"Today is not a good day.
It's one of those in which the smiles are pale, the road has potholes, the food gives you a stomachache, the chit-chat is unfunny, and everything else is dull. In days like these, we can do but wait for it to finish and lay our heads on our pillows expecting that the next sunrise will bring something better. I believe I've been through them enough in the last year, in the few weeks in which I've been awake, and I speak of experience. Today, no matter how good it is what happens, will be as positive as a handshake.
Alucard stopped writing as the wagon started moving and looked over his shoulder. He saw another village being left behind and more endless drizzle through the back of the wagon. Sypha took a nap, leaning on the other side, and Trevor was the conductor, everything in its perfect order. Or isn't it?
Near the end of the afternoon, they stopped to rest and feed the horses, and he got his journal again.
"Forgive me for not having a proper introduction, but there's a subject I need to get off my chest before it suffocates me. I never believed that, in my long life expectancy, I'd come across the existence of a Crimson Stone other than my father's. The very nature of the issue is, however, dubious to me.
The Stone isn't made of only a form, but also of a content. Both are originated of the same raw material: souls, given that the exterior of the stone is nothing but a vessel for a more powerful soul. On the other hand, the structure might need a series of previous tests before one can have the ideal substance. A weak matter generates a weak Stone, and the opposite is also valid. Whoever sold to Greta the remains of a failed Stone knew quite well what they were doing. I don't doubt that there's more to her transmutation than we know,.
Trevor and Sypha are already informed of the weight of the subject. I told them before we bid farewell to the monastery of Snagov. I had no chance to say goodbye to Dragoi, but I'm sure that, maybe from the top of the bell tower, he watched over our boat and laughed on his own in the last sunset. And, also a maybe, this story about the new Stone would interest our singular and temporary ally.
Among other things, Greta, my temporary ghost, is gone. I'd rather believe that she left in peace; fighting her once was enough. When I was almost sleeping, her desperate lament would come to me and I didn't know what to do. I tried to talk to her, to look for her in that blind immensity that was the prison of the jewel, but it was like swimming in tar. The closer I'd get to her, the more evasive our connection would become, until I'd wake up empty-handed once again. I also made the correct decision of carrying the Stone prototype myself: nothing happened to me other than the contact with Greta. Wherever she is, I also hope that she'll forgive me, since the idea of keeping her among us after her passing was mine.
The only good memories that I carry are from the dead. Pavel rests somewhere in the monastery, together with his brothers of doctrine. I believe he was a good man, stricken by the misfortune of stumbling upon human cruelty. Whoever killed him is a mystery that, probably, lies with him in the tomb. However, a 'sumptuous camp' where people sing, in his words, is a rare sight in ravaged Wallachia of the last times. I'll keep my eyes open.
General Dragoi, another deceased man, is today a caricature of what he once was. In my belief, he's not only sublimated to thereafter once and for all due to pure sarcasm: living was of his liking, but death never scared him. One can read about him in my father's scriptures, at times. 'The cowardly little soldier,' he'd write. Dragoi had little tolerance to night creatures, given that he'd retreat with whatever troops he had to the minimal sign of that kind of threat; in his time, the Belmont still held themselves in the Hold, and Trevor's relatives kept everything more or less under control. The general was a human whose greatest enemies were of his own kind. In his intimate life, perhaps, he had more than an iron fist to give to the ones that surrounded him, as he treated me in a courteous manner, but to outsiders, he'd speak only the language of the sword.
To sum it up, I want to be alone today. It's a day in which I'd be satisfied a kilometer far from any other person, comfortable in the castle towers. It's also possible that I'd sleep and wake up when there would be snowfall already; whatever I craved more at the time. There is as much silence as possible now, but the drizzle on the mud, the horses' hooves, the flight of the birds, and Trevor's occasional complaint are enough to leave me dismayed. Writing these pages is sort of a safe haven for me, and for them, I'm thankful.
Shall today bring some sun rays."
In another half an hour, Trevor stopped by a stable, and a gentleman with a grey head opened the upper part of the door:
"Where do you come from?" he asked in a rude tone.
"From the North, from Snagov." Trevor scratched his head. "Why?"
"Thanks to the Lord. To the horses, please come."
The other two got off to help them unload and unharness the animals.
"What's going on, sir?" Trevor asked.
