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Thirty-four hours, seventeen minutes, and twelve seconds ago, Ismark had entrusted the safety of his beloved younger sister to a group of travelling mercenaries. A risk, yes, but a calculated one. The outsiders seemed trustworthy enough and more than capable of holding their own against the monsters lurking within the mists. Still, with every minute that passed, more knots formed in Ismark’s stomach. What if something had happened to them on the Old Svalich Road? Morninglord forbid, what if the devil himself had made an appearance - demanded the group deliver Ireena to him?
It was these fears that pestered the new burgomaster’s mind as he returned home after another unbearable day. Overcome with exhaustion, his legs almost buckled beneath him as he opened the front door. For the past several hours, Ismark had patrolled the outskirts of the village with his greatsword. No undead had attacked in days, not since the onslaught which caused Father’s heart to burst, but he could not afford to grow complacent. Once the Count discovered Ireena’s exodus - and it was only a matter of time - there would be no telling what horrors his anger would unleash.
A night such as this would usually be spent at the Blood o’ the Vine tavern. But the thought of facing the patrons’ jeers and judgemental stares was too much to bear. Not tonight. Instead, Ismark poured himself a large glass of Purple Grapemash No. 3 and reached for a sheet of parchment.
Ireena
I don’t know if you have reached Vallaki yet. It has been nearly two days and the journey should only take a few hours on foot, so I would hope so. Unless something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. These roads are dangerous, filled with wolves and zombies and ghosts and ghouls and -
As if pulling himself out of a daze, Ismark shook his head and threw the pen across the desk. This was a terrible idea. Only two sentences and already he was spiralling, envisioning the worst possible scenarios. The Old Svalich Road was dangerous to travel alone, certainly, but Ireena had not been alone. There was no need to waste precious parchment detailing his fears in such a manner. After taking a moment to breathe, Ismark tore the parchment in two and began once more.
Ireena,
I pray you have reached safety and did not fall into too much trouble on the road. Not knowing where you are, not knowing if you are safe - it eats me alive with worry. I wish I could have travelled with you, but my duties keep me here. Village morale seems to be lower than ever before. Every howl of a lone wolf signals a pack is nearby; every patch of mist conceals a lurking horror. Most of the villagers avoid me. The rest approach me with their petty squabbles, or question what I am doing to keep them safe. No matter what I do, nothing seems to be enough for them. The tavern keeper even said to my face that I am a shame to our father’s legacy. That I will send the village into ‘rot and ruin.’ Part of me suspects that they would not have allowed me back, had I left with you.
I have never felt so completely out of my depth. Father had not prepared a proper succession plan and his estate is a mess. Not that I speak ill of him, of course! He had so much vigor and life within him - clearly, he had not expected to leave us so soon. I just wish he had left some form of notation or guide for me to follow. It helps little that I can barely manage more than an hour of uninterrupted sleep.
The house feels empty without Father. Without you. Everywhere I look, I am surrounded by ghosts. The dining table where we would sup together, the corridor where you would stamp your boots to remove the mud, the bed where his heart gave out… Everything reminds me of what I have lost. I can’t stand it.
As the man of the house, I should move into Father’s room but it’s too soon. The grief is too fresh. I spend more time outside of the house than in it. My days are spent patrolling the village for threats, my nights at the tavern trying to numb the pain. They all watch me. I know they look at me and think about how pathetic I am. The only person who’s shown a crumb of compassion is the pieseller Morgantha, who came to our door offering free pies this morning. I am grateful, of course, but I cannot bring myself to eat.
Still, I must not complain. Morninglord, listen to me. Whining about how difficult it is to be stuck here in the village, as if I am the one hunted by the devil! If I could trade places with you and have him pursue me instead, know that I would do so in a heartbeat. You were always better at diplomacy than I. Father believed so too. Give me a longsword over a tax notice on any moon.
It probably goes without saying but I miss you. I will find a way to visit you, I swear. Even if I have to sneak away in the dead of the night. Though perhaps it need not be that drastic - I could write to the Baron and arrange a meeting to introduce myself as the new burgomaster of Barovia. That should not seem too suspicious.
In the meantime, I will resume my duties as best I can. I will keep working so that if when you are able to return, you will have a better, safer home to come back to.
