All right, so chapter one of my Carpathian fanfic. I have nothing much to say besides that I hope you enjoy it.
disclaimer: I do not own any of the Carpathians or subsequent characteristics of the world. I only let my imagination play for a bit.
"You look very excited today, Sybil," Slavica commented as a young woman entered the inn.
Sybil grinned shyly and nodded, setting down her pack. After a small silence, she dove into conversation. "You know I've been researching the Migration Period during the decline of the Roman Empire."
Slavica nodded, lips curving up. Personally, she did not understand the allure of history, but there was no escaping Sybil's enthusiasm for the subject. The young woman had a way of sweeping someone off to ancient kingdoms and battlefields. Though Sybil had been in the village only a few weeks, Slavica had come to like and respect the quiet young historian.
Sybil's smile widened and her breath caught in her excitement. Really, everyone told her she made too much of a fuss over old stories and forgotten tales, but she could not help it; everything interested her. But, for a number of years, the northern region of Romania--and its long and rich history--had become her obsession.
She was determined to find out whatever she could and incorporate it into her growing thesis. Besides, while the region was not specific to her subject, it still pertained, somewhat, to her research. Not to mention Sybil could use the quietude and peace found in the Carpathian Mountains. With their mystery and beauty, they reminded her of home.
"A few months ago, I had come across mention of the 'Karpatii' people. It was said they thrived amongst the peaks of the Carpathian Mountains."
Slavica became abruptly still. "Oh?"
Unconscious of her companion's sudden intensity, Sybil continued. "I had originally believed these Karpatii had been assimilated into other tribes during the Migration Period." She ran her hand through her hair awkwardly. "I didn't mention them before because I know this is pretty boring."
Numb, Slavica shook her head in protest.
Seeming to take the gesture as encouragement, Sybil continued. "Anyway. Recently I've found evidence of their presence beyond even then."
The young woman bobbed excitedly. "I was going through some documents pertaining to the Turkish Wars when I found mention of the 'Karpaty' defending a village deep within the Carpathian Mountains. Though the spelling is different, I have to hope they're one in the same, as both name reference the Carpathian Mountains themselves."
The blood drained from Slavica's face and the woman leaned heavily against the counter. This time, Sybil took notice.
Concerned for the older woman, Sybil gently patted the innkeeper's hand. "Are you all right?" she asked. "Should I call for a doctor?"
Slavica waved her off. "No need," she managed. "I did not sleep well last night."
Sybil watched the woman for a long moment. "All right," she said reluctantly, shouldering her pack, "but do get some rest while I'm out of town."
At Sybil's words, Slavica suddenly straightened, concern and fear written in her expression. "You mean to leave?"
Sybil nodded, frowning in confusion. "I thought I mentioned it earlier. There is an old church deeper in the forest and I'm going there to see what I can find out about these mysterious Karpaty." She shook her head. "There is very little information about them, and they are almost non-existent after the Turkish Wars. Not to mention the fact that many people around here refuse to acknowledge their existence. I'm hoping this church can at least point me in the right direction."
If possible, Slavica's face grew paler. "Please, do not go. At least wait until my friend Mikhail visits; he is a great scholar and perhaps he will have some answers for you."
Sybil laughed good-naturedly. "Please apologize to him for me, but this is something I'd rather not save until later."
She reached around and gave Slavica's hand a rare squeeze. "I'll be back in a few days, I promise."
Slavica studied her for a moment and then sighed. She knew stubbornness when she saw it. "All right, then. But promise me you will keep to the church--especially in the night. The forest is filled with many dangerous creatures."
"I promise," Sybil vowed. "Now, all that's needed is for me to stop by my cabin for a few last minute things." She smiled sheepishly. "I've forgotten something already."
She turned towards the door of the inn, but stopped and smiled back at Slavica. "Thank you for your help, Slavica." Sybil blushed shyly and then crossed the room. "I'll see you in a few days."
Stepping back out into the morning sun, Sybil winced. She could have sworn it was just overcast a few minutes before. Now, however, there was hardly a cloud in the sky. But then, it was rather early in the morning, and she had often heard that the weather around the mountains was mercurial.
Groaning into the unfamiliar morning air, she set off for her truck.
