Bound & Bound – the Curse and the Captives – - 27. Chapter 27: Family Crest

Chapter 27: Family Crest

We're having lunch now, and I'm beginning to feel a bit calmer.

Silviu insisted we sit outside at this café, and he was correct as usual. For I am finding the bustle of people going about their ordinary, un-cursed lives, is something that can take my mind off of my problems for the moment.

We've ordered two 'Vlad Stake Burgers, with Garlic Vampire Fries on the side,' and it was not fun to be reminded that for most tourists this is all fun and games. Now while we wait I have only my ice tea to clutch onto. I stare into it and let the glacier-cold glass 'burn' against my palms.

Sil makes a motion to catch my attention. I must have been staring like a zombie, looking into a reflection of my own woes or something, for the appearance on his sweet face is pure concern.

He lifts a finger to a spot above his left brow. "You ok?" He flashes some whites of his eyes at me.

I can't resist and reach out to mess with the cute hair spikes he is dipping towards me. I withdraw the moment he grins, so I can inhale deeply and sit back on my chair. My arms go up for a moment, and then I gently touch my wound. It hurts, bad. I tell him, "It's a little tender, but it’s not a big deal." I crack open one of my patented 'bad-boy smirks' for my boyfriend, adding, "Other than being some sort of freaky paranormal stigmata shit – it's no big deal a'tall."

"Emeric…" His tone is soft.

"You don’t need to worry over me, sexy. If you don’t see me actually bleeding, then I'm all right."

I must have forgotten to smile as I said that, for Silviu purses his lips like he is upset and turns to watch the sidewalk denizens.

I lay my forearm flat on the table and shake my fingers up at him, hoping he'll latch onto them. "Hey, lover. This reminds me of our first 'date.' Remember?"

He casts a suspicious glance at me.

I go on, "Yeah, at that café in Bucharest when you said I actually was as dumb as I look."

Silviu does a few things at the same time: he sighs in the classic resonance of 'you win;' the hostile vibe drops from his eyes; he reaches for my hand and holds it warmly. "You and that damn memory of yours."

"Well…" I play with his digits, twisting the ring on his thumb. "It means I remember every wonderful thing you've said to me as well – all two of them."

He laughs. "Please Emeric, I'm defenceless here, that and worried like mad. Are you sure you're ok?"

"Silviu, I don’t know what you expect me to say. This crap has me on edge and bummed out big time."

He blinks a few times and strokes the back of my hand with his thumb. He refocuses. "Yeah. You're right. I'm sorry, but I can't help until you tell me exactly what happened."

I lean back and disengage our hands. "I was nearly attacked."

"And...?"

"And, I was in the bear pit, looking around, feeling scared for some unknown reason. I glanced up and thought I saw – or, thought I felt the presence of – a crowd of people. They were gathered up on top in a holiday mood to watch me get torn to shreds.

"Then these three massive grey wolves came through the passage from the cages, and one was bigger, more gnarly, and seemed to be the alpha male."

Silviu stammers in an honest stream of unconscious thought, "That's really freaky."

I lace my fingers behind my head in concentration. "Well wait now, this is where the 'freaky' part really begins, because they suddenly stood up and started advancing on me. You know, on two legs – like human beings."

"…Shit…"

"That's when I grabbed my coin and told you to get your sexy Romani ass over there."

"Good job, babe."

I kick my seat back and balance myself just on the back two legs of the chair. "So, just as they were about to maul me and turn me into werewolf chow, I asked what they wanted."

"And..?"

"And one said that I was the only one who could free their master from jail. I don’t know; it doesn't make sense."

Silviu shakes all over. "Oh, that just gave me chills."

Suddenly, I can feel my cheeks go slack. I let loose and my chair falls forward, bringing me back to earth with a bone-rattling jolt.

"Oh shit…" I mumble, drawing out the last sound like a snake's tail.

"What?!"

