It was the last night before the new moon when Tara approached Lough Mask from the north. Since she didn't expect a boat in Cong to take her directly to Aughnanure, she directed the mare to the west bank. The moon was already low as the mare crossed the narrow ridge that led to the isthmus between Lough Mask in the north and Lough Corrib in the south. Now it wasn't far to Oughterard and to Aughnanure Castle. Just over Knockbrack. The mare tackled the mountainside with surprising ease, despite being on the road for days with only a few breaks.
"My brave friend!" Tara leaned forward and patted the horse's neck. The mare snorted affectionately. Without Tara guiding her on a path, she found the best way through the terrain, which alternated between rocky sections and marshy hollows. Then again, the thorny underbrush was so high and dense that it would have torn the horse's legs bloody. Álainn followed a narrow stream southward. Tara could already see some lights flashing at the foot of the mountain, which surely belonged to the farms and miner's houses of Oughterard. The mare turned left towards the lake, as the slope here became flatter and covered with grassy meadows, making it easier for them to progress. But Tara's two wolves, who had mostly been running ahead, suddenly stopped and sniffed down the overgrown slope to the west.
"What's wrong? Geal, Ciallmhar is coming, we must hurry. We don't have time to go hunting."
The wolves didn't obey. They whined and howled, but resisted the call and instead pushed on towards the west. The mare stopped before Tara could take the reins. The Druidess sat very still on the horse's back and looked over to the two wolves, who were unmistakably urging her to come along. Now, as she opened her senses wide instead of just focusing on the one goal she had to reach in time, she also felt that something was wrong here.
"Blood has been spilled," she said softly. The wolves howled in agreement.
For a moment, the Druidess hesitated. Could she afford this interruption? Perhaps the Lycana had already reached Aughnanure and were waiting for her? Tara looked up at the sky. It was already too late. The narrow crescent hung over Connemara's sharp mountain ridges, ready to sink behind them. Tonight, they wouldn't set out for the Twelve Bens. The Druidess suppressed a sigh. The new moon night was approaching, and they had to set out as soon as the sun set if they wanted to arrive at the cave in time.
The wolves whimpered. Tara laid her hand on the mane of the horse.
"Come, my dear, then let's see what wickedness was committed this night." For she felt more and more clearly that great suffering had occurred nearby.
They made slow progress through the dense bushes, but soon Tara began to guess where the wolves were leading her. However, it couldn't be Peregrine's blood that weighed heavy on her heart. Many nights had passed since his death. And yet, pain and grief for him still hung like mist in the branches.
Even before the wolves led her out onto the clearing, the Druidess knew whom she would find. Nevertheless, a cry of horror escaped her at the sight of the tortured body. Tara dismounted from the horse and hurried to the spot where Áine's body had collapsed. The attack couldn't have happened long ago. The blood was still wet and glistened in black shimmering pools scattered all over the battlefield. Tara laid her hands on Áine's motionless body, which would surely soon turn to dust. What had happened? Judging by the gaping wounds, she had been attacked by wolves or large dogs. How had they managed to get so close to the vampire? She must have noticed them early on. With all her experience with vampires, Tara couldn't imagine how she could have been taken by surprise. And yet, the scene before her spoke volumes. Áine had died in the midst of her transformation. The head was already strangely distorted, with the face and arms covered in fur, and yet what lay before her was more the body of a human than of a wolf.
Tara stood up and looked around. Over there, the fight had begun, and then several heavy bodies had rolled through the swamp here. The Druidess examined the spot where the attackers must have pounced on Áine, and then she understood. At this spot, Peregrine had died. Áine had come here to mourn. That's why it had been possible to ambush her! Tara was surprised. She hadn't known that vampires could love so deeply - and mourn the lost one so profoundly that even their keen instincts failed them.
