Daughters of the Black Moon
The Second Installment of the Semyaza Cycle
She knew someone had invaded her flat on Erebus Street before she even reached the door. The afternoon sun cast long shadows on the cobbles of London’s streets, painting the old stone buildings of Erebus Street orange and yellow. It was a brisk day, the specific date being September 28th, 1849. Slowly stepping down the stairs that led to the door of her flat that lay partially below the street, she stopped before the door with its chipped wintergreen paint. Her shoes made no sound as she sidled up to the door open just the tiniest sliver of a crack. This concerned her, as her street was an avenue with a reputation of poverty and ill-characters. She didn’t wear her typical garb, which consisted of boots, jacket, and trousers, instead today had been one of the very few occasions that she’d worn an outdoor skirt and blouse. Consequently, the only weapon on her person was her thin, ivory-handled stiletto.
Taking a deep breath, the woman kicked open the door and dived to the floor in a forward roll, coming up with her back against the far wall, facing the intruder, having deprived him of any vantage point in the small, one-roomed flat. She saw the figure of a tall, lean yet muscled man sitting at one of the chairs at her table, his feet up on the table, his face hidden in the shadows of a wide-brimmed top hat.
The man gave a sardonic chuckle and clapped his hands slowly. “What a dazzling display of agility, dear Cirice.”
Cirice scowled, the high cheekbones of her pale face creating slight crinkles around her steel-blue eyes. “What are you doing here, Leif?”
“Why,” the man said in his deep, smooth voice, “I just wanted to visit my dear little sister! Is that really so bad?”
The woman felt her face grow hot with frustration. She slid her stiletto into its hiding place and advanced towards him. “You could have easily sent a telegram instead of breaking in to my apartment,” she retorted, embarrassed from her entry and some residual adrenaline in her system making her voice sharp.
Leif smiled, raising his face to look at her. Cirice couldn’t see his eyes behind those ridiculous dark spectacles he wore, but he knew that they must have been sparkling with amusement. “Have a seat, dear sister.” He gestured one calloused hand to the other chair.
“How kind of you to invite me to sit in my own house,” She replied sarcastically, allowing her dark red hair -previously held up in a bun- to fall down around her shoulders.
“Don’t be petty.” Leif sighed, putting his fingers together in a steeple. “You’re acting like an impudent child. Again.”
Glaring, Cirice had to bite back a curse. Her older brother Leif had always been better at nearly everything when they were children. This had instilled a natural instinct of rivalry in Cirice; causing her to almost reflexively go against everything he said or did. She’d hoped this would annoy him, but Leif had always managed to let it roll off his back, deftly embarrassing her in the process. Her face a scowl; the woman sat down.
“How was your walk along the Thames?” Leif said courteously, taking his booted feet off the table. He wore a gentleman’s clothes, with a white shirt, gray sporting jacket, tie, and a pocket watch with a gold-chain. His short, neatly trimmed black beard framed a pearly-white smile, his equally dark hair hidden in the shadows of his hat. His circular dark spectacles made him seem like some strange creature.
“Are you keeping tabs on me now?” Cirice asked, annoyed.
Leif raised his hands defensively. “We keep tabs on all of our brethren. I was merely asking for courtesies sake.”
“It was fine, thank you” Cirice said curtly. Her Norwegian accent was much more pronounced than her brother’s. She allowed herself to relax. Although she wasn’t terribly fond of her brother, she figured she was only making an ass of herself by acting crossly.
“Good.” He said, almost cheerfully. “One needs recreation now and again. It’s good that you went for a relaxing walk today, because you are needed elsewhere.”
“Whatever it is,” Cirice cut in, her voice hard. “I won’t do it. Find someone else.” She never took commissions from her brother. A precedent had been set that the jobs Leif assigned her were typically mundane, petty assignments. She would not be his lackey. When she’d reached sufficient mastery of her skills and training, Leif had kept her from actually accepting commissions for another year, insisting that she hadn’t yet ready. He’d never explained why he had done that to her, and even when she asked about it, he would refuse to elaborate on it. She’d never forgiven him for that.
Leif sighed. “Listen to what I have to say before you blow me off, Cirice. This assignment involves Miriam.”
That made Cirice stop and consider. Miriam was her best friend, despite not seeing her for some time. “Is she in danger?” She asked, hesitant.
A shadow of a grimace crossed Leif’s narrow face. “We don’t know,” He said after a brief pause. “She went to Poland about two years ago, pursuing a commission that a client had paid her handsomely for. The details of it remain unknown to us.” He adjusted his dark spectacles. “It remains to be seen whether she was successful or not. About a month ago, we received a letter from her, the first communication Miriam had sent to probably anyone in over a year. In the letter, she said that she was leaving the Order, and wished to live in seclusion for the rest of her days.”
Cirice blinked in surprise. “That’s strange. I know Miriam is aware of our exit policy.” One did not leave the Order on a whim. There were three ways to leave. The first was death, whether by accident or design. The second was betrayal, which often resulted in death, or at least permanent exile. The third was the most difficult to attain. One had to have a lengthy and impressive record of service, proving that one had served well enough to earn retirement. That made Cirice concerned for Miriam. Why would she try to up and leave suddenly, especially given the consequences of such a risky action?
Leif nodded. “As you can see, this situation is concerning to the powers that be. I want you with me.”
Cirice shook her head stubbornly. “Why me?” she asked. “If she truly wants to leave, then we all know what would happen to her. I won’t assist in such a thing.” The thought that she didn’t voice was that if there was something nefarious going on here, and Miriam was in danger, she didn’t want to try to save her and fail. She didn’t think she could live with herself if that happened.
Drumming his thick fingers on the wooden table, Leif stared at her for several long moments, his face neutral, and his eyes hidden behind his dark glasses. Cirice met his gaze evenly, not backing down. After almost a minute, Leif wordlessly reached into his jacket and withdrew an object. He let it fall on the table with a loud clatter. Seeing it, Cirice swore violently. The object was a large, thick iron coin, easily the size of her palm. On its face was a man’s head, a pointed pilgrim’s hat crowning him, his features vague and dour. Even though she didn’t see it, she knew that on the reverse was a depiction of a crucifix, a rapier and a hammer crossed under it.
“Are you seriously going to force me into a Gray Contract?” Cirice asked bitterly. Leif nodded. “Damn you!” She sighed, shaking her head. There was nothing she could do now.
“By the command of the Fraternitas Mallei,” Leif spoke the ritual words with gravity, “you are hereby impressed into a Gray Contract. Do you understand?”
Cirice bristled, but nodded all the same. The Gray Contract was a forced commission that one of sufficient rank could employ on another member only once in their lives. It was named after the Order’s founder, or at least the founder of the modern incarnation of it, Jedediah Gray, a witch-hunter who had struck terror in the hearts of evil during the Puritan days. To defy a Gray Contract was to risk severe punishment or even death. Before his death, Jedediah Gray had founded the Fraternitas Mallei, or the “Hammer’s Brotherhood”, also referred to as ‘the Order’ to carry on his legacy in secret. The Order was actually the current version of a much older organization, and it currently had agents scattered all over Europe and even in other continents to lesser extents. Remaining secret and relatively unknown, most members received commissions straight from the Order, while some, Cirice included, took them from ordinary people, posing as private investigators and mercenaries.
The Gray Contract was only to be used in dire circumstances, so Cirice figured this case must be quite serious. “Give me the details,” She replied curtly, trying her best to swallow her annoyance and rebellious instincts.
“Glad to see that you are more cooperative.” Leif said, withdrawing the heavy coin. “Miriam’s letter came from a small town in Austria.”