"I…I had the strangest notion while it was happening that I should somehow recognize those creatures. And I just remember where I have seen them before."

"Where?"

"The night those psycho vamp kids drugged and kidnapped me. Just before I woke up naked and strapped to their pentagram floor, I dreamed – or had a vision – of three werewolves coming out of the wall of Club Nosferatu and attacking me. They are the same fuckers."

Sil's hand dashes across the table to take mine. He holds it firm. "Emeric, don’t panic, please. Think of it this way, you were shown these things for a reason. The trick is finding out what that reason is."

I enclose the top of his hand with my other one. I stroke it and come clean. "I'm scared, Silviu."

"I know, baby. We'll figure it out."

The waiter arrives with a warm smile and a wink at our handholding. He pauses with two big plates suspended in the air until our arms vacate the tabletop, then our food is set in front of us with more smiles, and an "Enjoy!"

He leaves, and Sil digs in with gusto.

I pick at my fries. "But what does it mean, Silviu? What does it all mean?"

He sets his burger down, and I notice it now has a perfect bite mark missing. He dabs at his mouth with a napkin, and informs me, "Were-creatures are of two traditions. The first one, thanks to Hollywood, is well known."

He plonks a mass of blood-red ketchup on his plate before he continues.

"That kind is like this: an animal spirit comes into a person, and must be fed occasionally to 'bleed out' the animal-nature's bloodlust, or else the infected will die."

He dips a fat pinch of three or four fries together into the ketchup. Before he puts it in his mouth, he says, "It's a very ancient tradition."

He chews.

I get a bit snarky. "You mean The Wolf Man existed before Lon Chaney Jr. created the movie role in 1942..?"

My studly boyfriend rolls his manly eyes. "You know that, smartass. We're talking about shape-shifters. One of the Viking sagas talks about Sigmund and his hot son Sinfjotli who spy two lovers peacefully asleep in a cabin one day. Above the heads of the men hang the most beautiful pair of wolf pelts the father and son had ever seen. They go in and foolishly put the skins on their bodies. They panic once they realize they cannot take them off again. As they're transforming, the men awake and thank them for lifting the curse from their shoulders. The pair say the pelts cannot be removed for ten days. While the shape-shifting is still underway, the men run for their lives."

"Damn. Then what happened?"

"The saga says that Sigmund and Sinfjotli became fearsome stalkers in the next ten days, ripped apart many children and consumed their flesh and bones. After the proscribed period of time, they were finally able to shed the skins and build a bonfire. Praying to Odin, and seeing the king of the gods observing them in the form of a raven, they burned the hides and killed the curse." A little-boy grin spread across his face. "So, you see, happy endings are possible, cuz curses can be killed."

"Maybe only if Odin is watching. So then, what's the other tradition? You said there were two."

"Ah…" he took a big bite of his burger, and I was enticed to try mine in the near-silence that accompanied his chewing. I picked it up and had a go at it. You know, it was pretty good.

"The other tradition," Silviu says, a bit mush-mouthed. "Is where the spirit of a man possesses an animal."

"Really?"

"Sure." He sets his food down and cleans the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "We're told that Zeus shape-shifted anytime he was feeling horny: a swan to rape Leda; a bull to rape Europa; and an eagle to seduce and carry off the beautiful young man Ganymede. Odin – the chief god of the Norsemen – would spy, just like we said, on the private affairs of people in the form of a raven. It's said he would go into a trance and possess various birds to see what he wanted to see."

"Wait a minute…" I let the garlic French fry I am holding drop onto the plate again.

Silviu totally ignores me. "There's a family in Ireland named Gormanston. It seems every time the head of the family dies, and this has been going on for hundreds of years now, all the local foxes gather and mourn loudly. One is reported to enter the chapel where the vigil over the corpse is happening and to 'pay his respects.' Popular belief holds that the foxes are temporary possessed by the spirits of past Gormanstons; the one who enters the chapel is regarded as the man who had just passed, and he's there to comfort his son."

