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hekatepoetryxxwriting · 4 years ago

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How is the transgression of boundaries explored in ‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter and ‘Carmilla’ by J. Sheridan Le Fanu?

In ‘Carmilla’ by J. Sheridan Le Fanu and ‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter, the idea of female oppression being thwarted by the women’s self-awareness of their sexuality and their ability to use it as a form of power is explored through various boundary transgressions in both novels. ‘Carmilla’ be Le Fanu was influenced by real life Countess Elizabeth Bathory and was the predecessor to Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’. ‘Carmilla’ is also referenced in Angela Carter’s short story ‘The Bloody Chambers’ (it is the name given to one of the Marquis’ previous wives), thus linking the two novels together.

In another one of Carter’s stories, ‘The Company of Wolves’, there is a transgression of gender roles regarding the girl in the story. In the Gothic genre, women usually fall into three types: The Trembling Victim, The Femme Fatale, and The Crone. However, the child in this story is none of these, and displays strength that defies the stereotypes in her confrontation with the werewolf as seen when she ‘burst out laughing; she knew she was nobody’s meat’[1], which is itself is sexual symbolism that makes the ‘meat’ a metaphor for the sexual objectification of women’s bodies, which she rejects by laughing. Her laughter is also a mockery of the patriarchal expectation of submissiveness that men believe all women possess. It suggests that the girl is aware of the power her sexuality carries, much like a femme fatale. The same could also be said for ‘Carmilla’, where Laura’s father ‘won’t consent to you leaving us’[2]even though he has no familial ties to Carmilla. In both stories, the fathers seem to be in a superior position within the family, and evidence of this can be found not only in that quote from ‘Carmilla’, but also from the line ‘Her father might forbid her’[3]in ‘The Company of Wolves’. The verb ‘forbid’suggests that he hold powers over his daughter and is able to control her actions. This is a reflection of the patriarchal family systems which were in place up until the late 1970s, when men were considered the breadwinners. Angela Carter, a feminist, was part of the movement that broke down those family systems; Carroll Davids referred to this in her review of Angela Carter; “Angela Carter’s portrayal of husbands and fathers not only reflects the ideals of her time, but also contradicts them on occasion with the femininity of the men.”[4]

There is also a transgression of gender through the empowerment of female characters in ‘Carmilla’ and ‘The Werewolf’. In both of these texts, the female character succeeds through her own means, rather than relying on a man to support her. In ‘Carmilla’, it is through death that Carmilla is able to gain power. This idea is strengthened through Laura’s speech to Carmilla in Chapter 4, where she asserts that ‘Girls are caterpillars while they live in the world, to be finally butterflies when the summer comes’[5]. The use of this metaphor suggests that girls are only free of the constraints that surround women when they have died, a suggestion that is supported by Colleen Damman’s analysis of the novel “as a woman, Carmilla can only claim her sexuality after death. Thus, vampirism is the only way she can express her own carnal desires. Besides marriage, becoming a vampire is one of the only ways that female sexuality is licensed in the Victorian era”[6]. Meanwhile, in ‘The Werewolf’, the child represents the New Woman and is pitted against her grandmother, who represents the generation of women who have fallen under the thumb of a patriarchal society. The final line states ‘Now the child lived in her grandmother’s house; she prospered.’[7]which implies that the child benefits from the downfall of the previous generation and is able to live happily without a husband or children. This conclusion suggests that women can live complete and fulfilled lives without needing to be married. Angela Carter’s feminist views on empowerment were controversial during her lifetime, including negative reviews for her book ‘The Sadeian Woman’ due to its defence of the Marquis de Sade, who wrote violent erotic novels that many consider sexist and inspired the word ‘sadism’. In regards to the empowerment in ‘Carmilla’, Elizabeth Signorotti states that “Le Fanu allows Laura and Carmilla to usurp male authority and to bestow themselves on whom they please, completely excluding male participation in the exchange of women”[8].

The inclusion of the female ‘Monster’ in ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ and ‘Carmilla’ also transgresses the boundaries placed around gender and the roles women play in society. The Countess is a vampire, much like Carmilla, and bears similarities to Elizabeth Bathory, the acclaimed ‘Blood Countess' who was rumoured to be a relation of Vlad the Impaler. The Countess in Carter’s tale embodies the idea of a Gothic Femme Fatale through the description ‘Everything about this beautiful and ghastly lady is as it should be, queen of night, queen of terror’[9]- the repetition of ‘queen’ places emphasis upon her position within the story. She is the highest authority within the text, being the queen, and is not subject to male dominance. In ‘Carmilla’, the monster is humanised at its death by Laura ‘a sharp stake was driven through the heart of the vampire, who uttered a piercing shriek at the moment, in all respects such as might escape from a living person in the last agony.’[10]and a simile is used to liken the monster’s pain to that of a human’s, implying that Carmilla is not actually that different from human beings. It seems that Le Fanu, like Carter, is suggesting that women who are free from male dominated societies are not monsters but are in fact just as human as everyone else. Le Fanu’s decision to focus on a female vampire may have been influenced by the legends he would have known growing up, namely the stories of the Leanan Sidhe and the Dearg-Due. These myths revolved around female vampiric creatures that preyed upon Irish youths and left a lasting effect on the victims even after the creature’s death (Laura never fully recovers from the effect of Carmilla, and often imagines she will return.). A connection between Le Fanu and the myths of the Leanan Sidhe and the Dearg-Due can be made as his mother read Irish folk tales to him when he was a child.

