O Cursed Fate
By Sapadu
Chapter 18: A Mysterious Warning
The Mortvia Aqueduct was just as Hector had envisioned it – the stone cut from the side of the mountains had the same rank chill to it, the statues that lined the pathways were draped in hooded garments, as though something more fearsome than could be realized with a face, and the water itself seemed too cold for mortal wells – rather, as though it had been drawn from the frozen lake said to exist only in the innermost circle of Hell. At his side, Hector could feel Samson shiver – indeed, despite the layers of armor he'd donned, most of which had kept him well preserved with heat, Hector himself felt a chill that seemed to permeate down to his bones, through his very soul.
When they noted another figure along the wall of the waterway, Hector immediately reached out to his Innocent Devil – either for comfort, or to bring it to alert, but which, Hector himself could not say. In response, the creature curled up and disappeared into Hector's deck. He was almost surprised – it was as though his creations could not bear to be in sight of another person, as though it were afraid.
Then, the figure turned. 'Twas Zaed.
"Ah!" He exclaimed, as though surprised at Hector's presence. How, Hector wondered, when he'd clearly been making more than enough noise to attract any kind of attention, "I am pleased to see you are unharmed!"
"Did you think me dead?" He asked, peevishly. Zaed's gaze locked on him, almost innocently.
"I saw him earlier – I feared that perhaps..." His voice was in earnest – too earnest, if Hector were to think, compared to some more sincere compassion – but Hector fixated on his words, a rush of urgency overcoming him.
"I came too late then!" He muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, before turning back to Zaed, "Which way did he go?"
Zaed turned and gestured over the waterway. Surely, Hector reasoned, if he followed the Aqueduct, it must have an end somewhere. Before he could start off, however, Zaed spoke.
"Along this path, lies a forest." He said this as though he expected Hector to be unaware of this. But, surely, this knowledge was not unheard of among those who lived in Valachia... "He went there – probably making his way to the village on the other side."
Ah. So, Cordova Town it was, then. That location, at least, Hector was familiar with. It would be a different journey than that mad fool's errand Zaed had sent him on with the notion of Garibaldi Temple – an errand that had ended when Issac had been nowhere in the Temple.
"And what of YOUR mission?" Hector finally managed, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, "To purify this land and remove the curse?" If naught for any reason but...
"Come back, again."
...But because his patience was wearing thin with the monsters he was left to fight, monsters that were surely only growing stronger because of the curse.
"Yes..." Zaed muttered, his head bowed, "The curse..."
Were Hector's ears deceiving him, or was there a strange note to Zaed's voice? One that did not seem appropriate to a holy man, and it hardly seemed as though he were reflecting on some matter of importance.
"In the end, it is ALL Issac..." The old man finally glanced up, his empty, hollow eyes fixating on Hector with a frightening intensity, "HE is the source of this pestilence! HE..."
The wind picked up, with a terrible chill. Zaed's words were cut off, and he glanced about, as though he had heard something that Hector had not. Hector's gaze even followed as Zaed's head turned, only to see nothing out of the ordinary slithering through the water.
"...Ah... Ah, how c-could I forget..? Ah, there is a... m-matter I must attend to. Ah, by your leave." And Zaed, bowing and flailing with each word, hastily removed himself, as though he were unable to stand straight, until his figure disappeared back into the heavy fog emanating from the Aqueduct.
There was a flash of light that reflected in the fog and on the water, and made Hector turn about. It was a floating orb, purely of light, floating just above the water's surface. He made to draw his sword, before the light dimmed and finally revealed a new figure – a tall, lanky man in a strange, high hat...
"You again!" Hector realized. Saint Germain tilted his head, and then smiled, broadly from under his feathery mustache.
"Oh! It's YOU!" He spoke as though Hector were the one intruding into this place, unexpectedly, but tapped the brow of his hat with such good cheer that Hector hardly felt offended, "I was..." Germain looked about, as though for a trinket that had just dropped from his pocket, "...Expecting..." And then he caught Hector's suspicious glare, "...Someone else!"
For the time that he'd taken to simply make that statement, Hector might have guessed that, of all things, Saint Germain had likely been meant to an encounter with Zaed, himself. It must have shown on his face, because Germain's smile faltered – just slightly – before he nodded.
"You spoke with him, didn't you?" Again, that cheery tone, as though this were but a wonderful jest Saint Germain was having at Hector's expense.
"And why should I answer to you?" Hector demanded. Saint Germain considered this, then began to pace.
"Perhaps you'll accept my advice, then..." He noted, cheerfully, "You would do well to avoid..." Here, Germain stumbled, as though looking for the correct address, finally settling on, "...Him. Do not be... drawn in... by his words."