"Silviu."

"Yes?" He goes at another pinch of fries.

"What were you saying about ravens?"

"That Odin possesses them to keep tabs on what people are doing. He uses their eyes to watch the going-ons of people and events here on Earth."

My finger rubs my injury; it throbs as I think about it too hard. "Shit. I've had this bleeding before."

Silviu pulls himself up to sit stiff as a board on his seat. "When?"

"At my father's funeral. A flock of crows watched us from the tree line, and then as we were moving the casket, took to the air like a swarm of locusts. A giant raven appeared from among them, like their king or something, and swooped down. The funny part is, it attacked my father's lawyer, but I was the one who wound up bleeding with him."

"Emeric…" Sil sounds like he's on the verge of scolding a naughty school child. "You didn't tell me this before."

I shrug. "Sorry? I didn’t really think about it? I think I told you about the crows – "

"Yes, about the 'murder of crows,' but not that there was a raven king among them."

"Okay! My bad; I am sorry, Sil."

"Well, the raven is some sort of sign."

"But, what?" I ask, taking another bite of burger; suddenly I feel ravenous.

"Don’t know." Silviu shoves his barely eaten plate of food aside.

"I feel like we're at a dead end."

My beautiful Romani boyfriend watches me eat for a second, inhales like he's trying to lighten the mood, and then picks at his fries. Into the ketchup a few go before being carried up to his waiting mouth. "I saw," he says through his mashed-up potatoes. "That there is a museum in town. We should go check it out."

I find myself just becoming lost in a pool of contemplation on how my life has changed.

"What is it, Em?"

"Nothing…" I know a smile has suddenly come to my face. "I was just thinking how lucky I am."

His greasy fingers come halfway across the table, and beckon to mine with a slight wiggle. "Are you saying you love me?"

"Oh God, yes. That's exactly what I'm saying." I slip my fingers into his and he caresses them with his thumb. I play with the fat silver band on his ring finger. "Don’t you remember me 'showing' you how much I love you last night?"

"Eat," he says with a sly smile. He pulls his plate back to him with gusto and an all-over grin. "I worry enough about you. Don’t make me think you're starving too. And of course I remember who was on top last night, and who will get it royally tonight."

Our hands disengage as we both pick up our burgers and eat for a while.

I watch him; watch his mouth grin from time to time, and see there is some meat juice and a slightly oily sheen coating his sensual bottom lip. I partially stand, lean over the table and kiss him. I pull back savouring some salty and tasty tomato flavour on my palate, that and the luscious savour of my man's kiss.

Settling back on my seat, he asks with a stunned visage, "What brought that on?"

"Eat, Silviu. And I'm sorry, sometimes I just can't resist you."

"Aww. Is that cuz – "

"Yes, my Romani stud – it's because I'm hopelessly in love with you, you big lug."

"Good to hear. Now, just don’t forget it."

I eat a fry and make sure Silviu sees the masticated mess as I say through my grin, "Impossible!"

"Are you feeling better now?"

"I'm feeling like…like, I can't wait to get back to the room and see your face over me again."

"Why, Mr. Corvin...? Whatever could you be referring to?"

"Fuck. You will sure find out."

˚˚˚˚˚

Afternoon light spills in angled shafts. It slowly deepens in an orange-shift as it creeps by in almost imperceptible movement across the floor.

There is not much of an 'afternoon crowd' to speak of roving the galleries of this museum.

It's the sort of history outlet that tries to cover all the bases, and present a few artifacts to fill in the gaps.

Silviu is off to one side of this large open room, and I am scanning the displays at the other end.