The continued transgression of gender moves onto the reversal of gender roles in ‘The Erl King’ and ‘Carmilla’. In ‘The Erl King’, the titular character defies the stereotypical role of men in literature as it states that ‘He is an excellent housewife.’ -[11]Carter ironically using the feminine spousal term for him. Aside from this, he has long hair he frequently combs and he takes part in activities that were frequently considered feminine, such as cooking, basket weaving and collecting flowers. Carter may have taken elements from the traditional Pagan god ‘The Green Man’ and his myth; he completed a loop in which he would conceive a child with ‘The Goddess’, die, and then be reborn as the child he created. Certainly, the Erl King is similar in appearance, as well as the narrator of the story stating ‘I would lodge inside your body and you would bear me’[12]. This is a metaphorical reference to birth, something only females are capable of, which juxtaposes the idea of the Erl King birthing the narrator. ‘Carmilla’ does the opposite, as Le Fanu gives Carmilla masculine qualities, the most obvious being her inhuman strength ‘and unscathed, caught him in her tiny grasp by the wrist.’[13]The use of the adjective ‘tiny’juxtaposes the power Carmilla is able to demonstrate. Moreover, a less obvious trait of masculinity is Carmilla’s lesbianism which was , in Le Fanu’s time, sinful in Ireland, and sexual desire for women would have only been acceptable from men. The inclusion of homoerotic features in ‘Carmilla’ points towards Le Fanu’s possibly relaxed view of homosexuality, as pointed out by Christy Byks, who states “Le Fanu, one of the godfathers of Gothic, appears to draw upon features that women would not have been given during his era, and his writing of Carmilla and her inability to fit in with most female Gothic characters would likely have been a topic of controversy within Ireland, a country ruled by religion.”[14]. This idea is supported by the introduction of Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula’, which takes many ideas from ‘Carmilla’. Many literary theorists suggest that Bram Stoker wrote ‘Dracula’ as an answer to the female centric ‘Carmilla’, choosing to re-focus the story upon men, with women being forced back into smaller, weaker roles.

Further transgressions of boundaries, including the transgression of religious boundaries, can be viewed in ‘The Company of Wolves’. This story mocks religion through an intrusive narrator who informs you ‘you can hurl your Bible at him and your apron after, granny… and all the angels in heaven to protect you but it won’t do you any good.’[15]This is the intruding narrator mocking the two key aspects that Carter believed held women back, that being the ‘Bible’and the ‘apron’, which is a not just a symbol of stereotypical femininity; a feminist literary study showed that almost every female character in a fairy-tale wears an apron, referencing their roles as the housewife. seems to be Carter herself, who openly stated that she thinks “Mother Goddesses are just as silly a notion as father gods. If a revival of the myths of these cults gives women emotional satisfaction, it does so at the price of obscuring the real conditions of life. This is why they were invented in the first place.”[16]Rather similarly, in ‘Carmilla’, Le Fanu presents Carmilla’s aversion to religion, and portrays a fight between Carmilla and Laura’s father, which could represent an argument about nature versus God. Carmilla speaks against Christianity ‘”Creator! _Nature! _” said the young lady in answer to my gentle father. “And this disease that invades the country… and under the earth, act and live as Nature ordains? I think so”’[17]. The caesura used between the words ‘creator’and ‘nature’ not only symbolises her anger, but in placing a caesura here, Le Fanu separates God from Nature, and therefore denies religion the claim of creating everything. This scene contrasts with Le Fanu’s own background, whose father brought up the entire household with strong Catholic beliefs.

This questioning of religion perhaps suggests why there is also a transgression of moral boundaries in both texts. The ‘Trembling Victims’ within ‘Carmilla’ and ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ are Laura and the Soldier. Both texts include a similar juxtaposition of feelings towards the ‘monster’. In ‘Carmilla’, Laura portrays the Gothic feature of ‘The Uncanny, in people’s reaction to her; “but there was also something of repulsion. In this ambiguous feeling, however, the sense of attraction immensely prevailed.’[18]This shows that Laura subconsciously knows that something is wrong with Carmilla, because like most Victorians of the time, she reflects the belief that the appearance of a person was an indicator of their moral standing. Carter’s ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ has a similar scene in which ‘Her huge dark eyes almost broke his heart with their waiflike, lost look; yet he was disturbed, almost repelled, by her extraordinarily fleshy mouth’[19]The descriptive imagery and modified noun phrases work to emphasise the Countess’ appearance and how the soldier is affected by this, and it also represents the notion of the ‘Male Gaze’, the theory presented by Laura Mulvey, that women are either sexual objects there to satisfy men, or the housewife. The two notions are represented in the Gothic genre as the Femme Fatale and the Trembling Victim, and the Countess in ‘The Lady of the House of Love’ has facial features that are stereotypical of both women. Her ‘huge dark eyes’ and ‘waiflike, lost look’ are used often in the description of innocence, whilst her ‘extraordinarily fleshy mouth’ is a sign of sexualisation. Freud’s theory of ‘The Madonna and the Whore’ also comes into play here, as the Countess and Carmilla both bear qualities (both physically and metaphorically) of innocence and sexuality. The presentation of the soldier as a Trembling Victim links with Angela Carter’s view that not only should women become more masculine, but that men should also embrace femininity.

Laura in ‘Carmilla’ transgresses the sexual boundaries placed around her by choosing to refuse medical treatment from her father and the doctor. In doing so, she rejects the idea of curing her illness, which is a metaphor for lesbianism, and becomes free to make her own decisions in regards to her body. She takes on the dominant role in saying ‘I would not admit that I was ill, I would not consent to tell my papa, or to have the doctor sent for’[20]by making her own decisions regarding her wellbeing. The first-person pronoun ‘I’ is used so that the readers understand that Laura is the sole maker of these decisions. Through this illness, she has been able to gain freedom from her father. According to Christy Byks, Laura’s illness is a visualisation of what Victorian’s believed homosexuality was: a disease that needed to be cured. Byks says “Two ideas are at work in this passage. First is Laura’s father’s attempt to control the women who are becoming “ill” and dying; the men want to “cure” her (Laura) by making her well and keeping her among the living, for it is in death that the women break free… By making these interactions with Carmilla a medical problem, the situation can be contained and defined, thus still under the control of men”[21]. Angela Carter also provides transgressions of sexuality when placing women in the dominant position. In ‘The Company of Wolves’, it is the girl who makes the first move towards sexual intercourse, as suggested by the removal of her clothes in the extract ‘The thin muslin went flaring up the chimney like a magic bird and now came off her skirt, her woollen stockings, her shoes, and on to the fire they went, too, and were gone for good[22]’. A simile is used to present the girl’s clothes as a ‘magic bird’, and this personification of her clothing suggests that by removing her clothing, the girl, like a bird, is free to go wherever she wants to. The use of listing used within this quote also suggests that layers are being removed, eventually revealing the girl’s real desires beneath. Angela Carter herself believed that women were not given an equal role in sex, as stated in her book ‘The Sadeian Woman: The Ideology of Pornography’. In her comparison of Justine and Juliette, she states “Women do not normally fuck in the active sense. They are fucked in the passive tense and hence automatically fucked-up, done over, undone.”[23]and it is clear that this idea of a preference of submissive women over dominant ones had a large influence on how Angela Carter shaped her female protagonists and their attitudes to sexual desire, especially in regards to ‘Wolf-Alice’, who’s title character, like the Marquis De Sade’s Justine and Juliette, was originally housed in a convent after being found with the wolves.

