WARNING!!! This title will contain themes and content not suitable for children, women with PTSD caused by sexual/emotional/physical abuse or pregnancy/child loss related trauma, or those faint at heart. It is a dark story, and those who read it have been fully warned of such and accept what they are exposing themselves to. I do not claim any responsibility for any “trauma” caused by the reading of this chapter or its future additions. Reader discretion is highly advised.
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PROLOGUE – VEL PAUSARUM
A child’s wail pierced the veil of silence that covered this winter night, echoing into the surrounding flora and scattering the birds which inhabited the neighboring pines. The source of this great cry, a youth newly born into the unforgiving cold of Dacia’s vast wintergreen, writhed within her mother’s arms as she was hastily cleansed of blood and birth debris with a shaking hand – held only by the strength of the other. No one was around to help the two, even as her mother began to lose blood at a constant rate and grew weak enough that she could barely see the daughter she’d only pushed forth moments prior.
“Fii liniștită, iubito. Suntem singuri. Nimeni nu ne va ajuta; nu acum, și nu vreodată,” were the cold words of the woman with equally chilling eyes; they were the eeriest shade of orange and yellow, like a fire blazed within them, yet her gaze toward the little one was as brisk as the snow falling outside. As if beyond its age, the child quieted – seemingly understanding the words her mother had spoken in such an eloquent, foreign tongue. Not a murmur further was made, and both demon and spawn fell in sleep together without so much as a thought to whether or not they froze in the hours to come.
It could only be described as an act of some divine fortune that a traveling caravan would pass beside their decrepit hobble, having detoured to investigate the shrieks from before, and discovered the two huddled together in restful dreaming. The first to approach from the group was, judging by her attire, a maid of sorts – or at the very least a female commoner. Soft leather foot coverings that couldn’t quite be called shoes crunched gently against the snow as the woman approached, her eyes flicking back and forth from the babe to its intimidating mother, a being of origins that she could not place nor wanted to. Upon closer inspection she confirmed that the babe was sleeping soundly, but would not live through the night if kept in such conditions. She came close enough to be able to kneel, her arms tentatively raising from her sides to stretch out. Her breath trembled from cold and fear, the quietest prayer to the gods above asking that the being who held this child would not wake and disembowel them all. With the slowest and calmest of motions, the maid-servant took the babe into her arms and cradled it close to her chest with a sigh of relief, making small inching steps backward in order to not disturb the sleeping creature in front of her. Once at a safe enough distance, the stranger made quick work of securing them both inside of the main carriage and barricading the door via a thick wooden beam on the inside.
The band began to move, and three Roman priests who accompanied the group began their cleansing to rid the abandoned home of the sleeping hellion, who still had not yet stirred. Upon seeing the amount of blood which stained the ground, and the slow steady stream of it which still came forth, the men of faith concluded the being was dying – and so began their blessing.
“Lăsați copilul să fie crescut în dragoste, indiferent de cum a ajuns. Lăsați această femeie să se odihnească în pace în cele din urmă. Amin.”
Their ritual’s end, a tossing of holy oil and a bowing of their heads in final prayer, brought forth an utterly horrifying scream as the woman burst into flame, confirming the men’s worst fears – her body was that of a human woman’s, yet upon her head were the horns of a great dragon, and upon her fingers were the talons of a vulture. Blackening fangs, only such from being burnt by the persistent fire, extended with pain and horror at her entrapment as her grotesque frame began to disintegrate into ashen dust. A Daemon – an Elder. What the Egyptians had called the Concubine of Seth; one of the most detestable beings to ever walk the Planes. They had heard her by many names, but no one on Earth who yet lived had ever seen her in person. Yet there she was before them, and she had just given life.
The trio uttered curses and stepped many paces back to avoid catching in the blaze as it overtook the house itself, catching the wood and thatch and causing it to collapse in on the burning creature and finally silence its horrible cries. They looked to one another in shock, realizing just what sort of being they had destroyed, and made a final prayer in some small effort to lay the being’s soul to rest if one remained attached before leaving to return to the caravan.
“Shush…it will be alright. Eat now, you need your strength, child. You’ll get cold.” The babe had not settled since the men left the group, and would not quiet enough to nurse from a new mother who kindly offered her breast. At least now the child was warming, so the woman who saved her could relax a little. Still, she would not rest easily until the babe had begun to nurse. An hour or so had passed and yet no sign of the three priests and the men were beginning to make hushed whispers outside, and when asked for an update they only barked in some strange tongue. An older woman who had a rough understanding of the tongue had said that they were ordering the women and children to stay inside the carriage, causing a bit of unease among the entire group. They traveled in silence for the most part, though the guards were vocalizing their irritation with the baby’s crying and the women’s failed attempts to silence it. Finally the carriages stopped as they began to near a town, one guard in particular slamming his fist against the door and screaming in that unfamiliar language. The message was clear; silence the child, or he’d silence it for them.