Hearing this, Cirice laughed sharply. “Let me spare you the disappointment, Leif. She’s not there. Miriam’s too clever to give away her location like that”
“Yes,” Leif cut in, shifting his weight, “we figured that out. She’s really in Wallachia, which Austria borders to the northeast. We’ve narrowed her location down to somewhere near the village of Golești.”
“Why do you want me?” Cirice asked. “Surely there are people more qualified than me to do so. Abraham, for instance, would be much better suited for this.”
“True,” Leif said thoughtfully, crossing his lean but strong arms, “he does have more experience with that part of the world, having been in that region on numerous occasions. But,” Her brother leaned in, “you know Miriam better than anyone. We would like her to rejoin us, if possible.”
“And if she won’t?” Cirice asked, arching an eyebrow. Leif just looked at her, his face expressionless. “I will not kill her, Leif.” She said adamantly, daring him to contradict her. Deep down, she knew if Leif said she had to, Cirice would be forced to kill her or potentially be killed herself, but the woman kept firm
“You won’t have to.” Leif said. “If it comes to that, I will take up that task. But, for both her sake and yours, if I can have her spared, I promise I will.”
Cirice’s eyes went wide with a sudden realization. “Oh no,” she groaned, “you don’t mean to say…”
“Indeed!” Leif said, an obnoxiously cheerful smile crossing his face. “I’m going with you. Pack your things, and bring some money. We leave for the port at Great Yarmouth at nine ‘o’ clock. How’s your Romanian?”
The journey to Wallachia proved to be a grueling, boring one. Cirice and Leif made good time, reaching the country a mere fifteen days after their initial departure. From Great Yarmouth, they’d sailed across the North Sea, gaining passage on a cargo ship. They arrived in the Netherlands, and their trail had led them from Amsterdam to Hanover, then to Brunswick. From there, they’d gone days without passing through any settlements larger than villages or small towns, passing through the countryside of Eastern Europe. Alternating between carriages, hitching rides from friendly farmers, and even hiking along roads, they’d reached the city of Cluj-Napoca, Transylvania. Cirice hadn’t been able to bring all of her gear, only a couple breechloaders, a harness for them, a box of bullets, a dagger, and her clothing. However, a secret outpost for the Malleus Brotherhood was in Cluj-Napoca. Leif had spent quite a long time in there, while Cirice had waited impatiently outside, gazing at the antiquated buildings of the city and the Carpathian Mountains of the Transylvanian wilderness beyond the city.
At last, Leif had emerged, informing her that a contact had been procured for them in Golești and with another knapsack with equipment. The man didn’t work for the Order, but was a type of freelancing agent that had served them well in the past. That same day, they’d departed, taking a two-day ride by carriage to Golești, Wallachia. The antiquated countryside, with its lush forests and crumbling keeps glaring down from the hills, was both beautiful and otherworldly. Unfortunately, it had taken three days to reach their final destination. Wallachia, and its border-nation Moldavia, had been caught between the great political games of the Russian tsar and the Ottoman Sultan, and as such the political climate was tense and chaotic. Their hold on Wallachia slipping, the Ottomans were suspicious of any visitors, and took their time clearing Cirice and her brother for entry.
They exited the carriage to be greeted by a quaint, picturesque town nestled in the Moldavian countryside. The Carpathians loomed on the western horizon, Golești resting snugly in verdant fields, rolling green hills, lush forests on the outskirts. The blue sky was partly cloudy, the noonday sun shining on the village. Cirice and Leif had pulled up in front of an inn. As Leif paid the carriage driver, speaking with him in Romanian, Cirice took in the settlement. She could see perhaps twenty buildings in the central town, with some cottages and farms further out in the countryside. Most were made of logs or old brick, with thatch roofs. Paved cobblestone lined the streets, old and dark. To the northeast, Cirice thought she could glimpse a crumbling stone bell tower far in the distance, shrouded by heavy forest. Likely some long-abandoned remnant of the myriad peoples that had lived and ruled in this ancient part of the world, such as the Magyars, Slavs, Goth, or even the ancient Dacians.
“Our contact is supposed to be waiting for us inside.” Leif said, coming over to her, his dark spectacles shrouding his eyes and his top hat keeping the sun off of his face. Cirice herself wore her typical hunting garb. Tall, black leather boots, thick trousers, a reinforced corset underneath a shirt, and her dark gray coat that extended past her knees.
Leif carried his own suitcase, his knapsack he’d picked up in Cluj-Napoca across his back, his black cane, topped with a marble orb, in his other hand, tapping as he walked along. Cirice followed, her own suitcase in hand. As they crossed the street to the inn, several town natives looked at them with curious interest, but Cirice saw no hostility. Women in frilled white and red dresses, carrying baskets of goods, passed them by, men in farmer’s garb accompanying them. A few grubby children played down the street. A carriage clattered by, but as far as Cirice could tell, most transportation was by horse, wagon, or by foot.
The thought that permeated Cirice’s mind the most, however, was why in the world Miriam would be here, of all places. Certainly, this small relic of a bygone age was beautiful, but it was a tiny settlement in the middle of an underdeveloped part of the world. This seemed a very unlikely place to end up in.
“Unless she was running from something,” Cirice murmured under her breath.
Leif, putting his cane under the crook of his arm, pushed open the door of the inn, and the two of them entered. They were met with a cozy room of middling size with a bar and kitchen in the rear. To the right was a stairway leading to the second floor, to the left another door. Cirice supposed that it led to some storage room or perhaps a wine cellar. A few patrons briefly glanced up from their dinners, but after a few moments returned to their eating, uninterested. Leif headed straight for the bar. Following, Cirice noticed a heavy-set man, sitting on a stool at the counter, turned and rose at the sight of Leif. He was a swarthy-looking man, dressed in simple, one could even say shabby garb. His tousled brown hair was the same color as his eyes.
“Nu te-am mai văzut de mult!” The man said in a nasal, yet resonating voice, beaming and spreading his large hands. Cirice only knew some Romanian, but she knew he had said something along the lines of, ‘good to see you again.’
“Bună ziua, Mihail.” Leif replied, smiling briefly. He glanced at Cirice. “Pay the innkeeper for our rooms,” he said to her.
As Leif and the other man conversed, obviously having known one another for some time, Cirice walked up to the bar, putting her suitcase on the stool. A kindly looking, balding old man with a large nose shuffled up to the bar, smiling. “Vorbiți limba română?” He said in a raspy voice.
Cirice, fortunately, knew what that meant. The innkeeper was asking if she spoke Romanian. “Un pic,” she said, hoping she had said ‘a little.’ Then in English she followed up with, “Mostly English.”
The innkeeper bobbed his head, smiling. “We not have many visitors here in Golești,” He said in accented, slightly off English. “You second we have in two year.”
Cirice smiled politely. “Two rooms.” She said, holding up two fingers to make sure he understood. The innkeeper nodded, taking two keys from a drawer and handing them to her. With a smile, Cirice said one last thing to him, a phrase she’d made sure to learn well. “Acest domn va plăti pentru tot.” She said, gesturing to her currently occupied brother. The innkeeper grunted in understanding as she turned away.
Acest domn va plăti pentru tot. The gentleman will pay for everything. Cirice ascended the old stairs, looking for her room. Despite herself, she found a girlish smile on her face.
The sun was disappearing behind the distant Carpathians, painting the western horizon with a red and purple haze that reflected off the thick clouds. The air was cool, but not as cool as to be uncomfortable. Cirice, Leif, and the other man, who had introduced himself to Cirice as Mihail Teodorescu, sat at a polished oak table near a window, with the view of the sunset outside. The window as cracked open, and the scent of flowers, food, and hay trickled in. It was not an unpleasant smell.
Within the inn, a few candles were being lit as the evening grew later. Only a couple other patrons were there, a pair of farmers evidently treating themselves to the inn’s supper, which Cirice figured was a rare indulgence for them.