The way that Germain said it, Hector felt more and more as he was being mocked.
"Your advice is neither solicited nor welcome." He growled, "I will use any means necessary to achieve my revenge."
Saint Germain's friendly smile vanished at those words, though it was only but for a moment. Instead, he shook his head, and regarded Hector with a more solemn, yet still cheerful smile.
"You've been wa~arned!" He chided, holding up his hands, "I would like to speak with you further, but I must first... track him down, quickly!"
...Why? Hector was close to asking, but Saint Germain seemed in a particular disposition to share information as he pleased.
"He is the one being who is beyond my recollection."
This, of course, left Hector with the sensation that he'd understood the words, but not their whole meaning. A reply, without truly being an answer.
"Good-by, for now!" And with another tip of his hat, Saint Germain disappeared, yet again.
Leaving Hector alone on the Aqueduct, and all too aware of the sounds of monsters beginning to swarm.
~ Abandoned Castle ~ Youth ~
As Hector reached his sixteenth year – barely three years after his first day in the castle – he had not sought any refuge or intercourse with other beings in Dracula's castle, beyond his fellow Devil Forgemaster, and only was aware of their presence by virtue that tasks were completed in his ignorance or indeed that such occupations existed that he need not regard with any scruples.
He would make an acquaintance with few souls, and short lived for they would not linger in the castle long as their current selves. Many, he regarded as better understanding of his Lord's ways, to know the character of those Lord Dracula had no need for, the tepid, the weak, the easily supplanted and replaced, to ensure he could forge a space whose emptiness would be felt acutely, whose loss would leave a mark, and whose value was irreplaceable, for he was certain that his Lord Dracula would not be so easily forgiving nor patient with those who did not earn his approval.
In the time he spent with Issac, Hector did learn that 'twas rare the being that Lord Dracula did not discipline, and rarer still was the servant who lasted. Issac had been in the castle longer than Hector, though by how long, he did not confide, and had the privilege of seeing transient faces arrive, stay, and then disappear, even some whose character had time to be forgotten. To Issac's word, the few whose presence was still felt were the keeper of coin, and Lord Dracula's attendant – for they knew Lord Dracula had no chamber servants. The head of stables had come to the castle closely after Issac, and Issac did little to hide his relish in professing the man was unlikely to last another year – a thirteenth month, at the outside – and the headmost wizard had been a recent addition before Hector's arrival, responsible for ensuring all others who came and went put their skills to good use, and seemed the best candidate for an enduring stay under Lord Dracula, had not his frequent spells been a source of vexation and trouble for their Lord.
Issac's observations proved fruitful when, not three weeks after their discussion, Lord Dracula summoned his servants and bade they would hold witness to the consequences of repeated, severe failures. The head wizard had been pitiful, as only the truly self-assured and comfortable can be when confronted with their uselessness and how baseless their confidence is, plead for his life, for another chance, and Lord Dracula did not acknowledge him, stripping out everything until nothing but a hollow shell was left. Hector still could not say for certain how his Lord accomplished such things – he maintained only half an audience to the proceedings, and was content to assure himself that his Lord would surely not appreciate any of his servants studying his ways to the point they could be replicated – or, possibly, countered. He instead rehearsed his excuse, should he ever have need to provide it.
So many faces... Hector was certain he'd devoted some time to them – otherwise, how could he know they had been forgotten?
~ Mortvia Aqueduct ~
The chill in the air was still heavy. Hector waded deeper into the waters of the trench, fully aware that such a place could not be safe in these dark times. He had to call three times for Samson to finally revive from his deck, and even the fully molten body of his Devil was not enough to pierce the veil of cold that seemed to sink into everything surrounding Hector.
Finally, the splashing he heard grew closer enough that he could detect some figures moving in the water – the rhythm of the sound was enough to alert him that those were no footsteps, but rather something hopping through the water.
Hector could guess, and swiftly drew his sword. The Mermen were out of the fog in seconds, and as quickly as Hector lashed out in a preemptive strike, retreated back into the fog, moving in a pattern not unlike a pack of wolves preparing a coordinated strike to wear down their mark and keep him disoriented. Samson struck in an attempt to keep their attackers from drawing too close, but its movements were slow and sluggish, and Hector could scarcely see, and the echoing splashes and thumps of their attackers was enough to overwhelm Hector to distraction. It was only a good amount of luck that allowed him to land a decisive blow once or twice, and lessen their attackers in the barest fashion. It was enough that it provided a few blood-red crystals, and at last, Hector bore witness to Samson's shape changing...
