Bound & Bound – the Curse and the Captives – - 20. Chapter 20: The Well in the Woods

Chapter 20: The Well in the Woods

THUD! POW! BANG..! The cab driver seems to be finding every pothole, divot and bump in the road to goad my hangover into higher realms of pain. My hand is at my forehead, and Silviu, with his smug 'serves you right' snicker, is at my side.

"Those aspirin working yet? he says softly.

"No need to shout," I murmur.

KAPLOW!

I moan in agony and close my eyes. To my surprise, the feel of Sil's arm sliding across my back and patting my far shoulder is heavenly.

"Who knew Romanian red wine packed such a punch?" I say, feeling every word as a throbbing in my temples.

Silviu squeezes my shoulder. "I did."

"Thanks, 'protector,' for warning me."

"You say that as if I can expect you to ever do anything I suggest."

"Ouch. Touché, and you win. Just give me some tea and sympathy right now, ok?"

"Well, we have the canned coffee I brought for later. You want one now?"

I shake my head and regret it instantly. "How about some just plain sympathy then?"

"Okay." His gripping motion on my shoulder morphs in a gliding massage; one that blissfully nestles between my back muscles and neck.

I don’t know if those aspirin tablets have suddenly kicked in, or there really is something to the notion of a healing touch, but my pain and general moodiness quickly begin to drain away from me as if a plug had been pulled somewhere.

I mumble with closed eyes, "You sleep well last night?"

His voice comes in close to my ear. "Yes. The bed was comfy. How was the floor?"

I crane my neck to the side so he can get in deeper with his magic hands. "It was as expected, delightful."

"I would have invited you up top with me, but seeing as you were in such a state, I thought you'd get handsy with me."

"Oh, a real worry, I'm sure. So you made me sleep on the floor for my own good. Very noble, and thanks for taking a moment to toss me a blanket."

"Blanket, and pillow too. You're welcome."

His fingers walk lower on my back and I straightened my spine in helpless rapture. His lips come back close to my ear to tell me softly, "You take the bed tonight."

"Damn right I will, Romani," I joke. My eyes open and I turn to face the window so Sil's healing touch can have better access to my entire back portion. The car's jarring movements feel less innerving now, and I can begin to watch the sights roll by. Farm fields are green, abundant and separated by broad swaths of hedgerows and woodlands. Small homesteads pop up every so often and look to be an odd mixture of medieval thatched-roof and pristine satellite dish.

I scan slightly up the road. Coming from the other direction is a huge hay cart. An old man and boy ride atop the driver's seat, while two white horses clop along out in front with blinders on, and bobbing heads and manes. On the back of the cart are not only hay, but also an apparently complete family – uncles, aunts, grannies and granddads, and kids to beat the band. The whole crowd seems to be chaperoned by a few mature but still youthful grownups. As they pass the cab and I can watch the receding cart, my imagination contemplates that they must be on their way to a festive wedding – although a nagging doubt says they could just as likely be obliged to cart themselves to a funeral. In this regard, these 'peasants' seem to inhabit a land that time forgot – or to set aside the Conan Doyle analogy – these people still seem stuck in Bram Stoker's imagination.

Silviu's fingers make their way up to pinch right behind my ears. I have to close my eyes again, this time in unmitigated bliss.

His breathy tone toys with me. "Feeling better?"

I nod and grunt in delight.

"Good." He gently knocks the back-top of my head to indicate he's done. I turn to face him grinning, and feeling like his kid brother must after some attention from this big lug.

"So, why a well, do you think?" I ask.

"It's a good locale to check out. Wells and springs are mysterious places."

My Romani protector folds his hands behind his head and kicks his boots as far forward as he can in the backseat by turning sideways and robbing some of my foot space.

"But," I ask, lifting my feet up to rest them on top of his. "What's so special about them?"

"Why are they places to connect with the unseen? Think of it this way – water is a necessary force in human existence. Too little of it, and there's famine and drought; too much of it, and there's flood and pestilence. Most sacred wells to Christians are actually the naturally occurring springs that ancient people considered holy. These waters were the same ones churches were built over to baptize the newly converted. Some places became the famous 'wishing wells,' while others got converted to 'cursing wells.' Wishing and cursing wells are said to have such power because they are sourced by elementals – nature spirits who have never lived a human existence, and are changeable by moods. These are the so-called folletto of Italy, fairies of Ireland, and pixies of England."

