Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing
We made our way back to the boats, accompanied by a bevy of folk jostling to hold our lanterns for us. But only the designated boatmen took us across the water, through the mist, back to our own world. In my hands Gogu trembled with terror, and I soothed him with gentle fingers. As my feet touched the home shore, I felt the surge of relief that always filled me at this point. We’re back again. I’ve kept them all safe.
Then it was along the Gallery of Beasts—the gargoyle’s scuttering feet could be heard behind us until he reached his own archway—and up the long, long, winding staircase to the portal.
No shadow play here, just a simple laying of hands on the stone wall. I was last. As my fingers touched the rough surface, the portal swung open, admitting us to the warmth of our bedchamber.
The younger ones were asleep the moment they laid their heads on the pillow. Tati gathered up the gowns they had shed and laid them over the oak chest, while I helped Iulia take the pins out of her hair. By the time I had scrambled wearily into my night robe, she was no more than a gently breathing form under her mounded quilt.
“Jena?” Tati’s voice was quiet as she sat up in bed, brushing out her dark locks.
“Mmm?” I was filling Gogu’s water bowl from the jug, making sure he would be comfortable for what remained of the 27
night. He sat, watching solemnly—a shadowy green form on the little table next to the bed that Tati and I shared.
“Did you see that strange young man?” my sister asked. “The one in the black coat?”
“Mmm-hm. I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
“I wonder who he was,” Tati mused, yawning.
Once the water dish was ordered to Gogu’s liking, I got into bed. The warmth of the goose-feather quilt was bliss over my tired legs. In the quiet of the chamber I could hear little splashing sounds.
“One of them, ” I said, my eyelids drooping with tiredness.
“Night People. You know what people say about them. They’re dangerous—evil. Dead and alive at the same time, somehow.
They can only come out after dark, and they need human blood to survive. I hope Ileana doesn’t let them stay. Did you speak to one of them? I saw Ileana introducing you. What were they like?”
“Cold,” Tati said. “Terribly cold.”
There was a silence, and I thought she had fallen asleep.
Then her voice came, a whisper in the shadowy chamber. “I thought the young man looked sad. Sad and . . . interesting.”
“If you asked Florica,” I said, “she’d tell you that the only thing Night People find ‘interesting’ is sinking their teeth into your neck.”
But my sister was asleep. As the light brightened and birds began a chirping chorus outside, I lay awake, thinking about the winter to come and whether I had been foolish to assure Father that we could cope. After a while, Gogu hopped out of his 28
bath and came to nestle on the pillow by my face, making a big wet patch on the linen. I’m here. Your friend is here. I was still awake when the sun pierced the horizon, somewhere beyond the forest, and down in the kitchen Florica began clattering pots and pans in preparation for breakfast.
29
Chapter Two
We stood in the courtyard. Two horses were saddled and bridled—ready for the ride down to Bra¸sov, where Father would transfer to a cart. Gabriel was traveling with him and would stay by his side through the winter, to watch over him.
With our man of all work, Dorin, away at his sister’s wedding celebrations in ¸Tara Româneasc˘a and not due back for some time, Piscul Dracului would be a house of women, save for the stalwart Petru.
Uncle Nicolae and his son, Cezar, had come down from Vârful cu Negur˘a to see Father off. Both wore sheepskin caps, heavy wool-lined gloves, and long fur-trimmed cloaks over their working clothes. Uncle Nicolae was smiling, his bearded face radiating genial confidence. Maybe he was putting it on for Father’s benefit, but I found it reassuring. Uncle Nicolae had always been kind to us girls, ready with jokes and compli-ments, his pockets housing small treats that could be produced 30
anytime one of us was upset or overtaken by shyness. Now that Tati and I were young ladies, he addressed us by our full names, with affectionate courtesy.
“Tatiana, Jenica, you know our home is always open to you and your sisters. Please come to me or Bogdana, or to Cezar, if anything at all is troubling you. We want to help in any way we can.”
“I’ll be overseeing your part of the business, Uncle Teodor,”
said Cezar to our father, who had gone suddenly quiet now that his departure was imminent. At eighteen, Cezar was as tall as his father and a great deal broader, with a short, well-kept dark beard and forceful eyebrows. Our cousin was not a particularly easy person to like, and growing from a boy into a man did not seem to have improved him. I had tried to be a friend to him, thinking I owed him that. When we were little, he had saved my life.