Alas, into a slower, colder golem, of gray, moss-covered stone. Perhaps a better choice for a place such as this, but still no less a paltry aid. Its only redeeming feature was how the Mermen would pounce, and be met with as much reward as if they had tried to wrest blood from the very stone of the walls around them.
Hector could bleed, though – and bleed, he did. When their last foe was toppled – only four, he bitterly observed, yet was still enough to hinder him – Hector was forced to lean against one of the statues lining the waterway and down a potion to recover. Samson lumbered ahead, clumsily, waiting by the first doorway to one of the towers. Hector had studied the function of these chambers – the waterways themselves were suited for little more than the single direction water would flow, and had need of locks to force a more upwards motion and allow the water to reach higher ground.
Of course, such locks had to be kept in working order, and often supplied with bodies to ensure they were secure. Hector knew this would not be a refuge, but merely a tightly enclosed arena. He pressed through the doorway, to see three Mermen and two Bone Soldiers.
At least without the presence of the fog and the murky confusion of the waters, the fight was quicker and more sufficiently defensible. When any of the Mermen curled and attempted a rolling charge, Hector had a means to draw them into the solid wall of stone and strike when their charge ended as could only be expected, whilst Samson kept the pack at bay and easily smashed the bones to pieces. It was more invigorating, and all the more frustrating when Hector could recount they had only cleared the first passage.
The next branch presented a splinter of the water way – first a pathway straight ahead, and second, a stairwell to another tower. And this pack of Mermen was no less vicious, and even more clever – they struck and drove and seemed keen and aware to drive Hector to the edge of the waterway, as though intent on sending him over the wall. Once or twice, they might have succeeded, had not Samson been so close as his guard and more steady than Hector had given credit for.
Again, the fog kept him in a haze, and Hector forced his way to the solid defense provided by the mountains along one wall. This way, he could at least ensure his own security, that the Mermen could not mount an attack from all directions, though it made the fight no less a challenge when the fiends adopted the same strategy as their fore bearers and forced him to an exhaustion.
When Hector lunged out with a strike, one of the Mermen landed a blow, forcing him to his knees, and then into the water. Hector choked, struggled, felt the weight of the attacker on his back, attempting to rip through his mail, and then...
~ Baljhet Mountains ~ Youth ~
The stable master had requested aid in wrangling a new team. Several servants had been sent by Lord Dracula to be little more than extra hands. He was no better for the wear than he had been before – indeed, with greater difficulty having a lot of shallow fools who knew nothing about horses or their care, to say nothing of breaking them.
He watched, amused, from a window in the tower as the stable master tried to form two lines of three, and each horse took no less than four men to attempt to calm it – even the creatures who were normally a blessed temper and soft disposition now quarreled and saw fit to kick, especially upon awareness that their fellows were of similar foul mood. He watched as the servants – and, indeed, the overwhelmed and distressed stable master, now in a fright of horror as he surely knew that their Lord Dracula and many others of the court were watching and judging his performance – had only the option of throwing more ropes around the bodies of the horses, and even the enchanted bonds could not conquer the horses' indomitable will to defy their captors.
The two of them watched. His companion found it funny. His amusement faded to disgust at the ineptitude and disgrace the stable master was showing. This man was the head of all the horses, carriages, and all livestock that Lord Dracula held under his castle for his own purposes? How could he be so foolish and not even consider blinders to calm the horses?
Finally, he descended and announced to the courtyard the obvious solution. The stable master hissed something unpleasant, but found hoods to cover the horses' eyes to all but what he wished them to see. At last, the team of horses was driven together, and the stable master could begin to train them.
Over the next six months, he would watch from the courtyard, satisfied when the horses responded properly, and deeply gleeful and spiteful when the stable master fumbled, and finally proud when he could be the one to correct the man thrice his age who seemed so certain that a mere boy couldn't possibly be right.
He took great pleasure in his Lord finally granting him leisure to spend with the horses – to learn to ride, and steady his own mounts, and especially when he could use the opportunity to needle the stable master and remind the man of his place.
~ Mortvia Aqueduct ~
He broke the water, gasping for air as the weight was lifted off his back. Flailing, he found a grip on a ledge of stone and pulled himself upright, clinging to a wall of ivy, vines, crumbling soil, and solid, brown rock. The water streamed down his face in rivulets that were like ice, his hair sticking to his head and cheeks in clusters and his clothes seeming to grow tighter and letting every singular breeze cut through his flesh with pinpoint accuracy. His chest felt taught, his legs were shaking.