"Haven't you heard?" The man turned his head, showing his frightened expression. "There's a plague in the southern villages. We have to guard against it, see?"
"I had no idea," Trevor said, "an illness, maybe?"
Alucard turned around the wagon to fetch their belongings, still all ears.
"Seems like it. I don't know. People die like flies, entire villages are empty. The ill have been departing to Bucharest looking for doctors, or a blessing, since only our Lord knows what is going on." The man sighed. "First, the ill gasps for air, as something in their lungs. Then, they become but skin and bone, no matter what they eat, and they can't get out of bed. A few days later, the dawn welcomes a corpse."
"Should we worry?" Sypha inquired.
"I'd tell you to turn around North and forget your trip. Every single day, there's at least one dead person."
Well, we can't say that we expected that. Trevor asked him to grab the coin bag and Alucard looked for it, finding it lighter than expected. As Trevor got it, he made the same face.
"Sir," Trevor began, "isn't there, by any chance, a roof to fix or something? In exchange of the hay, at least."
"There isn't, pal." The man shook his head. "Cash only."
"I can clean hooves." Trevor smiled.
The stable owner measured him with his eyes. "We're quite needing it. Deal?"
"Deal." Trevor held out a hand and the other man shook it.
The sky began pouring down on the humble inn the stable owner kept by his house. The saloon, made to accommodate maybe twenty people, was empty, but its fireplace was lit. No one was behind the counter. The two women that took care of the place, the owner's wife and his daughter, had already gone to sleep. They had locked the entrance and left them with access only to the bedroom. The half full beer mugs were on the bench beside Trevor's leg, and he grabbed any of them to sip. Sypha also got hers, but held onto it, looking at the fire.
"What about now?" she whispered, what was enough in that place.
"I don't know." He sighed. "I really don't."
"There's work everywhere, if that's the case. But we've come this far…"
"Yeah." He held her better in his arms. "I know it is hard to believe, but I have a good feeling about Bucharest."
"You do?" Sypha had disinterest in her voice.
"As much as one can have in a time like this."
"A good feeling about what?"
"Uh, well… I don't know." Trevor scratched his head. "I just guess that there's something in the city for us."
I know it's hard, but I'm here. He held her hand, caressing it with his thumb. The fireplace crackled, almost inaudible with the sound of the storm. A drop or another found its way down the chimney, evaporating as it touched the fire. She knows about the scarce money. I have no time to count the coins as I conduct horses. Sypha turned her head and approached her face from his as a thump on the roof scared them. They stood up and walked around the saloon trying to detect where did the sound come from. There was another thump, a more distant one.
"I think it's on the stable," Sypha suggested.
"It must be." He pulled her by a hand. "Now, come back here."
She tripped a bit as she was brought closer and suddenly kissed. They followed hand in hand up to a lateral exit, forgotten unlocked, one that took them to the owner's house. He waited for them with his wife, both in sleeping clothes and with a lit candle.
"You heard that, too?" the man asked, terrified, "What was that?"
Trevor shrugged. "We were going to check exactly now."
"Follow me." The owner made a head motion for both, barring his wife with an arm. "I think it came from the stable."
With keys in his hand, the man got a cloak from a hook on the wall. They crossed the room and opened another door. The storm muffled it, but the horses' uneasiness could be heard from there. Sypha pulled her cloak over her head and Trevor flinched under the fur on his shoulders. The water splashed on them mercilessly. The man protected the candle as he could, and it retributed being blown out by the window and a drop of rain.
In the balcony of the stable, it was impossible to see. The owner asked them if they had a flint. Trevor thought twice, got a candle from his belt, and handed it to Sypha. She got the message and lit it discreetly behind her cloak. They got in, looking at the floor made of stone and coming across a puddle. On the roof, there was a crack on the tiles, near the wall.
Trevor giggled. "Now there is a roof to fix."
The owner looked at them with suspicions. "I hope that was not your doing."
"I guarantee that we were dry and warm when you found us, sir." Trevor raised a finger. "And that there's no trace of water on the saloon floor."
The man thought a bit before he seemed to believe it. More and more water ran on the wall, flooding the uneven floor.
"Good God, the hay." The man stepped back, further away from the growing puddle. "It'll be drenched if we don't do anything."