Only a moment later, however, the opening and closing of a carriage door as well as the crunching of footsteps in the snow made it evident that he was not the reason they had come to a stop. A chilling quiet fell over the guards as a gentle knock rapt against the door of their carriage, which prompted a hasty opening of the latch. Staring back at the terrified women were the eyes of a well-dressed man, with salt-and-pepper hair and gloved hands – which reached up in request toward the wailing newborn.
“Let me see,” his voice rumbled from his chest in a way that caused the nursing mother holding the child to become slightly flustered, bowing her head in respect as she transferred her charge to the man.
The maid-servant who’d saved it grasped the woman’s arm and gave her a confused look, which caused the younger to jerk away in response.“Do you not remember? We are not in Buridava anymore, girl. We are in their home. We do as they say. Give him the child. She was not yours to begin with. She is…how they say…’tetigit mortem’.”
“But I…very well. Be gentle with her, she will not eat. She will not live long,” the woman’s voice choked as she withdrew her hand, hugging her arms in self-comfort.
“I will give her reason to live, Merta. Worry not. She will be safe; I am not angered by her crying. My men are stupid and will be punished for their actions.” He then closed the door whilst holding the infant to his chest, his wall of a frame shielding her from the snow and enveloping her in warmth. He made it back to his carriage quickly and closed the door behind him before settling into the cushioned velvet seat, fully setting his eyes upon the charge he now held.
She was frail and small, pale and her lips had begun to grow blue from cold death. She was starving, but would not take milk he gathered, based on what he had noticed of the woman attempting to nurse her. The babe had definitely shied away from the breast, but had attempted to bite. His eyes began to give off a dull crimson hue, and he mused aloud to himself for her to hear. “I wonder…what is it you eat, little girl?” With the most careful of motions he withdrew a small corked bottle of dark fluid, heavy with the scent of metal, and with a sharpened nail pulled off the topper. He tipped the bottle to her quivering lips and the child’s eyes came alive, burning with a brilliant rouge glimmer as her hands grasped at his wrist, her lips pursing and wrapping around the vial to pull the liquid into her mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard her quiet swallows, pulling her closer to rest against his chest as he propped his legs up on the opposing seat in front of him to get comfortable. She suckled the fluid slowly and weakly, but at least she was finally eating. Whatever nature of child she was, it certainly was not the mortal sort. No human babe would shy away from a mother’s milk, let alone have a preference for blood.
“What shall I name you, puella?” He whispered against her tiny ear, which prompted the girl to reach up with one hand to grasp one of his snow-soaked locks with an unrelenting grip. No longer was she wailing, nor even making a sound of discomfort or fear. She was content in his hold, secure. A chuckle rippled from his throat as he nudged her cheek with his stubble-covered chin, the most discreet of smirks curling his somewhat full lips.
With the shuffling of nearing footsteps falling upon his ears he realized that the priests were catching up, and with the child comforted he called for the guards to resume their journey into the new reaches of the Roman Empire – and to the estate he had acquired in the region, known as Giulești.
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NOTES & TRANSLATIONS
1. Romanian. “Be quiet, baby. We are alone. No one will help us; not now, and not ever.” Source: Google Translate (Let me know if this is incorrect please!)
2. Romanian. “Let the baby be raised in love, no matter how it arrived. Let this woman rest in peace at last. Amen.” Source: Google Translate
3. Buridava – referring to an ancient village in the region that is now Romania, Moldavia and Hungary; I have included the link below.
4. Tetigit mortem: “death-touched”, hopefully literally. Latin. Source: Google Translate
5. Latin. “Little girl”, an endearment. Source: Google Translate.
6. Giulești – believed to be the estate granted to Dragoș, the Voivode of Moldavia. He is thought to have earned the estate from King Vladislav of Hungary in around 1359 A.D., but earlier dates have been suggested and not much definitive knowledge surrounds his origins and family history. Link provided below.
INFORMATIVE LINKS
Regarding Buridava and Dacia: en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burida…
Regarding The Voivode of Moldavia: en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drago%…
ADDITIONAL NOTE: Please do not drag me for using Google Translate and Wikipedia. This is meant to be extremely loosely based on actual history, and is mainly dark fantasy fiction with very vague ties to real timelines and places. If you have better sources and translations, please feel free to link them to me in the comments. Otherwise, your comment will be removed or flagged. I don’t tolerate drama.
Property of Jessica Green, Copyright 2018. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy.
Stories and rambling by oddvikingstudios 