Chapter 11:

The frozen kiss of winter descended upon all who entered into the chill. Dominic had never felt so cold, but it wasn't the air that made him feel so.

All around him, gypsies threw extra layers on over their coats and blubbered about the ache in their bones. They were too harassed, and too cold to even bother him with a suspicious glance as they brushed past the wagon he leaned against. A vicious wind seemed intent on terrorizing and snipped at all bare skin with icy bites. Or at least it appeared that way.

Dominic considered taking his own—borrowed—coat off. He could feel nothing at all but the warmth in his veins, and that seemed wrong to the point of unnatural. He looked around at the gypsies, old and small, as they rushed to pack their camp into wooden crates, and knew that he—not the naive Elena, or the stuttering river man—deserved all of their suspicion on his own. But, then again, he often found that his own opinions were slightly different than that of other people.

He had never cared until now.

He leaned further against the wagon's side so that he had a clear view of a man too old to work, and the young children of the opposite gathered at his sides. Their little heads were bundled beneath rags and kerchiefs, but their rabid gazes never left the old man for a moment.

All of them—some of them too young to speak themselves—listened in rapt attention as the old man told his tale. Even some of the adults passing by on their errands were slow-going past the circle. Dominic included.

The old man's story was the example of too much free time mixed with too much of a paranoid sense of imagination. It reeked of lies told for 'the greater good.' But, Dominic found himself listening anyway.

The old man paused his speech for a hacking cough into a gloved hand. He sniffled and turned his rheumy eyes back on the crowed again. Wolf Demons, he said, and the tale began again.

“There once was a man, who loved....”

Dominic scoffed so loudly that he missed the storyteller's next words. It didn't matter, for he had a sense of the direction this tale would take. The stories about monsters always begin with love, he thought darkly and tilted his head to listen.

“...he searched the skies for answers and found none. His love, his reason for living was dead and the joy in his heart turned to rage.

Distraught, he turned to the moon and cried out 'why?' and the sky offered him no reply. So he seethed and in rage, went after the men who had killed his family—his life.

He tracked the men for days, but these mountains were wilderness and the nights grew cold. He froze and starved and could drink only the snow melted as he shuffled his tired feet along. There came a time when he was too weak to move—and the men who just specks in the distance. It was then—my children—that the wolves came. For the man had not been the only one hunting the strangers.”

Here, the old man paused to wipe the spittle from his chin. His fingers curled within the strands of his gray beard.

“They came at night, when the moon was the highest in the sky and was as full as a flooded river swelling it's banks. Starving, they descended upon the man before he could barely raise his head from the snows. They tore at his flesh, snipped at his arms and legs—“

The old man mimed a snapping wolf with his wool-clad fingers. Some children squealed and huddled close, but their faces were bright with excitement rather than fear.

“He should have been dead. Should have been mere bones left for dust—but the moon had heard his plea and it gave him life, and it's servants—the wolves—gave him strength—“

A cool voice cut over the preceding with a whispered hiss of disgust that Dominic caught without even turning around. “You are wanted,”

He turned to face the barrel-chested man who had come up behind him. The man's dark eyes were cooler than the ice on the snow as his eyes flickered from the storytelling to Dominic and back again. “Come,” the man said, and he turned to lead the way quietly. But Dominic could see from the way his shoulders tightened, that he would have preferred to drag him along, with iron manacles. You shouldn't be walking freely, he seemed to growl over the silence, and Dominic didn't blame him. Frankly, he didn't know why the gypsies had let him wander freely either.

Why they chose to trust him over Elena, or even the man she had called 'Vlad'? He had no idea. Him knowing their language could have been part of it, or that he had bribed them with Elena's help—shelter at her land hold—for assistance. But even Elena had trusted him up to a point—and the gypsies were no different.

They avoided him like a nasty plague, and watched him mercilessly. But still, a few deigned to speak to him—and he hadn't been closeted into a wagon like Elena was. And then there was the instance of the boat man.... Dominic couldn't fathom why they would possibly feel the need to guard the man. From what? He wondered, or For what?

His mind wandered as he tramped across the snow. The man he followed turned to face him every now and again. His hand would dart to his side—where a weapon most likely was—and he would glare as if daring Dominic to give him an excuse to use it.

Dominic was tempted, but he couldn't help looking back as well. The old man had began his tale again, and he itched to listen in. Stop acting like a petulant child, he taunted himself, but a desire to know burned brighter than the sun as it ate the wisps of fog rising from the river. He turned to face the man again.

They had reached a bright orange wagon which tilted dangerously as a formidable-looking woman stepped down from the doorway. Her streaked raven hair had been tied in a typical kerchief, but the look only emphasized her stern features. She was one not to be trifled with.

Behind her, Elena stood bundled in clothing so bright that it made Dominic's eyes itch. Her dark eyes coolly appraised him before settling on a gnarled tree in the distance.

Dominic wondered when the gypsies would allow him to leave. He would have walked the distance if only to leave her, and this blasted mountain range behind.

“Marnie will take ya to yer comrade,” The man leading him called over his shoulder, and left without another word. Leaving Elena, Dominic, the woman they called Marnie, and only the silence of the whispering trees.

“We'll get ya some horses,” Marnie said after a moment. She stepped down from the wagon, her large boots hitting the ground with a squelch!

Wringing her hands, she looked from Dominic to Elena and back again. Her expression was unreadable.

