Disclaimer: I own nothing (except for Kaisha and the vampire clans). JKR is God! Please don't sue me, all I have is a (rather extensive) collection of Buffy books and $11.31 to my name!
Go Your Own Way
Prologue:
The baby was dying. Mother knew at least that much, even if she couldn't pronounce the disease the child was dying of. The doctors had told her that the child was beyond all hope. The only thing left to do was make her last remaining days on earth as comfortable as possible, but how do you make life comfortable for a dying six month old? Father had left before Mother had born the child, and Mother was out of options. Medicine was not going to save the child. There was nothing to do.
But that was a lie. There was something that she could do, and if it would save her baby, Mother had to try. She would give up anything for the child. Where medicine had failed, magic may save. Mother couldn't do it alone, but she knew who could.
Against the warnings of all who knew what she planned to do, Mother bundled the infant and herself up as tightly as possible, and set out into the chilled Romanian night. There would be a long, hard road to follow before she reached her final destination, and the sooner they got going, the safer the baby would be.
Hours passed as she climbed through the dense mountain forest, and Mother prepared herself for the arrival. She had known of the village's existence since her memory began; it was a tale told to all the children of her town.
"Be good or we will send you to Întunecare," was the threat that mothers had repeated for generations to their misbehaving children. Întuncare was the village of the dead, a place even the bravest of Mother's town would not venture. The place was now more a myth than reality, but Mother knew the truth. It was Grandfather who told her stories of his youth, and the daring things he had done. Once, on a challenge, he had searched out the mythical village. He said that was the day his hair turned white.
The village was high in the mountains above Mother's home, and if one walked all day, following the creeks and waterfalls into the mountain valley, there you would find Întunecare. "But you must no go there, iubit. It is the home of death and dark magic," Grandfather had said one evening. Mother could see the fear in his eyes, as if remembering past horrors that were better left forgotten. The usual mirth in his voice had been lost, and his words came out in a frightened whisper. "They are haunted, those who live in Întuncare. They die, only to live at great cost. They are the strigoi. The deathless. I pray you never meet them."
Mother, however, had other prayers; prayers for the life of her child. Her prayers would be answered, whatever the cost. If dark magic could spare the child, then she would do it. Her baby would survive.
By the time mother reached the dark mountain valley, she was a rock. Her baby would live; there was no other option. If they refused, Mother would find a way to kill the deathless, even if it meant her life as well. She climbed over the mountain ridge to a high mountain lookout, and surveyed the land before her.
The valley of Întuncare was carved out of the high mountain peaks surrounding it. It was an ancient valley, and the land in its base had been smoothed down by the ages. The center of the Valley was open meadows with a large glacial lake in the center. Adjoining the lake was a thick forest that seemed to spread from the lake high into mountain peaks. The entire valley was rimmed with forest, which Mother would have to travel through to reach the basin below. Mother saw some lights high on a stone ridge on the other side of the valley, and began her descent into Întuncare. Unfortunately, that was as close to the village of Întunecare as mother would get.
As she started down towards the valley, Mother became aware that she was not alone. The shadows in the trees around her were not only dark, but flesh as well. Watching. Waiting. Mother was afraid, but she would continue; her child needed her.
A shadow moved, quick as a flash, and became form. He was standing right in front of Mother, thin and gaunt, with hollow skin and dark eyes that burned into hers like fire. In the moonlight, Mother could see his dark hair was splayed with gray, and the dark hair paired with the black cloak he wore made his white skin stand out like the white of a star. 'He's not human,' was all Mother could think, and she was right. This man, he was the strigoi. No human could have looked as he did. His eyes commanded her, and she was helpless.
The baby squawked from deep inside Mothers cloak, bringing her back from the abyss of black. Mother suddenly remembered the reason for her journey, and began to plead with the stranger in a desperate rush. "Sir, my baby, she is dying. She needs help. I need help." Mother paused, and then continued, " Please, you must do something, anything. I will do anything I can to repay you, but my daughter, my daughter must live."
