Aurelius Chronicles: Lord of the Mountain (Book 1)

Chapter Six: Bon fire Night

​A week passed, and the sharp edge of terror began to dull, replaced by the mundane rhythm of recovery. Leo was discharged from the regional hospital, with his arm in a sling.

He set up a command center in the Corbul Negru’s common room, analyzing the few blurry frames of data they had captured before fleeing the castle.

​In the meantime, Isolde and Maya tried to integrate themselves into the village. They spent their days in the small market square or the bakery, buying bread and asking questions.

​The answers they received were a frustrating tapestry of contradictions.

Everyone only talked about one person,  The youngest prince of the Von Caersteins 

​"The Prince?" a baker said, dusting flour from his hands. "He was a great military leader who went mad with grief. He jumped from the spire."

​"No, no," an old weaver corrected them later. "He was a sorcerer. He dabbled in alchemy to bring his bride back and blew himself up. The castle is haunted by the explosion, not a man."

​"A tyrant," the village priest muttered, crossing himself. "He taxed the people until they starved, and God struck him down with the plague."

​Every story ended in death.

The villagers seemed terrified of the castle, yet completely ignorant of the true nature of its master. To them, it was a place of bad luck and old ghosts, nothing more.

********

​On Friday evening, the mood in the village shifted. Garlands of dried garlic and autumn flowers were hung on doors, and a large pyre of wood was constructed in the center of the square.

​Marius found the team at dinner. He looked more relaxed than usual, his dark eyes gleaming with a strange anticipation.

​"Tonight is Noaptea Focului Viu," Marius announced. "The Night of the Living Fire. It is an old festival, older than the church. We light the fires to guide the wandering spirits home.

You should come. After the rituals, there will be wine, music, and no talk of work."

​"I could use a drink," Maya admitted, looking at the dark window. "And Leo needs to get out of this room before he starts naming the dust bunnies."

​Isolde hesitated. The image of the man in the castle still haunted her dreams, but going to such gathering seem like a good idea

​"Okay," Isolde smiled. "Let's go."

​The village felt safe, and the music drifting in from the street was inviting, a fast, rhythmic violin tune  that stirred the blood.

​The village square was transformed. The massive bonfire roared in the center, casting long, dancing shadows against the slate-grey cottages. The villagers, usually so dour and reserved, were laughing, drinking strong, dark wine from clay cups, and dancing the hora-a circle dance where everyone held hands and spun around the fire.

​Marius was a gracious host, ensuring their cups

He watched the festivities with a proprietary air, standing near the edge of the light.

​Isolde allowed herself to be pulled into the dance by Maya. For the first time since arriving in Romania, she felt warm. The wine was sweet and heavy, the fire was hot, and the laughter was infectious. She spun until she was dizzy, finally breaking away from the circle to catch her breath near the edge of the crowd.

​The cold mountain air hit her flushed skin, cooling the sweat on her neck. She leaned against the rough stone wall, watching the sparks fly up into the pitch-black sky.

​Then, the hair on her arms stood up.

​It wasn't the wind. It was the same sensation she remembered from the castle, a sudden, absolute stillness in the air.

​Isolde looked across the square, past the roaring fire and the spinning dancers.

​Standing in the shadows, just beyond the reach of the firelight, was a man.

​The crowd moved, a blur of color and noise, but he was perfectly still. He was not wearing the medieval velvet she remembered from the castle.

He was dressed in a long, high-collared coat of fine black wool, cut in a style that was centuries out of date yet undeniably elegant.

​He was pale, moonlight caught in marble making the villagers around him look flushed and coarse.

​Isolde’s breath hitched.

​He was looking directly at her.

​It was him. The man from the castle. 

Aurelius she whispered the name possessively  again without noticing. Like she had yearned for him for a long time.

​But he didn't look like a spirit this time,  He looked solid, real, and breathtakingly dangerous.

His golden eyes locked onto hers across the expanse of the festival, burning with an intensity that made her knees weak.

There was no sadnessin his face tonight,  just a small smile, a longing gaze, and a profound, hungry curiosity.

​He raised a gloved hand slightly, almost as if acknowledging her, or perhaps beckoning.

​"Isolde?" Maya’s voice broke the spell. "Here, try this pastry, it’s amazing."

​Isolde flinched, turning to Maya for a split second. "Maya, look! Over there, by the alley!"

​Isolde grabbed Maya’s arm and pointed back toward the shadows.

​But it was empty.

​The man was gone. There was no sign of him, Just the stone wall and the darkness.

​"Who? What did you see?" Maya asked, squinting into the gloom.

​Isolde stared at the empty space,  her eyes darted left and right, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Had it been the wine? Or Her own obsession manifesting a hallucination?

​"I... I thought I saw someone," Isolde stammered, rubbing her eyes. "The man from the castle

Maya flinched back, a bit.

"Uhmm... Izzy, the castle is miles away up a mountain. A ghost didn't come to the party. You're tired." She don't want to create unnecessary fright for herself. Tho she's scared.

​Isolde nodded slowly, accepting the excuse, but her skin still tingled where his gaze had touched her.

​From the edge of the square, Marius watched the whole scenario. He took a slow sip of his wine, hiding a small, knowing smile. The King had come for his bride.