For two months, she studied in Bucharest, trying to gather data for her doctorate. Her research had soon taken her to the city of Cluj-Napoca, in the shadow of the Carpathian Mountains. It had not been long after arriving in the ancient city that Sybil ran across mention of the Karpatii. Carpathians.
But continued research into the new subject proved difficult. The Romanians clung possessive to their histories, and Sybil constantly found herself faced with roadblocks. And, After another month of searching, she had found only three other mentions of the Karpatii, the name disappearing after the rise of the Magyars.
There, Sybil decided to stop looking. She believed the Karpatii had died out--or been assimilated by the cultures of other more dominant tribes. But the Karpatii filled her mind. Night and day, she thought only of them. Even her dreams were invaded by the mysterious people. They were fast turning into an obsession, and Sybil considered it a stroke of fate that she found them again.
While traveling throughout the numerous villages in northern Romania, she found a record mentioning a village saved from Turkish armies by the Karpaty people. Though the record mentioned only the deeds of a pair of twins, Sybil had felt deep in her bones that it was the break she had looked for. Having gathered enough information to substantially add to her thesis, Sybil chose to remain within the shadows of the Carpathian Mountains to work for a bit on the writing aspect of her doctorate. There, she hoped to hear more of the elusive Karpaty tribe.
Though she rented a cabin not far from the village, Sybil took every chance to visit the inn, where she was sure to find many of the residents milling about. The information flowing through the tiny hub interested Sybil, and she found she grew to rather like a good many people in the village.
It took three more weeks, but finally Sybil had found something. Someone in the village mentioned an old church higher up the mountains which had been built around the time of the last mention of the Karpaty. It was a long shot, but Sybil--hoping the church would provide a few more clues--was determined to find it.
Even if she found nothing about her mystery people, Sybil would consider the trip a good adventure, in the very least. The church was a part of the flow of time, a relic from another era. Sybil would love simply to stare at it.
A sigh escaped her as she got into her truck. Regardless of what she told herself, an adventure was nothing without her best friends.
Eliana Lowry and Aingeal Huggins had been with her since high school and they had a knack for making anything seem fun. But, with college over and life beginning, the three had seen less of each other. Eliana had moved to Japan to teach English, while Aingeal remained in the states, working at a University library.
Since traveling to Europe for her doctorate work, Sybil had not seen either of her friends in nearly six months. But now, more than ever, she wished they were with her. They could at least make the prospect of hiking through the woods looking for a centuries-old church seem less intimidating.
Sybil parked in front of the cabin and dashed to the front door. Though the old church might not even hold any information, she was already getting jittery. The sooner she arrived there, the better. But she really needed her maps first. And her GPS.
Scolding herself for her forgetfulness, Sybil entered her cabin and stooped low to pet the black cat who flung itself at her legs.
"Hey, Hecate," she crooned before marching over to a nearby table.
Sure enough, there were her maps and GPS, lying there as innocently as when she placed them there.
"I'm going to get lost and tumble into a pre-dug grave," she muttered to Hecate.
The cat simply stared at her with molten gold eyes.
Sybil gathered her things and then went throughout the small cabin, trying to see if she was missing anything else. "All right," she finally said, striding towards the door. "Be good, Hecate, and don't forget to eat your dead birds and things outside."
Hecate cocked her head to the side and then began promptly to preen herself. Sybil laughed and shut the cabin door.
Certain now that she had everything, Sybil got back into her truck and spread out her map on the dash. She was horrible with directions, but at least she could use a compass. Though her GPS certainly made things a lot easier.
According to what she could glean from the villagers, the church was to the north, settled in a small, hidden valley not too far away. Many of the villagers feared going there, claiming there was a strange feel to the areas surrounding certain mountains.
Though Sybil was admittedly superstitious--especially while roaming about the Romanian countryside--she believed herself perfectly safe during the day.
In all likelihood, she was more apt to run into a bear or a wolf pack than any supernatural creatures, but it still paid to be cautious. It was not good to wander about at night anywhere. Even her own home in the Appalachians proved disturbing in the darkest hours.
Still, Sybil preferred working at night and was unused to the early morning. So, when she tried to figure out how to work her GPS, her mind merely blanked.
