A Sojourn in Bohemia

by G. D. Falksen

  The two men paused a moment near one of the columns, temptingly close, but still too far away to strike without sounding the alarm. Friedrich saw the others weigh the situation and hold back, and against his instincts, he did the same.

  “How is your eye?” Von Steiersberg asked Julius.

  As if in answer, Julius touched his temple. “It fares poorly. I have lost all sight in it, and the dizziness is becoming more frequent.”

  “You may soon die,” Von Steiersberg noted. His tone made it almost sound like a friendly joke.

  “I may indeed,” Julius agreed. Though he seemed to tolerate Von Steiersberg’s humor—perhaps even share it—there was a far greater sense of urgency in his voice.

  “Best we hurry then.” Von Steiersberg rubbed his hands together, either in anticipation or against the evening’s chill. “Is my fiancée prepared to do her part?”

  “It matters little whether she is or she is not,” Julius said. “She has no choice.” He touched his head again. “And I fear I have no choice either, so she had damn well better find her sense of piety.”

  Von Steiersberg laughed. “I suppose if the girl refuses to through with it and remains sullied, there is always your Mechtilde.”

  Julius frowned slightly and said, “Franz, I neither need nor desire an Austrian alliance as dearly as Istvan does and certainly not dearly enough to give you my daughter.”

  “You do not want me as your son-in-law?” Von Steiersberg asked, his good humor undiminished by the rejection. “Not after our years of friendship?”

  “No, I do not,” Julius answered pointedly. “Tell me Franz, have you ever considered taking a wife nearer your own age? I have a sister in Italy who will soon be recently widowed. Wouldn’t you enjoy a wife with a Tuscan villa all her own?”

  Von Steiersberg paused a moment to consider this, seeming rather pleased by the suggestion. “Not the one outside Arezzo with the grotto of the Faunus Ater?”

  “That is the one,” Julius said. “Why do you think she agreed to marry him?”

  “Tempting,” Von Steiersberg admitted. “But alas, I require a young and fertile wife. Children, Julius: they are a blessing from the god.” He paused a moment and looked away, gazing into the bonfire. “And I have great plans for all of my children.”

  “I am certain you do, Franz,” Julius said, his tone neither approving nor disapproving, but merely a man’s acceptance of fact. He touched his eye, and his hand came away with blood. “Come. We must hurry.”

  “Yes, of course,” Von Steiersberg replied, and the two of them continued on to the chancel and the altar.

  With the way now clear, Friedrich and the others advanced quietly into the chapel, each lurking behind one of the columns to avoid being seen. A few cautious glances told Friedrich that the other guards were in place near the bonfire, as much worshippers as soldiers. They were all armed, and memory reminded him that there were also two more men in the main corridor. They would surely come running once the gunfire started.

  Friedrich looked back at Varanus and mouthed the words, “I am going to get a closer look.”

  All of the activity seemed to be concentrated around the altar, so Friedrich waited until he was confident he would not be seen and dashed for the next column and then the one after that, approaching the chancel with as much stealth as he could manage. He needed to see what was happening, and it seemed reasonable that if everyone was gathering at one end of the chapel, he could best take them by surprise from that end.

  Looking back at his companions, he saw Varanus glaring at him in exasperation and motioning for him to return. Friedrich tried to pantomime his plan without drawing attention, though it did not work very well. Behind Varanus, he saw Luka slipping away to the far end of the chapel, no doubt to secure the door and deal with the men waiting outside. That was good thinking, Friedrich reasoned. They were outnumbered, but provided they managed to take the enemy by surprise, they could bring down the armed guards before a pitched fight could ensue. And with that done, rounding up the three unarmed noblemen and rescuing Erzsebet and Stanislav would be a matter of simplicity.

  Friedrich tried very hard to convince himself of that as he studied the chapel and made an accounting of who had a gun and where they were standing. In the meantime, he saw that Von Raabe, Von Steiersberg, and Erdelyi had all met together at the altar. Erdelyi kept Erzsebet by his side, holding her firmly by the back of the neck. As Friedrich watched, he saw another man dressed in much simpler regalia fill a bowl with ashes from the fire and kneel beside Julius, holding the bowl up for his master’s approval.