A noise made her turn around. What was that? The wolves rushed to Áine's side, and even the mare stretched her nose towards the bloody body. Then Tara understood. The vampire had made the noise herself. She wasn't completely destroyed. Of course, her body had felt cold and there were no breaths to be felt. Vampires didn't need to breathe, and they recovered from any injury, no matter how severe, as long as their heart wasn't pierced and their head wasn't severed. She hadn't been injured with a silver weapon either, which would have made healing difficult or even impossible.
Tara knelt beside the vampire, whose features she could no longer recognize. Blood still seeped from her wounds, soaking the earth. Her body was so destroyed that it would only regenerate in the stiffness of daylight. But could the wounds heal at all while her body remained stuck in transformation? She had to try, and for that, it was essential to get her away from here quickly and to a safe, dark place. Out here in the mountains, the sun would complete the work that her attackers' fangs had begun in a few hours. Tara called the mare to her, which obediently settled down beside the vampire. The Druidess pulled the lifeless body over the horse's back and held it steady until the animal stood up again. Then she mounted.
"We must be in Aughnanure before sunrise," she urged the mare, which whinnied softly in confirmation. Then she trotted off. She left the slope behind and headed towards the village spread out at the foot of the mountain. Although the first people were already rising from their beds, Tara didn't take the time to detour around Oughterard. They made faster progress on the wide path. In the east, the sky was already losing its darkness as the mare turned into the hollow road leading down to the castle. Tara spurred the horse one last time with encouraging words. Even the wolves now looked exhausted after these days and trotted with drooping heads by her side. But Tara still sat upright in the saddle as they rode into the courtyard of Aughnanure in the first light of the new day.
"Where are Catriona and Donnchadh?" Alisa asked.
Ivy stepped outside behind the friends. "Look, they're on the tower over there in the middle of the courtyard. It used to be integrated into the wall around the inner courtyard. Today, only the outer wall remains."
"Ah, they're having secret discussions again!" Franz Leopold looked over to the round tower with the conical roof, which stood freely in the grassy courtyard. He furrowed his brow, then shook his head regretfully. "I suspect they chose this place deliberately. We won't be able to approach them unnoticed."
"We won't," Luciano disagreed, "but Ivy? How about another mouse performance? A little mouse in the grass won't attract anyone's attention. And then, zip, up the stairs in the tower." The three looked expectantly at Ivy, but she shook her head.
"No, there are things that are taboo among the Lycana, and eavesdropping on the clan leader during a meeting is clearly one of them!"
"And what about last time?" Luciano wanted to know.
"That was different. I was just looking at the remains of the vampire." The others wanted to protest, but Ivy cut them off. "We won't eavesdrop! Come down to the river with me and let me tell you a bit about the history of the castle. It will soon be time to visit the coffins anyway."
The three friends exchanged a disgruntled look. Ivy didn't seem to mind.
"You see, Aughnanure was built on a cliff above the Drimneen. Where there's land today, there used to be a small harbor basin, so goods could be landed directly in the outer courtyard by boat. And yet, it was possible to defend this access from the water from both sides of the enclosing wall." They glanced at the silted basin and then strolled along the outer castle wall. Franz Leopold kept casting glances at the tower in the middle, which they now circled in a wide arc. The two were still standing there together, having an animated conversation. Catriona wasn't a vampire of grand gestures, but from Donnchadh's hand movements, one could tell they weren't in agreement.
They circled a wall with two windows, whose arches were adorned with intricate stonework. On the other side, the ground was covered with stone slabs, on which two long tables and some benches stood. Together with the wall that connected at a right angle, the whole thing didn't seem to belong to the defensive wall of a castle courtyard. Alisa looked questioningly at Ivy.
"These are the remnants of the former great hall. Here on the west side, where the stone slabs slope down to this marshy meadow, the hall projected into a side bend of the river. A stone vault supported the walls."
"They extended the hall over the river?" Luciano wondered.
"Yes, that was quite practical. There was a trapdoor in the floor that led to the water. So the lords of the castle could chill their wine and supplies down there - and there are rumors that many a castle lord disposed of unwelcome guests through the trapdoor."
