THE TRIP GOES ON

They had been on the road for days, and despite making some progress, the rain had started again, and the further west they pushed, the narrower and muddier the roads became. Bram Stoker had asked himself countless times in the past few days what had possessed him to embark on such an undertaking. Or at least to insist on taking the more comfortable train to Galway. Instead of enjoying the comforts of civilization in London, he was sitting in a carriage, being tossed from side to side with every stone. At night, he had to sleep in increasingly lice-infested beds, and the meals offered in the pubs along the way were not exactly what he was accustomed to in terms of culinary finesse. Yes, the few hours he felt comfortable on this journey were when he was riding ahead on horseback, away from the carriage - if it wasn't pouring rain again. And now he was even risking falling into the hands of the partisans! What if they were exposed while in their company? The English didn't joke about such things. Bram Stoker put his hand to his throat and loosened his collar a bit, which suddenly felt too tight.

"What's wrong with you? May I ask what's troubling you? You look unwell," the lady opposite him said.

How can one be well in this torture contraption called a carriage? he wanted to say, but he swallowed the words and instead looked at the lady across from him. Her large, imposing figure sat upright between the cushions. She couldn't loosen up and rest a bit during a ride outside, and instead sat with stoic calmness from morning till night in this hellish contraption, without complaining, without even indicating that this journey was uncomfortable and exhausting for her. And yet she was a lady, and moreover, more than two dozen years older than him - although she always claimed to have been born in 1826, as his friend Oscar had once told him with a sly smile. "That's why I always make myself two years younger. Someone might be good at math."

Bram tried discreetly to stretch his cramped limbs. "I'm wallowing in self-pity, Lady Wilde, and wondering what devil convinced me to take this journey."

He looked over at her with a wry smile. A gust of wind pushed against the carriage, and he heard the muck under the wheels like a greedy monster smacking its lips. Jane Wilde smiled back. "If you can joke about the situation, you're already on the path to recovery. I should actually say, Shame on you, Mr. Stoker! You travel to London and Paris and even to the south of Italy, but you shy away from a trip through your own homeland because it's too uncomfortable?"

"The discomfort alone doesn't frighten me, although I must admit, I'd rather ride twenty miles on horseback than one in this contraption."

"Well, with this rain, it's not so bad to have a roof over your head," the lady countered, gracefully absorbing a deep rut that threw the carriage first to the left and then to the right. 

"Perhaps, but I feel so confined in here. For me, not being able to move is the worst!" Bram Stoker felt his mouth go dry and panic begin to rise within him. Jane Wilde looked at him somewhat puzzled.

"I was very ill as a child," he explained to her. "Until I was eight years old, I couldn't walk or stand. No one gave the sickly child, who was bound to his bed day and night, a chance. Even the doctors considered my recovery a miracle. I often felt back then like I was buried alive, locked in a dark dungeon for all eternity, while life played out outside my window in the sunlight - without me."

Jane Wilde looked at him attentively. "I understand. Oscar told me about your passion for the dead and all kinds of revenants, and about your preference for wandering in cemeteries at night."

"Yes, the topic doesn't let me go. Sometimes I dream of lying in a coffin underground. But I'm still alive, and suddenly I hear scratching and scraping, and then a pale woman opens the lid and looks down at me. For a moment, I'm relieved and overjoyed that she saved me from what I thought was certain death, but then she bares sharp fangs and sinks them into my neck, not only taking my blood but also my soul. I've collected stories about such beings, and I've noticed that most of the Irish tales about vampires and other undead come from the West."

The lady raised her eyebrows slightly. "And you're traveling with us to find such beings?"

He squirmed. "As I said, it hasn't left me since my childhood."

"Perhaps one must face one's fears. It's certainly not easy to overcome such a childhood."

They fell silent for a while, then Bram changed the subject.

"I've read some of your articles. When I was a boy, when I learned to read. Someone had cut them out of the newspaper and kept them. 'The Famine Year' impressed me greatly."

The lady nodded graciously. "It was an inner need for me."

"And it didn't frighten you to make powerful men your enemies? You couldn't expect your pseudonym, Speranza, to remain a secret forever. It was known that you took over the leadership of the nation when Duffy went to prison."