The portrayal of the convent in ‘Wolf-Alice’ itself does not conform to the traditional view of religion, and instead transgresses religious boundaries by presenting the nuns not as kind, helpful religious figures, but instead as oppressive matriarchs; the nuns’ only purpose in the story is to attempt to integrate Wolf-Alice into the human society they live in, evidenced when ‘The nuns poured water over her, poked her with sticks to rouse her’[24]and ‘Therefore, without a qualm, this nine days’ wonder and continuing embarrassment of a child was delivered over to the bereft and unsanctified household of the Duke’[25]. When they find they are unable to manipulate her into becoming like everyone else, their choice is to pass her off to a male figure instead, whose house is described as ‘bereft and unsanctified[26]’, which is ironic, as it means the nuns, extremely religious beings, abandon their ward in a house that is considered unholy. This irony serves the purpose of being a metaphor for how society treats outcasts as whole, by isolating them from those considered normal. Angela Carter herself believed religion to be mythical, and stated “I’m interested in myths because they are extraordinary lies designed to make people unfree”.[27]The second transgression of religious boundaries in ‘Carmilla’ is during the funeral scene where Carmilla states ‘Besides, how can you tell your religion and mine are the same… everyone_must die; and all are happier when they do.’[28]and uses a caesura, perhaps to indicate the way she views life. The use of ‘Why you must die--_everyone_must die’[29]indicates how short life is, and the suddenness of death is reflected in the caesuras. Furthermore, the use of ‘your religion and mine’ seperates the two, and conflicts with Victorian ideas of religion. Christianity was considered the one true religion, and therefore Carmilla suggesting she followed another religion would have been heresy. As well as this, her pain at hearing religious hymns in the line ‘”There! That comes of strangling people with hymns!”’[30]presents the idea of a supernatural aversion to religion and foreshadows the reveal of Carmilla’s vampiric nature.

In conclusion, the varied transgressions presented within the two novels provide solid evidence of both authors’ awareness of the problems that are faced by females within traditional literary roles, and both Carter and Le Fanu are able to present their arguments using a variation of language features and characters whilst managing to keep a strong theme of female sexuality at the forefront of their stories.

[1]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [2]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [3]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [4]Carroll Davids on: How Does Angela Carter Deconstruct Conventional And Repressive Gender Identities In The Bloody Chamber [5]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [6]Colleen Damman on: Women's sexual liberation from Victorian patriarchy in Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla [7]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [8]Elizabeth Signorotti on: Repossessing the Body: Transgressive Desire in Carmilla and Dracula [9]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [10]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [11]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [12]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [13]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [14]Christy Byks on: Women's sexual liberation from Victorian patriarchy in Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla [15]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [16]‘The Sadeian Woman: The Ideology of Pornography’ by Angela Carter [17]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [18]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [19]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [20]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [21]Christy Byks on: Women's sexual liberation from Victorian patriarchy in Sheridan Le Fanu's Carmilla [22]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [23] ‘The Sadeian Woman: The Ideology of Pornography’ by Angela Carter [24]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [25]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [26]‘The Bloody Chambers & Other Stories’ by Angela Carter [27]Angela Carter on: Religion by SlideShare [28]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [29]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu [30]‘Carmilla’ by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

#literature #academics #literature essay #gothic writing #gothic literature #carmilla #dracula #angela carter #joseph sheridan le fanu #feminism #writing #academic writing #academic essay #gothic essay #writing essay #essay

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lantur · 6 years ago

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Castlevania: “The Journey,” Part Two

Summary: The story of Trevor and Sypha, post season two. [Part two: Trevor and Sypha reunite with Sypha’s Speaker caravan, and take an unexpected detour in their travels. Part one, and the entire story, is available on Archive of our Own under the same title and author name.]

They stay at Alucard’s castle for two weeks, and the time passes too quickly. The three of them spend a considerable part of it in the Belmont library, gathering information about the supernatural enemies they have yet to face. They find a map of Wallachia and cover it in notes with information that all of them have heard about what creatures wreak havoc, and where. In addition to the night hordes and vampires that have been roaming around the country since Dracula summoned them, nightwraiths have been spotted in the small towns and villages of the east. There are stories of strange creatures called skinwalkers coming out of the larger cities as well.

There are four towns on the map where Alucard has heard of vampire witches that suck the blood of infants and children while they sleep at night, and then turn into moths or bees to make their escape. “Shtriga,” he says, tapping the spots on the map. “You can’t just stake them. You’ll need holy water, and plenty of it. You can’t douse them in it until you force them to cure the kids they’ve been feeding on. Otherwise the kids will never recover their strength, and they’ll waste away and die.”

“Great,” Trevor mutters, taking notes. There are only so many books they can carry with them, so both of them have filled scrolls with notes. “Should be easy enough.”

“You’ll have your work cut out for you,” Alucard says, looking troubled. “Where are you headed first?”

“We have to deal with the shtriga, so I figure we’ll start in Busteni.” Sypha eyes the map, frowning. “We’re taking some time to meet up with my Speaker caravan first, though. It’s something I wanted to do when we left last time, but we got sidetracked with those vampires in Rupea. I haven’t seen my grandfather since Gresit, and I hope he’s well.”

