The Land Beyond the Forest

Dracula's Account

The only sound in the shadowy corridors was the light tread of my companion�s footsteps. With very little effort did she strive to keep up with me, turning her head to gaze attentively at the closed doors I passed in silence. Ever and anon I sensed her inquisitive stare directed at my countenance, though my eyes were bent on the floor and my thoughts wholly occupied. What was to be said of her strange request? The refusal to take my arm was an affront, a proud retort against what was due to propriety. I confess I knew my guest to be singularly unaffected, but why such a small gesture of decorum was so distasteful to her was unclear. There was pride in her demeanor but no insolence; something in her manner hinted of suppressed distress, however unusual her response. Piqued as I may have been, a lady�s delicacy is never to be questioned; I acquiesced her preference at once. Nothing else was said until I could brood no more on the matter, and my companion had stopped to inspect the stone columns and vaulting.  

�Fourteenth century,� I said abruptly, pausing our walk.

�I beg your pardon?� Kelantha asked, turning to face me.

�The architecture, Miss Cabrera,� I explained, approaching the column where she stood. �It dates back to the fourteenth century, when my grandfather had come into power. He was sixteen when his father, having cleared our Transylvanian borders from the Turks and Magyars, was killed in battle. At such a young age he assumed control and designed Castle Dracula himself.� Reaching out to touch the masonry, my hand traced its outline, caressing the intricate symmetry before lowering back to my side. �There are those who would claim otherwise, but my grandfather led the country devotedly. He was forty-two when he married and witnessed the birth of my father, but his strange and sudden death shortly thereafter clouded his good name with suspicion.�

Kelantha�s voice betrayed her curiosity. �Did not the people mourn the passing of such a leader?�

I spread my hands out meaningfully. �This is not London or Madrid; our habits and customs differ from yours. Transylvanian nobles have very specific burial methods�indeed, my grandfather designed the castle with the same magnanimity and proportion with which he ruled the kingdom, in hopes that it would regulate his death. Unfortunately, it is not known how he died.�

Her eyes widened. �Sir?�

�Vengeful assassins, no doubt,� I answered quickly, �but with no body to bury, no proof of any type to offer the people, rumors and distrust were inevitable. To a Szekely, the greatest honor in death is to have our bones placed in our own land. Neither my grandfather nor his father before him was accorded that honor; my own father took many pains to ensure his eternal peace.�

I tried to pronounce that last statement with indifference, but the bitter irony of my words stung me to the quick. I did not care to discuss my father, or to enter his chamber, which was still oppressive from his influence. Instead I opened the doors of the chamber parallel, which had not lost its soft, regal air, though it was long bereft of its inhabitant. There were no books in this room, no documents of old or anything that one might assume would interest my knowledgeable young guest, but her veneration heightened as she stepped in to glance at the fine embroidery, heavily ornate drapes, and the immaculate crystal. Positioned above the room richly festooned in burgundy was a portrait. I had entered the chamber many times, yet the portrait was what always held my attention. It was a remarkable likeness, the fine eyes glittering almost as convincingly as the original source. Masses of chestnut colored hair piled elegantly atop the ivory forehead stood out against the deep blue background, and on the frame was inscribed a name.

It did not startle me to discover Kelantha standing quite close, observing the painting intently.

�This room belonged to that noble woman, Antonia Elise?� she inquired, stepping closer to read the name on the inscription. I merely nodded assent. �Who was she, if I may inquire?�

�A great lady,� I answered. If she was a thorough observer, she would notice the arch of the nose in the painting was not so very different from my own; the icy tint of blue resembled the shade of my eyes. But perhaps I was remiss in showing her the upper floors first. Redirecting my gaze to my companion, my tone brightened with warmth as I said, �Already this day has been, I fear, too somber in its severity. There are impressive suites downstairs�the ballroom, dining room, large frontal chambers, everything that is proper for the seat of an old and proud heritage. First, however, there is something you should see.�

Leaving the room, I crossed the hall briskly, drawing nearer to the front of the castle until reaching a substantial wooden door. Opening it fully, without allowing time to notice or read the Latin inscription above it, I stepped over its threshold. The chilled breeze hastening down the mountains rushed impetuously over the balcony, stirring the flurried snow with shuddering whispers. A backward glance was unnecessary to ascertain Kelantha�s presence; the soft gasp that escaped her sufficed to reveal the magnificent blend of greenery and frost held her spellbound. With the entire forest before us, the majestic Carpathians stretching ever onward, and the darker shades of twilight settling over the late afternoon, the precipice was both ominous and splendid in its menacing beauty. There were no visible remainders of the ruined carriage; all lay under a dubious calm. The slight rustling of wolves in the distance, mixed with the abundance of life I could smell from the village beyond, did serve to disquiet a deep restlessness, one I took care to quell smoothly.  The reign of darkness had not reached its height; I would not allow full sway yet. My eyes lowered to Kelantha�s face, and at that moment she turned to face me.

�Until now,� I began, �I could only welcome you to my house, but now that you�ve truly seen it�this land beyond the forest, consecrated by its battles and sacred to its rulers�I may welcome you to the prize of my ancestors and the glory of eastern Europe.� Sweeping my arm in a courtly gesture, my voice rose with pride as I announced, �I bid you welcome, Miss Cabrera, to Transylvania!�

>> on to next chapter

This fan fiction is for enjoyment purposes only. You may not reproduce, duplicate, or otherwise quote the written text without written permission.