Gresit. Wallachia.
Trevor and I followed the elderly Speaker leader to a large house just outside of town.
'This is where we live,' the man said, gesturing to the house. 'Please, come inside. Meet my people.' We stepped inside, and several other Speakers sat around a small fire in a semi-circle.
'Elder, we were worried about you,' one of the young men said, rising to his feet. 'I told you it was too soon to go outdoors.'
'And I told you it was necessary to offer aid to the people,' the older man replied. 'However, I was met by some of the Christian priests.'
'Are you all right?'
'Thanks to these two,' the older man said, turning as we stepped up. 'Although I fear there may be trouble ahead because of it.'
'What did you do?' the young man asked.
'We're a little out of practice,' Trevor replied, scratching his neck absentmindedly.
'They're both still alive,' I said with a chuckle.
'You used violence on them?' the young man asked indignantly.
'The younger people believe that words speak louder than actions.'
'Well, you're Speakers. Words are what you do,' Trevor replied.
'You know of us?' the young man asked.
'Our family's always been on good terms with Speakers,' Trevor said, crossing over to the window of the building looked out of it, 'although my father once got into a fight with one.'
'True Speakers do not fight,' the young man remarked.
'When he tried to convince a Speaker to have your oral history transcribed on paper,' I interjected.
'Ah, yes,' the older man remarked, 'we are quite protective of our ways. History is a living thing. Paper is dead. Would you like something to eat?'
'I'd prefer something to drink,' Trevor said.
'Arn, bring our friend some water,' the older man said.
'Oh, the - never mind, then,' Trevor replied, and I chuckled as my brother walked towards us. 'Maybe you can just tell us why you're here.'
'Speakers live anywhere they deem right,' the young man said. 'You must know that.'
'I know Speakers are nomadic tribes,' I said. 'You seem to have been here a while.'
'How do you know that?' the young man asked.
'Because the locals are blaming you for the attacks,' I replied.
'That's the church's doing. They need someone to blame.'
'To divert people from the truth, that the church itself brought Dracula's hordes down on the land.'
'Really?' Trevor asked in disbelief.
'There were Speakers in Targovishte one year ago. The church burned Dracula's wife at the stake as a witch.'
'Shit,' Trevor and I both muttered at the same time.
'That is indeed one way of putting it,' the older man said.
'But you didn't answer my question,' I said. The older man came near the window and sat down heavily on a stool.
'There is no structure left in Gresit. No doctors, no aid. If you know Speakers, then you know we can't turn away from those in need. That is why we are here.'
'May as well tell them the rest,' the young man asked, walking up to us.
'The rest of what?' I asked.
'In Speaker history,' the older man began, 'there is a story, a legend, probably.'
'I like stories,' Trevor remarked.
'The story says that a saviour sleeps under Gresit, a great hero who sleeps until he is needed, until there is a darkness upon the land.'
'Oh, we heard that one,' I said. 'The Sleeping Soldier. It's a local legend. Sounds weirdly convenient to me, if you know what I mean.'
'Exactly how much do you two know about this?' the older man asked, rather harshly.
'We're Belmonts,' Trevor said, pulling aside his coat to reveal the Belmont family crest, as did I, 'so I know you're a nomadic people who gather knowledge, memorize it, carry complete spoken histories with you. I also know you gather hidden knowledge and have practitioners of magic knowledge in your tribes.'
'A Belmont?' the young man asked. 'I thought your family had vanished.'
'If vanished is the polite way of saying exiled, hated and burned out of the ancestral home, then...' Trevor said, trailing off.
'So you know something of magic,' the older man, 'and so you know that just because we found a story in our past, doesn't mean it originated there. The wisest and cleverest of our magicians know that dying is not absolute, that it is possible to hear stories from the future.'
'So you think there's someone who can save the city, asleep under it, and you're here to wait for him?'
'One of us went to look for him,' the older man replied. '
'That would be your "missing" Speaker?'
'Yes. That one went into the catacombs under the mausoleum west of the church. Has not returned.'
'Isn't there a head man in Gresit you could go to?' I asked.
'He died in the first horde attack. Our searches have been unsuccessful,' the man said with a downcast look in his eyes. 'So, what are your plans?' he added, looking between the two of us.
'Find some drink, find some food, get drunk, eat some food, move on,' Trevor replied nonchalantly. 'Come, Alyx.'
'That's it?' the man asked.
'Maybe find a tall tree, sit in it, watch the show before I move on, all the good little people dying horribly, all that.'
'You feel no compassion?'
'This is what the church wanted,' I said, without turning around from where Trevor and I were standing. 'Our family were the only people who could've fought Dracula and his army,' I added, turning with Trevor to face them, 'but they didn't want us. They wanted to fight the darkness on their own terms - good luck to them.'
'But the ordinary people of Wallachia, they didn't get the choice.'
'For evil bastards to win power, all ordinary people have to do is stand aside and keep quiet,' Trevor hissed. 'There's always a choice.'
'Well, find a good, tall tree,' the old man said, lowering his head once more. 'You can watch us die, too.'
'Don't be crazy,' Trevor said. 'Leave now. Head south, hook up with another train.'
'It's his grandchild,' the younger man snapped suddenly.
'Arn!' the older man snapped, but the young man retorted,
'I don't care! It's the elder's grandchild down there. We can't even bury them. It's not our way to just leave our dead unattended to!'
'We stay for Gresit,' the old man said.
'Yes, we do. But we also stay because we hope...'
'So you're staying to die with the good people of Gresit, not just because it's a good thing to do,' I snapped, 'but because you don't have your grandchild's body?'
'If you want to put it that way.' Trevor turned and walked towards the fire. After a long moment of silence, he spoke.
'If we go and recover your kid's body,' he said without turning, 'will you please leave? Wait outside the city. Give your aid to the survivors when the night horde finally just rips through this place.'
'Why would you do that?' the young man asked.
'They're going to come for you soon,' I said. 'The good people. It's going to be a pogrom. They were talking about it in the marketplace this morning.'
'I don't think you answered my question,' Arn retorted.
'We know what it's like to be persecuted,' Trevor snapped, stalking up to Arn, leering over him menacingly, 'by your own country for the accident of your birth. If I find your grandchild, will you leave this city before nightfall?'
'If that is the condition of your recovering, then yes,' the older man said. Trevor cracked his knuckles in anticipation, and I chuckled darkly. Trevor and I walked past the group of the Speakers sitting on the floor, and Trevor grabbed the apple from one of the Speaker's hands.
'We're leaving now,' I said, Trevor biting into the apple and handing it to me, to which I followed suit and bit into the apple as well. 'Don't go on walkabouts looking for people to give support to. Stay right here.'
'Belmont,' the man called out. We stopped in our tracks. 'It is not dying that frightens us. It's living without ever having done our best.'
'I don't care,' Trevor hissed, and we opened the door, stepping out into the city of Gresit, letting the door slam behind us.