Yours,
Ismark
No sooner than Ismark had finished the final stroke of the quill than he was interrupted by the unmistakable howling of wolves. The sudden burst of noise sent the quill slipping through his fingers and onto the floorboards below. How could he have been so foolish? The devil watched through the eyes of every wolf; heard every word whispered to the wind. Moving his sister a few hours up the Old Svalich Road would not be enough to protect her. There was no inch of Barovia where Ireena would be safe, for Strahd was Barovia. And when the devil inevitably came to claim his bride, he would not even be there to protect her. He’d entrusted the safety of the one he loved the most to strangers, all while he cowered at home.
With a mournful wail, Ismark ripped the letter in two.
***
St Andral’s Church proved a comfortable abode, if slightly claustrophobic. The Vallakian priest had been generous enough to allow Ireena to take refuge for as long as she needed, asking for nothing in return.
‘Our church is a safe haven for all of the Morninglord’s children,’ Father Lucian had assured her. The dark room was small and lit by a single candle, the only other amenities being a wooden cot, a dusty writing desk, and small chest to store the few belongings she had dared to take with her.
Perhaps more interesting was what the room lacked - a window. While it was comforting to know that the devil could not appear on the other side of it, tempting her to invite him inside, the lack of alternative exit should something appear at the door made Ireena uneasy. Though if local legends were true, the undead would perish should they attempt to breach these holy walls.
Ireena peered at the writing desk. If he were planning to claim her, surely he would have made an appearance by now. There had certainly been plenty of opportunities on the journey. Perhaps it was time to write to her brother and let him know she was safe…
My dearest Ismark,
You will be pleased to hear that I have made it safely to Vallaki! As always in this gods-forsaken land, there was some trouble on the road - yet we have all arrived in one piece. I thank you sincerely for these mercenaries you had found to protect me, for I surely would not have survived without them.
Ireena paused to allow herself a laugh. In truth, Ireena was more than capable of defending herself. Certainly more capable than some of her new companions, who had screamed in fear as the zombies’ severed limbs had risen up to attack, seemingly undeterred by their severance from the body. Nevertheless, a white lie would give her brother some comfort; the mists knew he had agonised over entrusting her safety to outsiders.
I should not disclose exactly where I am staying, though to relieve your fears I can assure you that someone in this town was kind enough to take me in. I know you agonised about sending me away, but I know it was in the interest of my safety. I feel no resentment that you stayed behind, truly. You are my only brother and you have always done what is best for me.
I am not so naive as to believe these walls will keep me safe from the devil and his minions forever, but, Morninglord willing, they should keep me safe until he loses interest. How long does it take for a man who has lived centuries to grow bored, I wonder? A few moons? A year? Ten years? I can hardly imagine being away for that long! It has scarcely been a day since we parted, yet I miss you as if it were a moon.
Vallaki is a strange town, to say the least. Having spent my whole life in the village, I suppose anywhere would feel strange. Yet there is an uncanny feeling about this place - for a start, there are walls guarded by men with pikes. The idea of needing to convince a guard you are trustworthy before being permitted entry, that one cannot freely walk through the streets, is worlds away from the village. While I admit this makes me feel safer, I detest the feeling of being watched. The rational side of me knows that they are watching all citizens to ensure they will not cause trouble. The paranoid side of me fears I have been recognised.
Another odd custom is the Baron’s insistence on happiness. Several times I have been stopped and commanded to smile! ‘All will be well,’ they insist on telling me. I have also been informed that later this week there will be a festival dedicated to the ‘blazing sun.’ It is certainly a change from the dourness of home, to say the least!
Was Vallaki like this when you visited, I wonder? I remember when we were young, when Father had requested you accompany him to a meeting with the Baron. How I had begged him to take me with you, to not leave me home with Mother! How I stamped my feet in protest and hid your belongings, asserting that to leave me behind would be the height of injustice. It is funny how things change. If only I knew that one day, I would be in Vallaki and desperate to return home.
Then I think back to my earliest memories, when I was but an orphan alone in the woods. Sometimes I feel like that scared little girl, terrified of what stalks me in the darkness. But this time, I cannot rely on you and Father to come to my rescue. If I am to survive what lies ahead of me, I need to be strong. I must learn to protect myself.
Your loving sister,
Ireena
As she signed her name, Ireena stared at the parchment before her. She could ask Father Lucian for a wax seal, but who could she trust to deliver the contents? While she had taken care not to disclose her whereabouts in Vallaki, it was said that the devil had eyes and ears everywhere. It would not take long to trace the letter back to the church.
As desperate as she was to speak to her brother, she could not let his efforts be for naught. She must remain hidden and she must remain alone.
A silent tear streamed down Ireena’s cheek, as she held the letter up to the candle.