I woke to the familiar sound of fighting.
For a moment, I thought that I was dreaming again. I expected to look at my hands and see that they were not my own, or to hear a voice that was unfamiliar. I expected that the ghost – that shenz ghost – would flicker into my view and send chills down my spine as it whispered my name it should not know.
But when I opened my eyes, all I saw were boots. They were familiar boots, too – three of worn leather, one of those was dragon hide and two of ceberous stripped of fur; one of silk; another of leather, small and dainty, but laying down instead of moving. The sole was no more than a twig from my face.
Arion, Roriq, Cronin, Baion, Jazera.
Four of the five were moving quickly, flicking in and out of my vision as they side-stepped and leaped behind me, only to appear again a moment later. There was the sound of iron and steel clashing and of grunts and groans in effort or injury or both. Blood splattered on the ground in front of me, a near-perfect line between Jazera's soles and mine, separating us. I thought it fitting.
I stared at the drops as they spread out in the sandy-dirt atop the stone ground, mesmerized by the way it moved, weaving between the grains, dying them from beneath. It was oddly beautiful. Almost alive.
"Shenz!" I heard a familiar curse of surprise, then in anger, "You bloody mutt-kisser, I'll get you for that."
I blinked, the action making me loose focus on the blood. Arion. Arion was hurt.
With that understanding, I sat up quickly, then nearly fell back onto the stone at the wave of lightheadedness. I felt weak, as if my body had suffered severe loss of blood or a terrible illness I was only just recovering from. It made me confused. Why was I this way? What happened to me?
Still, the moment I could, I stumbled to my feet, nearly falling into Cronin.
Cronin was the one who caught me, yet Arion somehow knew though his back was turned, facing off against his opponent. He snapped, "Stay down, stupid girl!"
I ignored him as I usually did when he tried to order me around and I pulled my sword out of its sheath – this movement, at least, was smooth and graceful – trying to see who it was that we were even fighting up here on the mountain.
It was dim light – sunrise, by the looks of it, though since we were in a dip in the mountains, I was unable to see the sun, nor was I able to tell which way was east - so the lighting made it difficult to see, but not impossible. Yet I had to stare for several seconds to be sure I was truly seeing what I thought I was seeing.
Strigoi?
They were blood drinkers, but the more civil of the kind due to their intelligence. They usually fed off the dead, but it was not uncommon to find the occasional pack hunting down entire herds of animals and slaughtering them for food instead. They were strong, powerful, and deadly, but they rarely ever were a danger to man.
They especially avoided Shadows, because though they had a natural camouflage that made them almost appear ghostly – the reasoning for my excessive squinting – Shadows could see them as clearly as they could see any other creature.
It didn't really matter why they were attacking us though, only that we kill them first. However, I couldn't seem to let go of Cronin's arm, and there were too many of them besides. Difficult to count with their camouflage, I estimated around thirty, not including the twenty-or-so already dead or dying on the ground around us, showing where the circle of protection was around the sleeping Jazera and I.
I could use the Grey Stone, I thought. I could kill them all with a flick of my wrist.
But I did not want to use the Grey Stone until I was outside of Nahdiera. Further than just here on the mountain borders. I doubted very much that Marqis could sense me now, unlike during my years of hiding and training before my rule. However, the plan was not to risk it until we were able to run for our lives and hide, just in case. Especially since we still had very little knowledge of what the Black Stone did other than cause pain at will.
I would wait until things were desperate, I decided. Only to see that Arion and Baion were both bleeding badly, and even Cronin was beginning to look tired. I had a flash of memory – Rian limping away from the ceberous mutts, sweat dripping from his eyes – that frightened me. I was not sure if it was paranoia that I would loose Cronin, or if my second mind warning me of things to come. All I knew was one specific fact.
Things were desperate.
Actions decided, I went to rip a chunk of stone from the mountain to kill them all with... only to nearly collapse in exhaustion at my efforts.
Understanding came then, though I had not been wondering it; the reason for my dizzy state and exhaustion was because I had lost too much energy healing Jazera. My magic would be of little use.
But not entirely useless.
I grimaced and chose a small, loose stone instead – small meaning about the size of my fist. With it, I clonked the strigoi in the backs of their heads around the circle, one after another, bashing their skulls in or at least knocking them aside, distracting them for Baion and the knights.
I only had to kill about six of them before one of them – much further back than the others – called out a halt in their own tongue, staring at me. Clearly, this one knew exactly who I was which was a surprise, seeing as none of their kind were allowed entry into Nahdiera.
As they all stopped and stepped back, this one – the leader – walked forward until he was just barely outside the circle and stared at me. I stared right back at him, fascinated by this creature now that I could actually see him instead of the confusing, blurry shape I couldn't quite focus on, the camouflage turning off as quickly as blowing out a candle.