"We can try and fix it right now," Trevor said.
"Are you crazy?" the man exclaimed, "How are you standing on the roof in this weather?"
Trevor and Sypha exchanged looks.
"Any plan?" he asked.
"Maybe," she said.
The stable owner searched a corner, bringing them boards and ropes from there. He pointed at the dark of the balcony. "We have a ladder there. It's not one of the best, but…"
Trevor untied his cloak and picked it up. "It'll have to do."
As he put it near the leak on the roof, he asked Sypha to climb on the other side. Stepping carefully, a step came after another, and each creak on them made him grit his teeth. He waited until Sypha called him over the rain and the thunderstorm that she was on top of the tiles.
"Now, put the board," she shouted to Trevor.
Trevor took a hand off of the ladder to grab the board that the stable owner handed him. He put it on the roof.
"Like that?" he shouted back.
"To the left," she replied in the same tone. Trevor moved the board. "Not that to the left. To the middle. Like that, don't move."
Trevor saw the pair of ropes cross the hole and a blink of fire coming from outside, from her hands. She might want to see what she's doing. Sypha stopped knotting all of a sudden.
With his arms up to hold the board, Trevor complained, "I can't hold it forever."
"Just a second," she shouted.
Trevor tied an improvised knot from inside using a single hand, as the other one supported him on the ladder. The stable owner raised his candle to see his efforts and held the ladder for him. Sypha cried that she finished, and Trevor climbed down. Sypha also left the roof and walked up to the other two with something in her hands.
"See it," she handed them the object, "it was up there."
Trevor widened his eyes. It was a bird feather as long as a human arm, dark as the night. As he got it, he saw a reddish reflex on the color.
"It's huge." Trevor sulked. "And it's bad news."
Alucard opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. It occurred to him he could blow out the candle, but he left it as it was. He just stretched, under the shabby blankets of the inn, and felt his foot touching the bed frame. He heard the sounds of the storm outside. The extensive beds of other places were ones to be missed. It's still better than a straw mount. He felt a sting in his neck and held his breath. Tired from the position, he sat, leaning on the headboard. I was dreaming. He shook his head. Just a meaningless dream.
He seemed to be alone in the bedroom. Exactly what I wanted earlier. He put a hand on his chest. There was a weight in it; a dense, opaque void that was almost palpable. His nails pressed his palm until he almost cut them. It doesn't hurt. He held out a hand to the flame of the candle, without touching it. Not enough, at least. After insisting a bit, he gave up, and his arm fell to the bed. He closed his eyes and felt them tearing up. Why? What is this? There was just enough time to stabilize his breath and fight back the tears when the door opened.
Trevor came in first, looking like he brought trouble with him. Sypha was the last, with a worried expression and something in her hands.
"We found a thing on the roof." Trevor took off his drenched cloak and hanged it. "Do you recognize this?"
Sypha handed Alucard the long, dark feather.
"It's from a giant raven." Alucard put a hand on his chin. "The kind that feeds on meat. It must be hunting around the region. Where was it?"
Trevor rolled his eyes. "On the roof, as I said."
Alucard replied with a mean look. "Which part of the roof?"
"On the stable." Trevor pointed at his back with a thumb. "The thing must know there are horses inside."
"That's what I thought." Alucard gave Sypha the feather. "Not that birds are good sniffers, but horses are a feast in comparison to us."
"Are these ravens infectious?" Sypha frowned. "It doesn't seem like a thing that a raven would be."
Trevor laid down in bed. "Not that I remember. It must be another thing causing that one plague. Now, if you excuse me."
Alucard stood up against his will, headed to the hay mount covered by a blanket. It'll be hard for me to sleep again.
Sypha woke up for the thousandth time after a thunder, one that she could not tell if it came from a dream or not. She blinked several times to remove the blur from her eyes and got up from the bed. If it's already small enough for a single person… She straightened her aching back, walked up to the window, and opened it. It's already daytime. I'd sleep a thousand more hours. She yawned and went back to wake Trevor up with a shoulder shake. In tune with her, he yawned enough to swallow up the planet and got up from the mattress, waking Alucard up with a poke from a foot.
Trevor poked his head out of the window. "It seems like a good day to get moving. It's not raining." He went back in the bedroom. "Even if it's a quagmire outside because of yesterday."