She and Trevor set out at sunrise the next morning. Alucard embraces her, and even Trevor, before they go. “Travel safely,” he says. He gives them a small smile, but she can still see the worry in his eyes. He stands on the front steps of the castle until their wagon disappears from view.

Both of them are quiet, lost in their own thoughts. “That place is going to seem really quiet now,” Trevor says, at last. “I’m glad we went. It was good for all of us. But I think that the next few days are going to be hard for him.”

Sypha takes his arm. He’s gotten so much more considerate than he was when they had first met. “We’ll be back by midwinter,” she says. “It’s just a few months from now. And by then, I should have finished writing the sealing spell that will disguise and lock up the castle and the library. Alucard can join us when we resume our journeys after the new year.”

It takes them just four days of traveling from town to town and asking around to track down her Speaker caravan. They are in Timisoara, helping rebuild a portion of the town that had been destroyed in terrible mudslides earlier in the year. Sypha spots her grandfather while he is carrying a pile of lumber, moving slowly and deliberately toward a building site. She shouts at him from across the town square, and Trevor has to hold her back from dashing right across the road and into the path of several horses pulling carts of building equipment.

She rushes to him, Trevor close behind, as soon as the coast is clear. Trevor relieves her grandfather of the pile of lumber, lifting the heavy load out of his arms with ease. “I’ll take care of all of this,” he says, nodding toward the site and the other Speakers at work. “You and Sypha should go catch up. I saw a tea stall in the other side of the street. I can find you there later.”

“Thank you,” Mateo says, and he hugs her close. Sypha smiles at Trevor in thanks, before returning her grandfather’s embrace. She breathes in deeply, trying to contain the sudden swell of emotion. He smells of ink and peppermint, just like he always has, and sawdust, from the labor of the day. She hasn’t seen him in more than four months, and he seems smaller than she remembers, frailer.

“It’s been so long,” she says. “I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

“I knew you were all right,” her grandfather replies, pulling back. He touches her face gently, as if he can’t believe she’s really there. “Every so often I hear stories of your travels through Wallachia. A few weeks ago we ran into a merchant from Braila who saw a young woman in a Speaker’s cloak set a vampire alight.” He smiles wryly. “It couldn’t have been anyone else.”

Sypha takes his arm, and they walk to the tea stall together. Upon seeing their blue cloaks, the proprietor immediately brings over two steaming cups of chamomile tea, and leaves with a smile. Sypha wraps her hands around the hot mug, breathing in the delicate aroma. “It’s wonderful to see Speakers being treated well here. I haven’t forgotten what happened in Gresit.”

“We’ve been helping with the rebuilding effort here, and they’ve been very kind to us. The town’s councilman even offered to let us stay through the winter.” Mateo sighs. “We’ll consult together, of course, but I might take them up on that offer. Traveling in winter is getting more difficult every year.”

“You should stay here.” Sypha looks at him anxiously. “Trevor and I have been doing everything we can to exterminate the night hordes and the vampires that Dracula summoned, but it’s still not safe. I don’t like to think of you and the caravan on the roads, or camping out in the open, in the long nights of winter.”

Her grandfather pats her on the hand. “Don’t worry. I think we’ll stay. Anamaria and Elena are both near due, and it will be better for them to be here than on the road in winter.”

Sypha curls her fingers around his. “How have you been?” she asks. “Tell me everything that’s happened since Gresit.”

Mateo smiles. “I would rather hear from you first,” he says. “The things I’ve heard defy belief.”

“It’s all true,” Sypha says. She relays her story as thoroughly but concisely as she can, starting from Gresit, and the road to Arges, to their time in the Belmont library, the fight against Dracula and his generals, and then her travels with Trevor through Wallachia. Her grandfather listens silently, giving her his rapt, undivided attention.

“It is amazing,” he says, after she is finally finished. The sun has sunk in the sky and the two of them have almost finished an entire pot of tea between them. “It is incredible. This is a story that will be told for ages to come. Sypha…” He shakes his head, looking somewhat dazed. “I am torn. You can’t imagine how proud I am of you. But I am worried. I know that you are saving lives, helping countless people, but at the same time, part of me wishes you had just rejoined our caravan after Dracula fell.”

Sypha looks at him sadly. “I know,” she says, and she reaches across and takes both of his hands. “But this is my calling, as surely as being a Speaker was yours and Mother’s and Father’s. I’ve seen what the night hordes and the vampires do to innocent people. I’ve seen how they prey on us. I won’t be able to rest as long as I know that they’re out there.”

Mateo’s shoulders slump somewhat. “I always suspected your calling lay elsewhere,” he says, and he looks down at the table. “Your parents did, as well. It gives me an amount of comfort to know that at least you’re not alone on this path.”

Sypha thinks of Trevor, and of Alucard. “No,” she says. “I’m not.”

Her grandfather clears his throat. “Is he good to you?” he asks softly.

Sypha looks up at him, startled. “Trevor? Yes, of course. He’s my best friend. And he’s a remarkable man. I couldn’t ask for a better companion on this journey.” She pauses, tilting her head to the side. “What is it?”

“It’s bittersweet, hearing you say that.” Mateo laughs softly, but there’s pain in it. “Your mother said the same thing to me, once. Paulo is my best friend, she told me, around half a year after they met.”

Sypha swallows hard, setting her cup of tea down. Even after all these years, it’s still so hard to talk about her parents, even to think about them. “I didn’t know that.”

Mateo nods. “They were married the next year.”

Sypha blushes. She had been able to deny it to Alucard, for a time, but she can’t lie to her grandfather. “I…”

“I trust your judgement, Sypha,” her grandfather says simply. “If Trevor Belmont has your regard, then I know he is a good man, and worthy of you. But I beg you, please, be careful. The Belmont name still is not looked favorably upon in Wallachia. The Church has placed a target on his back.”

“Grandfather…”

“I know the story of the Belmont family,” her grandfather says. “Catina Tihomir was an armorer’s daughter who caught the eye of Daniel Belmont. They married and had one son, Trevor. You know the rest.”

Sypha closes her eyes. Catina and Daniel. Trevor’s never mentioned his parents’ names. “I do,” she whispers.