Growling in frustration, Sybil closed her eyes and leaned back against her headrest. This might take all day, but she was determined to find that church. Even if it held nothing of interest, it in itself was a piece of history, its age written into the very stones.
Opening her eyes, Sybil turned the GPS on and punched the keys. Within moments, she had it working properly. All she had needed was to settle her thoughts.
Without hesitation, she put the maps and GPS in the passenger seat and started the truck. With one last glance at the cabin, she drove away and towards her own piece of history.
As the trail she followed ended, Sybil glanced at her watch. It had taken approximately an hour and a half of careful driving to reach that point. And, according to her maps, she had a few miles left to go.
Scowling at the prospect of hiking out the rest of the distance, Sybil gathered her things and got out of the truck.
Her only worry about walking was her innate ability to injure herself at every turn. At least indoors, she could be assured of not getting a severe infection. Or tripping over something and hitting her head on a rock. Though she had bashed her head on a countertop years before with relatively little trouble.
But, then, she had always felt so calm out of doors. She could lie for hours on the ground, just listening. The mere action always lifted her spirits. Still, hiking had never been her thing.
Despite her fears, Sybil traveled through the woods with surprising ease. Though obviously disused, there was a faint path meandering through the forest. Though the foliage was thick, she could see the dark shapes of the mountain growing steadily larger.
The time flew by and Sybil found herself approaching a clearing up ahead. Heart beating in excitement, she rushed the last few feet and burst from the trees, smile tugging at her lips.
The church was small and unkempt, but with the sun lighting it, the structure looked to have come straight from a story book. Its stones were gray, the windows large and uncovered. Tall grass sprang from between the cobblestone path leading to the entrance, and wildflowers bloomed around the crumbling building.
Sybil stepped forward but stopped as she felt a slight resistance to the air. Frowning, she took a deep breath and began walking towards the structure. The air moved around her and, for a moment, Sybil felt as if some gossamer veil was being lifted. The sensation was soon forgotten, however, as she turned her attention back onto the church.
Reverently, Sybil crossed the distance. She was not the most religious person, but even here she could tell there was something incredibly holy about the place. Though the church was forlorn with its broken walls and holey roof, it was a sight to see, a testament to the loving hands that had built it so far from civilization.
She paused for a moment, bending to stroke one of the flowers growing prettily next to the entrance. For a moment, she imagined a flow of energy between them, and Sybil smiled at the thought. She hoped the flower--and the rest of the meadow itself--could continue to prosper so beautifully. Sybil felt that if she could just give a piece of herself, she could make that wish happen.
Straightening, she focused on the task at hand. With shaking hands, Sybil gently pushed at the rotting door and stepped across the threshold. Her eyes greedily soaked in the sight of the lovely, warm interior.
The walls, though stone, were decorated with dust tapestries, depicting holy scenes through the grime left by time and the elements. Simple wooden benches lines the sanctuary, a deep, rich color that told Sybil the builders had been supplied with a good amount of money.
But it was the altar, with its towering crucifix which drew Sybil's gaze. Christ's image had been lovingly carved into the wood before being inlaid with what appeared to be silver. Though it was plainer than many Sybil had seen, it was far lovelier. Such a simple design held a certain elegance which she could not deny.
Somber now, Sybil approached the altar and knelt, bowing her head with respect. It did not matter that her belief in God had long since faded; she could feel the echoes of belief and faith which had gone into the creation of this isolated church.
After a moment, Sybil rose and went over to one of the nearby tapestries. Carefully, she blew away the dust laying on the delicate threads.
As the material moved slightly, Sybil cringed. A historian she may be, but an archaeologist she was not. Uncovering artifacts was not her forte. Still, some of the dust was removed, giving Sybil a better look at the scene unfolding before her.
That particular tapestry contained a collage of scenes from the Old Testament, set in a pattern seeming to allude to the Turkish Wars.
Catching a glimpse of something interesting, Sybil bent a little and ever so gently brushed her hand over the scene of Daniel in the lion's den. The depiction, however, was a bit different than she remembered from her youth.
