The Countesses of Tannensdal

I let my hands explore her, sliding them across her waist and down her hips. Far from resisting, from pleading demureness, she took my head in her hands and moaned softly against my mouth. My desire throbbed against my thigh like a bar of flame and I could feel her press herself against it, drawing a moan from me to match hers.

After an eternity that lasted too short she pulled away. Her breathing was as ragged as mine, I noticed.

"You are not afraid, you say." Her voice held the tiniest of quavers. "Despite what you saw this afternoon, in the mirror, you are not afraid."

I leaned forward to kiss her again, but she pressed a hand to my lips. "No. Understand. It was your turn to see, to find out what kind of lover I am. This way," and she brushed her lips lightly against mine, "we will be on equal terms when we make love."

She stepped away and, slipping my jacket from her shoulders, handed it to me. Then she turned to go inside. At the door she stopped and looked over her shoulder. "When we make love," she repeated, then paused before adding, "tomorrow."

Her scent lingered still on my jacket as I pulled it back on. With her gone, the night's chill enveloped me. The contrast with the burning flame in my trousers was a curiously pleasant one, and I turned to gaze out across the blackness.

Deep breaths drew in both the smells from the farms and woodlands far below and the trace of Ilira's perfume from my jacket. I heard an owl hoot, and some night hunter barked as it pursued its prey.

I stood for a long while, enjoying the sounds and the silence, the black night and the bright moon. In the valley a few lights twinkled as if trying to compete with the sea of stars above. I felt content. It seemed that Tannensdal had wormed its way into my heart as its Countess had.

At last the cold and the weariness in my bones became too much. I turned to go back inside, then froze. Von Raszen stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as if he had been studying me. In the white moonlight his face appeared haggard.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"To repeat my warning." He pushed himself upright. "And to beg for your help."

"Help?" I scoffed. "You'll have no help from me for your foolish schemes. Let me through." And I tried to push past him.

His hand seized my arm in a grip of steel that belied the sunken cheeks and dark circles around his eyes. There was grey in his moustache, I noticed. "She is a monster, Major!" he hissed. "This afternoon... You asked if I'd had a bad dream. Well, I did. She came to me, in my bed -- though it wasn't my room. It was-- It's difficult to describe."

I had stopped and did not try to pull free from his grasp. I had seen the events, of course, and I knew what he was about to say. Yet I was fascinated, unable to tear myself away, unable to interrupt.

"She came to me," he continued, staring at me with a dark fire in his gaze. "Naked and sensuous. She came to me and we made love. At the end, when she... with her mouth, she... I felt her drain my very essence. My strength, my vitality, my life-force. It flowed out of me like blood from a severed artery."

He stopped, his eyes uncertain for the first time, and his grip relaxed. I pulled my arm free. "Well, congratulations, young man," I said with a cheer I did not feel. "That's how it always feels -- how it's supposed to feel!"

Again I made to step past him, and again he stopped me. His confidence seemed to surge up once more. "It was not that! I know-- It was not that. Look at me!" And he gestured towards his face. "Look at my face, and tell me that this is natural."

I did not try to argue. Undeniably he seemed drained of something -- his essence, his life-force, whatever he wanted to call it. But I simply could not find it in myself to care. Too many times in my life I had seen anger and retaliation run out of hand, and I was tired of it. If Von Raszen had come here deliberately to harm Ilira, he deserved whatever she did to him.

He must have seen it in my face, for he stepped aside at last. "Very well. If you will not listen, or help, then I must look for aid elsewhere. I should wish you luck with her, but I fear it will be useless. Goodnight, Major Woodall. Goodnight -- and perhaps farewell."

IV.

The following morning he was gone. Ilira and I were having breakfast alone in the salon when a retainer sidled up and whispered in her ear. She listened, her look growing alarmed, then sent him away with some hurried instructions in her own language.

"Rudolf has gone," she told me. "Last night. The gate was closed, so he must have climbed over the wall."

I shrugged, a deplorable habit I had picked up in India. "Good riddance. He was tiresome."

"Not so." She rose and began pacing up and down before the window. "The timing is... poor. After yesterday afternoon he should have stayed."

