Chapter 11: The Instruments of Darkness

Margit's eyes flickered open; her hands immediately flew to her damaged chest. Her desperate fingers confirmed she was uninjured; she also discovered she was naked. Confused and alone in total darkness, she started to panic. But wait, there was a patch of brightness in front of her. The grey patch slowly expanded. Margit could see it clearly now, the clouds; she was travelling towards a group of dense grey clouds.

Her body was swallowed by the dank, suffocating blanket. She was more certain now, she was flying, not falling, and she found she could control her speed of descent. Margit wanted to get out of the cloud bank, and away from its claustrophobic embrace. She steepened her angle of descent and plummeted downwards.

Soon the cloud cleared, and Margit could see a rural landscape spread out below her. She could not immediately identify it but this was not England, no, below her lay somewhere on mainland Europe. Her body responded to the cool breeze sweeping over it. Her pale skin puckered into goosebumps, and her nipples formed into stiffened peaks. She slowed to gaze at the ploughed fields before her. Then away, at breakneck speeds, now swooping over virgin forest and up, up into the higher lands. She circled an unknown castle, before descending to plunge through the open gates. Her feet touched down on the cobbled courtyard.

Margit looked at the castle in awe, it was clearly centuries old but looked to be in pristine condition. Her eyes scanned the walls of the castle and settled on the carved stone inscription above the studded oaken doors. Margit instantly recognised the symbol; it came from the mirror, one of the symbols on its edge. A feeling of unease settled on her, and then it occurred to her: she wasn't breathing, why wasn't she breathing? Unsteadily, her legs carried her forwards, like a zombie, she staggered towards the fearful door. Clumsily, her legs took her unwilling body on a very unwanted journey.

Her pale hands rose and forced the doors apart. A splendid hallway with a sweeping staircase stood before her. From nowhere, a woman materialised before Margit's incredulous eyes. She was almost indescribable in appearance, her beauty astounding. Margit felt in awe of the spectre, as if she were in the presence of royalty. The noble voice rang out filling the hallway with rich tones.

"Welcome, novice, into the presence of Erzsébet Bathory, council member of the Wampyr high command. Fear for your immortality, my will rules supreme."

Margit felt her body pushed down into a supplicant pose.

When she looked up, another woman of equal beauty had appeared.

"This is my consort, Darvulia, she will be your guide to the ways of the Wampyr; heed her well!"

Margit felt her head nod in deference to Darvulia, the consort smiled back, her approval thrilled Margit to her core.

"Before you begin your new life, I have a question for you. I have a decision to make; only you can help me make my mind up. Do you think Maldea is to be trusted?"

Margit spluttered, as a blast of air shot into her empty, still lungs. She started to breathe once again.

"I-I I think so, she was drained by us all, she must be converted," Margit replied.

"Do not think, feel. Let your vampyre emotions guide you in this. They will not fail you; you are of true heart," Erzsébet advised.

Margit concentrated and listened to her impure soul.

"No, she is strong, she is not to be trusted," Margit replied.

"I thought not, I know of her strength, as do others here."

"Others?"

"You are here to learn, not question. Understand, or feel my wrath!" Erzsébet warned.

Margit closed her eyes and dropped her head, she was, after all, learning.

"Follow me, Margit, for there is much to understand," Darvulia spoke quietly.

Margit walked, now willingly, behind the swaying silk clad form. Her hearing picked up every swish of the gossamer fabric, with the undertone of Darvulia's slow, sensuous heartbeat. Hypnotically allured, she followed Darvulia through a low vaulted passageway.

"Observe the windows; these are the punishment cells, the price of failure is high," whispered Darvulia.

Margit's eyes peered into the darkness of the first window; slowly her eyes accommodated to the dim light. A girl of no more than seventeen summers sat peacefully smiling. Her scowling partner languidly applied a red hot iron first to one raw nipple, and then to the other. The girl's face remained a picture of absolute bliss.

"Her punishment is to endure the agony, but never to be able to express it," Darvulia cooed.

Darvulia moved closer to Margit, wisps of her fine hair fell on to Margit's bare shoulder, every strand triggering a micro-orgasm in the skin cells they caressed. Margit wandered on, fearful of the next perverted tableaux.

Margit could not resist the draw of the spectacle however, and she gazed through the next window. Her eyes fell upon a back of such beauty, such perfection that her senses soared; even the shaved head couldn't detract from the desirability of this woman. The woman gazed long and hard into a darkened full length mirror, but slowly she turned to face Margit. If the back had been perfection, then the front was an inverse reflection, an abomination of sores, pustules and weeping tumours. Margit felt her vomit rise to her throat and the tears pool in her eyes. Then Darvulia spoke.

"Mika, join me, your training is over."

The dishevelled being shambled to the window. The glass dissolved, and unsteadily, the monstrosity stepped over the sill. Margit recoiled in disgust, but as soon as one misshapen foot touched the floor of the passage, a remarkable transformation took place.

The blond hair on Mika's head grew once again, and cascaded down onto her firm shoulders. From these sprung a long smooth neck that led to the most exquisite finely detailed face. The high cheekbones were topped with dark violet eyes, gracing sockets deep with mystery. A short upturned nose was placed above a wide sensual mouth. Mika stirred and her soft hands fell to reveal small plump breasts tipped with honeyed, erect nipples. At her groin was a fine rounded mound, covered with downy blond fluff. The tops of the thighs were sculpted and firm, the gap where they joined revealed a fine pair of full lush labia. Mika smiled wickedly at Margit.

At once, Margit felt her labia and upper thighs dampen with warm rivulets of desire. Trembling she reached a hand forward to touch the shimmering tanned skin.

"No, this is not for you, Margit. This is for you," said Darvulia.

Darvulia extended an elegant arm, and indicated Mika's empty cell.

As much as Margit wished to scream her defiance, the words would not come. As little as she wished to move, her feet ignored her, and with a calmness that betrayed her fear, she stepped over the sill and into the confined space.

"Now you will learn, your training begins. It may take a year or two, or a century or two. But you will learn," Darvulia promised.

With a casual wave of Darvulia's arm, the glass reformed. Margit stumbled towards the mirror. As she reached it, her screams filled the castle.

"Mika, Erzsébet has a task for you, come join us."

Mika and Darvulia walked steadily away from the pitiful cries, further into the castle. Mika paused once, staring long and hard into the cell beside hers. A gorgeous blonde girl sat astride her lover's face, sweat cascading off her lean body as she desperately ground her groin down onto her lover's bruised lips. Her hands explored the body beneath her with experienced grace, and the skin beneath them trembled as if on the cusp of orgasm. She moved forwards as the fingers of her right hand contracted into a fist, and then she thrust it savagely between the splayed legs of her gasping lover.

"Joyce and Claudie are still here? They were here when I arrived, how long ago was that?" Mika asked.

"15 human years ago, almost 16 now," replied Darvulia.

"A long time, but I still don't see that as training. What I had was punishment. Punishment teaches, that is enjoyment -- how will they learn?"

"As you are newly emerged, I will forgive you this one question. But be warned, Erzsébet would not. The answer is they have no pleasure, neither of them has had pleasure for 15 long years."