In the story, God held close the mouths of the lions to prevent Daniel from death. On the tapestry, however, the lions were held fast by a tall, forbidding man with long dark hair. Though the man lay dead in the next scene, he had quite obviously kept the lions from devouring Daniel.
Sybil let out a sound of excitement. Could this, then, be a reference to the Karpaty?
With increasing anticipation, she examined the other tapestries. But the mysterious figure did not appear again. Sighing in disappointment, Sybil sank to the floor and leaned against one of the benches.
The bench, however, did not stay put. Much to Sybil's surprise, it moved, revealing a small hole in the stone floor.
Heart beating, Sybil took out a flashlight and aimed it into the depression. And, as the beam of light touched on the leather cover of a book, everything stilled.
Sybil reached towards the hole and then stopped. Silently reprimanding herself for her stupidity, the young woman pulled on a pair of gloves, not wanting to damage the obviously old artifact.
Slowly, Sybil reached in an took hold of the book. She pulled the tome from its hiding spot. It was thin, more like a journal than a historical record or Bible.
Holding her breath, she opened the book, wondering desperately what she would find.
Sybil stared at the page, puzzled. She had expected Romanian--perhaps even Hungarian. Though she was no expert in either, she could read at least a little. But this language was neither of those. In fact, Sybil did not recognize the language at all.
Frowning, she attempted to read some of the words out loud. Suddenly, she smiled. This was definitely a language related--in some fashion--to Hungarian. However, it seemed more closely related to Finnish.
Scratching her head, Sybil scanned the pages a bit more, trying to puzzle out the language. She thought it a very old dialect, at the least, perhaps having come into existence before the Finno-Ugric split. Which made it very old indeed. The very fact that, during the time of the Turkish Wars, there were people who could still speak it--let alone write it--was amazing.
Still, without being an expert in the Uralic languages, Sybil could not be certain. Shaking her head in defeat, she wrapped the artifact up. She would send the book to a colleague to be translated. For now, however, she needed to return to her truck.
Glancing outside, Sybil cursed. Already, the sun was beginning its descent. It had taken a couple hours for her to finish walking the distance from the end of the path to the church, and she had tarried too long within the building. She did not think she would make it back to her truck before darkness fell.
Quickly, she packed everything up. She stood looking at the interior of the church for a long moment before hurriedly leaving.
As clouds once more rolled across the sky, Sybil winced. This would not be a pleasant trip, especially if it began to rain.
Sybil rushed along the tiny trail, a strange fear blooming in her heart. Around her, the trees swayed in the wind, whispering for her to hurry. Even the earth seemed to urge her on, though she tripped and scraped her hand along the bark of a nearby tree.
A real sense of urgency filled her and Sybil found herself moving faster and faster through the forest. She made it to her truck in half the time, but the sun was already beginning to set, causing a strange fear to blossom in her heart.
Sybil had always been a little afraid of the dark, her mind imagining all sorts of strange creatures moving through the night. And it was no different then. Her mind whirled as she broke out into a run towards her truck, making her look wildly around for some hidden enemy.
But she saw nothing. Still, the wind picked up, howling in frenzy as she wrapped her hand around the handle of the truck door.
Just as she flung her things into the vehicle, however, Sybil heard a high-pitched cackle. Whirling, she found herself face to face with the most hideous creature she had ever seen.
He looked at her with glowing red eyes, the flesh on his face rotted and worn. At the smell of her fear, he grinned maniacally, revealing yellowed and blood-stained fangs.
Sybil felt a scream gathering in her throat, her legs locking into place as the creature took hold of her injured hand.
"It has been long since such a succulent fly has entered my web," he hissed, lowering his head towards Sybil's still bleeding palm. "Well, little fly, I hope you fear. It makes the feast so much more enjoyable."
Sybil's breath fled her lungs in a painful rush as the vampire sank his fangs into her hand with brutal force. She felt the blood flowing too fast into the creature and, though she tried to pull away, her head began to spin uncontrollably.
The monster quickly abandoned her hand and, eyes gleaming, her tore at her throat. It was then that the darkness took Sybil, her last though of Slavica's warning about the dangers of the night.
Well, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Dark Soul. More chapters should follow. Please remember to review, even if you hated it!
-ravynwren