I took a sip of my tea. "He was frightened. Your... exhibition with him yesterday. He thought you were draining his life-force."

She stopped and looked at me. "He told you this? What did he say?"

Little by little I narrated what had happened, that night and the morning before. About his supposed Order and their suspicions about Ilira. About his fears of what she was doing to him. About his pleas for my help.

When I was done, she took a deep breath and sat. "Well, I suppose there is nothing to be done. It is unfortunate, but I doubt he can do much harm."

She seemed distraught nevertheless, and I reached out to take her hand in mine. "Tell me. Clearly there's more here than meets the eye. Let me help."

Her gaze came up to meet mine, and for a long moment she stared at me searchingly. Then she gave a small smile and pressed my hand to her lips. "Dearest cousin, I believe you truly mean what you say. Very well, if you are not afraid, and if you truly wish to help, I will unburden some of my cares onto your strong shoulders."

With that she rose and led me out to the sunlit balcony. I was coming to understand that this was her favourite place, where she felt most herself, and I watched her closely as she placed her hands on the stonework and gazed out over the valley.

"The Order of the Crossed Keys," she announced after a silence. "That is the Order of which Rudolf spoke. They believe themselves secretive and moral. In truth, their assemblies to discuss dark mysteries and darker deeds are an excuse for dining, drinking and feeling superior." The scorn was plain on her face.

"But this society," she continued, "have one truth that they worry at like a dog with a bone. The Countesses of Tannensdal, as Rudolf told you. Every year, or two years, or five years, one of their number vows to find the truth."

I could picture the scene. A gathering of young aristocrats like Von Raszen, drunk on wine and their own pride, bandying tales of the supernatural. Almost as a matter of course they would alight on the rumours of the most beautiful woman in Europe, who lived conveniently within a week's travel. No wonder this Order of the Crossed Keys had so many volunteers, even if they believed the stories.

Ilira's eyes were watching me closely now. "So they come here, and I welcome them with open arms. Why not? They are always pretty, vigorous young men. They seek me out with open eyes."

Still I kept silent, knowing somehow what was coming.

"So I take their vigour from them. I use it to prolong my own life. Does that shock you?" There was a fierce challenge in those golden eyes -- but concern too, I thought.

I chose my words deliberately before I replied. "Two days ago I would have been shocked, perhaps. Now?" Again I shrugged. "It's certainly not a surprise."

A faint smile danced over her lips. "There are those that would call me evil, a murderer, a monster. Yet all I do is seek to live as long as I can. Is that not the most human desire of all? Faced with an enemy that wishes to end us, do we not all fight for survival?" Her voice was firmer now, fierce and defiant.

Slowly I nodded. I had found myself in that very situation, and I knew well the instinct not to give in -- whether the foe was armed with a sword or spear, a sense of moral righteousness or the cold fingers of death.

"I should not call you cousin," she was saying. "It was a ruse to lure you here. William... I loved him, and he me. Yet we knew that I could never remain with him, and he would not abandon his family. Perhaps I should have resented that, but truthfully it made me love him more."

I listened silently. Even though William was half a century dead, I hated him at that moment. Ilira's words fired a jealousy inside me, and even as I was aware of it, and its foolishness, I was powerless to keep it in check.

She took one of my hands and pressed it against her cheek. "When I read about you, I had to meet you. I lied, and deceived you, and for that I am sorry. Yet I am not sorry that I brought you here."

My heart was pounding in my chest. If I had wanted to speak, to interrupt her, I would not have been able to.

"I loved William, and I hoped that you would resemble him. And you do," she said with a smile, reaching up to stroke my cheek. "Your face, your body... You could be his twin, though you are older than he was when I knew him. But there the resemblance ends."

Still I was unable to say a word. My heart, ready to burst moments ago, now felt like a great ball of lead in my chest.

"You are gentler," she whispered. "You are more measured. Wiser, kinder." Taking both my hands in hers, she kissed them, then looked up at me with large, tawny eyes. "In time, I believe I could love you more than I loved William. Will you let me find out? Will you stay?"

I was about to answer, but she cut me off suddenly.