"So what do you think we'll find today..?"

"If the spring or well is associated with Vlad Tepes, then hopefully we'll find the next clue we need to break your curse."

"Umm. I hope so."

He grins at me. "I think you are feeling a lot better now."

"Yes. Does it show?"

Silviu nods. "It shows in how heavy your feet are."

I lift them. He pulls out, then after I stretch out again, he plops his down on top of mine.

"What did it for you, the aspirin….or…" He leaves it dangling.

I play it coy. "Or…something else." Then I let my hand fall on his knee with a barely suppressed smile. "I'm not getting too handsy, am I?"

Silviu only smiles.

"See," I tell him. "Maybe last night I wasn't as drunk as you thought."

˚˚˚˚˚

The taxi kept turning onto progressively smaller and less-travelled roads, following some wooden signs and Sil's GPS.

The cab driver finally recognized the place as 'bad,' and Silviu had a devil of a time convincing the man to stay and wait for us. To make matters worse, inky clouds had rolled in overhead and dimmed the whole environment.

We followed another tattered wooden sign staked in the ground, and headed off the road and into a dense wood. Here occasional bird shrieks crying out within the treetops were the only sounds other than our treading over dried leaves and twigs.

Now, as we trudge along with Silviu out in front, the moody feeling returns to me. My eyes keep spying shadows off the trail to the right and left; catching phantom 'things' following our course, but darting and hidden, they loiter behind thick tree trunks just beyond my ability to peer into the foliage. I don't know, maybe they also stay just at the edge of me thinking 'I am just seeing things.'

Sometimes, some branches near where we walk also seem to make slight movements on their own. It is almost as if I could convince me in a moment of panic that they are alive and wanting to entangle me.

It's a weird and frightening sensation, and I hurry my step to get closer to Silviu. We break into a small clearing and the 'well' is not what I expected at all.

No circular stone wall with a bucket suspended over it, no cheery ivy vine to trace up picturesque wooden posts – no, this is clearly one of Sil's ancient and boldly pagan springs of mystique where both dreams and maledictions are eaten up in depthless anxiety.

The 'well' itself is a pool in a stone basin. The enclosure rises about forty centimetres above the ground to form a rectangular curb that's maybe two by three metres in total size. The water in the basin is pure, clear and mysteriously free of any debris. Looking down into it, this fact is startling, for although the trees step back a good three metres all around the spring, the branches and all their leaves still stretch out over our heads and dapple the cloudy sky in the content's reflection. How could none of the leaves get in the water?

Scanning though the immediately adjacent woods – unconsciously looking for movement from 'them' – I notice that all is unearthly still; even the sparse birdcalls have stopped.

I watch as Silviu walks a circuit around the pool while peering deep into it.

"What now?" I ask him in a whisper, as it seems sacrilege to speak in proper volume in the heart of all this quiet.

He comes to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me. I hear him inhale sharply.

"Now, it's up to you," he tells me letting the force of his breath be his inflection. "You remember that day with Daj? She told me you saw just as much as she did in the crystal. So, here's your chance to ask and be shown the next step."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that scrying doesn’t need to be done in a crystal or gem – it's almost best done in water. Nostradamus saw all of his visions in a brass bowl of water."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you not to be scared, first and foremost."

Shit. He was just reading my mind, or at least reading my frightened body language.

So, I shake it out a little bit by putting hands and feet in motion.

"Good." Silviu smiles for me and pats my back. "Now, clear your mind, kneel and look down into the water. Think your question – but Emeric – please be careful. Stay focused, and do not seek to know too much. Some of it could hurt us."

With one final pat on the back, my Romani stud steps off to the side near the tree line at the narrow end of the wellhead. He pauses and watches from about three metres away.

I slowly amble to the centre on the long side nearest to me. My eyes slowly peek over the edge and gradually bring the mirrored cloud cover from overhead into view. I kneel so I can place my hands on the mossy stone curb and brace myself as I extend my head and face over the motionless waters. I try not to look at the expression on my face, because quite frankly it looks frightened. I also try to suppress the emotion I am feeling – a sense of being powerless and dependent upon an already decided and hopeless fate.

