Drakulas Daughter

Zaleska waited for her father, Vlad Drakwlya. The setting sun dyed the sky blood-red. Even before the raiding party reached the drawbridge, she smelled blood's metallic scent.
Ignoring her duenna's sharp voice from the doorway, she rushed to him. Zaleska stifled a scream as Vlad, the Voivode of Wallachia, dismounted. The shield had disappeared. The dents marred the breastplate, and crimson stained the cloak. Her face lost its color.
"Father, are you injured?" She questioned,
"No. It's Ottoman blood, child," he said, gently stroking her cheek to reassure her.
"Have you stopped Mehmet?"
"I have only slowed him down."
"What makes Mehmet desire tiny Wallachia?"
Vlad stared into the dark woods.
"Mehmet does not just want our land, Zaleska. He intends to transform our churches into stables. He believes that God has abandoned Wallachia." His next words made her shiver.
"Maybe it is time to walk in my grandfather Mircea's footsteps…"
Zaleska's face went white. Like every Wallachian, she had heard of great grandfather Mircea's pact with Satan.
"Holy Mary," she exclaimed, "Bow to Satan?"
"No, dear. I expect the Serbs to help," Vlad said, taking her hand. But he knew it was a false hope.
"I shall pray to the Virgin. She'll hear me." A worried Zaleska left, as Vlad removed his armor. They whispered that her great grandfather Mircea had summoned the devil through a gateway to Purgatory in the dungeon. Was that gateway calling her father?
"That shall never be," whispered Zaleska.

#

Zaleska went down on her knees, hands folded in prayer. The Coronation of the Virgin hung on the wall. She tried but could not concentrate. Sobs of her maids broke into her prayers.
"They rape; they murder… fling children in the fire …."
She pressed her silver crucifix hard and prayed for the Virgin to strike down the invaders. She prayed for light. Yet dark shadows gathered around her.
"Why have you abandoned Wallachia?" She appealed passionately. But instead of the Virgin's face, she saw her father's head on an Ottoman spike. Revolted, she retched and fainted.
When she came to, a disturbing, familiar voice spoke in her ear. Icy fingers walked down her spine.
"Child, the Virgin cannot save Vlad, but my Master can. He never abandons. He demands no obedience. He lets you choose."
She smelled sulfur instead of her lavender scented bed. As if a boiling pit of hell had opened. She pressed her crucifix harder on her chest until pain broke the spell.
"Begone," she said. "You cannot be my great grandfather. No Wallachian forsakes the true path." She gritted her teeth and resisted until the voice faded. She lay down. But that seductive voice returned.
"Wake up, child. Your father faces great peril." Was she dreaming? Before her stood great grandfather Mircea — she had seen his portrait — although he seemed transparent.
. He extended a scroll to her. She recoiled, shivering. The voice urged,
"It is harmless, child, and your father's only hope."
"It can help Father?" She touched it, but it burned her. That brief contact made something shift inside her. Her lifelong dread of the dark vanished, and She accepted the smokey apparition as her long-dead great grandfather.
Mircea said,
"As we speak, your father seeks the forbidden alcove in the dungeons."
"It cannot be. He is virtuous."
"He is desperate, but Vlad cannot decipher the scroll. With my help, you can. Hurry, or it will be too late."
She hesitated. The crucifix in her hand felt cold, lifeless. That terrifying vision — her father's head on a spike — decided her. With a mighty effort, Zaleska turned her back to the Virgin and left her bedroom for the last time, heading for the dungeon.

#

"Gateway to hell." An aged visiting friar had mumbled to Vlad, years ago. When pressed, he added,
"Mircea took the devil's help to defeat Bayezid the Ottoman. Somewhere in the dungeons lies a summoning spell…" Warned, every Voivode after Mircea had avoided the dungeon.
"My neighbors hold back. The Virgin does not answer. Alone, I cannot stop Mehmet. I must turn to what lurks in the dungeons." Vlad said. He spoke to the duenna.
"Zaleska must not leave her bedroom tonight."