My mind happily skips back to Sil and me at the café. We decided that what we needed was just some time to chill, so our coffee and shared slice of cake lingered most of the afternoon as we just reclined, watched the people flow past on the sidewalk, and naturally, held hands. It was nice, really nice. I can almost see me wanting that for not only an afternoon in exotic Targoviste, but for a lifetime back in workaday Toronto. And there must be something to that 'healing touch' notion, for as the hours drifted by, and as my beautiful and 'gifted' man manipulated my fingers within his own, all of my pain seemed to go; the pain of the wound on my forehead, the pain of thinking that I might someday have to take the curse down with me. For then and only then, will I let my Romani go before I drag him down too.

I glance up at the banner of a new case I am stopping in front of. Transylvania it says, and the very hokey association of the word makes me stifle a giggle.

On the brown fabric that wallpapers the back of the case, a black and white reproduction of a portrait is hanging. He looks grand and like a man not to be fooled with in his full suit of armour, and broadsword raised in the air. He seems to be a man in his forties, and his stoic face boasts a handlebar moustache that comes out a good ten centimetres from either side of his cheeks. The name card below it says "Jànos Hunyadi • 1407~1458."

The placard outside the case elaborates:

Jànos de Hunyadi invaded and colonized Transylvania for the Hungarian empire. The local Romanian populace were reduced to serfs tied to the land, or as slaves to be bought and sold to the transplanted Hungarian nobility. Jànos had two sons, one of whom became King Máytás of Hungary.

I move on and look at the next thing in the case. It's a plaster cast of the Hunyadi family crest.

I am reeling back on my heels. It is my family crest, and I immediately have a flashback of that damn raven wiping its beak on the silver version of this family shield on my father's casket. I can see the gore he transferred onto it, the blood of my dad's lawyer after he attacked that man. Then the black thing clawed and scarped its beak on the crest for a moment as if to signify something. All the while its horribly black and pupil-less eyes glared at me.

I shake myself out of the recollection. I lean in close to look at this heraldic emblem in greater detail. Following an unexplained impulse, I reach back and undo the clasp of my gold chain. Now in my hand, I can flip the coin and inspect the back. It too has the same crest, and I think it's funny that I never really looked over the worn image close enough to recognize it, or even consider the fact that this coin was issued by a king of Hungary.

Suddenly I am drawn to ponder a particular feature on the plaster cast of the crest. It is a shield, divided into quarters. The top left and lower right sections are partitioned into horizontal stripes. A double-barred cross – the cross of Lorraine, I think it is called – is in the top right quadrant, but the lower left has something I never paid any attention to before – a raven.

It is turned to the left and its whole body is seen in profile.

'Shit,' I think. I manipulate the coin around in my palm, and sure enough, it's tiny but there as well. 'The raven is a sign of my family.' Now I can read the Latin text on the front of the coin too.

MATHIAS REX HVNGARIÆ • BOHEMIÆ • DACIA • 1462

Meaning: Matthias, King of Hungary, Bohemia and Dacia, which I have learned is the ancient Roman name for Romania, presumably referring to the Hungarian colony in Transylvania.

Silviu's soft voice speaking into my ear startles me. "You'll never believe what I found," he tells me, and starts tugging at my elbow.

"Wait!" I demand jokingly. "That's my line."

My Romani protector leads me across the room, my coin and chain still dangling through my fingers. Silviu plants me in front of a large wall-mounted photo of a castle. And what a castle it is too. It has more towers, turrets and gothic tracery than you could wave a magic wand at.

I glance over and get lost in Sil's animated expression; his baby blues are all aglow.

I chuckle with a slight head-twisting, and say dumbly, "It's a castle. This country is full of 'em."

"But you'll never believe what this one is called. Read for yourself."

I step to the side of it. Its information card rocks me back on my heels again.

"Castle Corvin," I murmur out loud.

"Castle Corvin," Sil confirms. "In Transylvania. Vlad the Impaler was held captive there in 1462. So your Vlad visions were leading you home."

"Shit…" I stammer in dumbfounded wonder.

"Shit is right," Silviu confirms. "But at least we now know where to go."