I blink, and in another moment begin to smell a phantom whiff of the mugwort and chicory that Daj had burned at The Seeing Fox. Her gentle words of 'It’s a cleansing scent' echoes through my thoughts. 'Clear your mind,' she had also whispered, and so I do.

I start to feel my heart rate drop and my brain enter a rhythm of longer wave patterns. Whether in the water, or just in my head, I see Sil with his little brother at the shop. The placidly content look on little Lupasc's face as Silviu picks him up like a piece of luggage strikes me as a look of connectedness – a look of love.

The depths of the waters change. The slight movement of the yellow-green foliage from overhead stops and slips out of focus; in its place the central fields of the spring waters seem to rise in fathomless ascent. A cloud slowly forms and stays in suspension somewhere below the surface, and I know I am ready.

I pose my question as a thought. 'Where do we need to go next?'

A massive round tower appears. It's made of brick, has toothed turrets all along its crown, and seems like a living rook piece from a chess set. The odd features of this tower are a balcony placed about halfway up, and a massive battlement of a foundation. This base is not round at all, but a square with sloping sides that merge with the tower as if the fortification had been built on top of a truncated pyramid.

'Why?' I wonder.

Vlad Tepe's portrait flashes up, but oddly enough does not frighten me. The image fades as I foolishly let myself get caught up in thoughts about his moustache again.

In a panic that the vision is ending too soon, my thoughts scramble. I think, 'Who is my enemy? Bring him here!'

The cloudy water gradually turns bloody. My sight drifts across the plane of the pool's surface as a shadow begins to materialize. In reflection I watch as a hooded and robbed person coalesces to stand on the other side of the pool from me.

It becomes more and more distinct. In concentration I will myself to not look away and make the thing unmask itself. In the back of my mind a small piece of me also hopes Silviu is seeing what I am.

'Reveal yourself,' I willfully command with my mind. The cowl flutters like a trembling leaf. It falls in slow motion and as if it's taking the substance of the figure with it, but then suddenly that falling motion stops. The fabric of the hood settles about a metre and a half off the ground and begins to issue a noise. It is a low-reverbed rumble, one that settles into a guttural snarl. The figure takes on the guise of a huge black dog. This hideous thing has the face of a mastiff blended with that of a rottweiler, and those features are set within the massive jaw lines of a pitbull. Its bared teeth and blood-curling growls are no match on the fear-factor scale when compared to its glowing red eyes. Dogs should not have penetrating orbs as large as saucers, but this hellion does.

Keeping its gaze locked in the water's reflection, I whisper, "Silviu..?"

There is no response.

I dare not look up from the pool; I do not need to, for I know this spiritually-summoned beast is actually standing on the other side of this well from me. And, the thing is advancing.

"Don’t move," I finally hear Silviu say.

I swallow and watch the dog take a step towards me.

"Now, stand. Smoothly and calmly – no sudden movements."

I follow the instructions with a fleeting glance to see Sil is exactly where I last saw him. Those are married with menacing glimpses of a massive black dog only a few feet away.

"Step towards me," Silviu says. "Slowly."

I do, and the dog tracks his bloody eyes with me as I move. The creature is not of this world – outwardly a canine, but no dog can be as tall as child, but this one is.

"When I say run," Sil instructs. "You follow me, and do not look back."

I nod, and that causes the dog's growl to shift into higher gear.

Slowly, painfully so, I step towards Silviu and inch along with my sight never leaving our would-be attacker.

I get to Sil's side.

"RUN!" he yells and takes off down the path opposite from where we arrived.

I do not look, but know the dog is hot on our trail.

Keeping my sight locked on Silviu's back, I again feel like the foliage is reaching out to snare me with thorny hands and shredding claws. Instinctively I shield my head, and run forward with panic that the hell hound's panting, which I can hear behind me, will suddenly be in my ear as he pulls me to the ground.

We break into a clearing, and Silviu double-times it like a track star; this gives me space and motivation to increase speed and stay right with him.

I dare to glance over my right shoulder, and the sleek blackness of the werewolf-sized creature glints in the sunlight like mink. Its teeth are exposed and drooling with saliva. It catches my look and barks at me with a mix of a snarl and scream.