  “It is good,” Julius declared, reaching into the bowl and removing a handful of ashes, which stained his hand almost black. The blood trickling from his eye slowly ran along his cheek and dripped onto the floor.

  Von Steiersberg nodded. “Let us begin.”

  He motioned toward the back of the chapel, and two more men in simple robes advanced out of the shadows, dragging Stanislav between them. They had him pinned by the arms, but he had been severely beaten and was barely able to struggle.

  In the shadows, Friedrich very nearly started shooting at the sight of his friend in such a state, but he stopped himself. There were still armed guards across the chapel who were not quite in his line fire. He would need to wait until he either had a clear shot at them or he could be certain that Luka was in position behind them. And a glance toward the narthex told him that Luka had only just returned. Friedrich caught his attention and nodded toward the other side of the room. Luka seemed not to notice him—at least the man gave no sign of acknowledgement—but he dashed to the shadows on the far side of the chamber all the same.

  Friedrich waited impatiently, every muscle tensed and ready to charge and start shooting. His thoughts churned violently, trying to decide in what order he should take his targets. He needed to keep Stanislav and Erzsebet from harm, so it seemed logical to attack the company at the altar first, especially if Luka could dispatch the men across the chapel on his own. But then again, the light was inconsistent and the situation around the altar chaotic. Friedrich was a good shot, but at this range there was still a risk of hitting one of his friends. He would have to wait until the ideal moment and then make a run for the altar until he was close enough to begin shooting safely. After that, nothing was certain.

  As he watched and waited, he saw Julius von Raabe raise his ash-covered hand high into the air and call out in a voice like thunder:

  “Hear me, Oh Mother! Oh Father! Hear me Creator, Destroyer, Deliverer, Devourer!”

  At that moment, the wind blowing off the shore picked up again, bursting through the cracks in the windows and churning overhead with moans and groans.

  “Hear me Serpent! Hear me Ram!” Julius continued. “Hear me Blood of Sky and Night!”

  Fed by the wind, the bonfire began to twist and dance, fading and then growing again with each torrent of the salt-stained breeze. The amber light it cast upon the chapel stones ebbed and flowed like the tide, and at its touch, the shadows cavorted in obscene merriment.

  Julius shouted to be heard over the roar of the wind, but his voice was clear despite the cacophony:

  “Blood of Sky and Blood of Earth, He Who Hungers, She Who Feasts, by the light of Darkest Moon, I beseech you: hear my prayer!”

  Julius raised both hands heavenward as the frenzied wind battered down the bonfire until it was little more than coals, burning orange and crimson in the dark.

  “Black Goat! Black God! Chernobog!” Julius cried. “Your wretched servant begs your grace! For you are mighty, we are weak, but what we have we gladly give: a simple gift to ease your hunger, if you will only cast your shadow down upon this sacred earth!”

  Panicked by the sudden darkness, Friedrich abandoned caution in favor of action. He tried to run for the altar, but the press of the wind was somehow too much for him, beating him back and holding
him in place as the shadows wrapped about him, cavorting with him as if possessed of life.

  A final gust of wind flooded through the chapel, killing the remains of the bonfire and leaving only burning coals and thick black smoke.

  And in the darkness, Erzsebet, terrified but defiant, could be clearly heard to shout, “No! No, I will not do it!”

  And just as suddenly as it had come, the wind died away, leaving behind the stench of salt and smoke. There must have been some life left in the bonfire, for it burst alight again, though the flames burned low and scarlet, painting the chapel the color of blood.

  In this feeble light, Friedrich saw Erzsebet and Count Erdelyi behind the altar, standing next to the limp body of Stanislav, still held by the two robed attendants. Erdelyi had an old and ornate knife in his hand, which was stained almost black as if by some kind of lacquer. He was struggling to force the weapon into Erzsebet’s hand, and the girl fought back with all vigor, her eyes wide and her face desperate.