In the saloon, the owners served them a mug of beer for each, oat bread and carrot soup with beef jerky. The server was the smiling young wife of the stable owner. No matter what I do, my body won't stop aching. As Sypha ate, she saw the owner's wife exchanging an instruction with the even younger daughter of said man. This woman isn't old enough to be her mother. She also saw the girl stomp her feet as she left. Teenagers… From the corner of her eye, Sypha noticed that the girl glared at Trevor with more than curiosity. So keep on just looking. Sypha frowned and made sure to suddenly kiss him.
They soon harnessed the horses to put the weather to good use and paid the owner. He gave them back some coins.
"For the roof. I'd never fix it on my own." He handed them to Trevor. "Are you really heading South?"
"We are, sir, until second notice." Trevor scratched his head.
The man waved at them. "May the Lord protect you."
"Thanks, sir. May the roof not break again."
The first village that the road brought did not have a single soul. The thorp was planted right after a ravine in which the wagon was stranded, with a wheel in the mud. They got off to remove it from there, with great help from Alucard: he raised it like a three-legged stool. They made use of the moment to walk a bit among the empty houses and the dense fog. It's not too different from the rest of the villages, but… Each of her steps echoed on the streets. There are no signs of life here.
In the middle of the location, after a bridge where a stream divided the map, she tried the door of one of the most presentable houses. Much to her surprise, it was open. She popped her head in it and saw nothing more than an empty living room. She waved so that the other two followed her, and they all entered.
The curtains made of good fabric began to accumulate dust. Sypha opened them and the little light of that day shone there. The two-floor habitation had remains of candles, withered petals, and dried bouquets thrown on the ground.
"A funeral," Sypha whispered. What did we expect?
Trevor turned around them both and climbed upstairs. They followed him uninvited and saw them enter one of the bedrooms, rummaging under the mattress and in a chest left behind. Under some blankets, already old rags, he found with a victorious smile a forgotten coin bag.
"Nice stroke of luck." He put it in his belt. "Check if there's something useful in the other rooms."
"You don't intend to take it, do you?" Alucard asked with a quirked eyebrow.
"Consider leaving it behind? They're but pennies." Trevor shrugged.
"That doesn't make you any less guilty of looting people's houses." Alucard crossed his arms.
"There's a great possibility that the owner is no longer living to care," Trevor replied.
Alucard rolled his eyes. "Leave it where you found it." He pointed at the chest. "It's not like we're going to starve due to the lack of these coins. We can gather money in other ways."
"If you keep on pestering me about that, I'm entering other houses," Trevor threatened, "How about a full day of exploration? Sypha, what's your take?"
"My take's that we're back in the wagon." She headed to the door. "Let's go. It won't conduct itself to Bucharest."
And it's the last place I want to go. She was the first to climb down the stairs, with her body aching at every step, and left the house ignoring Trevor's complaints. Her throat itched. It must be the dust. She sat on the coachman's bench and kept on pretending she was not listening to the conductor by her side.
The two next villages were also unoccupied, and they passed by them without a second look. The fourth one, however, had inhabitants that entered home and closed the doors as they saw the passing wagon. It's strange to think I've walked this path before. She looked around and tried to squeeze her mind for some memory, some spark of remembrance about that surroundings, finding nothing. What is different, and what is the same? She sighed. This kind of place is stuck in time. She dragged her body to the side, resting her head on Trevor's shoulder, and received a fleeting kiss on her forehead. A flash startled them, and they looked at the sky; a thunder resounded in the sky, which was darkened by the rainy clouds and the upcoming evening.
"Let's stop by a stable," Sypha suggested, "we've already rode a good distance today."
Trevor braked the wagon at the end of the village and got off, knocking on the door without an answer. He dared to push it unsuccessfully.
"There's no one." A voice surged from the side of the building.
Trevor turned around, and Sypha stretched her neck to see. She noticed a gentleman of uncountable decades, disheveled hair as white as milk and a dense, poorly cared beard. His eyes… She saw the irises, also whitish. He was as thin as a stick, and when Trevor opened his mouth to speak to him, the old man had a coughing fit that seemed endless. Dear Lord. Trevor covered his face with an arm and stepped back.
"Sorry," the old man said when he could breathe again. He spat a bit of blood. "Who's there? Are you a local?"