Silviu plunges down the slopes of a creek, and scrambles immediately up the sides of the far bank. He comes to a stop.

I launch down the embankment, through the water and reach out to take the hand that Sil is reaching down to me from his side. He yanks me up, and as I cock my limbs to start running again, his hands lock on my chest and back to stop me. His eyes are looking over to the other side, and I suddenly realize the dog has had more than enough time in this delay to be ripping us to shreds.

I slowly follow Sil's eyes over, and am amazed to see the big black dog run up to the edge of the stream and halt. The angry looks it divides between the stream's surface and us say it all – it cannot cross over.

Silviu and I stand and wildly try to catch our breath. Doing so, we watch as the hellion paws madly at the other side of the creek bed.

It glares at us with obvious hate, and as I glance to Sil for some form of explanation, I see the top buttons of his shirt have come undone and his gold coin and chain glint wet and brilliant in the newly emerging sunlight.

"It's like I thought," he breathlessly explains. "These black dog spectres cannot cross flowing water."

"Why?"

"No idea. Just be grateful this one holds true to form."

"Oh – "

He cuts me off with a slight punch to my upper arm. "What did you do, Emeric?! I said be careful!"

The dog rages and increases its growls with Silviu's harsh tones.

"I just…I just, asked to see who our enemy is."

His voice drips with sarcasm: "OH, that's not dangerous at all. Good job!"

"I…" I decide to close my mouth. I have nothing to countermand that.

"Sorry," he says softly.

"What do we do, Silviu?"

"You conjured it, you must be the one to make it go away."

"Great idea." I try my own sarcasm on for size. "But. How do you suggest I do that!"

"Don’t turn your pouty Sean Penn sneer on me, and don’t pretend you're gonna listen to anything I say!"

"Sil!"

"Ah – just go into the state you were in, and command it to be gone."

"Easily said – "

His hand comes up to massage the back of my neck. His tone softens. "Come on, Emeric. I know you can do. What were you thinking of before you started scrying?"

I instantly relax. "You," I tell him bluntly.

Finally I have found something to shut him up. Ignoring his astounded and perhaps somewhat intrigued look, I pick up his right hand with my left.

I massage his fingers and close my eyes. I see nothing, I feel nothing but fear, and that's only reinforced by the shrieks and yaps of the dog across the way waiting to rip our throats out.

That all changes the instant that Silviu begins to hold me back.

His strong hand grasps my fingers with a tenderness that reels me down to my soul.

Visions begin to flit in rapid sequence, but as they seem to involve people I haven’t met, doing stuff in places I do not recognize, I struggle to connect with them. Then, one of Sil's images lingers long enough to come into some form of focus. He is wearing a white tuxedo with a lavender boutonnière pinned to the lapel. I have never seen him looking so radiant, and happy. He stands on a platform of sorts and appears to be waiting for someone. There is a feeling of a formal event about to happen, and on an intuitive level I realize that Silviu at this precise moment regards himself as about the luckiest man in the world.

I don’t know why exactly, but seeing him like that centers me tremendously.

I open my eyes and grip Silviu's fingers even harder. I tell the creature, "You cannot harm us. Depart and never disturb us again!"

The massive black dog falters in his pawing of the stream bank, and the rumbling gurr in his throat lessens.

"Let's both do it," I tell Sil.

He gives me a resolute nod.

In unison, we say, "Depart and never disturb us again!"

The dog stumbles like an arrow has pierced the hide of its flank; a whimper vibrates the air with a piteous shriek, but we have no sympathy for this black thing from hell.

In another moment, the dog's body takes on a vaporous appearance and the substance of its form begins to rise into a smoky column.

As it gets to the height of a man, it instantly shoots into the sky like a flash of lightning, and in another moment, our ears quake with a crack of noise like that of air being rent into super-heated plasma.

We cover our ears, and as my eyes again alight on Silviu's gold coin, a totally unbidden thought thrusts itself into my head.

That name he had used to check us in – Hans Schnyder – I remember my connection to it. I am suddenly awash with anger; I feel betrayed in the most profound way possible, and yet now at least the coin makes sense.

Oh fuck.