Carpathia

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But there were always unexplainable things. Things that can make you do the unthinkable.

In the early hours of Sunday morning many years ago, a man and a woman welcomed a healthy baby into their home. Perhaps the healthiest baby in Eastern Europe. The baby was a girl; seven pounds, four ounces with a tiny dollop of brown hair already firmly embedded in her small scalp. It was a cold morning and snow had just begun to cover the Carpathian mountain range. The midwife, an elderly woman named Viorica, had a hard time making her way to the secluded home to oversee the child’s birth. Outside, it was a swirling storm of screaming white and almost impossible to navigate through safely. But she promised herself would see the arrival of this child in particular, so she braved the blizzard outside and arrived at the family’s home just as the final contraction took place. When the tiny pink body of Crina Vulpe emerged from her mother’s womb, the town of Cluj-Napoca changed forever. Crina’s mother, young Ursule -- only 20 years old at the time -- called her their micuţ miracol, which translates to “tiny miracle”. It was true, little Crina was a miracle. It had been nearly impossible for Ursule and her husband, Radu, to conceive. This may seem like a cliche story, but I can assure you that it is not. You see, Radu was quite the handsome man, and although he was a teenager at the time, he and another young girl from town, Iulia, had a child out of wedlock before he married Ursule. Unfortunately, Radu’s young mistress had a difficult time during the birthing process, which ended with the baby’s death. There was no funeral. Iulia was unequivocally depressed and spiraled into a deep depression, ultimately leading to her suicide. Again, there was no funeral. Hardly anyone in town knew Iulia, and she didn’t seem to have any family nearby. Radu took the time he needed to heal before accepting a date with Ursule, as requested by her father. No one to this day knows if it was love, or if they simply married due to the pressure being put on them by both families. Regardless, Ursule and Radu were given a miracle on that icy winter day, from who remains uncertain.

Crina’s tiny fingers curled around Ursule’s thumb, the baby’s eyes still unopened. There were only a few moments of small talk before the couple thanked Viorica for coming and informed him that the priest would be coming to baptize the child within the week. She had planned to head back to her husband that night, but the storm forbid such an action. Ursule and Radu offered up their home for the night, which the grateful midwife humbly accepted. The relationship between the Vulpe family and Viorica was strong. Viorica had been good friends with Ursule’s parents before they passed, so she felt an undeniable connection between herself and the newborn child. It was almost as if she were seeing Ursule being born for a second time.

The house Ursule and Radu called home was quite the distance from town, and it was only from a certain angle that you could see the flickering lights of central Cluj-Napoca. The couple couldn’t afford a home closer to the village, so Radu built them a small home, made from mud and stone in the solidarity of the wild Carpathian mountain range. A wealthier friend of Radu had gifted them a glass pane for a single window on the far side of the dwelling. This was not a luxury the Vulpes, or anyone in their position, could afford under normal circumstances. When storms like the one that night transpired, it provided that extra bit of security and peace of mind.

The rest of the night included several relighting of the fire and the seemingly infinite tears of baby Crina. Radu, expectedly, didn’t mind the noise and the hassle the flames created, in fact, he was so relieved to hear the sounds of a baby so happy, healthy, and… breathing. While an exhausted Ursule slept, he and Viorica took turns cradling the child. Though he had proudly constructed a small crib months in advance, there was something rather soothing about the tiny heart beating against his chest. This was the first day of the rest of his life. As his eyes over at his sleeping wife, and back to his infant daughter, he knew there was nothing more precious than what he had at that exact moment.

It was only a couple of months later that the unimaginable happened. Things started to go terribly wrong for the Vulpe family. It started with little things, such as the well drying up or cattle dying, but the events progressed and Viorica fell ill and eventually passed away exactly three months after Crina’s birth. The bad luck continued over the course of several years, with each event becoming increasingly worse. Radu developed scurvy, which lead to the loss of several teeth. Their home became ridden with lice, bedbugs, and fleas. Food had always been tight, but Radu lost his job in Cluj-Napoca and they were unable to afford even the simple life they had been living.