“The mob drew and quartered Daniel, and they burned Catina at the stake, as a witch. They would have done the same to Trevor, if he hadn’t escaped.”

She feels sick all of a sudden, and she grips the table to steady herself. Alucard’s mother had been burned as a witch too. It makes her stomach turn, to think of the agony that Catina and Lisa had suffered in their final moments. Her own mother had died of the plague, and it had been a cruel death, but at least it had not been murder.

“Catina was the last woman who fell in love with a Belmont,” her grandfather says. He looks so terribly sad. “I wouldn’t have the same thing happen to you. I couldn’t bear it, Sypha. I couldn’t bear losing you.”

Sypha takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I know,” she says. She takes his hand again, trying to comfort him. “I’ll be careful. We’ll be careful. And Trevor would protect me with his life.”

Her grandfather wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t apologize. I know how deeply you care.” Sypha leans forward, tenderly wiping his other eye with her sleeve. “I have something for you, and I hope it helps to assuage your worries.”

Her grandfather watches as she pulls two scrolls from her travel-worn satchel. She unrolls one in front of him, and the other in front of her. “It’s a way for us to communicate,” she explains. “I got the idea from these incredible mirrors in Dracula’s castle and the Belmont library. I placed an enchantment on the scrolls. If you write on yours, the message will appear on my scroll, and vice versa. The messages disappear after a couple of days, so we’ll be able to continue reusing the scrolls.”

Mateo raises his eyebrows. “Amazing,” he says. “I’m… Well, I’m not surprised that you were able to do such a thing. I am surprised that you’ve branched out from nature magics. Those were always your passion.”

“They still are, but necessity is the mother of invention. I needed a reliable way to stay in touch with you, and with Alucard. I left one of these scrolls with him as well.”

“This does make me feel better,” her grandfather admits. He rolls up the scroll and tucks it carefully into his own satchel, and he gives her a long look, as if trying to make up for lost time. “Will you and Trevor stay with us for a few days?”

Sypha shakes her head ruefully. “I wish we could,” she says. “I’m sorry. We’ll spend the night, and leave at sunrise.”

Mateo nods. “I understand. I’m glad you’ll share a meal with us, at least. I’m looking forward to getting to know Trevor a little better. From what you’ve told me, he seems very different from the man I met in Gresit.”

Sypha laughs. “Thankfully, yes.” She takes his hands again. “Thank you for understanding. And for your support. It means the world to me.”

“I love you, Sypha,” he says simply. “No matter where you go and what dangers you face, I always want you to carry that with you.”

“I love you too, Grandfather.”

She and Trevor set out early the next morning, as she had said. The enchanted scroll is a small comfort, yes, but parting from her grandfather hurts as badly as it did in Gresit. Sypha keeps her composure for his sake, but on the road away from Timisoara, she can’t hold back her sniffles. In sharp contrast to his demeanor the last time she had bid farewell to the Speakers, Trevor silently puts his arm around her and holds her for a long while.

The days and weeks pass, turning into months. They exterminate four shtriga across four towns spanning one hundred and twenty miles. It takes them a week and a half in Napoca to find and kill the skinwalker, which Sypha thinks is more horrifying even than vampires and the creatures of Dracula’s night hordes. Those demons are still out there, though their numbers are fewer than they were - both due to her and Trevor’s efforts over the months, as well as certain rituals Alucard has been working on to send them back to the evil realms from which they came.

And there are still vampires to contend with. So many vampires. Occasionally, Sypha thinks back to how naive she had been, in the days after Dracula was defeated and she had invited Trevor to journey with her. She had thought that fighting monsters would be an adventure.

It is true that she and Trevor both thrive on it. They both love the rush of adrenaline, the exhilaration, the thrill of being locked in battle, fighting for their lives, and prevailing due to their own skill. Even Trevor has come to share her appreciation for problem-solving - playing detective, as he calls it. They have spent hours upon hours in long discussions and debates about how to identify, outmaneuver, and kill their more elusive enemies like the skinwalker, or certain vampires, or the shtriga. Still, though, this is not adventure. It is work. Bloody, dangerous, never-ending, exhausting, work. It just happens to be work that they love.

Trevor approaches her one morning early in October. It had been the first truly chilly night of the season, and Sypha is still shivering a little as she tends to the horses. They had grazed early in the morning, but she feeds them each two apples anyway, which they gobble from her hands, eyes bright and tails flicking.

“You spoil them,” Trevor says as he comes up behind her. Though the clouds have dispersed somewhat, allowing weak rays from the rising sun to fall on them, it’s still cold enough that his breath fogs in the air.

Sypha pats Ginger, the chestnut, on the flank. “They work hard for us. They deserve it.”

“Those were our last apples, and we’re out of bread, cheese, butter, and all of our other fruit, too. What do you think about taking some time to restock our supplies?”

“That should be fine,” Sypha says, wiping her hands off on the horses’ blankets. “Zrenjanin is the closest town to here, right? And it’s still on the way to Novi Sad. We should be there in a few hours.”

“Actually,” Trevor says casually, leaning against Ginger, who snorts. “I think we should go to Nis.”

Sypha raises an eyebrow at him. “Nis? Isn’t that east of here? By a good twenty miles, I think. You must be confused.”

She moves back to the wagon, and Trevor falls into step with her. “Me? Confused? Never.”

“But why do you want to go to Nis? It’ll be almost evening by the time we reach there.”

“They have great markets in Nis,” Trevor says emphatically. “Excellent prices. And absolutely fantastic cheese.”

Sypha gives him a skeptical look. “You want us to travel hours out of our way…for cheese.”

“Fantastic cheese,” Trevor corrects. “And good bread, too.”

Sypha stops dead and pokes him in the chest. “What are you not telling me, Belmont?”

Trevor shifts from foot to foot, looking somewhat evasive. “Nothing! Where’s the trust in this partnership?”

“Evaporated with the morning dew, I think.”

“Very poetic,” Trevor teases. “You forget that I’m older and wiser than you, I’ve seen a lot of markets, and I have legitimate strong feelings about the best of them.”