#

 A couple of hours before midnight, Vlad and a trusted knight stepped down the dark, narrow stairs to the dungeon. Its stone walls smelled dank, overgrown with moss. Vlad felt as if Mehmet was forcing him down the dungeon steps to torture and kill him.
Voices whispered dire warnings. His dead wife, Justina, pleaded with him to stop.
"No other way to save Wallachia," he whispered back as he descended.
Thick layers of dust covered everything. Yet the smell of old blood lingered. The facing wall of the dungeon held a fearsome array of rusty instruments of torture. Vlad felt fascinated and repelled at the same time.
Torches sputtering in their holders cast more shadows than light. Vlad saw an iron maiden, a stretching rack and two skeletons dangling from the walls. Deep inside, he saw three alcoves on the opposite wall; two were open, fitted with shelves. Someone had bricked up the third alcove.
Instinctively, Vlad knew the scroll would be there. Did someone whisper that thought?
They attacked the brick wall using spears to pry the bricks apart. They clattered on the floor, raising clouds of dust. By midnight, they broke down the wall.
Sword drawn, the knight entered, only to rush out, eyes dilated. Throwing down his sword and without looking at the dumbfounded Vlad, he clattered up the stairs as if pursued by the furies. But before reaching halfway, his body disappeared in a flash of yellow. The dungeon filled with the nauseating stench of burned flesh mingled with sulfur.
Vlad ran towards the stairs, but no sulfurous flame engulfed him. He willed himself to stop, for he needed whatever lurked in the alcove to save Wallachia. With enormous effort, he stepped inside the alcove.
It was empty.
"Is Wallachia doomed then?" He cried out.
Then his eyes adjusted to the velvety darkness, and he saw a stool sitting on a five-pointed star. On the stool rested what he sought, the scroll of summoning. He picked it up with trembling hands …
He could read none of it. The verses were in an ancient Slavonic cipher. He swore out loud. Zaleska's voice stopped him before he could throw the scroll away. She had already reached the bottom step.
"Hold, Father. Let me see it."

#

Zaleska had reached the top of the stairs shortly after Vlad. But revulsion stopped her from following any further. She could hear her father and his knight move about, dropping things, swearing, and coughing in the dust they raised. Near midnight, she heard clattering footsteps and saw a powerful flash of yellow light and heard her father's shouted curses.
Did the fire burn him? She wanted to rush down, but her limbs felt leaden. The crucifix in her fist pulsed with increasing heat. She had to force herself down step by heavy step, her hands seeking the rough stone walls for support.
In her head, Mircea's voice whispered encouragement.
"Just a few more steps; your father needs you." She reached the bottom and took the scroll from Vlad's nerveless hands. This time, the scroll did not burn her. Instead, the Slavic cipher dissolved into readable letters of fire as if by magic. She felt the watchful presence of someone by her side. Great Grandfather Mircea?
She could see nothing but felt it lurking. A looming presence, vast, silent, unmoving. The overpowering smell of sulfur nauseated her. She vomited. Then she saw the pentagram on the floor, and her body jerked as if in an epileptic seizure. She tried to grasp the crucifix, but it slipped out of her damp palm. She half turned to escape, but stopped, seeing her father standing petrified, like a lost child, eyes fixed on the darkness within the alcove.
She could not leave him behind.
As she faltered, the voice inside her ear whispered,
"My master is your only hope. Without him, your father will perish, and Mehmet will destroy Wallachia." Zaleska looked heavenward. No vision, no sign. No other way. Love for her father and her country forced the devout Zaleska to abandon her faith for the first time in her life.
Step by painful step she moved into the pentagram. Her lips moved, but she could utter no words of prayer. Her body felt out of control. As if pulled by invisible strings, she raised the scroll.
Vlad overcame his paralysis as he saw Zaleska enter the pentagram. He was wagering his soul for Wallachia, not the damnation of his beloved daughter.
"I follow my grandfather's godless path now, for You do not answer. But, Dear Lord, spare my daughter." With all his strength, he tried to pull Zaleska out of the pentagram. But some power weakened his limbs, and although she trembled and retched, Zaleska stood firm. Unable to move her, Vlad stepped into the pentagram to stand between Zaleska and the dark alcove. Hesitant at first, then with assurance as if someone unseen was prompting her, she read out the incantation.
At the very depth of the alcove, a nebulous mass, blacker even than darkness, took shape, twisting, fading and forming again. Zaleska was unmoved, but it took all of Vlad's willpower to stand his ground.
From the living darkness came a voice, deep, hollow, and emotionless.
"I know what you want, Vlad. I will empower you to defeat the Ottomans.
"And in return?" asked Vlad, keeping his voice steady with enormous effort.
"Your soul."
"Accepted."
"Also, your pious daughter must forsake the Virgin to serve as my handmaiden in Hades."
"Never!" shouted Vlad. "Let the Ottomans burn me alive."
"And Zaleska? The Janissaries will rape her in front of your eyes. I shall treat her well in Hades, I promise."
"No!" The words were torn out of Vlad, an anguished father choosing his daughter's salvation ahead of his kingdom. Zaleska heard the hollow voice.
"Suffer then, as I curse you for calling me in vain." In spite of her deep faith, even against her survival instincts, Zaleska stepped in front of her father.
"I offer myself, O Dark Lord. Grant me the same powers, and I shall serve you gladly." Vlad lunged at Zaleska.
"Daughter," he cried out in vain. Satan's hand elongated to touch Zaleska's forehead. Her transformation began.
"What have you done, my daughter?" asked the anguished Vlad.
"What I must, Father. I have heard unspeakable tales from wounded soldiers. Tales of rape, torture, and arson; we must save Wallachia from these horrors. There is no other way." Satan's flat, echoing voice said,
"Finish what you must, my handmaiden. I await you in Hades." Tearful eyes on his daughter, Vlad did not notice that Satan touched him before fading away.