“Our base in Cluj-Napoca tells us that you saw a woman matching the description of Miriam,” Leif began, the glasses still on despite the hour growing late. He had, however, removed his hat, and his short black hair was visible. “Can you tell us more?” The three of them were dining on local dishes, grilled meats known as mititei and patricieni. In addition, a large bowl of mamaliga, which Cirice had been informed as a thick mush of corn meal eaten with meat, lay in the center of the table. While they had unpacked, Leif had informed Cirice that Mihail and Leif had worked together before, and that Mihail was a native Wallachian, who knew the country well and was well known in the country.
“This Miriam, I remember well when she first came to our village,” Mihail replied, answering his English. “I believe it was about six months ago when she did.”
“What did she do here? Did you talk to her at all?” Cirice asked, feeling an urgency to know. Now that she was here, her concern for her friend had increased.
“No, I didn’t,” Mihail replied, shrugging, “I had no reason too. I didn’t even know she was with your, uh…organization,” he explained, “I’m only an occasional informant, after all.”
“Anything you can tell us about her time here would be appreciated,” Leif cut in, daintily chewing, and swallowing his food before he spoke.
“I remember her keeping to herself mostly,” he said, “she stayed in this very inn, as a matter of fact. Then, after a few weeks, I realized she had been gone.” He shrugged again. “At the time it didn’t make any difference. I thought she was pretty to look at, but aside from that she was just a traveler, nothing more. I couldn’t even tell you when she went away.”
Cirice gnawed on her lip slightly. All of this was strange behavior for her friend. She was regretting her initial obstinance in coming with Leif now. Was Miriam fleeing somebody, or even worse, something? Cirice had been friends with Miriam for years, and she was now ashamed for her stubbornness in coming along. If her friend was in peril, she was obligated to offer aid.
“What can you tell us about the region, Mihail?” Leif said, shifting the topic.
Swallowing his patricieni, Mihail answered the question, “Golești is a quiet, peaceful place. I can see why this girl would want to settle down here. After all, people from your organization must lust after a little peace and quiet I’d gather.” At that, the man kept eating like he’d answered the question as fully as possible.
Leif gazed at him for several heartbeats. “And, outside of the town?”
“Ah,” Mihail said, “Now you ask the right question. Outside of Golești, everything is not so peaceful.”
“How so?” Leif asked. Cirice remained silent, sipping her tzuica, a fruity alcoholic drink that she found quite good.
“Well, aside from the typical horrors in this part of the world,” Mihail said, sitting back in his chair, “you could say there’s been strange occurrences around these parts.”
“Mihail,” Leif sighed, “you are trying my patience. Please get to the point. We are searching for one of our Order who is hiding from us. Give us any relevant information.”
Mihail bowed his head in a gesture of apology. “Forgive me. Occasionally, someone will go missing near Golești or one of the nearby villages, such as Husi, Birlad, even as far as Adjud. That was only once, though, a few years ago.” Mihail paused, took a sip from his glass of tzuica. “One aspect of this is that it is always a specific type of person that goes missing.”
“What type?” Cirice heard herself ask. She was interested to see, if indeed there was foul play involved, whether Miriam was the specific type of person Mihail referred to.
Mihail coughed. “It’s always a woman, never older than 35. Always unmarried, and most of them had dark hair and eyes. The youngest to go that I know of was 16.”
“Someone is going around kidnapping young rustic maidens in the dead of night?” Leif asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Really, Mihail. I thought you were going to say something interesting. Let me guess, they’re found later, dead and violated?”
Mihail shook his head, leaning forward. “Some are, but they go missing under different circumstances. No, Leif, these women,” His voice grew more excited, “are kidnapped, yes, but not missing.”
“What do you mean?” Leif asked
“We know where all the women are!” Mihail replied, his expression animated. “There is a long-abandoned church a few miles to the northeast, in the forest.”
“I think I saw this church.” Cirice said. Leif glanced at her, clearly displeased that she’d withheld this information. The woman hid her smile of satisfaction in her cup of tzuica. Despite her change of heart about this whole thing, her petty clashes with her brother remained unchanged.
“Aye, one can see the bell tower from town on clear days.” Mihail replied, bobbing his head. “Anyhow, once the women’s parents found out where they were, they would go to get them, assuming they were being held against their will.” Mihail shook his head, an expression of disbelief on his face. “Every single time, they refuse to leave! There’s about a dozen there, I think, and their led by this one man. They claim to be a religious sect, the ‘Church of the Black Moon’ they call themselves. Apparently, the girls there are perfectly happy to remain there, claiming that their lives have more meaning there.”
“This man,” Leif asked, leaning in, “tell me about him.”
Mihail shrugged. “Not much is known. Dragomir is his name. From what I’ve heard, he’s nice enough. Must be, to have all those girls at his fingertips. That’s all I know.”
“Do they ever come into town?” Cirice cut in, annoyed that Leif was taking over all the investigative questions. She might be on a Gray Contract, but it was her Gray Contract.
Mihail thought for a moment. “I’m not sure.” He said after a pause. “I haven’t been in Golești very often, but I’m sure they have for food and such.”
“Cirice,” Leif said, turning to her, “do you think Miriam could have joined this group?”
Cirice shook her head. “It’s not like her. She was always fiercely independent. Miriam would never allow herself to fall under the beguiles of something like this.”
“Yet,” Leif said ponderously, “there seems to be no other explanation.”
Cirice suddenly remembered the innkeeper telling her that Golești had only seen one other visitor in the past year. She groaned inwardly. Every indicator seemed to point towards a conclusion that didn’t make sense.
“When was the last time a girl went missing?” Leif asked, “A local girl, I mean,” he asked.
“That would have had to be about a year ago,” the man said, nodding ponderously to himself. “Think it is related?”
Leif shrugged, “I don’t know,” he sighed in response.
Mihail stroked his chin, a thoughtful expression on his tanned, swarthy face. “What is your saying? ‘Whatever is left, even if improbable, is the answer,’ right?”
A flicker of a smile crossed Leif’s face. “Yes,” he replied, “something like that.”
The waning moon was an orange crescent in a cloudy, near-starless sky, the air cool, with a night wind causing Cirice’s skin to prickle with gooseflesh. She pulled the collar of her dark gray jacket tighter around her neck. Her ponytail wavered slightly in the wind as it sighed through the pines and oaks of the forest. She paced restlessly, her boots causing the thick, fragrant grass of the hillock to swish slightly. Her hands in her pockets, she fiddled with some lint she had found in their depths.
“Stop that walking, dear sister.” Leif said absently. She turned her head to looked him, her steel-blue eyes flashing. Her brother sat reclining against a pale gray boulder, his top hat on once more, his hands behind his head. “You’ll scuff your boots.”
“What exactly are we waiting for?” Cirice asked, turning to gaze across the forest. To the southwest, she could see a few faint, twinkling lights in Golești. From their position atop the grassy hillock, its sides shrouded in trees, they had a decent view of the dark woods. “We’ve been here for almost three hours. It must be almost midnight by now!” Leif said nothing.
Cirice sighed in frustration. “You dragged me halfway across Europe to save my friend. Why, now that we are here, are you so nonchalant about this whole thing?”
“I am merely being careful,” Leif replied from where he was, “this is a very old part of the world. We should tread lightly here, and that is what I am doing.”
She was silent for a few moments, looking off into the forest. “Leif,” she said thoughtfully, “how did you know Miriam was here, of all places?”
A thin smile manifested on her brother’s face. “Our Brotherhood has means of keeping tabs on our members.”
Cirice knew there was no point in asking how they did. Leif, a high-ranking Prescient, would never divulge such matters to a lower-ranking member, even if she was his sister. Instead, a different, more alarming thought entered Cirice’s mind.