“First of all, you are only three years older than me, hardly a venerated elder,” Sypha sniffs. “Secondly, I’ve seen you eat, and I don’t think you can even tell the difference between different types of breads and cheeses. Now, tell me why you have your heart set on Nis, or I’ll start singing my song to the horses.”

She had chosen the best possible threat. “Please don’t sing,” Trevor says hastily, and she smirks, pleased. He shoves his hands into his pockets and heaves a sigh. “Fine. You win. Nis is a big harvest town, and it’s the peak of the apple harvest season. That means cider.”

Sypha rolls her eyes. “Cider? Can’t you get that anywhere?”

“No, no,” Trevor says, waving the suggestion away as if it were completely ridiculous. “I have to drink the cider in Nis. The pub there serves the most amazing cider, Sypha.” He actually grips both of her shoulders, looking frighteningly impassioned about the topic. “It’s a dream come true. It’s heaven in a tankard. I go every year. Every year, five different varieties of apples, five different varieties of cider.”

Sypha tries to take a step back before he can start lecturing her on the nuances of different flavors. “You are a very strange man.”

Trevor holds onto her. “That may be true. But if we go to Nis today, I’ll owe you one.”

“I’m pretty sure you already owe me at least three or four.”

Trevor gives her his most charming smile. “Shall we add another to the list?”

Sypha feels her resolve weaken. “Fine,” she sighs. “We’ll go to Nis and you can drink your apple juice.”

The look Trevor gives her is so appalled that she dissolves into laughter.

They arrive at Nis late in the afternoon. They stable the horses at an inn a half mile outside town, as they usually do, and walk into town. It’s a small town, and as soon as they arrive, Sypha notices the amount of bustling activity in the streets around them. It is a little unusual for this time of day, when most are returning home to prepare the evening meal and spend time with their families. But today, there are so many people out. All of them are wearing red, yellow, orange, all the warm colors of the autumn leaves, chatting excitedly to one another, walking in large and small groups. Many of the women have little crowns of autumn leaves resting on their heads, or braided into their hair. Sypha smooths down the blue fabric of her Speaker’s cloak somewhat self-consciously. There are garlands on the homes that they pass, and lit candles, dyed yellow and orange, in the windows of every shop they walk past. She hears music in the air too, the faint sound of strings and harps and lutes. The sense of excitement around them is almost tangible.

“The pub isn’t too far from here,” Trevor says, almost salivating. “They serve this savory pie with apple and cheese too, I bet you’d like that. And they have chicken. They roast them with apples and sweet potatoes. It’s all crispy on the outside, and soft on the inside.”

“Supplies first. Though that pie does sound good,” Sypha admits, resting her hand on her stomach. She looks around at the decorated shopfronts, and at the stalls in the market. The vendors have baskets upon baskets piled high with apples, corn, beets, radishes, turnips, cranberries, pumpkins, squash…

“Trevor?” she asks, something suddenly occurring to her. “Have we arrived on the day of the autumn harvest festival?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says. “It’s happened to me a few years before, that I show up on the day of the festival. It’s a good deal for us. More than half off all food and drink at the pub.”

“It must be enjoyable.” Sypha smiles at a small group of children that go racing past, holding miniature toy scarecrows. “I’ve seen quite a few festivals around Wallachia with my Speaker caravan, but I haven’t been to an autumn harvest festival since I was fourteen.”

Trevor shrugs. “They do dancing and stuff in the town square. There’s archery, axe-throwing, hammer-throwing. They have bobbing for apples too, corn-husking races, and wheelbarrow races. I’ve competed in the martial stuff for prize money, but I’m not much for any of that other stuff. When I was seventeen, I I tried the wheelbarrow race with a couple of guys I met at the pub.”

“Oh, really? How did that end?”

“I broke two of my toes and got into a fight with the other team,” Trevor says sourly. “Stuck to the martial competitions and the pub after that. Every year, I earn my prize money and head straight into the pub and straight out.”

Sypha sighs. “You would.”

“Tell you what, though. I’ll show you around the rest of the festival after we’re done buying our supplies.” Trevor grins, and as always, she’s momentarily struck by how much younger and more carefree it makes him look. “Maybe I should give the wheelbarrow race another shot. It might go better with you pushing me.”

Sypha can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “Dream on, Belmont.”

They agree to split up for supplies and meet in front of the pumpkin stall in an hour. Sypha finishes her shopping for bread, cheese, salt, and butter in less than half that time. She leaves the market stalls behind, wandering to the other store-fronts. A bookstore catches her eye, and a garment store. She hesitates, and then impulsively enters the garment store.

Dresses for women are arranged on a splintering table near the front. They are cut simply, in plain fabric. Many of them have embroidery at the collar or sleeves, along the hem of the skirt or sleeves, or trailing up the skirt. It is the colors of the dresses that capture her attention. Several of them are harvest colors, red, orange, and yellow, to match the colors of the festival. Sypha brushes her fingers against them tentatively. She’s always worn blue. She loves blue. It reminds her of the sky, and rushing rivers and streams. But she’s never worn anything different, anything besides her blue cloak and tunic. She had never even wondered what it would be like to wear anything different until very recently.

“Can I help you?” The shopkeeper asks, emerging from the back of the store. She’s holding a bolt of fabric dyed a rich green.

Sypha opens her mouth, and the words just looking are about to spill out, but she can’t quite do it. This would be an indulgence, a silly, ridiculous indulgence. Her money is better spent on food or books and other supplies.

But it would be nice to have one other thing to wear. There are places in Wallachia where Speakers cannot travel safely, and her current garb marks her as a Speaker to anyone who lays eyes on her. It wouldn’t just be nice to have another thing to wear, in that case, it would be a smart thing to do.

“These are lovely,” Sypha finally manages, patting one of the dresses and feeling rather self-conscious. “I…I’m just looking.”

Maybe the shopkeeper had read something in her face, because she sets the bolt of green fabric down on another table and moves closer. “There are some others in the back like those,” she says. “They don’t have the embroidery, though, so they’re cheaper. Do you want me to bring them out for you to look over?”