#

Vlad watched, horror-struck, as Zaleska transformed. Her incisors protruded out of the two corners of her mouth, drawing her lips into a thin red line. Her cheeks lost their blush to turn pasty white; her limbs elongated, and her fingers grew into clawed ends. Her eyes became dark pools, and behind her eyeballs, purple light flickered. Transformation complete, the creature who had been his daughter turned to Vlad. Her voice turned guttural, and her breath sibilant.
"Father, I feel strong enough to rout the Ottoman myself. But you must capture Mehmet to force a lasting peace. Let us attack the Ottomans tonight, as they sleep."
Vlad gathered the remnants of his forces for one last battle.

#

It was past midnight, and the Ottomans slept. Mehmet sat outside his tent, facing a bonfire. A perimeter guard heard a rustle. His shout never materialized because something grabbed his head with both hands and tore it off his body.
The thud roused other sentries. Mehmet heard beating wings as a monstrous shape dropped out of the dark sky — and into the firelight.
It was not a battle, but a nightmare, the stuff of a madman's dream. Most of the Ottomans fled. Those who fought, she tore apart, limb from limb.
For a fleeting moment, Mehmet saw a horrifying human shape against the night sky. The next minute, a severed head rolled to his feet.
A panicked Mehmet untethered his horse and fled, narrowly escaping Vlad's horsemen who charged out of the grove.
In the campfire's light, Vlad found only torn and bloody bodies that lay piled on top of each other. His men collected the torn off heads and left them impaled on spikes. A grim warning to anyone foolhardy enough to return.

#

Vlad found Zaleska in the castle courtyard, drenched in blood. He recognized his only child, in spite of the horror Zaleska had become. Overcoming repulsion, he embraced her. She stiffened. He stroked her shoulders, arousing childhood memories. She relaxed slowly. But the smell of blood on her clothes aroused a strange hunger in Vlad. He drew back.
Zaleska had seen Vlad recoil from the brightness of the Ottoman campfire. Now she could smell the change in him. His corruption by Satan's touch was growing fast. Her resolve hardened.
"Wallachia has two monsters now. Neither of us must survive the next sunrise, not I, nor my father." She turned to Vlad.
"Father, no one must see me like this," she said. "Will you come down to the dungeon with me to await dawn? Perhaps … I shall change back."
Taking her father gently by his hand, she led him down to the dungeons and into the alcove where she had been corrupted.

#

Vlad could still see his daughter through her altered guise.
"I wish that I had never found that cursed scroll." He said, eyes welling. She looked lovingly at Vlad.
"It is done, Father. Strange, how I love the dark now. I used to fear the night so much." Vlad nodded; unable to speak. Zaleska said,
"Remember the picnic by the brook?"
"You fell in," said Vlad. "I had to rescue you."
"You were furious."
"No. I was terrified." Zaleska smiled.
"Do you remember the dancing dragonflies?"
"Yes. You said they were angels guarding the brook."
"I do think that they are angels … Is Mother looking down? I miss her." He had no answer.
Looking up, Zaleska saw a rosy flush peep through the tower slits. Daybreak? She tugged at her father's arm.
"Remember how I used to love Orion the hunter?" She said.
"I had to repeat the story every time he rose."
"I long to see the stars. Let us go up the tower."
Holding his hand, Zaleska led her father, like a parent leading a reluctant child. Vlad, bewildered by his strange dread of sunlight, followed because she was still his daughter, and her voice reached that part of his heart as yet untouched by Satan.
"Stand here, Father, for the best view," she said, positioning him where the tower's wall would shield him from early sunlight, while she moved to a spot where sunlight would hit first. She stood between Vlad and the horizon, blocking his vision.
Satan was already there to claim their souls. But by the time they reached the top, the sun had cleared the Carpathians. Dawn rendered him powerless to intervene, for sunlight was not his instrument.
Zaleska only looked at her father. She opened her arms as if to embrace the rising sun's purifying rays.
"You will burn, Zaleska," shouted Vlad as he rushed to pull her back into the shadow.
"The sun will purify us both, Father." Said Zaleska, holding him captive with both arms. She was stronger, for his transformation was incomplete.
A futile struggle. Then Vlad relaxed, for father and daughter, united in mind, had conquered Satan's seed growing inside them. They were whole again. Zaleska held his hand as the light took them both.
Satan stood unmoving in the turret doorway as the ash settled. In all his millennia of patient work — the temptations, the corruptions, the slow-rotting of saints — he had never been answered with this. No refusal. Not martyrdom. Something quieter and more devastating: a father and daughter, holding hands, choosing each other over everything he offered.
He closed his wings against the morning and descended, carrying an unfamiliar weight with him. This time, the sky bled blood-red in the east. But the air smelled of ashes, not blood.

#

Poenari Castle is in ruins today in Arges County, modern Romania. Among the scattered rubble, the tower still stands, because a vast network of roots of a giant Beech holds the tower in eternal embrace.
The End