Luciano chuckled. "Ah, even in Ireland, they understand the practical disposal of bodies and undesirable people with the help of flowing water! Like in the Cloaca Maxima in Rome."
Ivy winked. "You see, Irish and Romans aren't so different after all."
"What happened to the hall?" Franz Leopold asked, finally turning his attention back to the friends.
"The vault was probably undermined and eventually collapsed. The hall was split along its entire length. The western half tilted to the side and shattered. After that, it was never rebuilt," Ivy explained.
They returned to the inner courtyard. On the left, they could see the gatehouse, behind which a drawbridge led over the moat connected to the river. A cart approached from the other side of the Drimneen, rattling over the bridge and then up the dam to the drawbridge and through the gate. Two Lycana jumped off the driver's seat and began unloading coffins. Bridget and Niamh emerged from the tower and helped them carry the crates inside.
"That should be enough for the heirs now," Niamh said pleased.
The vampire who had been sitting on the driver's seat nodded. "Unfortunately, some of their shadows will have to spend the day on the ground. It's too late for another load."
"We weren't prepared for so many guests at once," said the other, who had each of the crates under his arm. They were smeared with dirt and already a little moldy. The smell of death entered Alisa's nose. She stepped closer and sniffed at the crates still on the wagon. They were more or less darkly discolored. The pungent smell of decay enveloped the wagon like a cloud. Clearly, these were not new coffins. A few other heirs, who had been standing in small groups in the courtyard, also approached curiously. Malcolm approached with Raymond and Rowena. Ireen was nowhere to be seen. Tammo was, as usual, in the company of the two Pyras.
"I wonder what they did with the original occupants of the coffins?" Luciano, who had joined Alisa, asked, grinning.
"You can ask them. Are the coffins from the local cemetery?" Niamh nodded. "It belongs to Oughterard. There are always fresh graves there. They also bury the dead from the mine there. However, the poor devils who toil in the spoil heap above are usually only wrapped in a shroud since no one wants to pay for the coffin. Still, there are plenty of sturdy coffins there. We'll have fixed the problem by tomorrow." He turned away and carried the next crates into the tower.
"Which mine?" Alisa looked at Ivy inquiringly. Again, that expression of anger in her eyes, which Alisa had noticed for the first time on the prison island of Galway.
"Glengowla," she said with a look of disgust, as if the word itself were an insult. "Of all places, the O'Flahertys, the former lords of this castle, had tunnels driven into the marble to access the veins of silver and lead ore. Right behind Oughterard, on Lough Ateeaun - on the lake of the fairy mound, which people now call the Lead Mine Lake, because there are certainly no fairies left there!" Alisa quickly changed the subject. Although she would have liked to know the deeper reason for her anger. People dug into the earth. Yes, they did so everywhere where there was something to be found that helped them improve their technology or simply make life more pleasant. It wasn't just about ores or precious metals for jewelry and coins. Alisa thought of the ships with coal that landed in the port of Hamburg and were unloaded there. Crowds of children from the slums made a living by wading through the icy water even in winter to fish out lost pieces of coal, which they sold for a few pennies. Or the new freighters from America that delivered petroleum in barrels, replacing the stinking whale oil. Wasn't that also wrested from the earth? Alisa couldn't see anything sacrilegious about it. She admired people for their ingenuity. Hadn't they been mining for thousands of years? "The marble is the soul of the land," Ivy had said. Alisa couldn't relate to that. On the other hand, Christians' faith was nothing more to Alisa than a collection of old stories that helped people better endure the misery of their lives. And yet, their holy images and crosses caused harm to vampires and weakened them. It took strength and practice to defend against it. Perhaps those rocks underground were something that strengthened vampires?