“You knew she had defected!” Cirice exclaimed, louder than she’d meant to. The contrast of the dark silence of the woods to loudness of her voice made her wince inwardly. “You let her leave,” Cirice continued, her voice softer, but no less harsher, “Leif, you know more about this than you let on. What is going on?”
Her brother, very deliberately, turned to her. “Cirice,” he said, his voice low and authoritative, a tone that had always cowed her since she was a child, “do not delve into matters beyond your ken. Your deduction is correct, we did know about her leaving and where she went. We decided Miriam can be a very useful tool for us.”
Cirice began to retort back, feeling anger at her friend being talked about in such an objectifying way, but an observation of her brother’s response gave her pause. “We?” she asked, almost as an after thought.
“Yes, we,” Leif said, “and unless you want to answer to the ‘we’ I refer to, you will stop asking questions and do as I say.”
Cirice didn’t really know how to answer that. So, she didn’t, and resumed her pacing, feeling a mix of indignation and uneasiness stir within her. After a while, a far-off howl filtered through the trees, causing her to freeze. She felt an inexplicable chill tickle her spine.
Leif merely rose, slowly and ponderously. Hands in the pockets of his black trench coat, he sauntered over to her. They stood for a few seconds, silent. “What is it?” Cirice asked, growing uneasy by the silence that pulsated form her brother.
“I can see them,” he whispered, his voice husky and low.
“See who?” She asked, glancing at him. Now that it was night, Leif was no longer wearing his dark spectacles. His strange, pale eyes seemed to suck in the soft glow of the moonlight and shine them back out, looking like two small disks of pale orange. Her brother didn’t immediately respond, his alien eyes fixated on something far in the distance. She didn’t bother trying to glimpse what he saw, she knew it was too far away for her to see. Cirice studied her brother’s eyes, and as she watched, she saw the pupils constrict to small vertical slits for a moment, before dilating until they almost filled his eyes. Around the huge black pupils were a small ring of luminous, white-orange iris.
Leif’s strange optical defect made him able to see farther away and in greater detail than the normal human eye could. The catch, however, was that his eyes were sensitive to sunlight. In the daytime, he could constrict his pupils to feline slits, which helped with the pain of exposure, but his vision was still greatly hampered. In the darkness, and at night, his vision was uncanny. Unbidden, past memories of Leif using this ability to taunt her when they were younger came to Cirice’s mind. She pushed them away with a scowl.
“A bonfire.” Leif said quietly, as if far away. “Several figures dancing around it, how many I can’t discern. There seems to be stones, or perhaps idols, in a ring around the clearing. One figure is obviously male, and in some sort of flowing garment. The others I can only assume are females.” His huge pupils constricted to slits, and he blinked, turning to her. “I’ve seen all that we need to see.” Leif said matter-of-factly. Cirice, irritated and confused, followed her brother back to Golești.
Cirice was almost certain that her piebald horse was deliberately finding every stone on the trail and tripping on them on purpose. Ahead of her, Leif and Mihail rode on two brown geldings, conversing as they went on, the hooves of their steeds kicking up sandy dust that every once in a while, caused her eyes to itch. After several minutes of that, Cirice put on her tri-cornered hat and pulled the front tip low over her eyes. They padded on an old trail through the forest to the north of Golești, the midday sun shining brightly, the birds chirping merrily, and Cirice saw spotted deer loping gracefully through the forest more than once.
After about a half-hour of walking, she could see the ruined bell tower clearly in the distance, perhaps another quarter-mile away. The trio came across a wide brook that ran across the trail. Before they could cross it, however, Leif called a halt.
“Mihail,” He said, his dark spectacles peering at the flowing water, “did you happen in be in Golești last Michaelmas, per chance?”
Mihail frowned. “Yes. I was. Why?”
“Did anyone go missing?” Leif asked.
Cirice saw the man think for several moments. “I don’t think…” He was silent a moment longer, then looked up. “No. No one went missing.” He nodded a couple times, indicating that, he was sure.
“Intriguing.” Leif murmured, still watching the water.
“What is it, Leif?” Cirice asked, an edge to her voice. “Stop hoarding secrets to yourself!” Despite his warning the night before, Cirice couldn’t stand the secrecy. It was evident at this point that Miriam was in danger, and instead of saving her, Leif was tip-toeing around, using her friend from some unknown purpose.
Leif glanced back at her, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “No secrets. The pieces are there, Cirice, just put them together.” At that, Leif egged his mount on, crossing the shallow brook, Mihail with him. Uttering a contemptuous snort, Cirice followed. She hated it when Leif knew things that she didn’t. Generally speaking, Leif was much more knowledgeable, being a high-ranking member in their organization, but when her brother waved that information in front of her face like she was an idiot, that made her angry.
The three trotted onwards, deeper into the lush forest. Behind them, the soft gurgling of the brook faded into the background, leaving the trod of their horses the only sound in the woods. After a few more minutes of travel, they abruptly found themselves in a clearing. The sudden change of scenery had seemingly come out of nowhere, and Cirice blinked in surprise several times. One moment they had been riding through heavy brush, the next they were in the clear.
Before them was a waist-high, black iron fence arranged in a large circle. The fence was rusted with age and broken down in places, its gates hanging open, seemingly forgotten. Within the fence was a courtyard, with several beds of flowers-evidently regularly taken care of- arranged in various spots. In the center of the grassy courtyard was a long-defunct fountain depicting an angel praying. On the far side of the courtyard was a large Gothic cathedral, its bell tower thrusting upwards into the cloudy sky like a cracked, towering spear. Although the large church was crumbling and decaying, Cirice saw signs of habitation. In spots were the stained-glass windows had cracked or broken, wooden boards had been nailed over them, and in the distance the woman could smell a faint cooking fire. The fence looped around the church, the building obscuring the rest of it. Scattered around the rear of the clearing, outside the fence, were several sheds and run-down shacks.
“What a grim place.” Mihail muttered, crossing himself. “Why anyone would want to live here is beyond me.”
“I don’t see anyone…” Cirice said, looking around. After a few seconds, her statement was proven false, as she saw a golden-haired woman dart out of a shed, a veil around her hair and face. With blurring speed, she darted behind the church, her long black skirts trailing behind her.
“Wait!” Cirice cried out, leaning out of her saddle. “Come back!”
“Rozalia has duties to attend to,” Came a rich, masculine voice. Cirice whirled about with a start; surprised that someone had moved behind her undetected. Evidently, Leif had been just as surprised, as he gave a sharp hiss when he heard the voice. Cirice immediately felt mixed feelings towards the newcomer’s stealth. On one hand, she was glad to see her brother mess up, but on the other hand, anyone that could take Leif by surprise was not to be trifled with.
Before them stood a broad-shouldered, tall man, a long, flowing white robe adorning him. He had long platinum blonde hair, parted in the center and cascading evenly down both sides of his head. His eyes were a deep, dark green, looking out from an elegant, very pale, clean-shaven face. The man’s hands were tucked into his sleeves in a monkish mannerism, and the shadow of a smile was on his thin lips. “May I help you, sirs and lady?” The man said, his voice even and non-threatening. He didn’t even have an accent. It was odd, almost like it should have been a monotone, yet it wasn’t. There was vocal inflection and speech pattern, but no discernable accent. She supposed it might have been American, but it didn’t have the somewhat nasal, drawled tendency that such dialects possessed.
“We apologize for the intrusion, sir,” Leif said, inclining his head briefly. “One of our friends was said to have come here recently, we are merely inquiring to her well-being.”
“Ah,” The man said, his eyes glinting in what Cirice thought was amusement, “you must be Miriam’s friends, Leif,” he indicted the man, “and Cirice?” He turned to the woman. Suppressing a random instinct to shudder, Cirice nodded.
“If you already know our names,” Cirice said, gazing down at the man from atop her horse, “then I suppose we have a right to know yours.”
