Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (31 page)

‘I
can never forget that it is evil what you do, Zola. Taking bodies, feeding on
humans.’ But these words were not said with disgust or hate.

‘Do
you not wear leather and fur? Do you not eat meat? The only crime we are guilty
of is returning to our true form and surviving.’

‘I
am in my true form.’

Still,
there was something in his eyes that led me to believe he was not sure of
anything either.

Celeste
walked away. She was keen to be far away. ‘Not even a thank you?’ I said loud
enough for just
Marek
to hear.

‘She
has nothing to thank you for,’ he said wryly.

‘Perhaps
not.’ She would not have gone through what she did if it hadn’t been for me. I
had kidnapped her and, for a time, delivered her to hell.

‘Celeste
saved your life back at my house. If it wasn’t for her intervention Jean may
have killed you there.’ I explained the night of the fisherman and afterwards
in his room. It pained me to tell him this, to praise my rival, but I felt owed
him much, and most of all the truth.

‘Take
care of Zeke,’ I said.

Zeke
crouched nearby, his sad green eyes watchful. I could not read animal thoughts,
but by keeping a wary distance, it was clear that he was eager to be free of
me, and this place. Whatever feelings he’d had for me were perhaps forgotten as
new desires filled his brain. I had the human desire to throw my arms around
him once more, to make him understand that I did not mean for any of this…

‘Did
you not know that Oleander was Lewis’s daughter?’

‘No.
He did not say…nor Oleander.’

‘Strange.’

‘Yes.’
I did not tell him about Lewis’s dreams. Now was not the time. He needed to be
far from here.

‘Goodbye,
Zola.’

‘Goodbye,
Marek
.’

And
then he left. We will meet again,
Marek
.

Would
I take another soul after everything I have learned? Is not the blood enough?
The truth is: I already knew the truth before today. I am what I am – a
creature to be feared, whose cravings outweigh my need.

Marek

We were on our way home.
My home and theirs too, for I would take care of them.
When
we stopped to eat and wash, Celeste traced her finger along my scar. There was
genuine concern and shock in her eyes. I went to hold her hand remembering the
softness of those lips when
they were stolen by another
.
She pulled it away as if she might catch something, the intimate moment gone.
She was finding it hard to trust even me.

Throughout
our journey her eyes darted around expecting creatures to jump out at us. I was
much the same. Sometimes I imagined that more
strigoi
were tracking us and when we slept beside our nightly fires I dreamed Oleander
was near. I must have yelled because when I opened my eyes Celeste was by my
side, her small hands shaking me awake.

There
were tiny healed scars on the inside of Celeste’s arm where she was bled during
the transfer of souls. Zola had explained the process when the bites were deep
and made to weaken her.
Neve
would have forced her
soul into Celeste’s body with a kiss and then driven Celeste’s soul out and
into the hollow doll where she was imprisoned in darkness. Her nightmare was
great. We would both endure much inner turmoil for a long time to come.

After
several days we came to the hut where Zola first took me. There was no wood
smoke today. I could see through the window that the old woman was by an empty
hearth. She did not respond to my knocking.

I
opened the door and Celeste pressed close behind me. The woman sat in her chair
with her back to me. I walked near her, announcing myself so as not to frighten
her. At first I feared the worst but then I heard her short frail breaths. I
touched her. She was cold and gravely ill. All these I could feel through my
hands. There was much sickness throughout her body. Age was not something I
could cure. I pulled a blanket over her knees and stirred up the dead embers of
the fire, adding wood until the room was once again warm.

Celeste
fetched water and boiled some for tea. She passed a steaming cup in front of
the bowed figure. That was when I noticed the woman’s wrist. A small purple
circle was exposed. It was the mark of the
strigoi
and it matched mine. With sudden movement the woman grabbed my own wrist, her
eyes wide open, her blind eyes milky. In a flash I remembered where I had seen
her. In Zola’s house was a portrait of a servant. And then I saw everything.
This was the real Zola. My Zola was disfigured, but not as a child as I had
imagined. She was old also.

And
Zola? I wondered what her real name was. ‘Zola’ I said out loud. The woman’s
eyes opened widely in astonishment, searching my face for some kind of
recognition. Perhaps there was the joy of someone knowing her true identity.
The edges of her mouth flickered and she squeezed my hand in thanks. And then
her eyes closed and she was gone. And there we left her. I thought how sad it
was to pass in such a way
;
to age and die in a body
that had been far too old for the young soul within.

Chapter 15

Marek

The journey back with Celeste was
uneventful. I had gold, thanks to Zola, to buy a boat to sail home again. I
also bought Celeste new clothes in Valona and she was humbled by the purchase.
This skirt was woven with fine cotton and dyed with lavender. Her blouse was
the same
colour
and buttoned high. She was pleased to
be out of
Neve’s
low cut dress, unaccustomed to the
immodesty and decadence of the satin and lace.

Celeste
was sick on the first day, sitting in the middle of the boat, afraid of the
large expanse of deep water around her. But within the day she steered under my
instruction, and soon took to it with
vigour
. I
watched her, the wind lifting her hair and pressing her blouse against her
breast. She turned to me, a look of satisfaction in her face that browned under
the morning sun. With distance between her and the horror and cold, this could
hopefully be the first of many pleasures to come. She had been robbed of so
much in her life this far.

Zeke,
however, crouched in terror for the entire trip. The only time he was not
fretting was when he slept or when Celeste scratched his head on her lap. At
night he howled at the sky. Perhaps he called out for his mother. Perhaps even
Zola.

The weather
was warming. How beautiful it would be on my island.

We
made a strange group as we landed on the beach. Many eyed Zeke warily. But once
I explained that Zeke was tame, the islanders greeted me warmly and rushed to
find my father. It took him minutes to reach the beach but many more to console
him.