"No, before you decide, I must warn you." She turned and gazed out over the valley once more. "The people of this place sometimes resent me. There have been others, here and elsewhere, who... who took more life. Who used it for power. They terrorised their lands, slaughtered their enemies, caused horror all around." A shudder ran through her frame. "Sooner or later they all came to an end. They burned up from within, or they incited so much resistance that eventually they were brought down."

Again she breathed deeply, savouring the morning air of her home. "That is not what I want. All I want is to live in peace and quiet. I take no more than I need for that. The villagers understand, and when they work themselves into a frenzy I can always talk them down. My needs are met by the fools that the Order obligingly sends to challenge me. So far," and even from the side I saw the triumphant smile, "none have succeeded."

Another man might have pointed out that it was an unfair contest. That the fools stood no chance against her powers. But I had gone into battle bearing sabre and pistol against foes armed with spears and sticks, and had killed without remorse.

In the face of death, one does not question the justice of being better equipped than the foe. Would they give up an advantage if the roles were reversed? No, nearly twenty years of army life had ingrained in me an awareness that the only fair fight was one that you walked away from.

So I looked at this enchanting creature with sympathy and understanding, and something deeper, something greater. Could this be love? After only two days, could I have fallen in love already?

There was physical attraction, undeniably. Her mere presence made me hard. Her face was so beautiful that I sometimes forgot to breathe when I looked at her. But it was more than that. I enjoyed her company more than I ever had with anyone before. Her wit, her heart, her warmth -- they all drew me to her like a moth to a flame.

Still, I had come here hoping to flee the violence of a soldier's life. If being with Ilira meant danger, or the threat of danger, then what had I gained?

Are you afraid? she had asked me before, and I had wondered, Should I be?

"Thank you for telling me," I said when I trusted my voice. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I too would like to know you better. But give me time to think."

The smile she gave me was shy, and we kissed again until we were interrupted by the Hoary Cripple. Ilira tore herself away from me and made her excuses, explaining that she had matters to attend to.

Left alone, I decided to explore the countryside around the castle. Returning to my room I changed into my tweeds. After a moment's hesitation I also took my pepper-box revolver from my valise, and a handful of spare bullets. I felt foolish, but told myself that safe was better than sorry. Ilira's words of angry villagers were fresh in my ears, and there was a sense in the air of something about to happen, like a thunderstorm brewing on a summer's day.

Behind the castle the valley's sides rose steeply, covered with ancient trees that clung to their leaves despite autumn's advance with the stubbornness of ages. With my pepper-box firmly in the pocket of my jacket I found myself a stout stick and followed a path upwards.

It was another fine morning, and I relished the fresh air. My night, after I had left Von Raszen, had been uneventful. Merri had made no appearance, to my relief, and I had slept solidly until sunrise. Another of Ilira's ancient servants -- besides Merri, I realised, they were all decrepit -- had arrived to help me shave and dress.

Away from the castle, away from Ilira, I took the opportunity to think with a clear mind. The situation was an unsettling one. Ilira's confessions -- how old was was she? -- coupled with the visions in the mirrors were startling. Only a week ago they would have been unimaginable.

Yet I found myself not regretting any of it. So what if my new cousin -- I corrected myself -- so what if this unrelated Countess was locked in an age-old struggle with a mysterious Order of holier-than-thou crusaders? They wished her ill, and she used their enmity to protect herself. I found no fault in that.

No, I was happy where I was, and with whom. I resolved to write to Trieste that afternoon and have my chest sent up. This put me in mind of Ilira's invitation of the previous night, and I lost myself in fantasies as I made my way up the mountainside.

So it was that my shaft was already throbbing with fire against my leg when I saw Merri. She was crouched down by the side of the path, a basket beside her that was filled with berries. Her buttocks were pointing enticingly in my direction, the material of her dress draped over the curves as if to highlight rather than conceal them.

Resting my stick against a tree, I crept towards her and ran my hand along her thigh. She gave a start and turned round then, recognising me, turned back to her berries. She did not slap my hand away, I noticed, so I left it where it was, resting on her plump arse.

With my free hand I gallantly picked some of the fruit for her, but when I presented them she laughed and threw them away. They were, truthfully, quite sad compared with her own harvest of plump, ripe fruit.