"No, sir," Trevor replied, "I'm a traveler. My name's Trevor."
"What a coincidence! Mine, too." He coughed again. "The things that happen, huh?"
"Can I do something for you, sir?" Trevor asked.
He shook his head. "I'm afraid you can't, son."
Sypha smiled at nobody, feeling a heartache. He must be way older than my grandfather.
"Ain't you hungry?" Trevor asked, kneeling at a safe distance from the cough, "Thirsty, maybe?""
"Yes, I'm thirsty. But why should I care?" The old man coughed some more.
Sypha looked back to Alucard in the wagon and made a gesture for him to approach. She asked for the water flask; he nodded and handed it to her, as well as a cup. She got off from the bench, filled it, and gave it to young Trevor.
"Here, sir," he showed, "Hold out a hand."
The man stretched his left hand. He's shaking.
"The other hand." Trevor chuckled in a sad tone. "Well, forget it. I'm giving you the water."
He carefully took the cup to the man's parched lips, and he drank it as if it was a sort of nectar.
"Thank you, young man." The old man coughed. "Thanks a lot."
"Do you have a home, sir?" Trevor asked.
"I've been on the streets for years now."
"Family, perhaps?"
The old man let out a bitter laugh. "If you can find one of my children, slap them on the ear for leaving me to look after myself."
Sypha felt her heart aching some more. Let them talk.
"And do you happen to know where they are?" Trevor inquired.
"Hmph. They're lost in this world." The old man coughed some more. "I think they sold our property and left to gamble in Targoviste. Now that I'm sick of this one plague, I'm finding them and haunting them soon."
"How long have you been sick, sir?" Trevor asked.
"For days, I believe." The old man scratched his beard. "Before the stable owners left." He coughed for a whole minute. "There was the night in which I've heard something in the sky. It wasn't raining. It reads like some wings flapping. On the next day, I woke up with a cough."
"Wings?" Trevor frowned.
But that one crow isn't infectious, Sypha thought, now, this plague…
"Big, strong wings. Something flying above our heads." The old man cleared his throat. "Maybe over the roofs."
"I'm afraid I can't ask you what it was, sir," Trevor said.
"And I won't be able to answer, son." He shook his head. "I'm as blind as a mole."
"Can you tell if there's a hospital nearby, though?" Trevor asked.
"In Bucharest there is, for sure. Around here, everything that we have are witchdoctors. Some of them died." The old man laughed ironically. "I'm the wall that has a pair of ears."
Young Trevor put a hand on his own chin. "Would you come with us, sir? We're headed to Bucharest. We can leave you under the care of the brothers… or sisters, whatever comes first."
"A helping hand?" The old man coughed. "I'm a bag of bones living on borrowed time. I'm not one to refuse a ride, though. Here, get me up." He stretched his hands and young Trevor held them; the old man fell to the ground, letting out a groan. Young Trevor then kneeled to pick him up. He must weigh as much as a child, Sypha thought. There was more coughing on the way to the wagon, and Trevor put the old man on the bench opposite to Alucard's, between two luggage bags. His days are numbered, indeed.
Sypha poked young Trevor on the shoulder as they sat on the coachman's bench. "Are you sure?"
"No, I'm not." He closed his eyes, fighting back the tears. "Would you rather overlook it?"
She touched his forearm. "No."
Sypha looked back and saw Alucard's serious semblant. I know, it's not the wisest idea there is.
"Tell us if you need something." Trevor turned his neck to talk to the old man. "There's another one of us in the wagon."
"I think I'll be a quiet passenger, son," the man replied.
They rode in silence. The night fell before they could reach the next village, after more than an hour on the road. They all got off the wagon, except for the old man: young Trevor made him an improvised bed of hay and two blankets. He got the man from the wagon, taking him to the fireplace. Another soup was made with the provisions, as well as oatmeal with water and honey for the guest. Sypha sat beside the old man, fighting the body ache, introducing herself and the bowl. She gave him sparse full spoons for which he thanked a lot.
"God is good, some soft oat." He coughed. "My teeth barely exist. There's not much an ill-founded like me can do to pay you back, but I can entertain you talking about myself."
"Please, sir," Sypha agreed.