On the night of Crina’s eleventh birthday, Ursule was kept awake by the series of endless thoughts running through her head. As she lay in bed, she noticed something outside the window; a figure, that could have gone undetected, camouflaged in the moonless night. Ursule, intrigued, swung her legs off of the straw mattress and proceeded to investigate. She pressed her face against the cool window, her shallow breaths allowed for a thick layer of condensation to materialize on the glass in front of her. The shape moved slowly in her direction. Her eyes never left the figure, not for a single moment. She felt a pressure on her chest and her knees began to weaken, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away when the figure was close enough to distinguish details. One could depict what she witnessed as a “zombie”, but that wouldn’t be altogether correct. It was a woman, a woman with black, waxy decaying skin. That skin was seemingly decomposing in strips which closely resembled layers of muscle. The eye sockets were empty -- Ursule would later go on to describe them as, “direct portals to hell”. If you have ever experienced sleep paralysis, you may understand a third of the fear that Ursule Vulpe felt in that split second. It were as if she herself were paralyzed as the creature drew nearer. More details, such as patches of hair on its head, overgrown canines, and a skeletal body became more apparent the closer it got. Soon, the figure’s face was pressed up against the opposite of the window; the only thing separating the living from the undead was a single pane of glass. A boney finger arose from below and tapped lightly on the window. The tapping persisted until Ursule slowly turned to see what the creature was looking at. It was then that the pieces of the puzzle were magically put together. There is nothing more peaceful than a sleeping child, yet this experience proved to be the most unsettling of Ursule’s life. That ragged limb was pointing directly at her daughter. Only one word was able to escape her lips for the next several days, “Strigoi.” When Ursule turned back to face the creature, it was gone. This was the first Strigoi sighting in many, many years in the area surrounding Cluj-Napoca.

Ursule found herself meeting with the Strigoi monthly, then weekly, then daily. It wanted to make a deal with her -- provide her family with a sense of peace. Everyone’s peace of mind comes at some cost or another, but this price was especially heavy.

A year later, things had continued to get increasingly worse for the Vulpe family. Radu’s health was failing quickly, and miraculously Ursule was expecting once again. It was a tougher pregnancy than with Crina; she found herself suffering from unbearable morning sickness. It wasn’t until blood began to seep from between her legs that she made a decision -- a decision that had been a year in the making.

The fire in the hearth crackled and spat, struggling to stay alive while eleven-year-old Crina sat in front of it; her eyes never strayed from what was left of the burning embers. At this point, Radu was bedridden and spent most of his time on the kip. It wasn’t just scurvy that affected him now; Ursule suspected the Plague but refused to say it out loud. She knew that regardless of her initial solem reaction, it wouldn’t be safe for Crina, the new baby, or herself. Part of this is what aided her decision of what had to be done that night. What is the saying? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

“Crina,” quaked Ursule’s jittery voice. Her daughter turned to her.

“Yes, Mamă?”

“Let’s go for a walk.” At first, Crina didn’t look thrilled, but she really did enjoy spending time with her mother. Ursule took her daughter by the hand, opened the front door, and at that moment, the fire crackled for the last time that night.

It took a while for Crina to figure out where exactly it was that her mother was taking her, as there was no single path from their home into the forest. The trees that now surrounded them were thick and old, roots twisted and deeply embedded in the soil. The moon-speckled night became even darker the further they traveled through the thicket, causing Crina to grow more and more apprehensive.

“Mamă, where are we going?” No response from her mother came, only an increase in pace. “Mamă?” They were now enveloped in trees, and young Crina wouldn’t be capable of finding her way home if she tried. With frozen sticks crackling and frosted leaves crunching beneath their feet, they finally arrived at a clearing. The moonlight shone down upon them as if a spotlight on a stage. Ursule bent down so she could be eye-level with her daughter.

“Crina, my child, I want you to know that I love you so very much. In fact, my love for you is infinite. Always remember that when we are apart, we will find a way back to each other. Always. Not even death can keep us from being together. I promise, draga mea.” By this time, Crina is crying.

“I love you too, Mamă.”

Suddenly it was silent. Then it wasn’t. A scream escaped Crina’s lips as a black flash whisked her from her mother’s arms. Ursule cried after her child, falling to her knees as she wept, alone in the forest. Her heart pounded as her body collapsed to the ground; she began heaving from the intenseness of her tears. Crina was gone, which meant so was her heart, her soul, and her reason to be. Without warning, the ground beneath her was wet -- and it wasn’t from the tears, no matter how much she had cried. Ursule forced herself upright and noticed it was coming from between her legs. Her water had broken, and she was completely alone in the middle of a forest. Screaming for help would do her no good, as the baby had no intention of waiting. Ursule’s fingers dug into the damp soil and her jaw clenched as her cries echoed throughout the forest, spooking birds and other creatures nearby. After mere minutes of labor, a small child covered in both placenta and dirt lay wailing on the forest floor. A semi-conscious and semi-delirious Ursule began to laugh in relief at the sight of the newborn child beside her. She raised her hand and stroked the baby’s cheek.

The next morning, Radu was feeling remarkably better. He fixed himself some breakfast, though he wondered where Ursule and Crina had disappeared too. No sooner had he sat down to eat, than there was a knock on the door. When he opened it, he was greeted by a weak and haggard Ursule, cradling their newborn child in her arms.

“De nevoie n-ai ce face,” she quavered. Necessity has no law.

The dragons, well, they would come later. And those dragons would help to save a life.