She had been born a princess in a remote mountain region of Eastern Europe in 1114 AD. She was an adventurous young girl, always a trial to her noble mother, and routinely ignored by her father, a minor Baron with small holdings many days ride from Prague. Veronica was always an inquisitive child and loved to explore the mountains she called home. At the age of 16 she had discovered a cave high on a cliff and far from her fathers castle. As she explored the cave by torchlight, she shooed away many bats but that was only natural for a cave in the mountains, and the bats were harmless. The Caves opening was small, but it seemed to go on forever. She delved deeper and deeper, and after many hours of curiosity in the labyrinth of tunnels and switchbacks, she came upon a strange site. There was the body of a man in crude armor, sitting on a large throne-like wooden chair. It was a very old body, completely dry as the wood of the chair he was on. She noticed that the body was shackled down to the chair and the chair was bolted to the floor with large metal spikes. In the sparse firelight she saw the chains glimmer, and rubbing them she deduced that the chains were of silver, just like the crucifix she wore. She thought it odd that the burial would have been done by some long-forgotten race by chaining the corpse down to a chair. She studied the figure and its predicament for a long time, and intelligent girl that she was, she deduced a number of things. First, that what she had thought was armor, was actually some sort of plate-metal cage surrounding the body that was staked to the chair. Second, there were two large bumps on the front of the armor. That, and the long and flowing hair, though wasted by time, gave her the idea that this figure was actually a woman. This revelation was a strange thought for the 12th century, when women were the property of fathers and husbands. That this woman was so honored as to have a very special, though macabre, burial meant that she was either very important or very much feared. She lowered the torch and discovered that the weathered and centuries-hardened nails of the corpse matched the cuts and scratches on the wooden chair arms below them. This was a shock! This poor woman had been chained here alive! What a horrible death, she had thought. She began to feel sorry for the victim of such a terrible torture, dying all alone in the cave, no one to help her, no water, and no food for days until unconsciousness had freed her. Young Veronica looked around more and found a small chest under the chair. She pulled out the box and looked inside, and there was a delicate vellum parchment, hardened by ages, with Latin writing. Roman writing! Veronicas mother was a wise woman with the wealth to see that her only daughter was educated. Veronica was well-versed in the thoughts of Aristotle, Euclid, and Socrates. She had read well the writings of the Romans, Pliny and Caesar and Aurelius. She could read Latin, and did so. Loosely translated, the scrawling hand on the vellum said: TO ANY UNFORTUNATE ENOUGH TO READ THIS PILATE MAGNUS, CENTURION OF THE 7TH, FIRST SPEAR IF YOU HAVE NOT BURNT HER ALREADY, DO SO NOW. SHE IS OF THE UNDEAD OF THE CARPATHIANS, CENTURIES OLD DO NOT TRUST HER, SHE BETRAYED HER SISTERS TO OUR HANDS WE BELIEVE SHE IS THE LAST OF HER KIND, BUT ONE IS NEVER SURE. WE VOWED BY APHRODITE NOT TO KILL HER, AND SO PUT HER HERE YOU ARE NOT BOUND BY THIS OATH. BURN HER NOW. While Veronica was reading, she heard a scuffling sound. Looking up, she thought she saw one of the corpses hands move against the chain. A raspy voice like the crackling of leaves said, in Latin, Greetings sister. And the corpse coughed, spewing dust and bits of flesh. Veronica was so surprised; she fell backward, dropping the torch, but recovered quickly and nursed the weak embers back to life. She realized she was running out of light, and quickly, so long had been her explorations this day. In halting Latin, Veronica said, You speak... The copse nodded its head. Veronica held out the vellum, Is this true? Yesssss, the corpse whispered, it is my shame. The young girl approached the dead body, wanting to see more closely in the dying light of the torch. She saw clear blue eyes behind the desiccated lids as they opened to look back at her. The corpse struggled a moment in futility, hoping that the centuries had changed the condition of the chains, but silver doesnt rust, and so her bonds still held. What are you? asked the girl. Wampyrie! spat the corpse. How can you be alive -- after so long? Undead. Need...blood...I can make...you...immortal... The husk of a body seemed to be rousing, sniffing the air, agitated. Veronica stopped to think about her young life. She had been betrothed to a neighboring Duke of 40 years when she was 14. Shed met the wine-sodden, belching oaf only once, but that was enough to hate him. Shed hoped he had died of gout or plague or battle, but her father had received word in the