Life's Blood (The Cordelia Chronicles) (28 page)

Chapter 30 - Sibiel

It was a short drive to Sibiel, but I was still nervous about being behind the wheel in a foreign country. My driving experience back home was limited, and I found the narrow, winding roads nerve wracking--particularly because there were more than just regular cars to contend with. From the gypsies riding on horse and buggy to oversized semis that barely fit in a single lane, Romanian highways were a strange dichotomy of past and present. I was thankful Romanians at least drove on the same side of the road as we did back home--I didn’t think I could handle it if they didn’t.

Finally, after we’d passed a few roadside markets, several villagers selling some sort of homebrew in recycled pop bottles from wooden stands set up in front of their homes, and at least three men pulling canisters of milk behind them in a wagon, we came to a turn off the side of the road.

“Here,” Chaseyn said, pointing down the rural road. “Let’s make a quick stop. There’s something I want to show you before we hole up.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to stop?”

“Yes, love. You should know by now I would never do anything if I thought it put your life in jeopardy,” he smiled. “Pull over in front of that little white church on the left.”

I did as Chaseyn said, and put the car into park. Next to the church, there was a small cemetery with a larger white building on its right. A few people were wandering the grounds, reading headstones and taking photos of the buildings.

“What’s this?” I asked, wondering why Chaseyn wanted us to stop here of all the churches we’d passed on our journey the past few days.

“You’ll see,” he said with a wink.

Chaseyn grabbed his cane and hoisted himself out the car. Ever the gentleman, he insisted I stay seated until he hobbled to my side of the vehicle to open the door. I looped my arm through his, and he escorted me up the short path leading from the parking lot, past the headstones, and up the front steps of a modest building.

Opening yet another enormous wooden door, we walked into a large, nearly empty foyer. There was a narrow stairwell in one corner, and a wooden folding table was set up just inside the entrance. An elderly woman seated at the table greeted us with a warm smile despite the frigid temperature inside the building. Without exchanging so much as a single word, Chaseyn returned her smile and offered her a few lei.

Next, we made our way down a wide corridor and through a door at the other end. The room was dark, and Chaseyn rubbed his hand along the wall in search of the light switch. Finally, I heard the unmistakable surging sound of electricity as the room lit up with a pop in the three light bulbs dangling from wires at random intervals throughout the room.

But it didn’t matter that we were in a dark, dank, decrepit building. Not when we were surrounded by such beauty. Every square inch of wall space was covered in paintings. And it wasn’t just the walls. There were row after row of moveable walls covered in even more paintings.

“These are amazing,” I said, inspecting the artistry in a painting of the Virgin Mary hanging a few feet from the entrance.

“Most of these are centuries old,” Chaseyn said. “It’s the largest collection of glass icons in all of Transylvania, and I think it’s the most amazing. All of these were painted by peasants.”

I walked along each row of paintings taking in the details. All of the paintings were spiritual in nature--depicting religious icons or scenes from the Bible. Many were representations of the same imagery, but others were completely unique.

“The most amazing part is that all of these had to be painted in reverse,” Chaseyn said.

“What do you mean?”

“The picture is on the backside of the glass, so the artist had to paint the image backward. That way, when you frame and hang it, the image is facing forward,” he explained. “If you look at these two, you can see they are the same image, but the cross is in the opposite hand in each one. That’s because the artist forgot to paint it in reverse.”

There were several rooms on the main floor, and I walked through each on at a snail’s pace, marveling at the talent displayed by each artist. And the fact of the matter was that most were painted by regular people--not people employed as artists. I couldn’t fathom trying my hand at something like this, but these people felt so passionate about their religion--and how they were not allowed to openly practice it at the time--that they did whatever they could to express themselves. Amazing.

When we were done looking at every image on the main floor, we made our way up the creaking stairwell. We had to walk single file since it was so narrow, waiting for the people on their way down the stairs to pass us by before we made our way up.

The boards seemed weak, and I worried with each step they would fall out from under us. It wasn’t much better when we reached the top. The roof sloped unevenly as though it would cave in at every moment, and the floors seemed to be made from weak twigs that were ready to snap under our weight. Still, I made my way from painting to painting, taking in the beauty and uniqueness of each one.

When we’d visited every room and looked at each painting, we made our way back downstairs and thanked the woman at the door. Back at the car, I hopped in the driver’s seat once more and waited for Chaseyn to tell me how to get to our next destination.

“It’s just over there,” he said, pointing just a few blocks up the road.

“Where?”

A look of confusion crossed my face. We were surrounded by towering fences and tiny shacks. A train track crisscrossed the road just ahead, and a feral dog drank from a nearby crick. I couldn’t see anyplace where we could stay the night.

“Just trust me,” Chaseyn laughed, and I put the car in gear. “Drive to the corner, and make a right. Turn right again, and pull up close along the side of that red fence.”

I did as Chaseyn said and then looked at him in bewilderment as he once again hobbled to my side of the car. He told me to leave the bags in the trunk while we made our way inside. Inside what, I had no idea. All I could see was a ten-foot tall fence, and judging by the other “homes” in the area, the only thing we would find on the other side was a four by eight shed. I wasn’t accustom to the same luxuries as Addie, but I just couldn’t see us spending the night in a room that size with who knows how many other people.

Just then, the gate opened, and a tall, slim woman greeted Chaseyn with arms wide open. She took him into her embrace, and they cooed at each other in Romanian. The woman had bobbed, straight, sandy-brown hair that bounced as she spoke. She was dressed traditional Romanian clothing, and I wondered how she knew my husband.

“Cordelia, love, this is Alina--Balthazar’s sister,” Chaseyn said.