“Of course, I will supervise Cezar’s work closely,” put in Uncle Nicolae, seeing Father’s expression of doubt. “This will be good experience for him.”
“I’ll be looking after the accounts,” I reminded them. “I don’t need any help with that, it’s all in order. In fact, I can handle everything at this end.”
“It’s a lot of work for a girl—” Cezar began.
“I wish to speak with each of my daughters on her own for a moment,” Father said quietly. “You first, Jena. Nicolae?”
Uncle Nicolae gave a nod and drew Cezar aside. My sisters were standing on the steps before the main entry to the castle, with Florica and Petru behind them. Though the girls looked 31
half-asleep, I could see that every one of them was struggling not to cry. A chill wind blew down from the forest: a messenger of winter. Under the tall pines, all was quiet.
“Now, Jena,” Father said, out of the others’ hearing, “I suppose in a way Cezar is right—this is a great deal of responsibility, and you are only fifteen. Are you quite sure you understand what I explained to you about the funds, and about dealing with that shipment from Salem bin Afazi when it comes? I’ve left sufficient silver for your domestic expenses until well into spring, but if anything untoward should happen—”
“Please don’t worry about us, Father,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. Within his layers of winter clothing, he looked pale and wretched. “I’ve remembered about keeping business money separate from household, and I know the record-keeping part of things backward. The girls will help with the shipment and Ivan can bring some men up from the village if we need any heavy lifting.” Ivan, grandson of Florica and Petru, had his own smallholding not far away. “We’ll be fine.”
“Tati doesn’t have the same head for business that you do, Jena. Let her be a mother to the younger ones—she’s always done that job well, ever since I lost Bianca. And so have you, of course. You are good daughters.” We knew that Father would never marry again; his love for Mother was in his voice every time he spoke her name.
“Thank you, Father.” Curse it, I wasn’t going to cry. I was going to be strong, to set an example.
“Perhaps you’d be wise to curtail your trips into the forest over the winter.” Father’s tone was mild. He was not the kind of man who forbade things. The most he did was offer gentle 32
suggestions. “I know you and that frog love your adventures, but now you are a little older, you should perhaps observe other folk’s rules awhile, at least until I’m home again. In this community my method of bringing up my daughters is considered eccentric. They already believe I allow you too much responsibility. Best not give them any more fuel for comment while I’m gone; I’d hate for you to be hurt by foolish tongues.
Your aunt Bogdana is a sound source of advice on matters of propriety.”
“I’ll try, Father.” He knew, and I knew, that I was no more capable of staying out of the forest than I was of holding back my opinions when I thought I was right.
You can’t mean that. What about our picnics? What about pondweed pancakes?
“Shh,” I whispered to the frog, and then it was time to say goodbye. I managed to kiss Father on both cheeks without letting my tears spill. Then I stepped back to allow each of my sisters her moment of farewell. I stroked Gogu’s cool, damp skin with a finger as I lifted him from my shoulder to slip him into my pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cezar watching me. “It’s nearly winter,” I murmured. “Too cold for picnics.”
After we’d watched Father and Gabriel ride away, I think all five of us wanted to go back to bed and catch up on lost sleep—or just sit quietly, considering how life could change overnight, and how hard it could be to deal with. But Uncle Nicolae and Cezar had made the effort to ride through the forest to bid Father farewell, so we had to invite them in for refreshments. We used the kitchen, which was big, warm, and 33
welcoming, if informal. The floor was tiled in red and the walls were bright with woolen hangings of our housekeeper’s own weaving, showing patterns of stripes and trees and little flowers in rows. The fire in the stove was glowing, for Florica had already made two batches of pastries this morning. I loved this room, with its savory scents and its vivid colors. Piscul Dracului was a huge, drafty labyrinth of crooked stairs and oddly shaped chambers, perilous parapets and echoing galleries. I loved that, too—its strangeness, its surprises—but Florica’s kitchen was the true heart of the place. As a child I had felt safe here. While Florica had never quite been a mother to us, she had done a good job over the years as confidante and friend. Generously built, with gray hair worn in a neat bun, our housekeeper treated us with a mixture of the respect due from servant to young mistresses and the benign discipline of a mother cat bringing up a brood of unruly kittens.
