Dancing into the Night: Part Twenty-One
It was quite early when Lynara drifted back from the Crossroads, though she had no idea as to an exact time of day. As her chocolate orbs flashed open, they slid to the pew and crucifix on the far side of the room. Though they remained untouched, the Priest was nowhere in sight. The young woman took her time to rise from the cot she'd slept in, forcing herself not to stretch. Her body was still sore from her encounter with Aleera, and pushing herself too far would be counterproductive on her part.
After taking several minutes to fully awaken and stand from the cold stone floor, Lynara reached down to wrap one of the lighter covers around herself. Since she was dressed in only a nightgown, it was impossible to remain modest or keep out the chill. She draped the patchwork blanket about her shoulders like a shawl, before she moved towards the large door on the other side of the chamber. The maid had promised to give her rescuer an answer to his proposition, and she intended to oblige him. After seeing Vladislaus again, it was apparent what she needed to do. . . though she was unsure if she would be strong enough for it.
You must do this, she chided herself, as she crossed into a dark corridor. If you do not stand now, you shall forever be at another's mercy. . . There is no more choice or thoughts. There can only be action. The dark woman squared her shoulders, as she made up her mind. She had deliberated long and hard after the Count had left her in the Gray Shores. And she had reached her own conclusions. . . Now she only had to execute it.
Outside the chamber she had slept in, the hall was dark and foreboding. Where there had been candles, there was now nothing. No lamps lit this hallway, and only the faintest shimmer of natural light could be spotted coming through a door at the end of the passage. Without shoes, and with the instant cold that enveloped her as she stood in the arch of the doorway, Lynara felt fear flicker over her. She had no inkling as to what resided at the end of the hall, nor as to what she would find. . . And yet, she found herself walking out to meet the darkness. Each footstep resounded in the silence, reminding her of her own movements, as her bare feet pattered against the cobblestones. She counted each placement of her feet as she crept towards the glimpse of light at the end of the long walk.
Lynara's flesh crawled from the chill, as well as her apprehension, as she came to stop at the far end. She didn't know what would happen now, but she had to meet it head on. She knew what she must do, and she would do it.
With a deep breath to center herself, the young maid reached for the latch and retreated from the corridor.
Lynara's breath caught in her throat as the door swung wide. Where she had imagined another chamber, she was met with a pale periwinkle sky and an overgrown garden. The young woman gasped at the unexpected development, and watched as a cloud wafted from her mouth into the air.
When she had last been outside, the world had been painted in the shades of Autumn. But now, all had been canvassed in the white of winter. The first snow had long since settled upon the ground, and now all was still. The world had already begun its hibernation for the long cold months ahead. No birds or animals called out in the ashen, morning light- the silence was almost overwhelming in its magnitude- and yet, Lynara found herself savoring it. After nearly being burned alive, the frozen grasp of winter was nothing short of a Godsend to the woman. Without another thought, she walked out into the courtyard. Her bare feet grew numb as she strolled through the snow, her cheeks gaining color as she embraced the cold. Along countless vines and bushes, little stones stood at attention. The marble and sometimes wood monuments stood out in the frosty courtyard. It only took the maid a moment to realize that they were gravestones.
"Careful, milady. Or you will catch your death."
Lynara lifted her gaze to catch sight of the Priest. His voice, as deep and hoarse as ever, was kind and held genuine concern. She was grateful for it, even as she brushed it aside.
"If I am to die from cold, so be it. I must breathe the air, sir. . . I had never thought I would be able to do so again."
Sea-green eyes observed her before he nodded his agreement. "In the very least, will you sit?" One of his large hands moved from the depths of his robes to gesture towards the bench where he was resting, several feet away.
Lynara moved towards the bench without a word, before she sat next to him. She lifted her feet to tuck them underneath her shift, and wrapped the makeshift shawl around her tighter. For a time, the Priest and Maid kept quiet, before Lynara broke it.
"I have considered your proposition, sir."
He gave her his undivided attention, before a knowing expression crossed his scarred face. "You needn't say. I am already aware of your answer, my lady."
"You are. . .?"
"I knew from the moment that I asked you to kill Dracula that you would refuse." Came the calm reply, making the woman once more wonder at his motives.
"If you knew my answer, then why did you take the time to ask?"
He lifted his sea-green orbs to the winter sky, as a strange gleaming shone through them. It was almost as if he was seeing something beyond her view. . . Something otherworldly.
"You were my last chance to restore what has been lost. . . But after seeing you with him, I knew you could never bring yourself to take his life."
Lynara's face remained impassive, though her confusion was undeniable. Since she had met him, this nameless man had spoken in nothing but riddles. Each answer he gave had the habit of fading into more questions. It was downright maddening. But despite her anxious thoughts, the dark maid was externally relaxed.
"What loss could make you wish for another person's demise?" She wondered as she wrapped her arms around her legs. The position almost made her look like a child- innocent and ready for a story. . . A story which he seemed almost willing to tell.
