The Moonlit Pathway | Juliet Marillier #2
“Show me, if you want,” says Gabriel.
I feel a grin crack out on my face. My feet are itching to move. My mind is full of images: a dark mysterious forest, strange beings, enchantment. “The one I’m thinking of is a dance for couples. I can’t do it on my own.”
He opens his mouth to say something, then bites back words.
Three young women are coming into the lounge, one wearing a pack, the other two guiding roll-on bags that look like designer label, not that I would know.
Their gaze falls on the two of us. Mostly on Gabriel.
The tall blonde one bends to whisper in her friend’s ear, shielding her mouth.
The friend giggles, then falls silent as Marina stands up and goes to greet them.
“Well,” says Gabriel, not sparing the newcomers a glance, “you’ll have plenty of dance partners at the castle, if you can persuade them to join you.”
“When and if that happens, I’ll remind you that you put the idea into my head,” I say, trying and failing to imagine dancing with any of those women with their trendy luggage and their not-so-great manners.
Who’d have thought my silent companion of the flight could keep up his end of a conver sation perfectly well?
The tall American girl is approaching us now, with her offsider, a smaller person with a head of russet curls, right behind her.
The one with the pack, a more scholarly-looking individual wearing round glasses, is talking to Marina.
I want to fish out the booklet and check their names, but now’s not the time for that.
“Hi there,” says the tall girl, thrusting out her hand so I have no choice but to shake it.
Awkward, with the laptop balanced on my knees.
“I’m Belinda, from New York. Call me Belle.
This is Amanda, known as Mandy. And she’s Suzie.
” She points to the third girl, who has taken off her pack and seated herself next to Marina.
Belinda, or Belle, plants herself and her roll-on bag beside me and raises her brows in question. “You’re Australian, right?”
“Sophie Blair. University of Melbourne.”
“Uh-huh.” She couldn’t sound less interested. “And…?” Her eyes are on my other neighbour, who’s now engrossed in whatever’s on the iPad.
“Gabriel,” I say, saving him the bother. “He’s from Sydney.”
“Lovely to meet you!” exclaims Belle, beaming.
“Oh, we’re all going to have such fun!” She launches into a one-sided conversation.
As for Gabriel, after a bit he puts his device away, then wanders off to stand on his own by the windows, apparently fascinated by the sight of aircraft taking off or landing.
Belle’s going on about parties, and how it’s someone’s birthday while we’re in residence, so we must make sure we have a big celebration with wine, cake, party games… Her voice seems to fill the lounge. I’m not the only one finding it a bit much. People are glancing in her direction and frowning.
I get up. “I’m just going to the restroom.
” There’s a long bus trip ahead, after all, though we have a couple of scheduled stops along the way.
“Excuse me.” I escape. Once there I take as long as I reasonably can, washing my face, brushing my hair, cleaning my teeth.
I come back to find they’re preparing to leave.
Gabriel has his pack on and is holding mine.
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking it from him and shoving my toiletries bag back in its compartment.
“Okay?” he murmurs.
I need to dance. I need to dance my bad feelings away.
But I can’t tell him that. I try to show how I’m feeling with a grimace and a shrug.
Gabriel doesn’t say a word, but I sense he’s asking a question.
He shuffles his feet a little, left foot tap, right foot tap, one, two, three on the spot.
I feel a smile break out on my face. Dancing’s a code.
A secret code. Up in the mountains of Transylvania, who knows what doors it may unlock?
* * *
The drive to the mountains is spectacular.
Good enough for me to set aside the discomfort of bus travel in company with some rather loud people.
On the way we stop in some picturesque old towns.
I wish we had more time to look at everything: ancient buildings, charming parks, daunting fortress walls, a fantastic antiquarian bookshop in Brasov…
On the bus, I’m sitting next to Marina. That’s a good thing for two reasons.
One, I’m up the front, where I won’t get sick.
Two, Belle and her friends are far enough behind that I can resist the urge to turn around and yell at them to shut up.
Gabriel’s sitting beside David from Toronto, the guy who was last to arrive at the airport.
David is a sturdy-looking person with a mop of sandy hair and a nice smile.