Our guests sat down at the big table, whose wood was gleaming white from Florica’s daily scrubbing. Petru had escaped, muttering something about sheep. Like many of the valley men, he never had much to say in company.
“Shall I take the last batch of pastries out of the oven, Florica?” asked Tati, stifling a yawn. At Florica’s nod, she lifted the tray out of the blue-tiled stove, her hands protected by a thick padded cloth, her cheeks flushed from the heat. She was wearing her dark hair in braids pinned up on top of her head, and even in her working gown and apron she looked lovely. The pastries smelled nutty and wholesome. Gogu stuck his nose out of the pocket again, sniffing.
“You look well prepared for winter, Florica,” commented 34
Uncle Nicolae. There were strings of garlic in their dozens hanging from the rafters, along with bunches of herbs and gar-lands of little onions; the Night People would not be visiting Piscul Dracului this season if Florica could help it. “We’ve a good supply of cheeses and salted meats set aside this year. You girls must let us know if you run short of supplies for the table.”
Both houses had storage caves in which such foodstuffs could be kept for months in cold weather: it was one advantage of living in the mountains, where winter gripped long and hard.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Tati said. “Would you care for a pastry? Cezar?”
“Jena,” said Florica, “that frog’s eating my best plum preserve.”
Gogu had escaped the pocket and was approaching the nearest jam dish in very small hops, as if he thought this would go unnoticed. I picked him up as unobtrusively as I could and stuffed him back in the pocket.
“You still have the frog,” commented Cezar, frowning.
I could see he was about to launch into one of his speeches about how unsuitable a frog was as a young lady’s pet: an argument I had no answer for, because I could not explain exactly what Gogu was, only that pet was a woefully inadequate description for my dearest friend and advisor. It seemed a good time to change the subject.
“Where’s Paula?” I asked. The others were all here. Stela had retreated to the warm nook by the stove and looked more asleep than awake.
“Writing,” Tati said. “She has some work to do for Father Sandu. She went straight back upstairs as soon as Father left.
Iulia, will you go and fetch her, please?”
35
Our coffee glasses were of Venetian make, and very fine; I had seen both Uncle Nicolae and Cezar looking them over with the appreciation of born merchants. They were a set of eight, each glass a different color, with holders of silver wirework wrought in an exquisite pattern of stems and butterflies. As for the coffee itself, it was Turkish. The Turks were overlords of Transylvania, and not everyone viewed them kindly, for their presence among us had been attended by conflict, though the princes they set up to rule us were no better or worse than others in the past. Father had said Turkish culture was full of re-finements, and that the Turks made excellent trading partners, as long as one knew the right way to talk to them. We had seen the lovely items he brought back after he bartered with their merchants: silk carpets from Persia, which seemed alive with intricate patterns of scrolls and flowers; musical instruments of flawless finish; and cunning boxes with hinged lids and hidden compartments, decorated with brass inlay. We did not take coffee very often—Father was of the opinion that one could have too much of a good thing. It had seemed to all of us that this morning’s farewell more than justified a treat.
Gogu wasn’t really supposed to have coffee; it made him jumpy. All the same, Iulia had put a little green saucer by my glass. I began to pour the thick, dark brew from the coffeepot into the glasses, hoping I was not so tired I would spill it on someone’s lap. Tears pricked behind my eyes. I’d have given up a lifetime of treats to have Father back here now, well and happy, sitting at the table telling a story of some faraway, exotic place he’d visited and the intriguing folk he’d encountered there. I’d have given up coffee and pastries in a flash to see his smile.
36
As soon as the others returned and sat down, Cezar began an inquisition. “I understand you’ve been busy writing, Paula.”
His tone was bland. “Letters?”
“I’ve been preparing for a lesson.” Paula delighted in talking about her studies. “It’s about historical invasions of the Transylvanian plateau.”
“Go on,” said Cezar.
While my cousin’s attention was on Paula, I poured some of my coffee into the saucer.
“You know the name Transylvania means the land beyond the forest in Latin,” Paula told Cezar, sipping her coffee. She always seemed able to drink it piping hot. “The wildwood has played a major part in saving the folk of this area over the centuries, did you know that? Down in the lower regions, the settlements were overcome and ransacked by one conquering force after another. Up here on the plateau, folk just vanished into the woods when they heard the invaders coming. The marauding armies simply couldn’t find them.”
