No Thoughts But This

Dracula's Account

The deep tranquility on so fine a night was undisturbed by the risks, at once placid and menacing, yet I was keenly aware of them. In guiding Kelantha through the wood literal dangers were non threatening, for no harm would befall her in my presence. It was the significance that permeated each moment still suspended, every pause that hung in the silence. The night was rich with this significance, heightening my senses and illuminating my one reserve. I had not misjudged my young guest, who was strong in perception and will. The natural curiosity and desire roused requests that led to an inevitable crux. But for each crux there is a choice, and that choice had been taken up voluntarily. All that followed could only be observed with due proceedings.

There was no clock on the lower floors to chime the arrival of the twelfth hour, though I sensed its passing distinctly.   slight brushing sound caused me to turn from my place in the foyer only moments later. Kelantha stood before me, draped in a black cloak, every thick tendril of dark hair swept away from her face primly. She seemed to be waiting for my voice to break the silence between us, but I refrained from speaking. I offered my arm silently, my eyes never leaving hers as I awaited her decision. She hesitated slightly, her delicate features clouding fleetingly before her choice was made. In another moment she had given me her arm in return; I took it within my own and ventured out into the darkness, the last flicker of candlelight blocked as the great wooden door closed behind us.

Kelantha shivered despite the cloak, whether from the relentless wind that murmured in the distance or my icy touch, I could only speculate.  

�The night is cold,� I whispered, my lips curving into a faint smile. �Long are the hours that stand between midnight and the dawn. You may still turn back, should you no longer desire to continue here.�

�No,� Kelantha returned quickly, drawing her cloak closer around her with her free hand, �I would much rather go on. Shall we go far, do you think?�

I gestured toward the Carpathians, ever rising ahead. �Toward the Borgo Pass, but further afield. There is ground there that has long been fought over throughout the centuries. Many times has the earth received the blood of men spilled in battle. There is not, I dare be sworn, any amount of soil that has not been consecrated in this fashion.�

A light sprung over the horizon, hovering close to the ground and beckoningly brightly. The blue flame did not burn solitarily amidst the trees: others became evident as we progressed, each alluring and perilous in its persuasion. They were conspicuous against the velvety blackness of the night and drew my companion�s attention, allowing me to turn my thoughts elsewhere. I breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of living activity, and knew precisely where it was positioned. Ambling down the Pass was a peasant on his way to Bukovina; his pace slowed considerably once I located him. I closed my eyes and focused intently Yes, yes, calm yourself, my chosen one, slow your pace. You shall not go far tonight, I think. For it is cold and the hours are so long.

�Count?� Kelantha asked quietly.  he had ceased walking and stood very still, gazing at me with more curiosity than concern.

I opened my eyes and smiled at her. �It is always of some amazement to me how little change the passing of time brings here. Even now you can almost hear the voices of long ago crying out from the ground where they stood to protect their homeland.�

And there was a voice calling out�faintly, distantly. The peasant had begun singing a Romanian folk song in a drowsy voice, his steps getting shorter and shorter with each passing measure of music. I knew it was inaudible to Kelantha and sought something that would serve as a diversion. Near the clearing was a light that shone a paler shade of blue than its complementing flames. I bent toward the earth until I felt it, the soil crumbling loosely in my hands as I pushed it aside.

�The Hungarian invasion,� I explained, tilling the ground myself, �did not take us entirely unaware. When our army could no longer hold the enemy off from the borders, we Transylvanians knew what needed to be done. The valuables and jewels of many families were buried in the ground to prevent the invaders from finding them. They may have won the battle but not our pride, not our way of living and dying.�

�Is not Hungary an ally of Transylvania?� inquired Kelantha, seating herself beside me and observing my progress.

�Now, perhaps,� I agreed, �after much bloodshed. They did not take us easily; we rose up again and again until they had been forced back across the Danube, away from our land. Only one night in the year do these blue flames burn about the countryside, marking the places were the treasures were hidden.�

At last free from the soil, I brushed the remaining dirt off the necklace carefully, holding it out to be bathed in moonlight. The beautifully preserved chain was interrupted only by a majestic gold ornament. Engraved in the immaculate pendant was the symbol I well knew: a dragon rearing its head back, claws outstretched and wings unfurled. It was an image of fury and delight, for it sparked memories both of pride and bitterness.

�My family crest,� I said simply, tracing the design with my long fingers idly.  Kelantha breathed softly in understanding, her eyes fixed on the emblem. The light reflected in her eyes, a touch of blue outstandingly foreign against her naturally inky black shade. The two-toned eyes were raised to my face, and for a moment her earnest gaze was tragically familiar. I took her hand in my own and placed the necklace in her grasp, pressing her hand kindly before I stood up.

�Wait here,� I told her, looking down where she sat. �Keep the necklace close. I will not be long, nor am I going far�you shall see.�

The blue-black eyes blinked once before lowering to the necklace again. I moved through the forest silently, listening attentively for the sound of Romanian singing to no avail. I quickened my pace, weighing my options in half-desperation, half-bafflement. He could not have gone far. But two minutes ago he was on the Borgo Pass. And now? He was my only choice if I was to have nourishment tonight; there would be no traveling into Bistritz with Kelantha in tow.

I took to the skies, unfurling my wings and caressing the evening air with each impatient flap. The peasant may have been traveling to Bukovina but he was still on my territory; and here even the very woods answered to do the bidding of their one master. He did not respond to my will when I called him, but minutes later I found him near the road, nestled near a genial patch of greenery, utterly asleep. My wings fluttered softly as I descended, gracefully transforming back to my wontful appearance without disturbing his repose. I crept up beside him stealthily, turning him over gently and looking over his worn, sleeping form thoughtfully.

Yes, sleep, I urged him wordlessly, the heavy coat folding easily beneath my hands. Sleep, my patient one, succumb to the rest that awaits you. No thoughts but this, no way but this. The night is mine, the hours are mine. So shall you be. 

His pain was brief and unnoticed; his entrance to his rest was passive and calm. I drank deeply and fully, thirsting after and possessive of the life that fed my voracious need. 

No thoughts but this. No way but this.

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