And before him stood a creature of stone, a monstrous being as though a boulder had been forced into some semblance of a mockery of human shape, with no head, only a mound with a single hole allowing a glowing, pink eye in the center of its chest and a crystal protrusion of the same color from one arm.
"Master." A voice came to his ears, seemingly from the stone beast – how, though, when it had no mouth? – and made him shiver. The golem reached with its other hand, "Master, no."
He shoved it away.
"Do not touch me."
The golem paused, then its body tilted, as though mimicking a beast in contemplation. He took several shuddering breaths. Where was he? How had he come to this place? Everything seemed such a blur, he couldn't think, instead content to curl against the wall, hoping for some kind of answers or warmth...
"Master, come." The golem finally said. He did not look, until he felt that rocky hand – larger than his whole chest, and stronger still – grasp his arm and begin to pull. He fought, to no avail – the golem was far more powerful than he – as the creature dragged him through a doorway in a tower. He saw, briefly, a flurry of monsters that arose – some blue and rubbery, some red, made of bone and steel – but the golem paid no heed and lumbered through another doorway, still. Down a passage of water, stone, mist, and frightful sounds that he could barely distinguish, and out one final door.
~ Baljhet Mountains ~
He tripped and toppled down a set of stairs, righting himself only as the golem trudged down. The mossy, solid stone was still cold, but less so than the water and the mist, and he reveled in it until the creature bade him to follow still. There were no monsters or frights in his path, until they reached a humble abode, nestled in the rocks of the mountains.
Whatever he'd expected, a warm fire, carpet, books, chair and another person were hardly it. The woman looked up, smiling – she was beautiful; exquisite and charming and warm.
"Good to see you came back."
He did not know what to say to this. The golem trundled to the counter.
"Help." That voice said, again. The woman glanced at the golem, tilting her head.
"What is the matter? And, Hector, will you not speak to me?"
He did not answer. What was going on?
"The water. Help Master." The echoing voice repeated. The woman glanced between him and the golem one last time, before she reached into a bubbling cauldron on the fire and served a goblet of something that smelled like smoke and ash, pressing it to his lips and bidding him to drink, even as he protested...
~ Baljhet Mountains ~ Youth ~
"Lord Hector, you seem in fine spirits, today." The stable master – a thin, reed-faced man with a bulging nose and rheumy eyes – was waiting as Hector prepared his saddle and bridle for the yearling he had been training for the past few weeks. Her coat was a dappled grey, and thus far, she'd proven mild and easily steered – if she could be dependable for great distance and for speed, Hector had no doubt that she could be raised as an ideal mother for far greater horses, especially if they could find the right stallion to match her.
"Be there any reason I should not?" He asked, not looking at the stable master. He heard the man's boot crunch the straw underfoot of the stable floor, his voice draw closer.
"Hardly – tis fine weather for a ride, and surely the roads will be clear."
Hector had little patience for this idle chatter – and, indeed, for many things that other servants seemed content to wile away their lives, preoccupied with trivial matters.
"Then why do you bring me this useless talk? If there is something I must know, be out with it – otherwise, do not disturb me." He asked, curt and sharp. The saddle on his horse gleamed dully in the light of the torch on the wall, but its shine was enough to allow him to see a vague shadow moving behind him. And he realized that the stable master was not moving as he normally did.
"Oh, yes, of course, milord..." The stable master murmured, distractedly. Hector had a flash of insight and spun, drawing his sword and catching the stable master's arm on the flat side. The dagger he'd been carrying fell to the floor and Hector drove the stable master back against the wall, blade tip to his throat.
"You insult me with this folly?" Hector demanded, coldly, "You think a mere dagger and pathetic talk would be sufficient – worse, you could not even attempt a more subtle method to see me dead? You know I ride often – how easy it would be to arrange for an accident on my journey, or to have me alone and take a wrong turn into more dangerous pathways than my usual trails. Answer me – how low do you think I am, that your petty tricks would be my undoing?"
The stable master's rheumy eyes flared, his nose red and dripping with sweat, "You're just a lad! You know nothing of danger, nor of how to properly serve our Lord Dracula! Yet he holds you in higher favor than those of us who have served him loyally for far longer!"
"If your middling incompetence is what you call 'loyalty'." Hector retorted, "You can barely manage your own steeds."
"There is no such thing as perfection." The stable master snapped. Hector coldly regarded the man.
"I am." He said, simply – their Lord had never rebuked, admonished, or even been disappointed in Hector, for he had kept his vow. His work was exemplary. He knew it.
And the stable master was not.
Other servants arrived and had the stable master removed for their Lord to determine the best course of action. That night, Lord Dracula summoned Hector and asked for his account – an account he gave willingly, and without embellishment or remark.