“But of course.” The man bowed. “I am Dragomir Stoica, master of this place.”
“Where is Miriam?” Cirice said, an edge to her voice. This man unsettled her; although why he did, she couldn’t place.
“What,” Leif cut in, raising a gloved hand in placation, “my sister means is, we are quite worried about our friend. If it would not be too much trouble, could we speak with her?”
Dragomir was silent for a moment, his face looking even more like a mask of white marble. “I think not, Miriam was duties to attend to here. We should not interrupt her. If you’d like, I could deliver her a message.”
Leif shifted his weight, inclining his head. “We merely ask for a few moments, we are quite worried about her.”
The strange man held up a slender hand, “Sir, this is a private place. We do no one harm, and the women who live here are of their own volition. I would appreciate it if you would take you leave,” he said sternly.
More out of fear for Miriam than frustration, Cirice clenched her jaw. This Dragomir was not cooperating, and all indicators screamed at something nefarious. Desperate, Cirice shoved her hand underneath her coat, withdrawing a small pistol and leveling it at the man’s face. Mihail sucked in his breath sharply, pulling on his horse’s reins in order to move back a few steps. Leif said nothing, but Cirice could feel his stare burning into her.
The man didn’t react immediately, if anything he seemed to grow more relaxed at their presence in the courtyard. “Madam,” he said, his voice suddenly like dripping honey, so pleasant that it startled Cirice, causing her aim to falter, “please lower your pistol. You must understand, I am harassed by people looking for their daughters frequently, so I have grown impatient with such people. But,” he slowly opened his arms in a gesture of non-hostility, “I can see you are truly distraught over this. I will not force Miriam to see you, that will be for her to decide.” Dragomir folded his arms again. “If you please wait here, I will ask her if she wants to see you.” With a polite bow, the man turned in a flurry of white and retreated inside the decrepit church.
“Mihail,” Leif said suddenly, turning to the guide, “that will be all for now. You may return to the inn.”
“Are you sure?” Mihail said, casting an anxious glance at the dark church and the strange man.
Abruptly, Leif grabbed Cirice roughly by the collar and pulled her face close to his. “You will let me take the lead here. There is more to this than you know of right now.” He said in a low voice into her ear. “I will explain everything to you in time, but for now, listen to me for once in your life.” At that, he released Cirice, who felt a chill and a flush battling within her. What her brother had just done was humiliating, but his words had frightened her.
“Mihail, go home.” Leif said simply, dismounting his horse. With a shrug, the guide trotted back into the forest. After a moment’s hesitation, Cirice slid off of her mount as well. They hitched their horses to the fence.
Leif and Cirice positioned themselves in the shadow of an ancient oak tree, its shadow crossing over half the courtyard. As they waited, Cirice saw a small, gray bird land on the defunct fountain, its small face looking at her quizzically.
Before Cirice had much time to reflect on anything, the heavy wooden door of the church opened with a loud groan. Dragomir strode through, an oddly unnerving smile on his face. “She is with Trandafira,” he said, once again assuming his monastic posture, “one of the other young women here. She will be here momentarily.”
Leif cleared his throat, both hands resting on the pommel of his cane. “Mr. Stoica, why are you here?”
A brief flash of confusion crossed the man’s face, but to Cirice it seemed feigned. “Whatever do you mean?”
“You live in a run-down church with a group of women and girls, sir.” Leif said, tilting his head slightly. “I hope you will forgive me if I say it is a bit suspicious.”
Dragomir chuckled slightly, shaking his head. The movement caused some of his white-gold hair to fall in front of his face, but from where she was standing Cirice thought she saw hostility blaze in his dark green eyes. When the man raised his head again to face them, however, his eyes showed only light amusement. “You are far from the first to voice such a concern. To you I say what I tell the well-meaning parents who come here thinking I’ve stolen their daughters: They beckoned me, and I came to them. The girls are here of their own desire. They are the handmaidens of the Black Moon.”
“And who is the Black Moon?” Cirice said, her steel-blue eyes glinting from the shadows of her hat.
“The Black Moon is an event, not a person, Cirice,” Came a familiar, somewhat nasal voice. Cirice turned to see an elegant looking woman, wearing the same lace black dress as the other, striding out of cluster of pines. Her hands her clasped before her, and although she wore a white veil over her hair and face, Cirice recognized her.
“Miriam?” Cirice called, taking a step forward. “Thank God we’ve found you! I’m here to take you home.”
Ignoring her, Miriam strode over to Dragomir and elegantly fell to one knee, taking the man’s hand and kissed it softly, before rising. Cirice frowned in confusion, while Dragomir still bore that faint smile. A glance at Leif revealed is face to be an indecipherable mask, his dark spectacles glinting in the sunlight.
“Your concern is appreciated, dear Cirice.” She said, her voice slightly muffled by her veil. “But I do not wish to leave.”
Cirice’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt sorrow well up within her. If Miriam truly wished to stay, then that meant one thing…
“Mr. Stoica,” Leif said, his voice grave, “I must inform you that Miriam is not yours to keep, whether she wants to stay here or not.”
Dragomir furrowed his brow. “Oh? Pray tell, who does she belong to then?” A dangerous aura began to gather about the man, although in appearance he seemed perfectly non-threatening. Cirice slid a hand into her coat and brushed the handle of her breechloader pistol for reassurance.
“Cirice and I represent a certain organization that holds its members in the strictest confidence.” Leif continued, tapping one skeletal finger on the pommel of his cane. “Miriam is a part of that organization. We must bring her back with us.”
“My dear Mr. Hartvigsen,” Dragomir began, the hair of the back of Cirice neck instantly stood up. How did he know their last name? “Your associates could have intervened at any time,” he slid an arm around Miriam’s waist, “she is our of your hands now. Please inform your authorities of this, if you like.”
“I belong to the Black Moon now, Leif.” Miriam said, her voice hard. “The Order cannot touch me. Cirice,” the woman turned to her, “I thank you for coming to make sure I’m okay, but trust me,” Miriam’s veil shifted, and her dark eyes met Cirice’s, “I am very happy here.”
There was nothing but silence for several moments. “Very well, Miriam.” Leif said quietly. “We will take our leave.” At that, he turned and walked out. With one last glance at Miriam, Cirice, fighting back tears, followed her brother out. They rode in silence for several minutes through the heavy forest, the sun slanting golden and orange through the trees.
“You know what must be done, sister.” Leif said, his voice unusually tender as they neared Golești.
“I do,” Cirice said softly, her voice breaking. There was nothing that could be done, Miriam had forsaken the Order, refuting Leif’s offer of reconciliation. To protect the Order’s secrets, she was condemned to death.
“We cannot allow this Dragomir to obtain information we wouldn’t want him knowing.” Her brother continued, his spectacled eyes still looking forward.
“Who is he?” Cirice asked, swatting away a horsefly. They broke through the forest, crossing the fields of tall grass, waving in the autumn breeze, looking almost like a small sea. “How did he know our last name? Most importantly, how did he know you were tracking Miriam? I didn’t even know that! Did Miriam figure that out?”
Leif shook his head, his top hat shifting ever so slightly at the movement. “I am certain Miriam had no way of knowing such things. Cirice, I know you will not appreciate this, but I cannot tell you much,” Cirice was about to say something very unkind to her brother, but he cut her off, his voice harsh, “because I am less sure of what I thought I knew!” He exclaimed, “But what I can tell you is that Mr. Stoica is not human.”
“Then why don’t we kill him and spare Miriam?” Cirice said desperately. “Say I’m a foolish girl if you wish, but I still don’t believe she’s there completely voluntarily. Something is wrong. I can’t explain it, but I feel that she isn’t in complete control of her mind, especially if this Dragomir isn’t human!”