  “You will!” Erdelyi shouted. “You must!”

  “I will not!” Erzsebet cried. “I will not kill him!”

  Even in the absence of the wind, Friedrich found his feet heavy and his body dull, as he fought to race across the chapel and rescue his friends. All thought of planning was gone. Now panic drove him onward, fueled by fear and anger, growing with each step he struggled to make. The press of the shadows and the shifting scarlet firelight ignited a heat within him that clouded his senses save for the sight and smell of his friends at the altar and the men who held them captive.

  “Sacrifice him!” Erdelyi yelled, forcing the knife into Erzsebet’s hand. “Do as I tell you, you impudent child!”

  Erzsebet shuddered violently at the touch of the knife in her hand. Her gaze fell upon it, and what little color remained in her face drained away. Slowly, she looked up at her father and breathed one word.

  “No.”

  And what that, she plunged the knife into Erdelyi’s stomach.

  Erdelyi opened his mouth to scream, but all he managed was a sort of throaty gurgle. Still staring wide-eyed, Erzsebet twisted the blade inside the wound before finally tearing the knife free from her father’s body. Erdelyi made a feeble grab for her, but the effort made him stumble, and his legs abandoned him. Pitching forward, he fell against the altar, his blood spilling out across its surface and down one side.

  Erzsebet dropped the knife and fell to her knees, staring at her bloody hands.

  Erdelyi clawed at the top of the altar and looked back at his companions. He reached out for them, gurgling as he pleaded for help. Von Steiersberg merely sneered at him and said nothing. Julius said nothing either, though his expression was one of uncertainty and doubt. This had not gone according to plan. He slowly lowered his ash-covered hands and blinked a few times as his eye continued to weep blood.

  “This is not good,” he said.

  “His blood is on the altar,” Von Steiersberg replied. “One sacrificial lamb is as good as another.”

  Julius looked around, his good eye searching the darkness above them for something he did not seem to find.

  “No,” he said. “Not as good. Not good enough.”

  He reached down and grabbed the knife from the floor. With an unceremonious kick, he pushed Erdelyi’s body off the altar, despite his friend’s pleading noises. Taking Stanislav by the hair, he pulled the man’s head back and exposed his throat.

  Friedrich screamed into the shadows as he struggled through the invisible mire that clung to him, dragging him down, pinning his footsteps, holding him back from his purpose. He had to get to the altar. He had to save Stanislav. If he could only move! If he could only raise his pistol and shoot!

  With the ease of experience, Julius drew the knife across Stanislav’s throat, cutting through skin and flesh in a single stroke and spilling Stanislav’s blood upon the altar in a violent spray of crimson.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Varanus was not surprised to see her son creep his way forward toward danger, though she was both disappointed and exasperated by it. She had done her best to coax him back before he could be seen or could do anything foolish, but she had been answered with nonsensical hand waving.

  As the wind grew and the shadows plunged the chapel in darkness, Varanus found herself transfixed by the ritual unfolding before her. A curious numbness fell upon her shoulders, and her ears tickled to half-heard whispers in the dark. As if in a dream, she watched the proceedings unfold with fascination, almost overwhelmed by a kaleidoscope of miniscule sights and sounds that, were she not Living, would surely have escaped her notice. The very air seemed to glisten. The fire smelled of roses. Unseen hands tugged at her hair.

  And then suddenly the oppressive darkness fractured and fell away. Erdelyi lay on the ground, bleeding from his stomach. Friedrich’s friend Stanislav slumped between the two men who held him as blood spurted from his throat. Julius stood next to the dying man, holding aloft a bloody knife.

  Varanus heard her son screaming and turned in time to see him rush toward the altar, firing his pistol wildly. The cloud that had hung about Varanus’s senses was gone, leaving behind a hideous mixing of sounds and smells that dizzied her: salt and sulfur, roses and the groaning wind, the crackling of the fire and the scent of lotus blossoms. She glanced at Iosef and saw him slowly blink and shake his head. He had been overcome just as she had been.