A call made everyone turn around. A white horse appeared on the drawbridge. "Tara!" Ivy managed to utter only that as she recognized the mare and its rider. Her voice sounded strangely moved, and she wiped her eyes with her hand as she rushed towards the Druidess. The friends followed her curiously. They had briefly seen the old woman in Rome when she had arrived to tend to Seymour's injuries, which had been inflicted by a silver sword blade. Alisa still remembered her scent, of sweet human blood, herbs, and age, but also of strength and magic! She approached cautiously. She saw Luciano's nostrils flare as he inhaled her scent. Fortunately, they had been given plenty to drink after their reception in Aughnanure. So it wasn't too difficult to stay near a human and still maintain a clear mind.
Alisa frowned as another smell reached her nose. Blood, unmistakably, but not human. Then she spotted the motionless figure lying over the horse's back. "By the spirits of the night!" Ivy exclaimed in horror. Alisa ran to her. Franz Leopold, on the other hand, hesitated. Was that a vampire? The body was so terribly mangled that Alisa wasn't sure. Why did she have such a long, furry face? Her hands resembled more like paws. And yet, she also had human features. When Alisa focused on her inner self, the image of a young woman arose within her. And she smelled of vampire and the Lycana clan.
"What kind of creature is this?" Alisa asked softly, as if the question were improper.
"That is the Lycana Áine," Ivy said with a sad voice. "Or she once was."
"What happened to her?" Luciano asked, looking at the motionless body curiously.
"She was attacked in the midst of her transformation and injured so severely that she lost consciousness. Too much blood has flowed for her to regain consciousness," Ivy explained.
"But she will regenerate during the day," said Franz Leopold, who had also approached a bit closer. "Is she impure?"
"Áine is a Servientin, yes. But I cannot say whether normal healing will occur," Ivy replied.
Alisa nodded. She understood. "Because a part of her is already wolf."
"One can try," said Franz Leopold. "And if it doesn't work..." He didn't finish the sentence and instead just shrugged.
Alisa whirled around to him. "Then it's just an impure, is that what you wanted to say? She's worthless, unimportant, whether she exists or is destroyed. New shadows can always be acquired!"
"It's always surprising how much aggression lies dormant in you," he replied, without addressing her accusation.
"Please lend a hand," Tara urged. "I am an old woman and cannot carry her alone." It was Luciano who stepped forward, taking the lifeless body into his arms and following Tara to the tower. Ivy showed him the plain coffin in the lower storage room where Áine usually rested, and Luciano gently placed her on the pillows and then closed the lid.
"Can you do anything more for her to speed up the regeneration?" Alisa asked the Druidess. She dared not look directly into her eyes. She was acutely aware of her presence almost painfully every moment. Was it just because Alisa was not used to being so close to a human, or did the ancient magic of the Druids that surrounded her like an aura evoke this feeling?
"Unfortunately, we can only wait. Perhaps she will manage to regain her strength to such an extent that she can complete the transformation in one direction. Then she will recover. If not, I have no means to help her. I have only experienced something like this once, and there was no salvation then," Tara explained.
"You cannot help her?" Ivy exclaimed. "If not you, then no one can. Poor, lost Áine." She sounded shaken. For a few moments, she stood still, then she lifted her gaze and looked at the Druidess. She was transformed. She now exuded vibrating restlessness. "When do we depart?"
"Tonight, once the sun has set. It is the night of the new moon, as Áthair Faolchu has determined. I will now confer with Donnchadh and Catriona," the Druidess said, returning to the courtyard. Her two gray wolves followed her.
Ivy watched Tara go. Displeasure could be read on her face. It was a bit strange how quickly her moods changed since they had entered Aughnanure barely two hours ago. No, Alisa corrected herself, what was strange was that it was visible to others. Perhaps Ivy had picked up on the thought, because she suddenly put on the friendly smile that they knew so well.