“This Dragomir hasn’t done anything wrong that we have seen.” Leif argued, flexing a gloved hand that held the reins of his horse. “And, furthermore, we don’t know for sure if the women that live with him are normal either.”
Cirice was about to argue further, but Leif abruptly reined up before her just as they reached the village. She stopped. The man’s otherworldly eyes seemed almost to gleam through his black spectacles. “You will go home tomorrow afternoon, Cirice. I have made arrangements. We may bear no special love for each other…”
“That’s for certain.” The woman muttered bitterly.
“…but I at least have the decency to send you away while I kill your friend.” Leif finished. If he had heard the comment, he gave no sign. “You have my word as a Prescient of the Malleus Brotherhood that she will have a death as painless and quick as I can make it.”
Before Cirice could respond, Leif rode into Golești. After a moment, Cirice followed, shoulders slumped in a defeated posture. She merely asked one thing, “Make sure you are right in this, Leif.”
When night fell, it darkened the land with a slowness that was almost ominous. Cirice, in her room at the inn, watched impatiently as the sun dipped under the horizon. As the light dimmed, shadows of night slithered and wafted over the grassy fields and forests. At first they seemed to almost lap like waves at the cottages and farms, but they soon grew in intensity, flooding the Moldavian countryside in darkness. Slipping out her second-story window with cat-like stealth, Cirice edged onto the roof of the inn’s back porch that was beneath her window, scanning the landscape before deciding to slip to the ground.
The sky was a black vault. She had forgotten that it was a new moon tonight. Few stars winked in the cloudy sky, staring down at her coldly. The woman still wore her garb from earlier, with dark breeches and shirt, reinforced corset under her shirt, long dark gray coat, her steel-blue eyes gleaming from the shadows of her tri-cornered hat. At her belt were two breechloader pistols, bullets slipped in small pockets along the belt. The .50 caliber bullets had silvered tips. Even though she had no idea what Dragomir was, the silvered bullets would offer some help. Cirice theorized that he was likely some kind of strigoi, a kind of vampire that lived in this part of the world. If she was being honest, Dragomir’s tolerance of sunlight didn’t fit with that theory, but she had no other idea what he could be.
Silver bullets didn’t really injure such creatures, but as a general rule, silver was unpleasant for monsters of all types. Hell, normal lead bullets could work against most monsters in a pinch. True, they would serve as mere annoyances for them, but annoyances could mean the difference between life and death sometimes. For strigoi, normal bullets had almost no effect, but over the years, it had been determined that plating the tips with silver allowed them to do damage, if only superficial.
A strigoi may be impervious to all but decapitation and a staked heart, but a .50 caliber silvered bullet to the face would slow it down. It was hard to fight when one was missing half their head, even if it had no effect on their abilities. In addition, she had a long stake of ash wood across her back.
Determined that the coast was clear, Cirice dropped to the ground, moving swiftly yet stealthily into the woods. A chill wind blew, causing the spindly branches to wave about like arms. Dead leaves blew in the wind, whirling about haphazardly as they made their descent to rustle against the ground. The night was dark, and Cirice was forced to use a small hooded lantern she had brought for this specific purpose. She felt a hard determination inside her. If Leif was going to kill Miriam, she couldn’t stop him, but her conscience propelled her to try to save her friend if she could. Cirice couldn’t shake the feeling that all was not what it seemed, and if her brother wouldn’t help, she was forced to take matters into her own hands.
After about an hour of creeping through the eerie nocturnal forest, she crossed the same brook from earlier. She recalled Leif’s observation about the brook, and his question about last Michaelmas. Strigoi could not cross running water, but the comments about Michaelmas remained a mystery to her. Leif, in typical fashion, had never explained. Whatever was going on, there was something very dark and sinister about it. Cirice was used to being told to shut up by her elder brother, but this was the first time he had ever invoked the higher powers of the Fraternitas Mallei. That fact, in addition to this being a Gray Contract, made her extremely on edge.
“Never mind that now,” Cirice whispered to herself as she neared the old broken bell tower, “I must focus.” Coming near the courtyard, she snuffed the lantern and left it in a holly bush. Cirice remained there for a moment, trying to recall all she knew about strigoi.
The woman’s mental deliberations were interrupted by a sudden swish of silk behind her. The woman whirled, her pistol out and cocked in less than a second.
“It is only me, Cirice.” The figure said. In the darkness, the woman could make out a feminine shape in a dress, and she recognized the voice.
“Miriam…” She breathed relief, lowering her pistol. “You scared me.”
Cirice could sense the woman smile. “The wolf who lets his prey surprise him is not a hunter at all, but in reality, is the true prey.” Miriam quoted, flashing one of the many mantras of the Malleus Brotherhood.
Cirice stepped forward, taking her friend by the hand. “You are not my prey, Miriam. I’ve come to help you escape.”
“Yes,” Miriam responded, in a voice suddenly soft and strange sounding, “I know. I’ve come to tell you that you have wasted your time.” An abrupt, eldritch force seemed to prickle at Cirice’s neck hairs. Acting on trained instinct, the woman turned abruptly, raising her pistol. Cirice was able to get off one deafening shot, causing a hiss of pain to emanate form the unseen assailant. Less than a heartbeat later, she felt strong hands with grips like iron grab her by the throat and arm. The woman struggled, kicking and trying to reach her other pistol with her free arm. However, she felt Miriam grab her other arm.
The hand gripping her throat was cutting off both air and circulation, and as Cirice slipped into unconsciousness, she heard Miriam whisper into her ear, “The wolf who lets his prey surprise him is not a hunter at all…”
The first thing Cirice noticed about awakening was the candles. As she blearily came to, at first she could only see them. Dozens of tiny orange flames atop black candlesticks, arranged throughout the chamber. The second thing she noticed was that she was restrained and suspended. This caused her to snap into full wakefulness. Frantically, she glanced about. Wincing as her head throbbed, she saw two ropes bound around her wrists, hanging suspended from the ceiling. Her feet were in two iron loops, fastened to some sort of stone slab. A few more heartbeats, and she knew where she was. The woman was in the old ruined cathedral, forced to stand erect atop the altar. Her hat, weapons, and boots were gone, but otherwise she was intact. After struggling futilely against her restraints, cursing as they didn’t give way, she heard a voice.
Cirice looked wildly around, straining within the chains. The pews of the cavernous church had evidently all been removed, leaving only a row of crumbling stone pillars along each wall as the only furniture. On the far end, the sanctuary was at the top of three carved stone steps. The altar she was suspended above bore a white shroud. Craning her neck around as much as she could, in her peripheral Cirice could just make the faint outlines where a large crucifix would have at one point, hung on the wall behind her. In its place, however, was a large black circle painted on the stone. The broken stained-glass windows revealed the black night outside, the only light the ghoulish orange flickering of the candles.
“There is no point in struggling,” a voice said, “and please, do not use profane language in this hallowed place.”
Recognizing the voice, Cirice noticed that Dragomir was standing before her, several yards away. How on earth she didn’t see him at once was beyond her. On each side of him were six women, all in black silk dresses. Only this time, their veils were removed. All except one, the Rozalia woman from earlier, had black or dark brown hair. Standing directly to Dragomir’s left was Miriam, her dark eyes and hair a cold mask.
A sudden rage filled Cirice. “You bitch!” She hissed at her. “I came to save you, and you betrayed me!” Miriam’s face remained expressionless, but there was a sudden flicker across her dark eyes, one unreadable to Cirice.
“There is no need for that.” Dragomir said, his voice always calm and rich. “It is an honor to serve the Black Moon.”
“If you think I’ll join your ‘religion’ and become one of your brainwashed sex slaves, strigoi, you’ll be disappointed.” Cirice barked back at him, her fear adding to her rage.