  But the immediate concern was Friedrich. His mad rush took Julius and the others by surprise, and some of his wild shots hit one of the men holding Stanislav. The man fell, clutching his chest, and Stanislav’s body tumbled onto the ground beside him. Still, the moment of surprise would not last. The second attendant released Stanislav’s arm and reached inside his robes for a weapon, as did Von Steiersberg.

  Without thinking, Varanus charged into the center of the chapel and made for the chancel, turning her path to intercept Friedrich. Men behind her started shouting. She looked back and saw the remaining guards rushing to meet her, firing their pistols. Then she saw Luka and Iosef counter-charging toward the men and left the matter to them.

  Friedrich reached Julius a few moments later and aimed his pistol at Julius’s head. Julius blinked a few times, and he smiled as Friedrich pulled the trigger on an empty magazine. Julius lunged forward and stabbed with the bloodied knife. Startled, Friedrich stumbled backward, step after step, as Julius advanced at him, thrusting and slashing with such rapid movements that Friedrich could not even block most of the attacks, though he tried desperately to do so; it was all that Friedrich could do to dash backward and save himself the same fate as Erdelyi and Stanislav.

  Varanus reached them and threw herself against Julius, knocking him to the ground. Hot with anger and confident that she had him within her power, she loomed over him for a moment and raised her fist, ready to pummel him into pulp. But she paused as she caught Julius gazing back at her, his expression triumphant and his eyes bright.

  Both eyes. Both whole. Both bloodless.

  “How…?” she began.

  The sting of metal in her side caught her attention, and she looked down to see the sacrificial knife buried to the hilt in her body. It burned like fire, and the sight of it made her strangely dizzy. And had she been mortal, it would certainly have been a fatal blow.

  How foolish of her to let her guard down. She had not even noticed him draw back his arm to strike.…

  Then she heard gunshots and felt bullets tear into her back. One of the attendants had reached them, a smoking revolver in his hand. Varanus had not expected such an immediate response. As the attendant shot at her, Varanus leapt upon him, striking, clawing, and gouging until he stopped firing and his pistol fell limply to the ground.

  The scent of blood was pleasant. Varanus’s head swam and she licked her lips. The fog that had overwhelmed her before had been reduced to a haze, but that haze still dulled her senses. Only the
brightness of blood was clear, but that was all the direction she required.

  She was drawn away from her fury by the sight of someone running past her in a flurry of black and crimson. Gasping for air, Varanus looked up, and her eyes focused on Julius as he dashed for a doorway on the far side of the chapel. He paused a moment just before the threshold, and his eyes grew wide as Varanus stood and gazed at him. Strangely, a smile crossed Julius’s face, and he looked at her with the same desire he had shown her so many times before over the past months. Then Julius was gone, fleeing into the darkness.

  Varanus stood and swayed a little as the shadows whispered around her. Through the blood fog, she formed the thought of her son. She turned and saw Friedrich standing too. There was a gash along his forearm where Julius’s knife had struck him, but he was otherwise unharmed.

  “Stay out of sight,” Varanus growled at him.

  “But I—” Friedrich protested.

  “Stay out of sight!”

  Varanus needed to know that her son would be safe from his own impetuousness, but she was not about to let Julius escape her vengeance. Nor was she ready to risk him reaching home and raising the alarm.

  Still muddled by whispers and bloodthirst, Varanus ran for the door and into the darkness beyond.

  * * * *

  Past the chapel, Varanus followed Julius through a tangled series of chambers and passages, tracking her prey by smell as much as by sight or sound. Despite the fragmentary starlight that crept in through the crumbling roof, the way was incredibly dark, even for the Living. Varanus thought it a miracle that Julius could see well enough to keep ahead of her without stumbling, but perhaps this was a route he had planned beforehand, and he knew the way even blind.

  Varanus tried to follow him by sound as well, but the air was thick and her ears were clouded. Even running, Julius’s footsteps were all but silent. Only the dull thumping of his heart could be heard, and it echoed from the very stones, surrounding Varanus and pressing against her with every beat.