Chapter 6
The journey was long, but the view softened its toll.
All around them were green fields and valleys, the sky a vibrant blue despite the autumn chill in the air.
In the distance were white-capped mountains, and for the first time in days, Mina found herself filled with a sense of wonder.
There was much unknown that lay ahead, but surely things couldn’t be too bad if she were to live in a place with so much beauty.
Jonathan passed the time in his paperwork, reading through documents even as the coach jostled over rocks and potholes in the road.
They were surrounded by the steady chatter of the other passengers, though as the journey went on, fear began to weave itself into their tones.
Mina found herself increasingly on edge despite not understanding the language.
The feeling only deepened when they passed a small wooden cross planted into the side of the road.
At once, the entire coach crossed themselves upon seeing it.
Mina reached for the crucifix around her neck, her thumb tracing the grooves in the wood.
She had never been a religious woman, but something about it offered a small measure of comfort after the earlier talk of strigoi and the dangers said to lurk in the mountains.
They made a few stops along their journey, each more remote than the last, and as the sun began to set, the sky filled with soft shades of pink and lavender.
With fewer passengers remaining, the chatter inside the coach gradually faded.
The air had grown colder, great grey rocks rising on either side as the road steepened, at times giving the sensation of climbing straight into the sky.
Fog hung in the air around them, thin at first, then thick as though they were driving directly through a cloud.
Eventually, the wall of rock to the right sloped downward, and despite the gloom that dampened their vision, Mina felt a measure of relief at the sight of the distant tree tops cutting through the grey mist. By the time the last traces of light had vanished from the sky—leaving them in darkness save for the lanterns the driver paused to light—a tense anticipation hung in the air.
“We must be approaching the pass,” Jonathan said, looking up ahead. Mina glanced forward as well, but could see nothing beyond a veil of shadows and mist.
When the coach came to a stop, no one moved but Jonathan.
Mina rose into a crouch and followed him down from the vehicle, keenly aware of the tension among those who remained inside.
As she passed an older woman clutching a rosary and murmuring prayers under her breath, genuine fear seemed to radiate off her, and the sight sent Mina’s heart racing.
Stepping into the dark night, Mina was met with a sharp, icy wind, the chill slipping down her spine despite the weight of her cloak.
On one side of the pass was a wall of stone that disappeared into the gloom above, and on the other side was the cliff’s edge, with only the occasional treetop to reveal how steep the drop truly was.
She supposed that if these strigoi did truly exist, she could see why this place might be their home—cold, isolated, and wrapped in a lingering fog which made it difficult to see in either direction.
The driver pulled their luggage from the coach, moving with such haste that alarm surrounded Mina on all sides, pressing in like the fog.
“Is this where the carriage will meet us?” she asked Jonathan. She’d known the castle must be isolated, but she hadn’t anticipated quite this level of wilderness.
A twig snapped in the distance, and she looked out into the gloom, her heart pounding.
“This is Borgo Pass, is it not?” Jonathan asked the driver.
The man nodded, glancing at his watch as though eager to be on his way.
“We must keep moving,” the driver said, climbing back into his seat at the front of the coach. “If he is not here yet, perhaps he will not come this evening. You should come along to Bukovina instead. Return tomorrow.”
Mina frowned, and Jonathan let out a small laugh of confusion. “I’m sure he’ll be here any moment.” They all looked down the road ahead, staring into a wall of black and grey.
The horses began to shift, squirming in their harnesses.
“It is not safe on these mountains,” the driver said. “The dogs are too wild, fierce. We must go.” His eyes darted around, as though afraid of what might step out of the darkness.
Mina looked over her shoulder for any sign of danger, but heard only a deep groan of wind rustling through the trees. Surely a man such as this, who’d taken this path many times, would not be so easily unsettled without cause.
“I’m afraid we cannot,” Jonathan said. “We have business with the Count.”
A gasp rose from within the coach, and Mina glanced inside to see the three remaining passengers bowing their heads in prayer. Before she could wonder further about their visible distress, the clap of hooves echoed through the silence.
As Mina looked toward the darkness ahead, a distant glow spilled through the shadows. It moved swiftly—so swiftly that she stepped back, a flicker of fear taking hold as she wondered whether the two vehicles might collide.
A calèche slid into view, coming to a stop just next to the coach.
It was small enough for just two passengers in the back, topped with a curved roof made of leather or some sort of canvas, leaving the front completely exposed to the elements.
At the head was a single horse, its fur black as coal and its bones so pharaonic that it towered over the horses leading the coach.
“You are early this evening,” the calèche driver called, his eyes fixed on the coach.
The man had a long black mustache and a top hat upon his head that hadn’t shifted despite the speed with which they’d arrived.
Mina glanced at the driver of the coach, seeing that, even at a distance, the man had gone rigid.
