as if he was torn between fear and longing for them; being a woman, Rosa was immune to their seductive power, but she could sense how hard Dominik was fighting to resist. They seemed to find that amusing. She sensed that if they had wanted to, they could have brought Dominik crawling to them on his hands and knees. But they were here for another purpose, and were not inclined to toy with him. This time, anyway.

The last lot, another set of two, were two beautiful girls, a little less beautiful than the
iele,
with hair the color of wheat-straw. They were the most human looking of the lot—which was to say, not all that human, but more approachable. Their expressions were grave, and their eyes were dark, like bottomless pools of water. Both wore golden gowns. There were blue flames hovering just above their heads.
“Vâlva ba˘ilor,”
said Dominik faintly. They did not look at Dominik, though they nodded at Rosa. She thought they looked faintly friendly.

The girls arranged themselves in a semicircle with an open place exactly opposite the two of them. And now the light playing around them became too bright to look on for a moment; Rosa and Dominik had to close their eyes. The light seemed to burn through her closed eyelids, and when it faded and she opened them again, there was a man standing in that gap. An old man, dressed in white like the first two girls, like several of the Romanian men that Rosa had seen in Sibiu. He wore baggy white trousers, a white shirt, both not just white, but dazzlingly so. He had plain brown boots, an embroidered belt at least a hand's-breadth wide around his waist. He had a very long white hair, far longer than anything she had seen in this country before, with a long white beard, formidable white moustache and a wise and kindly look on his face. He faced both of them, leaning on a staff, his bright blue eyes twinkling a little.

“Mos
‚
ul!”
gasped Dominik, and went to one knee. Rosa didn't go that far—strangely, the name only meant “old man”—but she did bow with profound respect.
Mos
‚
ul
seemed to find this amusing.

“We have come to aid you, children,” the Old Man said, with a chuckle. “Your simple and heartfelt call for help touched our hearts. And we, too, rid to wish our land of the foul and unnatural creatures that have infested it. It is just as well that you did not seek to rescue your brother-in-power by yourselves. The evil
vârcolac
in that cave number three and forty. You would never have escaped alive.”

They both gasped; Rosa felt the blood draining from her face. “What do you advise, Wise Elder?” she asked, humbly. “We cannot leave him there, but as you say, we cannot hope to rescue him alone.”

“Most assuredly not, you must not leave him in their hands!” the Old Man exclaimed. “No, it is more than time that the foul creatures were scoured from that den, and as I said, we have come to aid you. And we intend far more than advice. Do we not, my daughters?”

“They have plagued the people of this land long enough, and have not repented of their ways,” said one of the two z
âne,
sternly. Well, if they were a sort of guardian angel, they were surely offended by the forty-year reign of the murder of innocent people, half of them young people and children. “Too many innocent souls cry out to us, restless because they cannot sleep while these creatures roam free, and kill, and kill again. This cannot stand.”

The
iele
just looked eager, and didn't say anything. Truth to tell, they seemed just a little bloodthirsty, to Rosa.

But the Elementals sometimes are bloodthirsty, especially the nature spirits,
she reminded herself.
Most especially those that were once gods. The old gods were not single in nature, they had their light and dark sides.
She regarded the Beings lined up before her.
Our luck they are showing us their bright sides.

Now, there was always,
always,
a catch, when supernatural beings like this—Greater Elementals, in fact—came to aid an Elemental Master. As Gunther often said, “All that the Great Ones do is to give you the tools. It is up to you to wield them correctly.”

So Rosa bowed again, and said, “Then if you have brought these wondrous creatures to be our army, I beg you, tell us what your strengths and weaknesses are, that we may all emerge victorious.” It was the
weaknesses
that concerned her the most. Although the
iele
might be dressed in armor, it didn't follow that they were actual
fighters.
And if the
zâne
were a sort of “guardian angel,” it might be that all they did was defend, and not attack. “And if this aid comes at a price—”

“There is no price,” said the same one that had spoken before. “Not for this. This is . . . proper work for us all.”

The Old Man laughed. “Oh, Little Red Cloak, the girl in the cloak as red as blood, there is wisdom in you, wisdom as well as spirit. Come, let us sit together and we will all talk.”