Trevor or Alucard may have taken offense to her words, but Sypha smiles, making up her mind. “Yes, please. Thank you for your help.”

Sypha leaves the store half an hour later, one silver piece less in her coin purse. She smooths the fabric of her new dress out, running her hands over the skirt, trying to get used to how it feels. The fabric is plain but comfortable, as is the fit. She’ll be able to run and fight in this, if necessary. The sleeves are fitted to her elbow and then flare out, and the square neckline isn’t low, so that she won’t feel awkward or exposed. Most importantly, the fabric is as red as a ripe apple. As she moves through the crowds, clutching her woven shopping basket with her old Speaker clothes folded and nestled inside, she notices that she fits right in with the other young women heading to the festival.

She sees Trevor in front of the pumpkin stall, holding a woven basket piled high with supplies. He’s surveying a collection of misshapen, monstrous-looking gourds, clearly fascinated. Sypha sidles up next to him, setting her basket at her feet. “That green bulbous one over there is quite strange,” she says cheerfully. “Doesn’t it remind you of that vicar from Sebes?”

Trevor almost jumps, and actually double-takes upon seeing her. “Sypha? Is that you?”

“The one and only, yes.” Sypha smooths her hands over her skirt again, trying not to blush at how he’s staring at her, trying not to wonder what he thinks of the change. “I thought it would be nice to have a different outfit. Something more discreet, one that doesn’t scream enemy of God.”

“Good point.” Trevor glances down at the Belmont crest on his shirt. “Maybe I should join you next time.”

“You could get a matching tunic,” Sypha suggests. Now that she thinks of it, she’s never seen Trevor in anything but his typical outfit either, aside from a threadbare black tunic (more reminiscent of a potato sack with sleeves) that he sometimes wears to sleep in.

Trevor shudders. “I’d look like a tomato,” he says, and then glances at her out of the corner of his eye, looking somewhat panicked. “Not that you look like a tomato. You don’t look like a tomato at all. You look nice.”

Sypha sighs. “Thank you, Trevor.”

Trevor coughs and pats her on the shoulder. “You wanted to go see the festival?” he asks, before offering her his arm. “Let’s do this.”

They give the pumpkin vendor a few copper pieces to keep their baskets safe, stowed under the table and covered by the fall of the tablecloth, which he gladly accepts. She and Trevor follow the crowds of townspeople to the festival grounds, and Trevor shows her all that he had promised. There is bobbing for apples, frantic corn-husking races, surprisingly intense wheelbarrow races, archery and horseshoe and wrestling competitions, and even some axe and hammer throwing on the edges of the festival area. The two of them eagerly spectate a few wrestling and axe-throwing matches. Trevor enters into a wrestling match, an axe-throwing match, and a hammer-throwing match, and wins all three, earning three heavy bags of silver and gold pieces. To Sypha’s surprise, the mediator of the wrestling match gives Trevor a small wreath of sunflowers as well. He places it gently on her head, without a moment’s hesitation.

The dancing in the middle of the festival grounds catches her fancy after that, and Sypha leads her triumphant victor over to watch the dancers. “It’ll be a good break for you from flinging things around and straining yourself,” she says. “You can appreciate the finer things in life.”

“Ah, but I love flinging things around,” Trevor says wistfully. “I wish they had keg tossing here.”

Sypha leans against him, humming along to the music. It’s vibrant and energetic, all quick strings. People of all ages are dancing, from elderly couples to small children joining hands and skipping in circles, almost falling over themselves in laughter. There’s no formality to the dance; every pair and group seems to be following different steps, moving as the music inspires them. “Isn’t this lovely?” she asks happily. “Oh, look at that couple over there! That man just lifted his partner up and spun her around in the air.”

Trevor clears his throat, and when she looks over at him, he offers his hand to her. “Come on,” he says, somewhat apprehensively. “Let’s join them.”

Sypha stares at him. “Are you serious?”

He smiles at her, and the expression makes her melt, as it always does. “I said I owed you one, remember?”

Sypha beams, placing her hand in his. He pulls her out into the crowd and then stands somewhat awkwardly, placing one hand on her shoulder and one on her lower back, and glancing around them surreptitiously.

“Trevor?” she asks, peering up at him. “Are you all right? You look a little sick.”

“So, I don’t actually know how to dance,” he mutters, turning red. “It looked easier when we were standing on the sidelines.”

Sypha laughs, taking his hand and interlacing their fingers together. “That’s fine. I’ll lead us. As usual.”

“Just for the record, I resent that.”

Trevor is a fast learner, though, and by their third dance, he takes the lead. His competitive instinct comes out, as well. He stares at the other couples around them with narrowed eyes, studying their moves with such intensity that a few young men scowl at him and their dance partners edge away.

“You’re scaring the good people of Nis,” Sypha comments, as he whirls her around. “Be careful. They might ban you from the pub.”

“Unlikely. They’re just intimidated by our skill.” He startles her, placing both hands on her waist and picking her up off the ground with seemingly no effort; the same move that had so impressed her earlier.

“Trevor! That was amazing.”

He grins at her, clearly satisfied by the praise. Now that she thinks about it, it’s actually not that surprising. He excels at all things athletic, so why should dancing be the exception? “You always underestimate me, Sypha. Maybe one day…” he pauses, looking thoughtful. “You will estimate me?”

Sypha giggles. “Stick to the dancing, my dear.”

The endearment had slipped out completely without her realizing it, and she blinks, mortified. Thankfully, Trevor hadn’t seemed to notice at all; he’s too wrapped up in leading them through a series of complicated steps.

They dance for a long time, until they’re both breathless and Sypha’s feet hurt a little. At a brief break in the music, she releases his hand, ignoring the small pang of regret she feels. “I’m starving,” she says. “Shall we go to your pub?”

Trevor’s eyes gleam in anticipation as they leave the dancing grounds. “Of course. My pub...I like the sound of that. Maybe after we retire from the business of vanquishing evil, we can open a pub.”

“We? I want nothing to do with this. You can open a pub with Alucard, and I will be the owner of a reputable school of magic.” Sypha looks up at him. “Thank you for dancing with me.”