last month that hed soon be coming to collect his love. Disgusting. She wondered about a life, a noble one -- well clothed and fed surely -- but otherwise horrid in a thousand ways. She loved the freedom and fresh air of the mountains and hated the stale stench of the castle in winter, shut up against the cold and full of the wretched leavings of medieval human existence. When shut up in her room of the castle, shed often thought of ending her life alone in that cold stone box. But then she would dream of the mountains, the eagle and the bear, the wolf and the bat, fox and rabbit, and the world seemed alive with promise. But now Duke Vlad was coming for her. And the Dracul family was known for its excess of drink and carousing and the dukes promiscuity was legendary. Her father was a pig for giving her to him. Probably got a small flock of sheep for her, she thought. Thats my worth in their eyes, she marveled, that I be traded like a fine cow... She looked at the corpse, and with a commanding voice, uncommon for a virgin of her age. Tell me everything, and make it quick. Veronica tore ancient cloth from the chair and from the corpse, wrapping it onto the torch to extend its life as she listened to the undead crones rasping voice from the shadows of the cave. The corpse knew only that there had been Wampyrie as long as anyone could remember. Perhaps it was a disease like plague, or a curse, no one knows. The only food to keep a Wampyrie alive is human blood, nothing else will do. What is known is that Wampyrie are only women, made by a bite. Men are immune, but any woman bitten will become Wampyrie. Men, therefore, are a Wampyries food, but if you drain them they will die. Best to take only what you need from them in their sleep. The older the Wampyrie, the more powerful, and psychic power of the mind grows year by year until an old one knows what others are thinking. The corpse thought she was the eldest alive, perhaps the only, but she was not sure. If she bit Veronica and drank blood, Veronica would become Wampyrie, and live by the blood of humans forever. And corpse would survive and be grateful. Without blood, the corpse had little chance of lasting the remainder of the century. Veronica thought on these things for a long time, but also worried about the torch. Finally she said, What is your name? Vashta. I am of the clan of the brother of Attila, King of the Huns. I was wife to Eschar of Scithia, but he is now long dead. Who are you, my child? I am Veronica, daughter of Parek, Princess of these lands. And you travel in caves alone... Vashta laughed and coughed, spitting more dust and filthier things. Then Veronica Parek, come to my embrace, she rasped, and live forever your own woman on the blood of men. Veronica found herself moving forward toward the aged Wampyrie. She stopped in front of the bound corpse. Lift your pretty wrist to my mouth, dear, said the desiccated body, and I will make you immortal in exchange for some life-giving blood. Veronica thought of Vlad. She thought of her brothers and cousins. She thought of her father. She even thought of her mother, and for the first time, hated her for being so weak, serving the men, when her mothers blood was far more noble than the low nobility of Parek, her husband. Her mother was the third daughter of Ivan, the King of Moldavia, whereas her fathers father simply had a lot of cows. In an instant, Veronicas wrist shot out and she held it to the corpses mouth. Fangs were bared and the pain was sharp and immediate. In addition to the blood greedily slurped by the Wampyrie, a trickle ran down to her elbow and onto the floor. Quickly, Veronicas head began to swim, the room grew darker, and she swooned. She came to herself shortly, seeing that the torch still had a small flame. She stood on shaky legs as she pushed the torch toward the seated figure, to see if it had all been a dream. The Wampyrie smiled up at her with red lips and a dripping chin. Many thanks, it said in Latin, with a much more human voice. As Veronica looked at her face, the woman now seemed perhaps as old as a grandmother. The offering of blood seemed to have quickly restored the Wampyrie from dried corpse to an old woman in poor health, though her eyes still shown with internal blue fire. So you will live then, said Veronica. And you will die in 3 days, said the Wampyrie watching Veronicas reaction of fear. Dont worry, the first night you are dead, I will find you, because you will rise. I will not let them burn you nor bury you too deep. Fear not, with me a bargain is a done thing. So, now I must trust you? said Veronica. You already have, and I thank you. You are not Roman, your Latin is horrible. I hold no ill will to you. Now help me from these chains and we will find our way out of here in the darkness. The corpse looked at the last dying light of the torch, as it snuffed itself out.
Posted on: Fri, 22 Nov 2013 11:48:49 +0000
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