"Very well." The man cleared his throat. "This name of mine wasn't given to me out of the blue. My parents were French, see. I was born here due to a delay on their trip back home. They were merchants of fine wines, and my mother's health, may God rest her soul, got complications." He paused to cough. "They stayed in Wallachia with me, making do with a lot less than they had there in France."
"I grew up and studied in the seminar as they wished. I left everything because of a beautiful woman, as almost all young men do, huh? She was as in love with me as I was with her. My son and daughter were born, and with her I stayed until the Lord took her from me. A fall off a horse." He took a deep breath and coughed again. "I never got married again. Never wanted to."
"My father-in-law offered me a property, a small piece of land, even if we never got along, and there I hid from the world. I helped him manage the farm… and my children had other plans for me, other than leaving me mourn in peace." He coughed. "They wanted the little land I owned. To sell it, I mean. My eyesight was going downhill by the hour, and they decided to dump me in the village. Two cowards, without the guts to poison me. Or to suffocate me in my sleep! Whatever. Anything."
Young Trevor threw a stick in the fire. "It was quite a life, sir."
"It wasn't. It was a misfortune." The old man coughed. "But I hope that was enough of a tale."
Young Trevor took the other to the wagon and came back to lay with Sypha around the fireplace. Alucard suited himself alone, as usual, looking at the lack of stars in the sky. I just hope it doesn't rain on us… she thought, and that we don't lose our new friend so soon.
Trevor heard something; he felt the same something moving in front of him. He blinked his eyes several times. What's going on? As he raised his body putting his forearm on the floor, he looked at Sypha lying in her place, livid and suffocating.
No, no, no, no. He held her by her shoulders and put her sitting. She breathed poorly, with her eyes wide open and a hand on her chest. He did not let her go, not even for a second. May the Lord have mercy, or just anything. From the corner of the eye, he saw that Alucard approached and was around. No one dared to ask what happened. Suddenly, she had a strong coughing fit until there was color to her face again.
"What was that?" Alucard let out.
"I don't know." Sypha cleaned a tear from her eye. "It never happened before."
Trevor held her hand and noticed a fever, as well as a tremble. He also felt his throat itching and coughed briefly.
Alucard stared at them. "You guys are sick."
We are. Trevor felt a weight in his stomach. The plague.
Alucard still spent a moment by Sypha's side, looking at the ground. He stood up, and Trevor did so as well, with the untimely itch in his larynx and an aching body.
"It's beautiful to see you being altruistic once in your life, to be written in History," Alucard said, "it's a shame it's going to cost your life."
"What's that now?" Trevor asked, "We don't know how we got-"
"Don't be foolish," Alucard interrupted, "I didn't know you had invited me out to come here and watch you kill yourself."
"It could be something we caught in the air," Trevor argued, "think a bit."
"Exactly, you moron." Alucard raised his voice. "Don't tell me to think."
Trevor sighed and clenched his fist, feeling his muscles tense up and hurt. "Don't make me break you in two in this state I am."
"You can try." Alucard opened his arms, lowering his guard with a smirk. "I know you're crazy to lash out on me since that time."
"I'm blind, not deaf, you brats," the old man shouted from the wagon, "if you want to get rid of me, better do it like men."
Alucard turned his back on them and stepped forward. He looked over his shoulder, leaving to the interior of the woods around the roadside. I'm not going after him. Sypha stood up and walked up to him, holding him by the arm without saying a word. She fell again in a surge of shortness of breath. Trevor ran to her and held her in panic. Alucard waited, his back facing them, until she coughed and could breathe again.
"Sorry," Alucard said, looking at the woods, before he left.
Trevor put her on her feet, with little strength in his muscles, and took her back to the camp. He lit the extinguished bonfire, brought the old man from the wagon to the warm spot, and sat with Sypha. They held hands, looking at the cinders, as the sun rose behind the overcast sky.
The old man got half his body up from the hay mount. "Am I going to die?"
"No, sir." Trevor let out a sad laugh. "What would that do for us?"
They ate the pale soul, remains from the evening, as if it tasted like nothing, and without a single word.
"I don't know why you worry," the old man said as he finished his bowl, "I can kick the bucket tomorrow."
Young Trevor shook his head. "Because I'm an idiot." It was easier when I left humanity kill itself. He pressed Sypha's hand, which had a burning fever, and felt himself shiver. "A dead idiot, sir."