“I have all the acolytes I need, She-Wolf.” Dragomir said. Cirice stiffened. How did he know her old nickname? Then Cirice knew. She shot Miriam a withering glare. “You are to serve the Black Moon in a higher fashion. You will be our offering to it.”
A prospect that Cirice had acknowledged but had hoped in vain that it wasn’t true made her heart sink. “So I’m to be sacrificed then?” Dragomir’s thin-lipped smile was all the confirmation she needed. Cirice berated herself inwardly. Like a fool, she’d gone off on her own, thinking she could handle it her herself. Now, everything pointed to a grisly death to some dark god. “Sacrifice me if you wish, but your ‘god’ won’t appreciate it.”
*Dragomir laughed. A grating, throaty sound that was awful to hear. “Like you were told this past afternoon, the Black Moon isn’t a deity, it is an event.”
“What event?” Cirice said, trying to stall the inevitable.
The man looked at her with his pale eyes for a moment. “Firstly, dear Cirice, your assessment of what I am is incorrect.”
“How so?” Cirice said, a sliver of curiosity slithering its way through her fear and despair. “Is the Fraternitas Mallei really so inept now that its members are ignorant of its chief enemies?” Dragomir asked, a mocking snarl in his voice. “Or did your brother simply not tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Cirice asked, growing pale. The uncanny knowledge of this being made her very afraid. Cirice berated herself inwardly. Like a fool, she’d gone off on her own, thinking she could handle it her herself. Now, everything pointed to a grisly death to some dark god
“Oh, little one, you really are so ignorant…” Dragomir said, “…but,” he shrugged, “Miriam did not know any of this either when she came to me, so I suppose it is standard for your people.”
Cirice looked wildly from Miriam to Dragomir, “What is he talking about?” She asked her former friend.
“The Brotherhood has lied to you,” Miriam said, “lied to all of us. Leif and the other leaders have been puppeteering us, using us to fight their war.”
“War?” Cirice asked. “We fight evil, of course we’re in a war,” she said, tugging on the chains in vain.
“Have you ever thought,” Miriam said, taking a step forward, her face taking on an eagerness in the candlelight, “who you are fighting against? Do you really think it is merely an amalgamation of monsters and being?”
Cirice was unable to respond. She wasn’t sure what to think or believe. “I do know,” she said eventually, “that Leif had been tracking you, Miriam,” she swallowed, “and didn’t seek to find you until after you ended up here. What he initially told me was that you’d tried to leave recently, but it looks like that wasn’t true.”
“That’s just one of many lies,” Miriam said, “Dragomir has shown me the light, and you can see it too.”
“How?” Cirice asked, her eyes wide with fear and trepidation.
Dragomir gave a smile, his eyes gleaming, “Serve the Black Moon, Cirice. We are old, far older than you can imagine.
“First tell me,” Cirice said, discreetly noting the small movement in the choir loft, “what you are.”
“Very well,” Dragomir said, cocking his head, “you will either join me or die, either way, there is no risk in me telling you.” He took a couple steps towards Cirice, his chiseled face gleaming in the firelight, his platinum blonde hair looking as if made of fire. “There is a battle for the world’s soul, Cirice, one side seeking to liberate it, one to dominate it. Your Order is one such faction in this conflict, and is merely the successor to an even older group. But, while the side of domination has morphed and collapse, forcing your side to change, the side of liberation has remained unchanged.”
Cirice listened, intrigued despite her fear. “What is your side?’
“We have origins predating mankind,” Dragomir growled, “but our human servants have existed since Carthage and before. I was born in the sands of ancient Arabia, Cirice, and all this time, working to bring about one greater than.”
“Who?” Cirice asked, her voice shaky. She didn’t even have to fake intense interest in order to keep Dragomir distracted, he had her attention.
“You aren’t ready to know yet,” Dragomir said, wagging a finger. “First I must have your answer.”
Cirice bit her lip, her mind racing. “What’s in it for me?” She asked.
“Enlightenment and immortality,” Miriam breathed, her face aglow.
“Then you’re one of them,” Cirice said, “whatever he is.”
“We are merely servants of the Black Moon,” Dragomir replied, his voice disarming.
“And who is he?” Cirice said, her voice cracking in frustration. “Is he ‘the one greater than you’?”
Dragomir laughed. A grating, throaty sound that was awful to hear. “Like you were told this past afternoon, the Black Moon isn’t a deity, it is an event.”
“What event?” Cirice said, trying to stall the inevitable.
“The meaning,” Dragomir said, selecting a wicked-looking dagger from a table, “is two-fold. In the broader sense, it means the new moon, when all restrictions on us are null and void.”
“So you are vampires, or at least some sort of vampire,” Cirice said, eyeing the dagger fearfully.
“My dear,” Dragomir said, giving a glinting smile, his pale eyes gleaming even brighter, “vampires are our children!” Cirice felt black horror inside of her. If Dragomir’s kind spawned vampires, then she could only imagine how much more powerful he was. She resisted the impulse to look at the choir loft again.
“Due to the fact that sunlight doesn’t appear to bother you, I’m supposing vampires are a more diluted version of whatever you are.”
“If you want to put it that way,” Dragomir held the dagger up in the flickering light, investigating it with his inhuman eyes. “Unfortunately, we are devoid of power in sunlight, and for the younger of us,” he gestured to the gathered women, “it can hurt quite a bit, but nevertheless is harmless.”
“Hence the veils,” Cirice breathed, putting the pieces together in her mind. Here before her, were thirteen creatures of an ancient and powerful breed. She looked at Miriam, and for the first time since she had been here, she saw her for what she was: A monster…not her friend anymore.
Dragomir laughed, a strangely charming sound from such a creature. “You’re quicker than you look! But did you figure the rest of it out? What about the brook?”
Cirice swallowed. “Are you still hindered by running water?” She asked
“Yes,” Dragomir replied, nodding, “that brook prevents us from going that way except when on nights of the new moon. Unfortunately, the last new moon was a holy day, so we were stuck here.”
Suddenly everything Leif had mentioned earlier about Michaelmas made sense to Cirice. “And what is the second meaning?”
Dragomir motioned to two girls, growling something to them in a whispery tongue. The girl to farthest right and the one to the farthest left moved towards Cirice solemnly and slowly. The woman tensed, fearing that her sacrifice had begun, but the girls only each took a candle and lit the braziers to either side of the altar, which immediately enveloped in red flames.
“The second, and more specific meaning,” Dragomir said as the two girls moved to their former places, “is a special night of the new moon. On the new moon after a holy day, if we sacrifice a virgin woman, we will be able to walk freely as if every night was a new moon for the next year. But,” Dragomir continued, “if you are initiated, and become one of us, the ritual will be satisfied…” He smiled, revealing several sharp teeth.
Cirice could feel the flames of the braziers heating up her leather coat. Her shoulders began to ache from her arms being suspended, which in turn where almost numb. Her mind raced. One option was death in the flesh, the other death in the soul.
“How do you know I’m virgin?” She blurted, desperate.
“I told him.” Miriam said, her voice a sibilant hiss, fang-like teeth flashing in the light of the flames. “You forget that I know you better than anyone, Cirice.”
“What a horrible way to treat your friend, Miriam.” Came a deep, loud voice. The voice was immediately followed by a deafening blast. Miriam shrieked, falling face first on the ground as if hit from behind. Dragomir whirled around with a snarl, the other girls doing so as well.
A dark shape, Leif made the small leaped from the choir loft, his black coat making a rushing sound as he dropped a full six feet. His boots making a pounding sound on the ancient stone floor, Leif strode out of the darkness and into the candlelight. His hat was gone, as were his spectacles. His wavy dark hair fell just beneath his ears, and his eerie, cat-like eyes gleamed red-orange as they reflected the flames. In one hand, he held a blunderbuss, still smoking from the blast. In his other hand, a strange, double-barrel pistol. Miriam staggered upwards, growling and panting. Her face livid, she took a step towards Leif, before her legs buckled and she collapsed to the ground.
