As it winds through the heart of Transylvania, the river Maros cuts a steep gorge through the foothills of the eastern Carpathian Mountains. The valley is heavily forested in fir and spruce and ancient oaks, with only the very bottom along the river inhabited and cultivated. Farther from the river, the land is still truly wild; wolves and bears and other animals long since extinct in other parts of Europe still have a foothold in the shadowy valley. As a traveler heads upriver, the valley grows steeper and narrower, and direct sunlight rarely reaches the valley floor. The road is often obscured by fog, and is closed by snow for several months of the year. As a result, the town of Alba Iulia in the historic County of Fehér is largely isolated from the rest of the world; it is possible to imagine oneself still in the darkest depths of the Middle Ages.
On an isolated crag above the town, an ancient castle overlooks the valley. Most of the fortress is in ruins, but the southeastern tower, a hulking, squat, octagonal mass of dense black basaltic stone, remains standing. Nobody can say with certainty how old the tower is. It predates both the 12th-century medieval castle that incorporated it and the 2nd-century Roman legionary fortress atop which the castle was built. The tower's architecture is exceedingly curious, not resembling any other fortification in Eastern Europe in design or construction. It seems to have been made with little regard for inhabitation. There were originally no windows, though bow loops were cut into the walls in the 12th century; the doorways are only four feet high, low even by medieval standards; and the interior stairways are dangerously steep and have 15-inch risers. The stone from which the tower is built is not from any local source that can be identified; chemical and radioisotope analysis reveals the stone's composition to be improbably similar to samples of lunar bedrock from the Sea of Tranquility.
The tower itself has had several names throughout its history. Claudius Ptolemaeus, in his Geographica, referred to it as the "Tower of Apulon", after the nearby Dacian town. The Romans renamed the town and the tower to Apulum, while the Huns called them Bălgrad, the Magyar name was Gyulyafehér, and the Austrians named them Weißburg.
Only one systematic archaeological dig has been conducted at the site, by Dr. Howard Carter of Miskatonic University in 1929. Dr. Carter's team thoroughly excavated the medieval and Roman layers of the fortress, finding many valuable artifacts that shed a great deal of light on the history of Transylvania and Roman Dacia. But the dig was abruptly abandoned before Dr. Carter could make more than a cursory investigation of the tower, following the tragic accidental deaths of three graduate students. Dr. Carter himself never published his results, suffering a severe nervous breakdown that left him unable to work ever again. In the decades since, the events that caused the dig to be abandoned have fueled endless speculation among those interested in the paranormal. The tower's popularity among occult theorists has dissuaded other, more rational types from conducting further scientific research that might clear up the mysteries of the tower's origin.
The people of Alba Iulia claim no knowledge about the tower's origin, most simply shrugging their shoulders and saying that the tower has always been there. They do not appear to give the tower that overlooks their town much notice; it has said that they never look directly at the tower, preferring to ignore its dark, looming presence. A few old women will pull anyone inquiring about the tower aside and whisper into their ear that the Devil himself built the tower, and that the dungeons lead directly to Hell.
In recent years the tourist industry of Transylvania has attempted to turn the tower into an attraction for sightseers, and have capitalized on a legend about an ancient Dacian warrior who allegedly committed suicide there by renaming the fortress the "Tower of Decebal". To date, few travelers have made their way to Alba Iulia, and most have left quickly. The tourist board's name for the tower has not caught on among the locals, who have their own name for it: Félelem, or "Fear".
On an isolated crag above the town, an ancient castle overlooks the valley. Most of the fortress is in ruins, but the southeastern tower, a hulking, squat, octagonal mass of dense black basaltic stone, remains standing. Nobody can say with certainty how old the tower is. It predates both the 12th-century medieval castle that incorporated it and the 2nd-century Roman legionary fortress atop which the castle was built. The tower's architecture is exceedingly curious, not resembling any other fortification in Eastern Europe in design or construction. It seems to have been made with little regard for inhabitation. There were originally no windows, though bow loops were cut into the walls in the 12th century; the doorways are only four feet high, low even by medieval standards; and the interior stairways are dangerously steep and have 15-inch risers. The stone from which the tower is built is not from any local source that can be identified; chemical and radioisotope analysis reveals the stone's composition to be improbably similar to samples of lunar bedrock from the Sea of Tranquility.
The tower itself has had several names throughout its history. Claudius Ptolemaeus, in his Geographica, referred to it as the "Tower of Apulon", after the nearby Dacian town. The Romans renamed the town and the tower to Apulum, while the Huns called them Bălgrad, the Magyar name was Gyulyafehér, and the Austrians named them Weißburg.
Only one systematic archaeological dig has been conducted at the site, by Dr. Howard Carter of Miskatonic University in 1929. Dr. Carter's team thoroughly excavated the medieval and Roman layers of the fortress, finding many valuable artifacts that shed a great deal of light on the history of Transylvania and Roman Dacia. But the dig was abruptly abandoned before Dr. Carter could make more than a cursory investigation of the tower, following the tragic accidental deaths of three graduate students. Dr. Carter himself never published his results, suffering a severe nervous breakdown that left him unable to work ever again. In the decades since, the events that caused the dig to be abandoned have fueled endless speculation among those interested in the paranormal. The tower's popularity among occult theorists has dissuaded other, more rational types from conducting further scientific research that might clear up the mysteries of the tower's origin.
The people of Alba Iulia claim no knowledge about the tower's origin, most simply shrugging their shoulders and saying that the tower has always been there. They do not appear to give the tower that overlooks their town much notice; it has said that they never look directly at the tower, preferring to ignore its dark, looming presence. A few old women will pull anyone inquiring about the tower aside and whisper into their ear that the Devil himself built the tower, and that the dungeons lead directly to Hell.
In recent years the tourist industry of Transylvania has attempted to turn the tower into an attraction for sightseers, and have capitalized on a legend about an ancient Dacian warrior who allegedly committed suicide there by renaming the fortress the "Tower of Decebal". To date, few travelers have made their way to Alba Iulia, and most have left quickly. The tourist board's name for the tower has not caught on among the locals, who have their own name for it: Félelem, or "Fear".
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