“We might be able ta spare ya some food, but not enough for all three o' ya ta reach the city. Ya could--”

Dominic cut her off. “They're not going to the city.” He looked from one woman to the other. Marnie looked unsurprised while Elena....Elena seemed to hold her breath.

“I'm going alone. And I don't need your food or horses.”

The gypsy woman, Marnie, smiled bleakly. It held no warmth. “Well,” she harrumphed. “Some guide you are. I hope you demand a refund gel.” Her deep brown eyes seemed to peer into his mind. Dominic flinched from the contact.

“He's not my—” Elena began, but caught herself. Dominic eyed the bruised on her head and wondered how hard she had to hit herself to make a slip so careless. She looked at him for the first time that morning. “I'm sure Mr. Latcher would prefer us to conduct our business in private.” She met his gaze once and the look in them made Dominic wary.

Marnie hesitated for a moment, and then stood aside and began marching toward along her circle of wagons. “You can talk while we walk,” she decided. “Come, this way.”

Dominic moved forward. He could feel, rather than see, Elena fall into step beside him.

“Just what are you thinking Land holder Elena?” he whispered as cool as ice.

“Whether I do someone as obviously crazy as you a favor by letting them walk free without their hands in chains.” Her voice was a low whisper that barely scratched above the howls of the wind. “Or whether I let you go free out of some sick sense of pity to myself-”

He looked down, to see her eyes scanning the frosted trees.

“-Whatever my reasons are, Mr. Latcher...I am just as insane as you are.”

Dominic didn't know whether to slap her or laugh. There was no way in all the seven hells that she would ever be as insane as he was. Do you hear voices? He wanted to ask. Do you see shadows and phantoms every waking moment, knowing that they really aren't there? Do you hear the howls of wolves on the wind?

Of course she didn't.

As if to emphasize just how insane he was, the rushing of his heartbeat filled his head. Thump, thump, thump. The sound would have been soothing if it didn't push against his ears like a wild things struggling to break out.

It took him a moment to realize that Elena was still talking to him. He could barely hear her. Thump, thump, thump. The sound pulsed in his throat.

“We're here—“

He hadn't realized that they had stopped until Elena pulled brusquely on the sleeve of his coat. She snatched her hand away again as he halted. They were in front of another wagon—blue this time.

Marnie and a man pacing before the wagon's entrance spoke in low voices. Dominic could just hear bits and pieces.

...Gone...

..strange...

...not to be trusted...

...help....

The sudden reason why the gypsies had saved them became so clear the Dominic laughed aloud. It echoed.

HA!, Ha, ha....

“What is so funny?” Elena demanded. She was just as curious as she was fearful. Dominic could see it in her gaze. He released a soft scoff at her as well.

“They help us because they want something from us. You actually. They want you to shelter them,” his tone grew sour. “We are not the only ones hunted by something it seems...”

“What do you-”

“You can see him now,” Marnie called. She hustled up the rickety stair that led to the wagon's door. Dominic and Elena followed her.

Inside, amid a cloud of acrid smelling smoke, lay Vladimir atop a wooden cot surrounded by pots of smoldering leaves. The stench made Dominic's head swim. He steadied Elena without thinking as she followed close behind.

Her arm felt like a twig within his grip.

“Well...my...friends...what a surprise,” Vlad mumbled feebly from his throne of pillows atop the cot. His face was pale and yellowish with stubble that had sprouted all over his chin. He looked like hell, but Dominic had a feeling that it was only an act. Elena had been by far worse off that he had been and she seemed fine.

He turned to go, but Elena's hand on his shoulder made him pause. “Wait,” she said, and he could feel her fingers clench against the leather of his coat.

He could almost feel the touch upon his bare skin. It made him shiver.

Thump, thump, thump, went the sound again. He could feel it in his chest, hear it in his head—much louder than before. He flinched violently out of Elena's grip, and the infernal thumping only grew louder.

Elena brushed past him, but he heard her whisper, “Don't go. We can speak outside”

Dominic paused. Then kept moving. She had saved his life from the snows, he had saved hers. They were even. He owed her nothing.

He went outside...and waited. The morning was gray between the trees and a rotten stench hung on the air. Dominic wondered if the gypsies had left meat out to rot.

Elena followed him a moment later.

“Vlad won't expose you,” she said. “I won't expose you.” Here eyes were as dry as the leaves scattered beneath the fallen snow. And just as brittle. “Please. Tell me about Costin.”

Dominic sighed. “You won't want to hear it,” --and he didn't want to say it.

His memories were like a churning river beneath an inch of ice. Once that ice was shattered, he had a feeling that all hell would break loose.

“You don't know how long people have been telling me those words! If you won't tell me, then I'll go back to Marnie, and I'll tell her what you have done. Let's see how much they gypsies trust you after that--”

She tried to move past him. Dominic didn't let her. He dragged her back by the shoulder. “Wait-”

“No! Let me go!”

“Just wait,” he groaned between his teeth and looked from her to the almost empty woods around them. They were in the farthest circle from the campfire—a distance from everyone else who struggled to pack the camp. Dominic could just make out the babble of their chatter.

He pushed Elena into the slender space between two oaks.

“Alright. Alright, I'll tell you, but you won't like it. Not one bit.”

Elena watched him with hungry eyes. “Tell me.”