Redemption

Chapter 1

Brasov, Romania, 1738
    Warm. Cold. Warm, but not hot enough for hell, and yet cold, but not cold enough for death. Spine-tingling warmth. Bone-chilling coldness. And the weight, the heaviest weight she'd ever felt. So much weight on her chest. A smell of death, or near death. Where was she? Was she dead, or almost dead? She just couldn't pull her head out of the fog long enough to comprehend her predicament. She had felt a slight jostling earlier, as if on a cart or horse, but now she could no longer feel the sway of her body.
    Amalie continued to lay still, trying to clear her head. The last thing she remembered was hearing the doctor say that she had fallen victim to the Black Death, the plague that had already killed almost half of her village. The fevers had been so intense, and she knew that she had been delirious for long periods of time. She vaguely remembered the priest standing over her, saying the last rites over her decimated body, as if she were already falling from death's lofty precipice.
    And then, nothing. Inky blackness had engulfed her in its savage grip, compelling her to relinquish her fragile hold on the world around her.
    The weight on her chest was suddenly lifted. She slowly opened her eyes and glanced around as if in a drunken stupor. Things were starting to become a little clearer to her fevered brain. She saw men standing around a pit - no, a mass grave. There were bodies - so many bodies - lying within the massive hole. A fire was burning close by, which explained the reason she was feeling warmth on one side of her body but cold on the other. She knew then that she had been taken from her home, her family believing that she had succumbed forever to the horrible plague that had already taken so many lives.
    And she was next to be placed on the funeral pyre. She had heard that some people had been in the process of being burned when they had started screaming, not dead, but merely beyond being able to respond before being taken by the undertakers. Her heart had gone out to those poor souls who had died such horrible deaths. But, in truth, the doctors of the village had no way of being able to tell if they were dead or alive. Those who had the disease would have long periods of no movement, barely breathing, and the heart just wouldn't beat like it should, ticking off a faint thud instead of a resounding one.
    Amalie decided that, sick or not, she very much wanted to live. She would have to move fast, possibly faster than her body would be willing to go, but move she would. She watched until the men were turned away from the cart on which she had been placed, and then she slowly slid to the cold ground, only then realizing that she had been laying on yet another pile of bodies that had been gathered by the brave souls trying to clean the village by destroying the infected bodies of the dead.
    She sat on the ground for a moment, trying to will her legs to work. It had been so long since her muscles had been required to support her. She was finally able to begin a slow crawl toward the forest. Oh, yes, she had heard about the the forest, about the things that moved swift and silent in the night. She remembered the stories of the undead and the ghosts that haunted the woods, feasting upon the living both naturally and spiritually. The strigoi and the moroi, the witches and those who could transform into the animals of the night...and worse.
As she thought about those stories, she began to crawl a little faster, knowing that the fate that possibly awaited her in the darkness of the trees was still far better than the one that most certainly awaited her in the pit.
Please, God, she prayed, help me to make it to the trees. I just need to get to the forest and I'll be safe.
    And suddenly she was there. Her strength seemed to renew and she was able to get to her feet and move a little faster into the shelter of the dark forest. Her feet and arms were bare, and she felt the branches of the trees reach greedily for her, scratching and biting.
    She didn't know how long she travelled, she just knew that she could finally go no longer. She found a large tree and, falling against it, collapsed once again into the chillingly cold arms of Morpheus. She began to dream, at first feeling joy at seeing her family again, but then suddenly she was running, running so fast through the darkness that everything was a blur. She could hear herself panting, feel the heat of the sun on her face.
Strange, she thought, there is no sun, only darkness. And yet, she knew she felt a damp heat on her face, the panting becoming louder and louder. This dream was terrifying, and she stumbled and fell.
And then she heard it.
A deep, reverberating growl.
She knew then - this was no dream.
Her eyes flew open in horror. And she froze. She was frozen in fear, but also found herself willing her body to remain in this fixed position, afraid that if she moved even a hair's breadth, the gigantic wolf towering over her would rip her feeble body to shreds.
This was the largest wolf she had ever seen. It had to be at least 9 hands to the top of his head, and his fur was as white as the winter snow. And his eyes were a very bright yellow, and seemed to be filled with...what? Not a hatred as she had expected, but...but more like it was trying to decide if she was a threat or a new plaything. It's breath was hot against her cheek and he panted as if he had been running for a long time.
Amalie had never considered herself brave, and she did not dare to think of herself that way now. She knew this was no fairy tale that she had awakened to, and that there was most likely not a happy ending should she move. And so, she continued to sit, staring into the eyes of the wolf, silently praying that the stench of her unwashed body overwhelmed the smell of fear that she was certain she was exuding.
"Apollo!"
Amalie's heart leapt into her throat and she physically jumped at the word. Her eyes frantically searched around her for a brief second before returning to the great white wolf with surprise. Coming up from behind the wolf, was a dark figure. As it neared she could tell it was a young man, wearing multiple layers of furs to protect him from the biting cold of the night.
Which reminded her just how cold she was. She began to shiver almost uncontrollably. The wolf retreated a few steps and looked up inquiringly at the young man, who stood but for a moment staring at the nearly starved figure of what should have been a healthy young girl. When he recognized her plight, he leaned down and, without any effort at all, lifted her frail frame into his warm, strong limbs and began to carry her deeper into the trees. Into the dark. Into the night.
Amalie, her body refusing to move any more, simply whispered, "Thank you."
His reply was ominous, and he never looked at her as he spoke.
"Save your thankfulness, girl. You may well wish you had died here this night."
Amalie had no more strength left to revel in his words. Her eyes closed and she floated into the nothingness of a deep slumber, unaware of how different her life would be when she awoke.