She had the distinct impression of watching a mouse go still at the arrival of a cat.
“I apologize,” the coach driver replied, a slight wobble in his voice.
The calèche driver seemed to smirk as he stepped down from his vehicle, though Mina couldn’t be sure if it was real or merely a trick of the light as the lantern’s shadows moved across his face.
He was tall and thin and moved with a grace that was almost otherworldly.
Mina couldn’t help but hear the whispers of those in Bistritz—strigoi.
She imagined the creature she had read about long ago—skin as pale as moonlight, eyes shining silver, fang-like teeth.
But just as quickly as the thought took hold, she forced it aside.
The superstitions of the people in these mountains were getting to her.
This man had none of those signs—not the fang-like teeth, nor the luminous eyes, nor the claws customary of such a fable.
“Lucky for you,” the calèche driver said, “my horses are swift.”
The coach driver uttered something under his breath, and though the words were unfamiliar to Mina, Jonathan straightened, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
The calèche driver appeared to catch it as well, for he paused, his gaze lingering on the coachman for several long moments before crossing the distance to where Mina and Jonathan stood.
“Miss Murray and Mr. Harker?” he asked, reaching for their luggage.
“Yes, that’s us,” Jonathan said, his spirits seemingly renewed. “And you are from Castle Dracula, I presume?”
The crack of a whip cut through the night, and the coach took off, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. Something about the driver’s evident fear unsettled Mina. Did he truly believe this man to be something inhuman? Or was it something else entirely—something to do with the Count’s noble reach?
“That is correct, sir. I am Vasile,” the man said. “Let us carry on to the castle.” He gestured for them to climb inside, then turned to strap their luggage to the back of the vehicle.
“That driver is in quite a hurry, isn’t he?” Jonathan said with a laugh as he helped Mina into the carriage.
“It is not so unusual,” Vasile replied. “You will find that many are fearful of what lurks in these mountains.” As Jonathan and Mina settled into their seat, the man laid a thick blanket over their laps and took his place at the front of the calèche.
“And what is it in these mountains that they fear?” Mina asked.
The driver looked down at her, the only light coming from the lantern fixed at the front of the calèche. The gesture sent a shiver through her, and she pulled the blanket up higher, disguising the reaction as only a response to the cold.
“That depends on who you ask,” he said.
“We’ve already seen our share of that today,” Jonathan said. “Was that a Bürger reference I heard from the driver?”
Vasile turned around, gathering the reins in his hands.
Jonathan went on, “‘Denn die Todten reiten schnell.’”
“You have a good ear, Mr. Harker,” the driver said, without looking back.
“What does it mean?” Mina asked.
“It was from ‘Lenore’,” Jonathan said, clearly pleased by her interest. “It translates to something to the effect of, ‘For the dead travel fast.’” He opened his mouth to explain further, but before another word could be uttered, the calèche lurched forward, throwing them back against their seats.
Mina’s heart lurched as they sped up the mountainside, and she grasped the bench beneath her.
The wind swept past them, the thunder of hooves trailing into the night around them.
She glanced to the right, peering over the cliff’s edge and finding only darkness, as though the world ceased to exist beyond the edge.
She eased back against her seat, taking deep breaths.
The mountain grew steeper, and Mina felt as though the carriage would soon be vertical as they carried on, the air growing colder with every spin of the wheels. Then the dirt road widened, and they were surrounded by trees.
From the shadowed forest came a guttural howl. She thought of the wolf calls she had heard while in the village, and alarm coursed through her.
The carriage offered no protection—neither from the elements nor from whatever might be stalking them in the dark—and she was suddenly grateful for the driver’s hurried pace.
The howl came again. Then another joined it. Soon there were more, the terrifying cacophony closing in on them from all sides.
Mina glanced at Jonathan. His face was taut as the trees pressed closer and closer along the narrow path. She sank lower in her seat, shrinking away from the spindly branches that reached toward her from the darkness.
The howling continued, and the horse began to bristle, his pace faltering as he shook his head beneath the reins.
“Shhh,” the driver said, patting the horse’s neck. He uttered something in Romanian, and the horse carried forth.
They struck a particularly large rock, and the carriage lurched violently, sending them briefly airborne before they slammed back down with a thud. Jonathan sank lower into his seat, gripping the side of the carriage.
“Where are the prayerful when you need them?” he muttered.
“Not much longer,” the driver called back.
“Wonderful,” Jonathan shouted over the wind, though tension still pulled tight across his features.
The calèche broke free of the dense forest, the trees to the right falling away to the open night air as they left the howling wolves behind.
Mercifully, the pace began to slow. The cold sharpened, and fine white powder floated down from the sky. Mina tried to ease her racing heart—the worst of it seemed to be behind them.
And then, as they took a sharp turn, Mina realized why they’d slowed.
They’d arrived at Castle Dracula.