He looks… safe. Research topic, ‘Musical Traditions in Romanian Village Life’.
I think it’s part of a doctoral thesis, with a broader overall reach.
He might be interesting to talk to. Could be helpful for my research.
Our driver, Radu, is built like a bear, complete with shaggy dark hair and a deep, gruff voice. A friendly bear. He helped us on and off the bus, stowed our luggage for us, spoke to us kindly in English. I thanked him in Romanian and earned a lovely smile.
We’re heading up into the mountains now.
The road starts to wind and climb and do its best to stop us from reaching our destination.
There are a few squeals from further back as we negotiate a particularly challenging stretch with a sharp drop on one side and a steep rise on the other.
I try not to imagine what happens if we meet something coming the other way.
On a bus, there’s no dancing to bolster courage.
The best I can do is go through the steps of some favourite dances in my head.
Across the Water is a good one, with advance and retreat, some arm movements that suggest rowing, or maybe swimming.
There must be a story behind that. But those stories are hard to find.
It’s as if someone hid them away, thinking they were dangerous.
That’s one of the things I can’t ask the locals.
Not straight up, anyway. I’ll have to do what Gabriel said, start chatting about something else and work around to what I really need to know.
The thing is, even the folk from the Daniel Lupescu Foundation don’t know exactly what I’m looking for.
If they did, they might not have given me a place on the residency, and especially not one of their generous scholarships, which cover pretty much all the expenses. They’d have thought I was deluded.
Maybe I am deluded. There’s enough in my topic, as presented, to form the basis of a Master’s thesis. I wouldn’t have won a place in this program if it was inadequate. But we’re only here for a month, and what I want to do, what I need to do for this to be worthwhile, is going to take time.
A few final hair-raising bends, and we reach a village. The village. The bus grinds to a halt in a modest square, where a scattering of folk are wandering about.
“We’ve arrived!” Marina is standing up now, facing the rest of the passengers. She speaks in English. “We’ll be walking up to the castle from here. They’ve sent a vehicle down for the bags; Radu will transfer them. Radu, we all say thank you for your remarkably good driving.”
* * *
The castle is set high on the hilltop, and around it is deep, dark forest. I’ve seen photos, of course: the brochure for the residency makes excellent use of them for publicity, and I imagine whoever handles the region’s tourism does the same, though the accommodation there is only for the visiting scholars and the staff who keep the place running.
The Foundation provides four residencies per year.
The rest of the time, this vast building must be home to only a handful of people.
In the foyer, we get instructions from another Foundation staffer: Stefan, who’s in charge of household management. He has the manner of a butler, courteous but capable. There’s something about him that makes people shut up and listen.
“Welcome, all. You’ll be tired after the trip here, so we’ll leave the guided tour until tomorrow.
One rule you all need to be aware of. Don’t go exploring out in the grounds.
Beyond the castle gardens, the terrain is wild forest and it’s easy to become disoriented.
There are bears and wolves, and other dangers.
That rule exists for your own safety. For now, our staff will show you your accommodation.
” He introduces two women whose dark blue uniforms, with the Foundation’s logo on the pocket, match his blazer.
They’ve come in very quietly behind him.
This is a well-practised performance. Stefan’s English is perfect.
He repeats the speech in French, which sounds to me equally perfect.
The staff members are Ioana and Livia. Ioana gathers up the women, but gestures to me to stay where I am. Livia does the same with the men and this time it’s Gabriel who is left behind. We get a few funny looks as the rest of them follow their guides out of the lobby.
“You look startled, Sophie,” observes Stefan. “May I call you Sophie?”
I nod, not quite prepared to ask why the two of us have been separated out.
“As scholarship students, you will be accommodated in the tower,” Stefan tells us.
“It’s an excellent place for study, though of course you’re free to use the library as well.
Gavril, you are on the top level, and Sophie the one beneath.
You’ll find every thing you need there.” Stefan’s look is quizzical; I suspect that when off-duty, this is a man who allows himself to laugh.
“It is a long way up.” His glance moves from Gabriel’s long legs to my some what shorter ones.