Her hand was purple with juice. Ignoring her protests, I took it and brought it to my mouth. Her eyes were solemn and wide as I carefully ran my tongue along her middle finger until it reached the tip, then I sucked it all the way in.

She giggled, but I'd felt a shiver run through her. Instead of pulling her hand away, she presented the next finger. One by one I licked her fingers clean, then her palm, before running my tongue along the inside of her wrist to her elbow.

The shivers became gasps as I sucked on the veins beneath the skin and she toppled back onto the dark forest floor. I followed her down, my body on top of hers. Our lips met, our tongues met, and her arms wrapped around me.

I reached down and drew her dress up to expose her pale legs, clad in white stockings. Pulling away from her, I crawled back until my face was level with the patch of short dark curls. I breathed deeply, inhaling her warm scent. Her hands rested lightly on my head, her fingers playing with my hair.

She tasted as wonderful as I remembered. Plunging my tongue into her entrance, I lapped up the cream that seemed to flood from her before kissing her as passionately as she had kissed me a moment before.

She pulled me up against her, moaning and gasping as my tongue explored her secret vale. Within minutes, it seemed, she was squirming on the ground, rising up to meet my lips, then her knees clamped around my shoulders and she gave a small wail.

Judging it time to seek my own pleasure, I sat up on my knees to unfasten my trousers. As I withdrew my shaft, though, deep red and almost pulsing, Merri rose to her feet. For an instant I wondered whether she was leaving and I would be reduced to cleaning my own barrel, as an acquaintance in the horse artillery described it.

Instead, she leaned forward and planted one hand against a tall tree by the side of the path with her feet apart. With her other hand, she hiked her dress up until I was staring at her bare arse. Between her thighs I could see her lower lips, pink and glistening among the curls.

Neither of us had said a word yet, nor did we now. Her eyes spoke an invitation that was easily understood in any language, and I stood and positioned myself behind her. Placing the head of my shaft against her entrance, I pressed forward.

Her warmth enveloped me. With every forward motion my presence forced a gasp from her, every retreat elicited a wail. Soon my entire length was inside her. I relished the feeling of heat, of tightness, the sense of mastery, the anticipation of causing her pleasure.

Then I grasped her hips, withdrew and thrust forward. Her face was pressed into her arm, and she seemed to be biting at her half-sleeve. Her gasps turned to stifled moans as I pounded away, searching for my own fulfilment.

The hand that was clutching the folds of her dress let go and slid down the naked skin of her lower back. Still thrusting, I watched as one long finger crept along until it found her other hole. There, it teased and ran circles before pressing inside to the first knuckle, then pulled out as I withdrew, only to probe forward again in time with my next thrust.

In and out we pressed. She withdrew her face from her arm to look back at me. Her eyes were wild and her moans had been replaced by an almost silent keening. The sight was intoxicating, and all too soon I felt my excitement catch flame.

Instead of holding it back, I thrust faster and faster, forcing the fire up and out. When it came, it burst through me and into Merri, setting her alight as I released deep inside her. Our grunting moans mingled together as I fed another flame into her, then another, then collapsed forward to lean on her back.

I opened my eyes at last, taking deep breaths and trying to steady my legs. Merri was clinging to the tree to stay upright. She glanced back again, and smiled a happy smile. I was about to speak when something caught my eye.

Beyond the trees, a short way down the slope, stood a chapel. The grey slate roof and brown walls had until now escaped what little attention I could spare for my surroundings, and perhaps I still would not have seen had not the door opened and a figure in black emerged.

It was my erstwhile travelling companion, Father Doonan. The beaming face had taken on a serious look as he stood, bareheaded, and gazed up at the sky.

This is indeed a fortuitous morning! I thought to myself. I had been impressed by the priest's kind nature and intelligence, and the opportunity to discuss my situation with him was one that I could not let slip by.

I gently pushed myself off Merri and fastened my trousers before helping the girl upright and rubbing her palms where the bark had cut into them. I tried to give her the polite attention she deserved, but evidently she noticed my distraction. She phrased a question in her own language, which I did not understand, and I replied in English, leaving her as confused.