The next day, there was no stable master – it would be another week until a new man replaced him.
Baljhet Mountains ~
Hector shuddered, nearly choking on the potion as he passed the goblet back to Julia, staggering and holding himself up on the counter.
"Julia..." He finally managed – his tongue felt heavy and frozen – until his head cleared and he realized he was still trembling.
"Good to see you've joined us, again." Julia chided, "What was it that ailed you, just now?"
Hector had to take a moment to think – he knew, somehow, what had happened, but the core truth of the matter seemed to elude his ability to put words to the idea.
"The water." Samson repeated, and Hector saw Julia nod, quietly and patiently without mention for how little that answered her question. But it did finally put the words in Hector's mouth.
"There's a bewitchment in the Aqueduct – it had not been that way, before." And he recounted what had happened to him, to the slowly dawning horror on Julia's face.
"You did not drink any of it, though?" She insisted. Hector shook his head, and it dawned on him that, had he done so, the enchantment that had temporarily stolen his memories would have become more serious, and permanent. He could not stop himself from shivering, in no small part because his clothes were still soaked through.
"Pray, is there any means you may have to protect me from such a fate?" He asked. Julia's serious demeanor pursued as she sorted through her spell book.
"I fear not – at most, to keep you supplied wholly with potions, as they appear to lift the simplest form of the enchantment... and even then, you must still be the one to remember to drink them as need be."
Tiredly, Hector sank into her chair, pondering and fretting, and wishing his heart would cease its terrible, unscrupulous pounding.
~ Western Village ~
They would speak more on the subject in the days to come as they worked, side-by-side, at village preparations for the winter. Coops were righted and fortified for chickens, pens for sheep and pigs – all of which responded with calm and collection when Hector approached, instead of the noise and panic that normally startled them.
"Why do you insist on treating me, thus? You know naught who I am, nor from where I come. I do little to repay you for the kindness you have shown me – surely, there would be others more worthy of your consideration." He asked, as they helped in cleaning out a stable for the donkey. The beast remained at Hector's side with each step and nuzzled it's bristled nose under his arm, begging for attention.
Rosalee was very quiet as they worked, compared to the easy conversation of the other villagers – some simple and good-natured, some crass and unashamed when more proper-minded folk rebuked them – as though she did not wish to speak of it in public.
"There's so much anger and fear in Wallachia, these days. 'Tis easy to shun those we do not understand, and rare to find kindness in the hearts of men." She answered, when she could be certain none others were listening, "If I could do even a little good for another person – no matter who they be – I feel that perhaps hope is not lost, and we may yet still be saved."
Hector paused with his load and used his less-able hand to stroke the head of the ass as he pondered this.
"And you think I may yet be one of you, to count among those saved?"
"I know it." She replied, "No matter our sins, all of us can yet be saved. 'Tis only a matter of if we choose to accept it."
Baljhet Mountains ~
Julia's hand on his shoulder stirred him. Hector was pleased to note he was no longer afflicted with that marrow-deep cold, though a disquieting churn inside him still lingered. To think how much would have been lost, what he might have been reduced to... This would not stand.
"Julia – as many potions as this will bring me, I ask for your assistance." He was firm in this determination and took all the coinage from his pockets. Julia did not question him, but counted the gold and returned to him ten pieces, along with his two potions. It was nothing to what he would have desired to be afforded, but then, he suspected nothing could have matched his desires, anyway. Then, he summoned Saul, with explicit instructions.
"You have served well before – knowing when I was in need of healing, and how best to transport me to either Julia or a sanctuary – and now, I will implore you do the same, whenever I encounter that evil affliction in the water."
Saul hesitated, and offered a tiny, sad complaint.
"Master – who brought you here, this time? Not I – I had not noticed your injury – but Samson, who has more sense and bearing than me, despite his newness." Hector would have rebuked Saul's impudence, but it spoke with a ring of truth, "I fear I would not sense your need – I am too stupid in such matters."
This was an obstacle, one Hector had not foreseen, nor did he enjoy the implication he might be left vulnerable with no way to defend. He pondered a possible solution, before Samson intoned again in its heavy voice.
"Solomon?"
Hector looked to Julia, and found no answer in her countenance to the possibility. So, he asked for Solomon, and left Saul in Julia's care – the moment the soft, new fairy settled into his palm, he instantly felt a kindred understanding, a kind of sympathetic intuition and knew this one of his creations would be the one to fulfill his needs, should it arise.
There was nothing left, but to thank Julia and depart her shop, once more with trepidation.