"I don't know to what extent I was aware of the danger I was getting myself into. My God, I was so young and filled with the fervor of youth. I had to do something for our country - against the injustice with which the English have been treating it for centuries! And perhaps it was precisely the danger that was the allure, the special thrill that it brings. I felt so awake and alive!"

Was that the reason she subjected herself to these hardships? Had "Speranza" become too boring in her well-to-do respectability? Did she want to forget about age for a while and feel young again? Perhaps.

Again, the wheels bumped over a stone, and Bram suppressed a groan.

"You're mistaken if you think I don't feel the discomfort," the lady said. "I accept it as a necessary evil. The roads are miserable, the accommodations dreadful, and the food poor. The whole country is shrouded in the silence of a shroud. And precisely for that reason, we must make this journey and let our eyes see, our minds and hearts understand. Why does no one want to focus on Donegal, Mayo, Galway, and Clare in London or Dublin? Or even travel to this, as they think, God-forsaken area? Not only has nature disadvantaged this part of Ireland in the distribution of its treasures, but the English have also contributed to keeping the counties so poor. They've taken away our fertile east and sent the inconvenient clans westward into the bogs. And when the potatoes began to rot in forty-five, they just watched as thousands of people starved or shipped themselves off to America on floating coffins, as the emigrant ships were called back then."

The carriage stopped, and Oscar rode up to the window. "There's a pub around the bend. Shall we warm up and have a beer? I'm completely soaked through and cold to the bone, like a corpse!" He shook his hat, sending drops flying in all directions.

They agreed, and Bram suddenly thought that this rocking torture device might not be the worst choice in this weather after all.

As soon as the last rays of the sun disappeared, the Lycana herded their guests into the great hall. Donnchadh urged them to depart. A march of nearly forty miles lay before them tonight, announced the clan leader to the silently listening vampires of all families. He assured them they would have the opportunity to rest along the way, which seemed to reassure not only Luciano.

As in the previous night, the heirs split into small groups, each guarded by servants and led by at least one of the Lycana. Unlike yesterday, Franz Leopold joined them again. Alisa couldn't say whether he couldn't bear his relatives any longer or whether he had reconciled with the Lycana. It didn't matter to her, as long as he didn't revert to his foul mood, in which he irritated everyone to the bone. For now, he was surprisingly silent and kept a bit behind them. He didn't even accuse Luciano of being too slow.

The individual groups kept a little distance from each other, just enough not to attract too much attention, but not so much that they couldn't rush to each other's aid in case of need. The siblings Bridget and Niamh transformed into owls and silently flew over their heads, observing the path ahead and the silent landscape they were leaving behind. They found no trace of their pursuers. However, Ivy was sure that they were still after them.

"Since this vampire didn't commit suicide in the cave, the others must have escaped. They were definitely vampires, and that means they must be able to change shape, so they could slip out through a tiny hole as small animals or mist. Anyway, I see no reason why they would stop their pursuit now. And it would be naive to think we could escape them by land. Not after they followed us halfway around Ireland by sea."

Franz Leopold nodded thoughtfully. "We're leaving too many traces. Why didn't we start training to transform into bats or owls right away? Then no one could follow us, and we'd be faster."

"That's true, but I suspect you still remember Catriona's explanations on the first night," Ivy ignored his disdainful snort and continued in a louder voice, "It's difficult to transform into animals with characteristics that are foreign to us. And flying definitely falls into that category!"

"It's difficult, it's difficult," Franz Leopold mocked her. "But you Lycana can do it - at least many of you. So it shouldn't be a serious obstacle for us."

"That's true," Ivy admitted, "but it can't be done without practice."

"And why don't we practice instead of just mindlessly wandering around here? Can't we practice while walking?" Ivy was surprised, Luciano groaned. Alisa, however, clapped her hands enthusiastically. "That's the best suggestion I've ever heard from your mouth, Leo!"

He bowed mockingly in her direction. "You're welcome!"

Alisa looked at Ivy invitingly. "You know how it's done. Tell us what to watch out for! And then we'll just try."

Ivy hesitated, but eventually nodded and began to describe to them the difference between transforming into a wolf, a bat, or even a tiny insect. The three friends listened attentively and then started on the preliminary exercises Ivy recommended. She helped and corrected, and so time passed without them really noticing where their feet were taking them. Sometimes Donnchadh led them directly along the rocky shore, then over flat hills where sheep grazed during the day. They passed only a few fishermen's huts, but then lights appeared before them. Countless lights that spoke of many people.