"You have come in near the conclusion of an arduous tale," he said. "My want for his demise has stemmed only from his own evil deeds and choices. It was never my wish for it to end this way. . ."
The Priest was lost to his memories for a moment, before he was brought back by a warm hand taking his own. Lynara's palm was calloused from a lifetime of labor, but there was still softness there. The contact was gentle, pleading- as were her words.
"Please, sir. . . Won't you tell me? . . . I wish to understand."
"Do you?"
She dipped her head in the affirmative. "You saved my life. . . And while I will not be able to grant you what you desire most, I would wish to know why, all the same. . ."
For the longest time, the Priest didn't move or speak. His brow furrowed with thought as he debated what she had said, until finally, he agreed.
"Not here," was the simple command. "You must eat and get warm, milady. . . If you will come back inside, I will disclose everything to you."
Lynara was comfortable outside in the tranquility of the snowy graveyard, yet she found herself returning with the Priest. His story was worth returning indoors. . . for once he had divulged it, her time with him would be over. . . The maid vowed to make the best of her time with her rescuer, and took his arm when it was offered. Not thinking twice as he closed the courtyard door behind them, she let him lead her back into the familiar chamber. Though troubling enough, it had escaped her notice that he had locked the door behind them.
It was sometime later that the two finally found themselves comfortable again. To the woman's surprise, the Priest had been cooking a rabbit long before she'd awoken. So they sat before the strange silver and garnet crucifix once more, with steaming bowls of the quaint rabbit stew, as the afternoon rolled 'round.
He had promised to explain himself if she would eat and get warm. So, as a sign of good faith, Lynara lifted her wooden spoon to her chapped lips and took her first mouthful of the broth. The flavor of carrots and rabbit meat made her taste buds hum, and she sighed as the warmth traveled down her throat. She could feel it go down to her belly, and it was then that she realized she hadn't eaten in several days.
The Priest watched her eat several bites before he joined her. Either he had manners, or he didn't trust his own cooking.
They continued to enjoy the meal in unhurried silence, and when they were both finished, the man took their empty bowls and spoons away to the kitchen. Lynara had yet to see it, but she had promised to be patient, so she didn't follow him as he went to clean up.
Standing up, the maid crossed over to stand before the strange Holy Relic, her dark brown eyes studying it curiously as she reached out to let the tips of her fingers trace the Latin inscription. The Prayer for a Happy Death. . . Why would someone ever place such a dark topic to such a precious item?
"O Domine, Defende nos ab omni iniquitate. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem a tenebris. Quod ultimum tempus ut beati simus. . . . Ut defendere usque ad lucem.."
Lynara knew that the Priest was watching her again, as he read the inscription. She found herself translating what he had said, as she turned to face him.
"Oh Lord. . . Protect us from all evil. Lead us from temptation and darkness. That our final moments may be blessed. . . That we may defend the Light. . . until the end."
"Amen," he offered, as a strange light came to grace the vivid sea-green. "I see the teachings of your youth are not entirely forgotten."
"Gone yes, but never forgotten." She smiled tiredly, before reaching out to take the man's large hands into her own. She led them to the pew before she continued. "Why would you have such a dark prayer upon your Relic?"
"It was given to me, along with my mission," he replied, as he allowed her to hold onto his hands. Though he didn't remove them, it was clear that he was unaccustomed to being touched. For a moment he thought, before he began his tale, just as he had promised.
"Do you know where we are, my lady?"
"Some kind of abbey or desolate church?"
He shook his head, his freckled, scarred skin looking paler in the flickering light of the candelabra. "This was once a special house. . . Meant for those of your kind."
"M-My kind?" Lynara felt her heart flip anxiously. "You mean . . . Dhampir?"
"Yes, milady," came the stoic answer. "Years ago, many Dhampir came here to train in the Holy Ways, to fight evil and defend the Light. . . But as time passed, they died out. And with their extinction, this asylum has decayed as well."
"So the tombstones in the courtyard-?"
"Are your fallen brothers and sisters, my lady."
The thought was hard to grasp, but Lynara tried.
"Are you a Dhampir, as well?"
"No," he said, making Lynara let go of the breath she'd been holding. "But I am the reason they exist."
The severity of his statement made her flesh run cold. Her hair stood on edge, as she slowly let go of his hands. She said not a word, as she regarded him, and after a time he spoke again. His voice, so coarse and ill-used, was soft and exact as he wove his tale, and Lynara found herself transported to another time and place. As it all unfolded, her mind relived the details he offered, until she herself was a part of it.
"My story began 450 years ago. . . but I suppose I must explain even before then. I was born the bastard son of a Holy Knight who was also the Voivode of Wallachia- or the land now known as Romania. I was spared from death due to my father's prestige and high ranking in the Order of the Dragon. The Order was a branch of Holy Rome, meant to fight all evil and defeat the Ottoman Empire and all enemies of the Church. My father and half-brother alike made awe-inspiring reputations for themselves on the battlefield.