“Anytime.” Trevor scratches his chin contemplatively. “It was fun, actually. Maybe we should find a dance competition to enter at the next festival we hear of.”

They bicker lightly about whether or not everything has to be a competition until they reach the pub. It’s small and dimly lit, and so crowded and loud that Sypha immediately feels overwhelmed. Trevor is completely unfazed, though, and finds them a spot at the bar. The bench is packed so tightly that she doesn’t think there will be space for them, but Trevor sits down at the end anyway, shoving the man next to him a bit and returning his glare with one of his own.

“I’m sure we can find a table instead,” Sypha says, looking around apprehensively.

Trevor shakes his head. “Service will be faster up here. It’s fine, look.”

He clears a little bit more space, earning another dirty look from the man on the other side of him, and gestures for her to sit down. It’s so close that she’s practically on his lap, and Sypha tries not to feel flustered, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“One flight of cider and one roast chicken with apples and sweet potatoes,” Trevor tells the harried-looking server when he comes around to them, juggling three plates of food.

Sypha smiles at him. “I’ll have a cheese and apple pie, please, and one mug of water, and one glass of mulled wine.”

Their drinks and food come out surprisingly fast. The chicken and the pie both look leagues better than any food that they normally find at inns and taverns, and Trevor practically salivates at the sight of the five tall glasses before him. All of them are filled with cider ranging from golden to pink in color. “Well, they are pretty,” Sypha observes, digging her spoon into her pie.

“They’re beautiful,” Trevor says, looking rather emotional. “Here, try some of each before I start them.”

“Oh, I don’t--”

“I can’t not share with you. Start with that one on the far right, it’s a bit milder, and work your way left.”

It is much more enjoyable than beer, thanks to the apple flavor, though it’s still strong for her taste. Her throat is burning and her eyes watering by the last sip. Trevor is watching her, clearly anxious for her reaction, and Sypha points to the two on the right. “Those are the best. I could drink one of those. Slowly.”

“Ah, from the Crimson Crisp and the Winesap,” Trevor observes, looking delighted. “Do you want me to get one for you? The server’s just down the bar.”

“No, thank you. All I want is more of this incredible pie. Here, have a piece. The crust is fantastic.”

“If you think that’s good, wait until you have the chicken. I’ll give you a leg now, hold on.”

They end up eating half of each other’s meals, working their way through the entire pie and the chicken, chatting leisurely, Trevor giving her a sip of his cider every now and then. The pub is nice and warm, and after a while, the noise and crowd doesn’t bother her much anymore. Sypha has a bit of pie and listens to Trevor’s rebuttal to her argument about why The Townley Plays are actually a good piece of roadside theater after all.

They are sitting in an unfamiliar town she has never been in before, and one that they will leave by dawn the next morning. And yet she feels so comfortable, totally at ease and at home, sitting here with Trevor at her side.

She had always understood why people sought out romantic relationships; for companionship and partnership. But she had never felt the need. She was happy and complete on her own, fulfilled in her work as a Speaker and her studies of magic. And she still is. It’s just that Trevor being around, being able to share every meal and every observation about the world and every challenge and triumph with her best friend, is even better. It fulfills her and makes her happy in a very different way.

There are times when she feels like she could burst with frustration over how badly she wants to kiss Trevor, to hold his hand, to do other things besides kiss him and hold his hand. But most times, like this, she is perfectly content. Just being with him is enough.

“Sypha?” Trevor asks, waving a chicken bone in front of her to get her attention. “Are you even listening? I said that even a ten-year-old could see the plot twist in the main mystery coming a mile away, and you’re just going to let that slip?”

“That is such a ludicrous assertion that I just ignored it.” Sypha brandishes her spoon at him in return for the chicken bone maneuver. “You are the only person I have ever talked to, of any age, who believes this. But what is more offensive is your belief that Gyb is a funny character. Gyb is the worst and here is why…”

They argue until Trevor has drained his last glass of cider, and Sypha has to convince him that no, another flight of five large glasses tonight is probably not a good idea. She asks the pub owner to fill two large wineskins for the road instead. He acquiesces, and Trevor is so overcome with gratitude he looks like he’s close to weeping, and tells her that she is the most perfect person in the world.

He’s a bit unsteady on his feet, and immediately puts an arm around her shoulder for support as they make their way out of the pub. It’s late enough that the crowds outside have subsided. When they reach the market, they find that the pumpkin vendor has abandoned his stall, but considerately left the tablecloth on the table, concealing their baskets from view. Trevor picks up his basket and wanders off while Sypha retrieves hers.

He comes back with a large red apple in his hand, clearly proud of the acquisition. Sypha eyes him suspiciously. “Where did you get that?”

“Someone left it on a table, I guess. Perfectly legal.” Trevor shrugs and offers it to her. “We’re at the autumn harvest festival, and we haven’t had any apples.”

“A travesty.” Sypha takes the apple. It fits perfectly into the palm of her hand, triggering a memory. “Remember when we accidentally trespassed onto that apple orchard?”

Trevor grins, slinging his arm around her shoulder again, and she almost staggers under the weight. He isn’t light, that’s for sure. “Oh, I remember.”

She had been stuffed by dinner, but she can’t resist the temptation, taking a bite of the apple. “It’s a good one,” she says. “Sweet and tart at the same time. Here.”

Sypha passes him the apple. She had expected that he would bite off the other side, but instead he bites just where she had. A kiss by proxy, she can’t help thinking, and she tries not to blush.

“Perfect,” Trevor says, his mouth full.

“Yes,” Sypha agrees. “Just like tonight.”

She expects a typical smart remark from him, something like you’re welcome or I was the one who insisted we come here, but Trevor just smiles, passing the apple back to her. “Just like tonight.”

Sypha is mid-bite of the apple when he speaks, sounding rather smug. “Of course, I deserve full credit for insisting that we come here. Maybe next time when I suggest we go somewhere, you’ll be more trusting.”

Sypha elbows him in the ribs.

to be continued

Thank you so much to everybody who left comments on the previous chapter. :) I love reading your thoughts!

#castlevania #trevor belmont #sypha belnades

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