"What's that up ahead?" Luciano asked, probably to interrupt Ivy's lesson for a few moments.

"Those are the lights of Galway, one of the largest cities here in the west, but not comparable to Dublin or even Rome. Until the Normans conquered it in the 13th century, it was just a fishing village, but then it became an important fortified English stronghold."

Although the young vampires would have been curious about the city at the mouth of the Corrib, the Lycana led them east past it. Then, however, they approached the city again from the north.

"I feel like we're walking in circles," Alisa said.

"Not quite. But I suspect we'll cross the Corrib via the bridges. If we keep following it, we'll have to use a ferry or swim across."

"What you usually do by transforming into a trout or whatever," Luciano guessed.

Ivy smiled mischievously. "No, I haven't tried that yet. Usually, we prefer to fly over the water."

"Which brings us back to the topic," murmured Franz Leopold.

Donnchadh led them along the shore towards the city wall, but then turned towards a stone bridge that led them to an island, on which a mighty building rose.

"The prison the English built for the insurgents," Ivy said. "But I've heard that the church is considering building a cathedral here. The old Norman church is no longer good enough for them. They want to go into the bogs and quarry the green marble of Connemara for their house of God!"

Her wild expression prompted the friends to ask, "What's wrong with building their church from marble?"

"They're robbing Ireland's soul." When Ivy noticed that the others were looking at her confused and perhaps a little amused, she tried to explain it to them.

"Do you remember carrick a rede, the rock in the way?"

"The small island we reached on that rope bridge on the first night? Of course!" exclaimed Luciano.

"I told you back then it was a place with special powers. There are places like that all over Ireland, where streams of energy condense and intersect. The Celts believed their gods lived here, others say you're close to the land or its creator. It doesn't matter how you call it. I say Ireland's soul lives there. There we can connect with it and receive its powers as a gift to guide Ireland's nature.

One of the places where the powers are strongest is Connemara. I don't mean the mountains, lakes, and bogs - although the mountains come closest, as it's the rock that forms a band underground from the southeast to the coast in the northwest of the county. People have always valued the marble together with its ores to make tools, but above all weapons, with which they can kill each other!" Ivy extended her arm and showed her simple bracelet made of green speckled stone. "That's Connemara marble, which gives me its power and binds me to my land." Seymour grumbled discontentedly.

"If people quarry it, will the earth lose its energy?" Alisa wanted to know.

"Yes. The stone retains its power for a while, but if it's no longer connected to its mother rock, it can't renew it. And the mother rock weakens too, the more it's shattered by pickaxes and blown into pieces by black powder."

"Do you think people feel its power and use it precisely because of that to build their church?" Alisa pondered.

"I think the knowledge of the connections has been lost with the Celts. The church teaches that this is superstition. And yet, I think some people perceive the energy, even if they're not clear about what they're feeling. It's possible that the marble has always been felt as something precious, and that's why they quarry it and drag it into their churches, in honor of the god who drove away the Druids."

They left the island via a second bridge and now turned north again, always following the course of the Corrib until it expanded into a huge lake, Lough Corrib.

They resumed their exercises as they followed the shore until Ivy called out, "Look, we're approaching Aughnanure. It's not far now!" She quickened her pace until she had a little distance from the others, and Seymour also seemed to suddenly be in a hurry.

Franz Leopold tilted his head and looked at the delicate figure in her silvery shimmering robe. "Is it just me, or did Seymour not want her to talk to us about these things?" Alisa whispered.

"He's a wolf!" Luciano said. "A very clever wolf, but a wolf."

"And you probably believe the Earth is flat and the sun revolves around it," Franz Leopold retorted.

"No, that's not true, Galileo found out a few hundred years ago!" Luciano said, offended.

"It was Nicolaus Copernicus!" Alisa contradicted. "Galileo built a telescope and discovered the moons of Jupiter, the phases of Venus, and mountains and craters on the moon. He was charged by the church because he admitted to Copernicus' heliocentric worldview. He recanted before the Inquisition, but remained their prisoner until his death."