"And why do I care? Humans die everyday, why should this child be any different? I cannot change fate," said the man in a tone clearly indicating that the death of a child had no more significance than the death of fly.
"But sir, sir, you possess the darkest of magic. You are able, I know you are. I will pay the cost," Mother pleaded. The dark man looked intensely at Mother, as if weighing her words carefully to see if there was value in them. After a long moment of contemplation, and great anxiety on the part of Mother, the man spoke in a tone that was cold and calculating, as if the proposition of granting life to an infant was no more than a simple business transaction.
"Ah, I fear that you find yourself in the wrong company if magic is what you seek," the man said casually. "But, if you are willing to pay the price, then I may be able to help the child. Let me see her."
"Yes, yes, anything! Thank you, thank you, you shall not regret this. Anything I have is yours." Mother was fumbling excitedly to unwrap the dying child from traveling pouch tucked underneath her cloak. Out came the infant, quite pink from the warmth of Mother's body. She had the dark eyes and dark hair that was common to the inhabitants of their village, but the child was visibly quite sick. She was small, even for a babe her age, and sickly thin. Her eyes were heavy lidded, and it seemed that the child was fighting a losing battle to keep them open. It's labored breathing came only sporadically and was painful to hear.
"Give her to me," said the man, his eyes suddenly filled with a strange hunger. As he took the baby in his arms, he examined her quite closely, looking into the passive face of a child in the clutches of death. "She is beautiful. It is a deal then? If I help the child, you will pay the price?"
"Yes, it is a deal. Anything you ask of me, just let my baby live."
"Alright then, she will live." The man was now reaching for something from under his coat. It was only when he brought the desired item out, that Mother had realized the error she had made in trusting the man with her beloved.
She was staring at the man, holding her baby in one hand, and a long silver dagger in the other. She began to scream and moved to protect the baby. Around her, the living shadow sprang to life, and grabbed hold to restrain her.
"Don't fear, you're child will be safe with me. I have always wanted a daughter of my own," he said, looking directly at the child as he said this. But Mother couldn't hear that, her mind was racing with terror and her ears were filled with her own screams.
The man lowered the dagger to the child small wrist, and opened her soft flesh with a quick stroke. Blood squirted from the child's severed artery, and he lowered his mouth to the bloodied arm, ignoring the screams that pierced the night around him. Indeed, it was as if a wall of silence had enveloped him and the babe, for she made no sound as her eyes slowly glazed over. The man drank as he had never before. The infant's blood was sweet with the innocence that only children possess, but he had to be careful to leave enough for the child to survive the transformation.
Mere seconds later, he pulled his mouth away from the silent child. He laid her down on a patch of soft moss at his feet. He took the dagger, and, with the same quick motion, slit his own wrist. Blood splashed down, covering the child in a rain of gore. The man then knelt down next to the child, and lowered his wound to her tiny mouth. Blood dripped down into her throat, and only when the child shuddered violently did he pull his arm away.
Mother was in hysterics. This was not happening. She would have done anything to save her child, but what was happening to her baby was as far from saving as possible. She wanted the child to live, but not like that, not like them.
And suddenly, there was a noise other than her own shrieks, and it came from the child. The child was crying, crying, as mother had not heard her cry since birth.
"See now? That's better, isn't it? Oh how hungry she must be. You're child is safe, but I'm afraid now it is time for the payment to be collected. You see, I do not have enough blood to feed your child, and without blood she will not survive. It is only fair after all, a life for a life," said the man, explaining why he was suddenly moving towards the paralyzed Mother. He advanced with the sleek fluid motions of a cat.
Mother had nowhere to run, and could not move even if she wanted to; the firm arms holding her in place saw to that. "Don't worry, I will take good care of her," was the last thing that Mother heard, before sharp teeth ripped into her throat.
Looking quite a bit more flushed than he had previously, Sorin Koshchei stepped away from the corpse of his victim, and moved towards the crying child on the ground. "Don't worry darling Kaisha, Father is here."