"I was raised in my father's Abbey, where the Holy Brothers taught me day and night to become a man of the cloth. It was to counteract the adulterous events that lead to my birth. I was hidden and kept secret from the world, save for my father and the Brothers of the Abbey. . . Though in the end, I came to rely upon my half-brother more than anything. Our father tried to keep us apart, but my brother was always strong-spirited and found ways to come and visit me in the Monastery almost daily. We grew together and loved each other well, as any siblings should. We both grew into fine men, with my brother ascending to rule and becoming the rightful Voivode, and myself becoming a Priest.
"My brother was forced to marry a Hungarian noblewoman, the Countess Bathory, who bore him a single son. He had no love for his wife, but that child meant everything to him. The two of them would come and visit me every Sunday for Mass and then to confess any sins before we shared a meal. It was a happy time in my life. . . But it was not meant to last. . . .
"In the year 1462 the Ottoman Empire struck hard, invading most of Romania. My brother fought their advances nobly and held out for almost a full year. He called upon the Holy Order for reinforcements in his time of need, and sent word to our father for aid. But the Church considered it a hopeless cause, and never came.
"The Ottomans stormed my brother's castle while he was fighting elsewhere. They murdered all in their path, including his wife and four year old son. . . When my brother returned to the castle, he was a different man. Lost to grief and the betrayal of our father, he rallied all those remaining to drive the Ottomans out permanently. The final battle was overall won, with the enemy retreating to lick their wounds, but it cost my brother his life. He was killed, and despite his efforts to save Wallachia, he was disgraced for not heeding the Church's command to abandon Romania."
The Priest stopped for a long moment, his eyes misty as he relived the horrible past. Lynara's heart went out to him, as she waited for him to finish. Once more she took his hand as a way of comfort, and to her surprise he held it fast.
"As the dust settled on the battlefield, I ran through the piles of corpses to find my brother." The sea-green eyes showed the sorrow that he must have felt at the time. "For hours I searched the destruction, until I found him. . . I brought him back to the Abbey where we had grown up together, and prepared to bury him. . . But as I placed him on the altar to pray over his remains. . . he awoke."
"W-What?" Once more, Lynara's blood ran cold.
"He awoke with eyes blazing red, and the heart of a demon. He killed all the Holy Brothers in the Abbey, before he left to find our father and murder him as well. He spared me, only for the past we shared. . . But it would have been better if he had killed me in that moment.
"My brother had given into the Devil's whispers, and had become a being of the night. And if my father hadn't been so deeply involved with the Holy Order, he surely would have perished. But with the Grace of Light, he was able to banish my brother from our world to an Icy Fortress, where he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone."
"But how can this be true," Lynara wondered. "You speak of 450 years as if you had lived it."
"I am almost 482 years old, milady," he countered gently. "I did live it."
". . .But you aren't undead, or like me. . . So how?"
"My brother was granted wings to break free from his prison," he said listlessly. "With his release, my father, Valerious the Elder, made a vow to God that his family would never rest nor enter heaven until the demon was vanquished from our bloodline. . . . And I, like my brother became something new. My christened name was struck from the registry, and I was banished by the Holy Order to carry out a single task. I was granted eternal youth until the time my brother meets his end and my family name is cleared of darkness forever . . . Until that day, I cannot find peace. . ."
Lynara was unaware she was shaking, even as her heart danced painfully in her chest. Nothing could have prepared her for tale he had told. Nothing could have made her come to terms with the darkness he had had to endure in his extended lifetime. And in that moment, Lynara shed tears for him and for the one he called brother. For a breath she thought on what he had said before cold dread crept up her spine, and it all became clear.
"You wanted me to kill Dracula for you. . ."
"Yes, my lady."
". . . And Dracula is your . . . your. . ."
A single tear dropped from the Priest's sea-green eyes, as he lifted his gaze to the silver crucifix.
"He is my brother."
A/N: Longest period for no updates. . . I'm so sorry everyone. ^^; I have no excuse but personal uncertainty and writers block. But I do believe I've worked past the worst of it. With the help of my dear cousin EEstelle and the awe-inspiring Remember,I was able to finally come to terms with myself and get writing again. Thank you so much ladies! Without your encouragement, sweet reviews, and insights I would still be stuck. *hugs and cries gratefully*
So, this was the last huge plot twist before the end of the story. I think that another 5 or 6 chapters will conclude Dancing into the Night, but we shall see. Any predictions? Thoughts about our Priest's story of woe? ;)
Special shout out to:
PhantomOfWriting, Ele, DraculasBride22, alexc1209, RavenHuffle, Jamoo34, Kennawenna722, EEstelle, my two newest Guests, and the ever inspirational Madame Remember.
Thank you everyone for your reviews, faves, watches, support, and patience! You all have made this story possible! I love ya'll and I'm grateful for you!
See you next chapter~!
~Lyn