The friends followed the Druidess outside, but they didn't get far. Catriona called the heirs into the tower and instructed them to find their coffins. So they followed the Lycana through the round arch of the entrance door, above which - high up on the battlement - a machicolation protruded, through which in earlier times hot oil or pitch could be poured to properly receive unwelcome visitors. If the door was nevertheless taken, archers waited in the first of the six floors and shot arrows through a hole in the ceiling at the intruding attackers. Catriona led them up the spiral staircase, which, like in all Irish castles, wound upwards to the left. Again, the defenders of the tower were to have an advantage. They could swing their sword freely to the right, while the attackers were restricted in their movements in the narrow stairwell. Also, the uneven steps were intentional, Ivy explained to Luciano, as he mocked the lack of skill of the Irish castle builders. It was not a lack of skill that was responsible for this. They were meant to be stumbling blocks for strangers attempting to storm the castle. By then, the householders had long since learned which steps were higher and which were lower.
They climbed to the upper of the main floors, above which an intricate ceiling of oak beams supported the roof. Where once the lord of the manor had held court, now the coffins of the young vampires were lined up. The coffins of the castle residents were in the narrow chambers of the intermediate floors. The servants of the guests had to settle in the storage room below, while Catriona, Donnchadh, and the other Lycana who accompanied them on their journey rested in the large hall on the second floor, whose huge fireplace spoke of the life of the former lordly family.
Bridget, who was busy adjusting the last of the boxes with Niamh, gestured invitingly towards the coffins. "Pick one for yourselves."
Tammo was already sitting in one of the coffins, his nose wrinkled. Fernand and Joanne didn't seem to mind resting in a coffin that had just been unearthed. Malcolm was already there, as were the Dracas, who, unsurprisingly, were loudly complaining. Alisa smiled to herself and climbed into one of the coffins beside Luciano, which obviously hadn't been in the ground for very long. The wood was light and didn't smell strongly of decay. None of the coffins were padded.
"We left the fabrics and cushions at the cemetery," Bridget explained apologetically, noticing Alisa's glance. "They were too saturated with corpse fluids and sticky."
Alisa waved it off. "That's not a problem. Once I'm in my torpor, it doesn't matter whether I'm on soft cushions or the bare wood floor."
The young vampires climbed into their coffins and closed the lids. Seymour lay down on Ivy's coffin. Lastly, Ireen hurried in and climbed into the only remaining open coffin. Catriona scanned the room once more with her eyes. Peace had settled. Only here and there did a faint murmur penetrate the wood. The Lycana turned away and descended the stairs to find her coffin, which, as always, stood on Donnchadh's right side.
"You're going out again?" Oscar asked, surprised, sitting in the small tavern room in Oughterard with a beer mug and a cigar, stretching out his finally dry and warm feet. The Wilde's country house near Cong on the north shore of the Lough was considered too far away to set up their headquarters, much to Oscar's displeasure, who assured his friend that they would be much more comfortable there.
Bram Stoker adjusted his cloak and put on his hat. "Yes, I need to stretch my legs a bit more. It's a beautiful night."
"We have a new moon!" objected Oscar.
"Yes, but the wind has blown away the clouds. It's not raining anymore, and the starlight gives the land a magical quality."
Oscar lowered the beer mug. "You don't mean to go to the cemetery now, in the middle of the night, do you?"
An expression of embarrassment passed over Bram's face. "Why not? I mean, if my path happens to take me there, I can take a look inside."
"Ha!" exclaimed Oscar, snapping his cigar as if it were a blade. "Do you think you can fool me? If your path happens to take you there! You will direct your steps there directly. I know your penchant for corpses and undead. That's not normal! Let the son of a great doctor tell you that."
"Your father was an eye and ear doctor!"
"Yes, exactly, and he would tell you what he thinks of you seeing and hearing fantasy creatures everywhere that don't exist."
"So you don't believe they exist?"
"I believe in many things, but undead? Let's just say I have legitimate doubts." He shrugged almost apologetically.
"Then you surely aren't afraid that a vampire will steal my blood and soul if I go to the cemetery at night," said Bram, wavering between regret and amusement.
"No, my friend, I am not. So if one of those poor, half-starved beggars doesn't bash your skull in with a stone to steal your shoes or whatever, we'll see each other at breakfast tomorrow."