I was floored. Balthazar had a sister…a sister who did not resemble him in the least. In fact, they were every bit the opposite of one another. Where he was a big brute of a man, she was a petite woman--skin and bone--who radiated a gentleness that made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“My brother has told me all about you,” she said. “I’m so delighted to meet you, Cordelia, and have you and Chaseyn stay with us.”

Us
. I wondered how many others there were. Despite how sweet she seemed, vampires made me nervous, and I didn’t like the idea of spending the night surrounded by them--even if it was for my own safety.

Alina opened the gate wider then, and we stepped inside to a beautiful orchard, and I looked around in awe. I never expected to find such a grandiose garden on the other side of the battered fence we pulled up alongside a few moments earlier.

“Come,” she instructed as we walked past the trees to the main house. “Let’s get something in your tummy before you settle in.”

Alina told Chaseyn and I to take a seat at the dining table. She brought him a tall glass filled with a thick red liquid before sitting a bowl filled with steaming broth before me.

“Eat,” she said bluntly. “I’ll be back in a moment with some bread.”

Chaseyn gulped down his glass of blood, and I ate until I thought the button would burst off my jeans. I guzzled two big bowls of soup and four slices of bread before calling it quits.

“Eat more,” Alina urged.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t--I‘m stuffed,” I said graciously, patting my belly. “Thank you so much. It was delicious.”

“Then, I will show you to your room,” she said.

We followed her back out into the orchard and to a guest house a few feet away. When she opened the door, I noticed our bags had already been brought inside, and I wondered who else was lurking about the estate.

“Mina called earlier. She said to tell you they have been successful in Moldovita and are on their way to Voronet,” Alina said. “They should be here by nightfall.”

“Thank you,” Chaseyn replied. “We’ll rest until they arrive.”

“Yes, you need to rest, my dear,” she said, brushing the hair back from Chaseyn’s brow and feeling the temperature of his cheek with the back of her hand.

“You know what to do?” she asked, looking to me with a cocked head.

“Yes,” Chaseyn said, while I puzzled over her question. “She knows.”

That seemed to satisfy Alina, and after telling us to simply help ourselves to anything in the main house, she left us to get settled.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“It’s nothing,” Chaseyn said as he eased himself onto the bed. Even after the big glass of blood he’d just ingested, he looked worn down. Black circles formed bags under his eyes, and his normally soft, plump lips were chapped and cracking.

“Don’t lie to me, Chaseyn. What did she mean?”

“She wondered if you knew how to blood let,” he said softly. I bowed my head in understanding. She thought Chaseyn should drink from me. “But we’re not going to do that again.”

“I will,” I conceded. “If that’s what it takes to help you keep you well long enough for us to find the elixir.”

“I know, but we can only do it one more time,” he said sadly. “I don’t want to resort to that extreme measure unless…
until
…we really need to.”

One more time. Because a third time would risk turning me into a vampire. Not a chance I was willing to take. I crawled into bed beside Chaseyn and rested my head on his chest. His breathing was labored and his heartbeat seemed weak.

“Tell me about Alina,” I said. “She’s so different from Balthzar. How did she become a vampire?”

“Well, to understand her story, you first need to know Balthazar’s,” Chaseyn said.

Chaseyn told me how Balthazar and his sister had never been close. He had been a rebel teen who left their family home in Sibiel to explore Europe when Alina was still a child. Balthazar worked odd jobs, cutting wood, cleaning stables, and milking cows--whatever he could do to make enough money to pay for a warm meal and a place to lay his head each night.

After a few years, Balthazar settled in a small village on the outskirts of Prague. He’d found steady work there, and a young woman had caught his eye--the sister of one of his friends. However, his friends were members of the wrong kind of crowd.

Being the most beautiful girl in the village, she was coveted by many. And though it was clear she only had eyes for Balthazar, other suitors continually attempted to get her attention. They detested Balthazar for winning her heart. One night after an evening of drinking and carousing, Balthazar was challenged to a duel for the girls’ hand. Never one to refuse a challenge--and rarely one to lose--he accepted.

Unfortunately for Balthazar, the man who had challenged him didn’t fight fair. As they were about to begin, two more men jumped out of the trees, attacking Balthazar from behind. He didn’t stand a chance. Balthazar’s friends found his lifeless body the next morning, and they thought he was dead. All except one--one who had heightened senses and abilities. One who, unbeknownst to Balthazar and his other friends, was a vampire.

The vampire sensed Balthazar’s faint heartbeat and concocted a plan. He knew a man of Balthazar’s formidable stature, charming personality, and rapier wit would make an amazing vampire himself. The vampire--thinking on his toes--sent the others for help, and the moment they were out of sight, he lifted Balthazar in his arms and carried him to his home. There, he started the process of turning Balthazar into a vampire--taking his life but ensuring his immortality.

When Balthazar was fully healed, the vampire told him to leave the village and never return. Balthazar was devastated, and he turned to a life of debauchery in an effort to escape his fate. But nothing eased his pain. Pain for the loss of his old life. The loss of his love. And he finally returned home.

But when he got there, instead of finding his family living as they always had--poor but happy--he found only Alina struggling to keep the farm afloat. The others--his parents and two brothers--had perished in a recent plague. More pain and loss.

Alina herself was desperately ill, but she refused to give in. Finally, the sickness overcame her, and despite her strong will, she could no longer deny the fact that she was dieing. And that’s when Balthazar shared his secret with her. And more. He shared his blood and made her a vampire. And though it cured her condition, it drove the siblings even further apart. She resented him for making her a monster. Where vampirism amplified the fact that he was a brute of a man, it made her feel less like the gentle, kind woman she had been. She struggled to contend with her new life, and the wedge between them continued to grow.