Field of Blood by Wilson, Eric (dar e dil novel online reading .TXT) 📗

the university, but you certainly don’t see me neglecting my duties. Time to grow up, you hear?”

The words stung. Though she admired her mother’s commitment to education, that grasping for knowledge seemed to have weakened her hold on tenderness.

Locked in this young girl’s body, Gina was ready to break free, to pursue her own dreams. She loved the village children, adored their innocent, grubby faces, and her heart yearned to be of some use in an orphange.

Not that she had much to offer.

But weren’t there constant cries for workers at the centers—in nearby Arad, in Cluj, even as far away as Constanta on the Black Sea? Stories circulated about urine-soaked mattresses in steel cribs, babies with bedsores, and abuses best left unnamed.

Gina scratched again at her neck.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.”

Nicoleta yanked her hand away. “A mosquito bite? I told you to use the ointment before going out.”

“It’s fine.”

When her mother pulled at her dress collar to sniff her skin, Gina giggled at the touch. She pulled away, and her mother’s palm came flying across her cheek.

“It’s no laughing matter, Regina. We’re susceptible. Do you wish to die, babbling incoherently while some blood disorder turns your brains to mush? As God’s servants we must be ever vigilant, or we’ll be overtaken by evil.”

“It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

“Sometimes I wonder. You’re my angel, yes, but a silly girl.”

“You know tomorrow I’ll be turning—”

“It means nothing. Who has time for such frivolity? Making yourself useful will take you much further in life. Are you listening? There. If it’s a gift you’re after, I’ve just given you one.”

Gina thought of goat’s milk and kisses and said nothing.

“Now tell me,” Nicoleta pressed. “Did you kill the creature? That’s the only way to avoid the disorder. It robs the beast of its power over you.”

“The beast?”

“Stop your quivering. The mosquito, of course.”

“Didn’t you tell me those were only wives’ tales? The talk of gypsies and—”

“Honesty, child. Shush your mouth.”

Gina had witnessed this cycle before, from religious hysteria to cold logic to hysteria again. There were so many taboos in this home, things that went unsaid. Perhaps university was her mother’s way of fighting off years of misplaced guilt and superstition.

“Quick now,” Nicoleta said. “Get me the knife. You know which one.”

“Da.”

Gina moved from the kitchen to a small sweltering alcove, where tight window mesh kept out the bugs. Though most Cuvin residents went without such screens and looked upon this household with distrust, she didn’t question her mother’s eccentricities. She could only hope one day to acquire some of her intelligence and good looks.

Her fingers pushed beneath Nicoleta’s bed mat and found the black walnut box with the bronze clasp. The hinged box gave a melodic chime, spreading into a chessboard of blonde and ebony squares. On the under-side, glistening chess pieces—piese de sah—waited in red-felt niches for their deployment.

The set’s simple elegance sparked her creativity. Honor and warfare. The royal game. Even her name . . .

In Romanian, Regina meant “queen.”

“Child, I told you to be quick.”

Gina peeled back the felt and took hold of a concealed dagger, a crude and ancient-looking weapon. This wasn’t the first time she would go under its blade to be cleansed of infection. Tonight, as on previous occasions, she would find a way to hide the scar.

“Gina.”

She hurried into the kitchen.

“Whatever took you so long? Did you find it?”

“Right here.” She surrendered the knife, then squatted on the floor and tilted her head. “I’m ready, Mamica. I promise not to flinch.”

CHAPTER

TWO

Jerusalem

He was a Collector of Souls. An inky smear in the ether. Borne along by shadows, he and the others had waited on this field’s fringes, longing to access the caverns hidden beneath the hard soil, hoping to inhabit the dead.

Millennia had passed. For centuries, this slope had been silent.

Would today be their day?

The Akeldama, as it was called in Aramaic, was no ordinary place. Here, blood had been spilled. Here, on the south edge of Mount Zion, the Man from Kerioth had taken his own life.

Judas. That was his name in the Christian Bible.

He alone, in all of history, had played host to the Master Collector, and it was this potent infusion, this bitter life force, which had seeped down into tombs full of age-old bones.

The Collector trained his attention again on the work crew now populating the Valley of Hinnom. He wondered if these humans, with their modern machines, might crack open the earth for him and provide entry to the necropolis.

As a cluster leader, he thought of summoning the others, but he’d done that too many times before. Premature hope led to stillborn desire, and it only poisoned them against him.

First, he would take a closer look. Perhaps, cause a distraction.

Mortal minds were so easily turned.

The Collector released his fragile hold on a pitted tree trunk and slipped toward the workers and their heavy machinery.

Lars Marka brought down the bulldozer’s jaws and watched them chew into stubborn Jerusalemite rock. He enjoyed this job. With a foreign work permit, he was making his own money for once, saving for the next leg of his travels while trying to stay one step ahead of his father.

Today was hotter than usual. The operator’s cabin had become a sauna, wringing sweat from his pores, and he was about to request a break, when echoes of the past filled his head: You’re lazy, son. What else do you want me to say? I offer you a secure job, and you refuse me.

He decided to push through the discomfort.

To prove his father wrong.

Earlier in the year, he had fled the man’s domineering presence and, in the grand tradition of his Norwegian forebears, crisscrossed Europe on his way to warmer climates. No doubt his father had already sent out a search team formed from his own security personnel. A prodigal son was an embarrassment not to be tolerated, and—

Shuddering metal shook Lars from his thoughts. The black control knob vibrated from his grip, and the bulldozer screeched forward