"I'll keep an eye on my shoes," promised Bram, waving goodbye and leaving the tavern. He had already surveyed the path during daylight, so it wasn't difficult for him to find the trail that led to the cemetery, a bit away from the village, enclosed by a wall. Only the walls remained of the small church, as with so many in western Ireland. The roof structure had collapsed at some point. Over time, the villagers had taken the broken roof beams as fuel or building material, as wood was scarce in the moors. And the tiles and stones that had fallen down were also useful. However, it never occurred to the people to demolish the still-standing walls. After all, they belonged to a house of God and were blessed. They still promised a very special divine protection, and so burial places within the remnants of churches or monasteries were highly sought after.
Bram passed through the only slightly opened gate and walked over to the ruin of the cemetery church. The gravestones were lined up closely on the ground. He bent down, but the starlight was too weak to decipher the inscriptions. Some had dried flowers on them.
A scraping noise made him turn around. What was that? Bram listened. It came from beyond the church walls. He quietly approached one of the window openings and peered out. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now. Two shadows were busy at the graves. Earth was being piled up, then one of them—a petite figure—pulled a coffin out onto the grass. Bram shook his head in disbelief. She looked like a woman. How could she possess such physical strength? He stood there, frozen, unable to look away, even though his body warned him with all the means at its disposal. His back tingled, the hairs on his neck stood on end. Cold sweat formed on his forehead. All his senses screamed: Danger! Run for your life! But Bram Stoker didn't move an inch.
The female figure opened the coffin, took out the corpse, which must have been larger than herself, and threw it back into the open grave. With movements so fast that Bram could barely follow them with his eyes, she resealed the grave and then turned to another. Her companion followed suit. The question of why they were doing this suddenly became unimportant when the monstrous realization dawned on him: These couldn't be humans! They were too fast and too strong. Whether they cast a shadow, Bram couldn't tell. The starlight was too weak. His subconscious had long recognized the creatures, but his mind refused to admit it. Hadn't he always hoped to catch a glimpse of them one day? Hoped and feared! His mind formed the word: Vampires! His breathing became shallow and yet sounded unnaturally loud in his ears. Why hadn't they discovered him yet? Were the stories about their powers exaggerated? Or were they distracted by their work and the intense smell of corpses that now wafted over to him?
Increasingly fascinated, Bram watched the two creatures as they dug up more and more coffins and lifted them over the wall enclosure onto a cart. Two strong black horses were harnessed to it. They stood so still that Bram wondered if they were ordinary animals. Their fur shimmered in the starlight. Bram looked back at the two vampires. The fear that had driven him to flee just a few moments ago became sluggish and sleepy. How graceful they moved! His mind began to buzz. It was only now that Bram noticed that the vampire woman had finished her work. She stood motionless in front of the wall, staring over at him. She looked into his eyes, into his mind, through him. He should have been frightened. Terrified to death or panic-stricken, instead, he didn't move from his spot and returned the gaze. The buzzing in his head separated into sounds weaving a melody. It drew him in, calling out to him. Like the sirens trying to lure Odysseus to his doom. Bram didn't have a ship's mast to tie himself to. He felt his body beginning to move, and he knew it wasn't he who was controlling it.
"Oscar, you were wrong," he thought. "Will you change your mind now, or will you believe that a vagabond knocked me down?"
Suddenly, the strange pull ceased. He saw that the vampire had turned away. Her companion was already sitting on the driver's seat and calling out to her. She hesitated for a moment. Once again, her gaze pierced him to the core, then she leaped with incredible agility over the wall and onto the cart. The horses began to move.
Bram Stoker stood in the empty window opening of the church ruin until the cart disappeared, and the sound of hooves faded away. He still couldn't quite believe it. He had stared death and damnation in the face—and had escaped.
"Oscar will never believe me," he muttered when he was finally able to move again. With dragging steps, as if he had aged years in these moments, he made his way back to their inn. The gaze of the vampire still burned on his soul.