Later

My father cried many times in the
days following my return. He would often stop in the middle of his tasks to
draw me into his bear-like arms and hold me there for many moments, afraid to
let go. Sometimes it was difficult to know what to feel. I was not the same son
returned, and guilt often kept me from reciprocating his affection.

Celeste
was explained as the orphan daughter from Valona, a distant relative of my
mother’s. Since
no-one
knew of my mother, it was safe
to use her name this time. My father was unaware of Celeste’s past, and asked
very few questions, but he went along with the story for my sake.

To
make my father a little more comfortable, and to do things properly, according
to Silvia, Celeste moved in with her. The first night, however, Celeste ran
back to our house in the middle of the night. Her nightmares were still too
vividly real.

After
a few days, the younger gradually warmed to her guardian. Silvia, warm and
generous of spirit, was keen to mother a girl of her own. It was hard not to
fall in love with Silvia on sight and Celeste was no exception. Though living
apart, we saw each other regularly and I could not fail to see that there was a
bond between my father and Celeste’s carer, something I had not noticed until
then. Perhaps it had been there already but I was too naïve to notice the way
they silently communicated – a touch of a hand, a look or a nod of
encouragement or approval.

Zeke
lived with me but it was
Ricco
he snuggled up to at
night by the fire. My father thought it was better he stay away from the town.
He was free to run and hunt in the hills and woods behind our house. I talked
to Zeke often, offering words of comfort that one day he might turn back into his
proper form. I did not know if he could understand me, met only with those
pale, distant eyes. Sometimes I thought he was angry when he did not come to my
calls, even though he was nearby. It was at these times I thought that perhaps
some memories surfaced and he was struggling with what he had become.

One
day, a few weeks after arriving on the island, Celeste called in to our house
carrying a basket of freshly baked bread. It was the first time I had seen her
so happy. She no longer looked pensive or wary and her step that day was full
of confidence. She was olive-skinned and healthy from the sun, her shoulders
almost bare in a new dress made by Silvia who spoilt her with clothing.

I
did not speak about it at the time, but one day I would find out what had
happened to her mother. One day when time had healed some of the wounds… those
wounds you could not see.

Celeste

Never before had I known so much
freedom, so much sun. A month went by and already the memories of the Black
Forest and Oleander’s castle were becoming a past that might not have belonged
to me. The worst times were the darkest nights; when they took me back to
another dark place. Silvia talked to me now during the night. She heard me toss
and turn in my bed, my sheets soaked with sweat by morning. She sat on my bed
and never questioned my lack of speech. She told me stories by the fire:
amusing stories of
Marek
and his life.
Of his times when he nearly drowned while searching for pretty
shells off the sea floor.
Of the endless nights he would build fires on
the beach after dark, and fall asleep beside, until his father would carry him
home again.

Silvia
was teaching me to stitch. She mended and made clothes for the wealthier
townspeople and she thought I would made a good clothes-maker one day and take
over her business. She showed me fine stitching and looped ones for pockets.
And she would give me a coin each week, which I put aside in a purse under my
mattress.

I
would have perhaps still wished to live with
Marek
in
his house on the hill where he could see the whole world, but it was proper,
even for a peasant like me, that an unmarried, orphaned girl live with an older
female, and
Marek
was no longer my master. There were
no slaves on the island.

I
sat with
Marek
on the beach cliffs in front of his
house. It was his day off for he worked with his father, and in their free
time, they were building a boat. He told his father about Valona and how he
could sell more there. His father was very pleased about this.
Ricco
was a good man. So often I caught a tear in his eye
when he looked at
Marek
. I sensed that he carried
much regret: perhaps that he could not prevent the suffering endured by both
his wife and son. Though I did not know much about his history with Marissa,
and
Marek
talked so little about it.

Marek
and
I sat without sound. We did that often. He sometimes did not want to talk. I
fell asleep in the sun and woke to find him tickling my face with flower
petals. It felt good yet in the back of my mind there hung a dark cloud. I
wondered how long these days would last.

Ricco

My boy came back. He did not speak
much of his travels. His scar, he explained, was the work of savages he
encountered in the Black Forest. He also said he had met his sister but that
was all. I hoped to know about her in time. But I could see that there were
inner scars also, and it pained him to remember the past months.

There
was something unusual about the tame wolf they called a dog. He seemed to be
listening to our conversations. If we moved he followed. He was never very far
from
Marek
and me, and growled when anyone approached
Celeste. Both
Marek
and the girl had a secret bond
with the beast, yet I sensed he was searching for something else, and he tended
to sit with me.

Sometimes
when
Marek
and Celeste were sitting together I felt
excluded. There was much unspoken about
Marek’s
time
away. In time, maybe, but I did not push him. I myself hid much from him and
still do. The boy was returned as a man and his words were his alone to use as
he chose.

And
Celeste, she was smart and sweet and visited often. They went to the cliffs
together daily.
An unusual pairing.
I still thought
that
Marek
was better suited to one of the girls from
Gildoroso
. It would have helped if Celeste had
talked. Many men at the
osteria
counted a
woman’s lack of speech as a blessing.
Marek
ignored
these comments. He did not see the lighter side to their conversations anymore.
That was what was different about
Marek
. He did not
find
humour
in the small things, and brooded more
often. Perhaps it was just maturity. Often I caught him looking out to sea as
if he was yearning to travel again, even though he said constantly how
wonderful it was to be home.

Sometimes
though, he sat for hours watching the moon. But, stranger still, one day he
asked me where his mother was buried. Something about that question left me
cold, and I lied and said no, and for the first time I was pleased her body was
buried far away on the mainland.

For
reasons about which I knew little, they say witches should be buried in unmarked
graves.