Rosalind - Amby Awards 2023 TOP PICK

6-The Legend Of He Who Does Not Live

Rosalind remained in her room until she saw the dome of sun peeking out of the horizon turning the world from dark to light.

She reached for a white knitted shawl and drew it around her shoulders. Her feet slipped into a pair of sheepskin slippers that warmed her toes. Rosalind headed out of her room and walked down to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Miss." Clairie the maid nodded to Rosalind as the young mistress of the house slid into a seat at the kitchen table.

"I'm not so certain, Clairie." When Rosalind frowned the maid asked her if she was unwell. "I saw a dream but --," Rosalind drew in a breath. "I'm not sure it was a real dream."

The maid looked at her mistress curiously. "I do not understand, Miss Rosalind. Is it a nightmare you had?" Clairie quickly brought Rosalind a cup of steaming tea sweetened with honey. Honey could only be found in the houses of the rich for it was nearly impossible to obtain. The continuous snow permitted a short life-span for any honey making flower and bees often froze before they reached adulthood. There were only two honey-makers living on the outskirts of the city. These honey-makers were able to grow blossoms and breed tiny colonies of honeybees in their greenhouses in order to make small quantities of honey which was worth its weight in gold. Rosalind adored honey and so the Hershel house was never without a jar in the cupboard saved solely for Harlan Hershel's only daughter.

Rosalind looked at her tea and shook her head. "I..." she sighed. "I'm not sure."

Meals for the Hershel family were always served in the formal dining area but Rosalind enjoyed having her breakfast with the work-staff. Her father and her two older brothers were always in a hurry to leave for work and Rosalind longed for company. Both of Rosalind's brothers worked for their father, a respected landlord who had inherited many pieces of land in Transylvania and the surrounding areas.

Harlan Hershel had brought his family over from England to Transylvania when Rosalind was just two years old and the boys were five and six respectfully. The children grew up on the lovely planes of the Romanian city, in a large family home overlooking the Carpathian landscape. The Hershel's home was two stories and comfortable enough to fit three families, not just the one. The whitewashed building was surrounded by a vast field. A cluster of spruce and fir trees dotted their land. The trees remained evergreen. Even when the snow fell in flurries only the tiniest amount ever lingered on the thick branches. Amongst the needle-like leaves of the trees, tiny brown birds made their homes where they kept their hatchlings warm from the swirling snow. Behind the grove of trees, red deer, foxes, and chamois resided. In all the forests, grass sprouted tall through the snow, like reeds breaking the surface of a lake, and this grass fed the animals. It was a good place for one to hunt and Rosalind's father and brothers often did. What the young girl did not yet know was that today the men in her family would be looking for their kill in another place.

"I will make you some breakfast," Clairie said to Rosalind. "Some cinnamon and sugar porridge in your belly will make you feel better." 

Rosalind smiled and nodded at the maid. Clairie was a few years older than her and the pair were close. Rosalind felt as though the young maid was as much a part of her family as her blood relations.

"You are kind to me, Clairie," Rosalind whispered as she placed her head down on the table and closed her eyes. Trying to fight off a sweet sleep that beckoned her was impossible. When she drifted off, visions of hunters and blood bloomed in her dream and the girl jerked up with a gasp.

Rosalind barely heard Clairie asking her if she was all right. All she heard was her heart thumping and blood rushing through her veins. Even with her eyes now open, in her mind Rosalind saw a scaly hand plucking the heads off roses, claw-tipped fingers bloody from the thorns. She saw the flowers tossed to the snowy ground. Rosalind saw reflections in the petals like she was seeing a mirror and in those reflections, her father's and her brothers' faces screamed.

"Miss?" When Rosalind felt the maid's hand on her shoulder the vision vanished. Yet the pounding in her chest did not.

"Where are my brothers and father?" Rosalind asked with a tremble in her voice.

"They already had their breakfast, Miss. They are getting ready to leave for a hunt."

Rosalind got up from her seat telling Clairie she was no longer hungry.

The girl found her siblings and her father in the hallway near the door, nearly ready to leave.

"Ah, there she is. The sun of my life." Harlan Hershel's smile reached his ears when he saw his daughter. "Tell me what you'd like for me to bring you back from our hunt today. Your brothers are craving rabbit and we will not find them in our forest."

Rosalind's heart froze. The was only one place in Transylvania where rabbits roamed and that was near the Borgo Pass. In Transylvania, there was a legend, a legend of he who does not live. A legend of he who will not die. The legend of he who roams the Borgo atop a carriage driven by steeds of rotten mass. Over the years, many people vanished while riding or hunting near the Borgo. Some of these folk were found hanging from the trees, their belly ripped open, their intestines pouring from the open wounds. Children were told tales of the silver-haired Devil and his monster steeds who rode through the night seeking fresh blood. In the marrow of her bones, Rosalind knew it was more than just a myth. She felt it. An unknown force was terrorizing the region. Many citizens of Transylvania were scared, all but some who thought that it was simply a trick of the night. For a century, Transylvania was haunted by this legend, this myth, this monster, and few dared go near the Borgo Pass.

"Father! The Borgo Beast!" Rosalind grabbed Harlan's hand but he simply chuckled.

"There are no monsters, child. Simply men with imaginations."

"Father, people have been found dead. Grotesquely carved and --"

Rosalind's words were stolen away when Harlan reached for her and pulled her into his embrace. "Silly tales to scare children."

"But father, please listen to me. It is a dangerous place. What if something were to happen?"

When Rosalind began to protest even harder, the three men told her she was being childish and nothing was going to stop their hunt.

"It is not the first time we are headed to the Borgo to hunt, sister," Julian said. "Where do you think last month's red deer came from?"

She felt her heart drop to the floor when the three Hershel men walked out, shutting the door behind them.