Dragomir growled in confusion, seeing the vampire become so quickly incapacitated.
“These aren’t ordinary weapons, Mr. Stoica.” Leif said to him, his voice hard and menacing. “These are the guns of the Brotherhood. Breechloaders, with ash-tipped bullets, or in the case of the blunderbuss, birdshot.” Dragomir clenched his fists, baring his vampiric fangs in a gesture of hatred.
“Leif, look out!” Cirice shrieked as one of the girls launched herself at the man. With reflexes so fast they were blurry, Leif brought up the double-barreled pistol and fired. The vampire’s head exploded, sending blood everywhere. Chaos erupted after that. The ten remaining girls attacked Leif in a flurry of lace, nails, and fangs. Cirice watched in mixed terror and hope as her brother did his best to beat them off. Leif felled another one with the other bullet in the pistol, before he was out.
Clubbing a third on the head with it to stun her, Leif swiftly reloaded the breechloader blunderbuss. Cirice’s breath caught in her throat as she saw two vampires fall upon him, then released it in a sigh of relief when Leif fired just in time, knocking them across the room with a roaring blast. Seven of the girls remained, while Dragomir prowled by the altar his back to Cirice. The woman laid still, trembling with fear and exhaustion as she hung, suspended and helpless.
Leif must have determined that he couldn’t risk loading his guns again, as he dropped the blunderbuss and the pistol, withdrawing his cane from where it had been strapped across his back. With a rasping sound, he grasped the pommel and pulled out the rapier that was disguised within the cane. In one hand, he held a silvered rapier with a cane pommel, in the other, the wooden casing. In a flurry of slashes and stabs, he cut through the girls. Despite the blade being only silver, it served its purpose in subduing his foes. Soon, the rapier (and the floor) were slick with blood, all of the girls on the ground, wounded.
Dragomir clapped slowly, a mocking smile on his face. “Very good, Prescient. But surely you know that they are all merely stunned? Their hearts must be pierced and their heads sliced off for them to truly die. Even your ash-tipped bullets won’t kill them.”
“I know.” Leif said huskily, panting. His leather coat and clothes were splattered with gore. “That’s why my cane,” he shook the casing for his rapier, “is ash.” At that, he plunged the case into the breast of the girl whom he had shot in the head, piercing her heart.
Dragomir Stoica unleashed a bestial shriek of rage, suddenly looking like a wild animal to Cirice. He flew at Leif, his white robes billowing about him like a ghost. Leif met his charge, silvered blade and ash stick at the ready. Cirice watched anxiously as they fought in blinding flurry that was hard to follow. What with Dragomir’s flapping robes and the flickering light, Cirice couldn’t tell who was winning and who was losing.
But then, it was over. The woman never remembered how he had won, but next thing she knew, Leif was standing on the altar beside her, undoing her bonds. On the old stone floor, Dragomir Stoica lay, the ash stake protruding from his chest, a dark lake of blood covering the floor. Trembling with relief, Cirice virtually collapsed into Leif as he freed her, almost like a little girl. In an uncharacteristically tender gesture, Leif held her gently, stroking her red hair as she cried for some reason that was unknown to her. After a moment, Leif stood her up, and Cirice took a step back. She inhaled deeply, shaking herself into alertness.
“You took your time,” she said, breathing hard.
“I wanted to see what would happen,” Leif said, reloading his pistol and walking about to the dying Stoica.
Cirice followed, deftly catching the pistol Leif tossed her. They neared Dragomir, who was making awful sputtering and gurgling sounds, black blood running out of his mouth. Seeing him, Cirice saw that Dragomir looked different in a most unsettling way. It was hard for Cirice to fully describe it, but it was almost as if his human appearance had rotted. His face was sharper and more elongated, some of his thick hair falling out. His eyes were red now, and his mouth full of serrated teeth.
“Mhachkay,” Leif said matter-of-factly, standing above the dying monster. “He even admitted as much, just didn’t say the name.”
“They’re from Arabia?” Cirice asked, glaring down at the creature, feeling nothing but loathing for it.
Leif nodded. Cirice flinched as the creature tried to sit up, its red eyes glowering at her and Leif. As they watched, it shook its head in a weak gesture, its demonic face twisted in a grin.
Suddenly, her brother crouched, grabbing the thing by its throat, ignoring the black blood that got all over his hands. “Then what are you? Tell me, servant of Semyaza!” He yelled. Cirice watched, concerned, and confused about what her brother was talking about.
“I…am…” the thing replied, “…what…you…are…” It rasped, laying its head back down and sputtering. Leif seemed frozen in place for a moment, before snapping into action. He ripped the pistol out of Cirice’s hand. His face a cold mask, he placed it against the thing’s head and unloaded it, causing blood and viscera to shower her brother. Working stoically, with a determination that Cirice found frightening, Leif raised his sword and sliced the shattered head from the neck.
She stood there, disturbed, and frightened by the exchange and the reaction of her brother. Feeling useless, but too shocked to do anything, she watched as her brother turned over the braziers and candles. Leif then took out of flask and splashed it around, causing the flames to surge. Soon the place was hot and thick with smoke. Following Leif, the two exited the church just as it fully caught fire.
They walked, no one speaking, until they reached a wooded hill. Stopping, Leif turned and watched the church blaze. A tall column of flames reached into the night sky, illuminating the thick woodlands around it.
“Leif,” Cirice said, standing beside her brother but not looking at him, “tell me.” She felt anger towards him for his secrecy, but she more felt concern and worry. Something big was going on.
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “I will not tell you the whole truth,” he began, “and it is not to be difficult, but it is for your safety.”
Cirice nodded. She didn’t like that answer, but she knew she had to be satisfied with it. “First,” she asked, “what really happened with Miriam?”
“Miriam,” Leif said, “became an unknowing tracking agent for us. We knew she was seeking Dragomir, and he monitored her to be led to him.”
Cirice nodded. She still thought that was horrible, but she saw the reasoning behind it, and after what had happened…she could no longer deny the necessity of it.
“Those things Dragomir said,” Cirice continued, watching the myriad of sparks dance in the sky above the flames, “about a war, and some being greater than he? Were they true? Have I been lied to?”
Leif was silent for a few moments. She turned to look at him, and he was staring into the flames, his face bearing one of fear, an emotion he rarely expressed.
“Yes,” Leif said, his voice hollow, “to all of it. I cannot divulge the details, on orders from above me, but there is indeed an enemy we have been fighting.”
“For how long?” She asked, feeling a twinge of despair at his answer.
“Centuries,” he shrugged, “millennia, as long as humans have walked the earth.”
“Semyaza?” She asked cautiously.
“That is the name, and all the details you shall get on it,” Leif said, his voice growing firm but not harsh. “You will be told everything when it is deemed appropriate, do you understand me?”
Cirice nodded softly, not having the energy or desire to fight it.
Leif touched her hand softly, before withdrawing it and turning back. “We should head back, we can leave first thing in the morning. Miriam is at rest now, Cirice,” he said, pausing, “the girl you spoke to, it was a monster, an ancient vampire, not your friend.”
Cirice turned, her eyes wet with frustration. “But they weren’t vampires, were they?” She asked, her voice cracking.
Leif met her gaze, his cat-like eyes filled with pity. “No, they weren’t,” he replied.
“Then what?” Cirice asked, turning, crying now and not even trying to stop it.
Leif moved over to her and embraced her. “I don’t know,” he said softly. It was all too much, the secrets, the lies, the mysteries, Cirice couldn’t handle it. She wept, crying into her brother’s arms as the flames consumed the church and the bodies within.