"What a fount of knowledge we are today," mocked Franz Leopold, while Luciano muttered "Old know-it-all," which didn't seem to bother Alisa because she added, "And Seymour is certainly no ordinary wolf!"

"Oh really? What else then? A Lycana who constantly roams in wolf form?" Alisa hesitated. "That would be possible, but I think..."

"Look who's coming!" Ivy interrupted, stopping and pointing to the sky. The three looked up. "Is that the sea eagle?" Franz Leopold wanted to know. "At least it's the silhouette of a large raptor."

"Yes, it's Tapaidh," Ivy said, stretching out her arm. With its wings spread wide, its powerful talons outstretched, the eagle swooped down towards them. Ivy enclosed her forearm with her other hand to cushion the momentum of its landing. "He must be quite heavy," Luciano guessed.

"At least when he comes down like that," Ivy agreed.

"Well? What do you have to report? Has Tara arrived?" The bird looked at her with its piercing yellow eyes. Franz Leopold tried to catch the thoughts it was sending her, but he couldn't. Could it shield its mind even though it was just a bird? He tried again. The griffin jerked its head backward and fixed its gaze on the Dracas.

"Don't distract him," Ivy pleaded, her voice sounding disappointed.

"What did he say?" Luciano pressed, who probably hadn't even tried to listen to the message. However, Franz Leopold wasn't sure about Alisa. She smiled knowingly to herself.

"Tara has not yet arrived in Aughnanure. I asked him to look for her. I hope she's already nearby and comes before sunrise so I can still talk to her." Ivy thanked the griffin, which let out a hoarse cry and soared back into the air.

"Come on, let's keep going," Ivy urged the friends. "We're almost there." She pointed to a group of trees ahead of them. The friends followed her gaze. Above the treetops, they could see a battlement of gray stone blocks.

"Aughnanure, the field of the yews, the most magical tree of the Celts," Ivy said solemnly. "Come, let's go in. I want to introduce you to a very special vampire. Her name is Áine, and I'm sure at least Alisa will soon be captivated by her and hanging on her lips listening to her stories."

Áine knelt in the damp earth. The blood-soaked earth. Again. She could still smell it, even though it was a little less every night. The pain, however, remained unabated.

She later couldn't remember why she hadn't sensed them. Had her grief made her so blind and deaf? Clouded all her senses? Or did she want to be destroyed deep down inside and long for the end? Now, however, her instincts were fighting against the danger. The howling and wailing sounded very close. Too close! She jumped up. As a wolf, she would hardly be faster than the pack, and even in her human form, they would stick to her trail. She had to fly. She called the mists, but nothing happened. Áine heard the drumming paws.

Concentrate! Then it will be faster!

She felt the cold mists brushing against her skin. Just as she invoked the image of the bat within her, they burst through the bushes. Four gigantic, shaggy beasts. She wouldn't make it. It was too heavy. Becoming a wolf was easier. As a wolf, she could defend herself and fight against them. She brushed the bat aside and replaced it with the wolf, in whose form she had run through the moor with Peregrine. Night after night. She couldn't think of Peregrine now! Áine felt fur breaking through her skin and her body began to twist. Her face elongated. Fangs grew from her jaw.

At that moment, the fangs of the first attacker sank into her arm. A second one snapped at her throat. Áine recoiled, feeling it only graze her skin. She threw herself to the side. The fangs gripped her flesh. They were strong, but the vampire broke free. The price was two gaping wounds on her arm and leg. If only she could end the transformation! Then she would show them, but the blood loss weakened her, and she couldn't concentrate as the beasts continued to snap at her. Áine knew she wouldn't escape them, and she couldn't defeat them either. But she wouldn't make it easy for them! She bit and tore a clump of fur, skin, and flesh from one flank. A pained howl rose into the air. She fought against her three attackers with a fury that gave her new strength. But then suddenly, a heavy body jumped onto her back. Four powerful paws knocked her down. Áine tumbled and fell face-first into the black mire. Before she could turn around, they pounced on the vampire. Pain enveloped her like a cloud and robbed her of her senses, but she continued to fight. Then, as her blood seeped into the moor, her consciousness faded. Her arms sank, her body collapsed. The four beasts released their prey, licked their blood-stained snouts, and disappeared through the bushes. The torn body remained on the clearing, where the light of the waning crescent moon fell upon it.