He looked more like a man than I had originally thought. The head was a bit too large for its' neck and oddly cone-shaped, with ears up high and more wolf-like than human-like in the way they twitched and turned. The mouth, too, was too large, with lips too thin revealing a row of sharp, pointed teeth, two of which were longer than the others, making him look like he had tusks, or the fangs of a snake. The fingers were long with its extra knuckles, and the feet were flat a spread out for better balance. Otherwise, he looked like a man in size and shape.
Especially when he wore actual clothing.
While the others wore only a cloth over their loins – or nothing at all, I noticed, with delayed embarrassment – he wore pants of thin leather, a tad too short and ragged from age and continuous use. The sword in his hand was fine and well-made, however, while the rest of them used anything from sharpened stones to rusting, half-broken swords.
He cocked his head. Those dark eyes that had pupils far too large to be comfortable, studied me carefully. I realized after a few moments that he was looking at my neck with something like confusion.
He was looking for my marks.
I decided to try and speak. "Can you understand me?"
He frowned at me, the lips thinning and going down in a perfect half-circle as if traced there by ink and a cup, the cheeks sagging down like the jowls of an ageing dog with the effort. Under other circumstances, I may have laughed at the dramatic expression.
"Tòl eń va?" I asked in elven. The frown disappeared and he spoke in return with a single nod to accompany it.
"Ga, ëvfas mobǡv." Yes, I speak the elven tongue.
It was terrible accented, but well enough to understand, so I continued in the same tongue. "Why did you attack us, Strigio? We have no war with you."
He spoke at length, his voice growing more and more somber the more words came out of his mouth. I had never heard of a somber blood-drinker before of any kind, so I could barely know what to make of it. I knew them as more animal than man, and with less emotions than a starving dog. Savage, Jovian had called them once. Yet they did not sound nor act savagely to me.
It was as if everything I had learned about the creatures were disappearing with every sentence he spoke, and I made a note to speak to both Jovian and Orro about this on my return. For if they were intelligent enough to be reasoned with, could they not become apart of Nahdiera?
My stomach clenched at the thought of the man who raised me and my only living relatives under the hand of Marqis again, but banished the thoughts quickly, concentrating on the terribly accented elven words until he was finished.
"What did he say?" Arion finally demanded when I stood in silence for some time, simply looking at this creature, who looked right back at me.
"He says that some of his kind had been found to be spies of Marqis by the elves. Since then, the elves have been hunting them all, not understanding that they had lived in separate tribes with separate rules, barely communicating with each other at all.
"Now, all you see here is what is left of their kind on this land and they have made him their leader, as he is the greatest fighter." I looked at the creatures a moment as I paused, wondering how many more of them there had been before the elves had begun their hunting, and feeling a flash of guilt that we had killed nearly half the remaining number.
"He tried to bring them to the sea, so that they could flee the land entirely," I continued, "but their way was cut off and there was only one other way left to flee to safety – these mountains. However, as his kind cannot enter Nahdiera, they have been stuck on these mountains, unable to leave in any direction, and unable to eat since they killed the last of the mountain lions long ago."
Roriq grunted, brushing off his own bloody arm as if this story had caused him to forgive them. I looked to Arion whom still had his eye on the creatures warily, until he felt my own eyes on him and turned to me.
"They're starving, and when they saw us, they attacked in a last, desperate attempt to survive, even seeing a Shadow among us. He did not know you were protecting a Greyov, and begs forgiveness as he owes my bloodline a small debt." My lip twitched despite the circumstances. "He says to consider his choice of stopping his people paying his debt. He also asks us to leave them in peace to hope for another traveler."
He sniffed. "Are we killing them anyway?" He gripped his sword tighter, glancing at one of the creatures in particular - no doubt the one that sliced his arm open. "It would be a pleasure."
I studied the strigoi a moment longer, thinking.
"No." I finally said, then smiled slightly at the plan forming in my head. "We're not going to kill them." Arion narrowed his eyes warily towards me when he noticed my expression. I felt my lip twitch up into a smirk. "We're going to use them."
~~~
A/N: Just a little note here, there are many myths about the strigoi, and have been interpreted differently through many books, some as vampires, others as poltergeist, there's even a book I read (can't remember where now, but it will come to me eventually) that have them as werewolves.
In the original Romanian mythology, they're said to be "troubled" spirits that can transform into animals, become invisible, and "gain vitality from the blood of their victims". (*ahem* Dracula anyone?)
When I wrote this, I had an entirely different name for them, but as I was editing it (about ten minutes ago, I should add), a light bulb flicked on above my head and the strigoi came to mind. I thought it interesting to add another twisted drop of mythology into the mix. I already have elves, goblins, fiends, sirens, kracken, worms, and about a hundred others I can barely remember myself, why not add another? Right?
The point of this long authors' note is simple: What do you think? Should I keep the strigoi name? Or change it and therefore, change this creature back to its entirely made-up origin? Let me know what you think!
Oh, and, uhh... vote please? *cheeky grin*