“Yes,” Erzsebet replied softly.
“When?”
“When I turned thirteen,” Erzsebet said. “The first new moon after my birthday. It was a…festival of sorts. The faithful came from all across Europe. I believe there was even a Turk. I fear I do not remember much.”
“Was there any form of regular service?”
“There were prayers,” Erzsebet answered. “Every month we would celebrate the fading of the moon. And there were certain yearly festivals—the Solstice, the Equinox. Sometimes we held them by ourselves, and sometimes other people came to celebrate them with us.”
“People like Von Raabe and Von Steiersberg?” Iosef asked.
Erzsebet nodded.
“Did you ever travel to a festival somewhere else?”
“A few times,” Erzsebet said. “We sometimes went to Austria to celebrate with Count von Steiersberg and his family or to Romania to be with Colonel Petrescu and his. But mostly I celebrated at home in Hungary. Father said that I would travel more once I was married.”
At her own mention of marriage, she shivered and held herself tighter.
“And how did you come to be betrothed to Count von Steiersberg?”
“Good God!” Friedrich exclaimed. “It has only been four days! Don’t make her think about him again!”
Iosef turned his head very slowly and looked at Friedrich. “Be quiet,” he said in a soft yet forceful tone.
Before Friedrich could protest further, Erzsebet answered the question.
“My father is…was an ambitious man,” she said. “He was well regarded in Hungary, but his influence was only marginal in the Empire, whereas Count von Steiersberg has…had the ear of the Emperor himself. The Count wanted a young wife from within our community of faith. My father wanted to draw our families closer together and gain his influence. I was the obvious choice.”
“So you fled?”
“I did not wish to marry him,” Erzsebet replied. “He was old and cruel, and when my mother told me what I was expected to do on my wedding night…before our wedding night…to secure the grace and favor of the god.…” She shivered and her hands gripped Zoya’s arms, pulling the woman around her like a blanket to ward off the frightening memories. Finally, she composed herself enough to continue, “I realized that I could not bear to be one of the faithful any longer, not if it meant doing the things I have seen my mother do. And then there was Stanislav. He was on the run from the police in Bohemia, and he came to work in the stables under a false name. And he was kind to me and he was handsome and he was young, and when he told me who he was, I realized that I had another choice. So I fled with him.”
She clenched her eyes shut against tears that trickled down her cheeks despite all efforts to hold them back. Finally she gasped in desperation and said, “I thought we were safe.”
“You are safe now,” Zoya assured her, whispering in her ear as she pressed her cheek against the girl’s hair, enfolding herself around Erzsebet in a desperate attempt to shield her against the world.
“None of us are safe!” Erzsebet protested, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper.
Iosef had little patience for sentimentality, but the girl could not be blamed for her fear. Indeed, her composure under the circumstances was remarkable. Kidnapped by the cult she had fled, forced to kill her father by her own hand, her love murdered before her eyes: it was enough to break any mortal. And to the girl’s credit, though struck to the core by her ordeal, she had not broken.
But it was an academic point. There were more immediate things that demanded his interest.
“You are safe,” Iosef said gently, speaking in a tone calculated to resonate with the mortal mind. He took Erzsebet’s hand, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. “No one will harm you while you are under my roof.”
“You do not understand!” Erzsebet protested. “The faithful are everywhere!”
“They are not in my house, child,” Iosef assured her. “And should they enter some night in search of you or anyone else, I will destroy them. And there is nothing that they or their god can do to stop me.”
As Iosef had calculated, the resonance of his tone and the mixed warmth and intensity of his gaze calmed Erzsebet enough for her to relax. Her frantic heartbeats slowed, and her breathing grew normal again. She was still afraid, but the moment of panic had passed.
Iosef smiled and patted her hand. “Now then,” he said, “are you ready to answer more questions?”
Erzsebet nodded after a little hesitation.
“Good.”
* * * *
After the interview, Iosef sat in his study, examining the two amulets side-by-side, one in each hand. It gave him a sense of triumph to have the prize finally in his possession, but with that task accomplished, he was now faced with the same quandary as before. He still had an artifact that could not be authentic, yet was; made of aluminium long before the metal could have been easily acquired in sufficient quantities and inscribed with a message in a language Iosef did not know or even recognize. The only difference was that now he had two of them.
But that in itself was progress. The study of the Black Goat’s followers had been Sophio’s last unfinished work. Each piece of knowledge Iosef acquired brought him closer to some kind of legacy he could assemble in Sophio’s memory. Perhaps that would give him some resolution to his grief. Likely not, but it was something for him to cling to in her absence.
He heard the door open slightly, and he recognized the sound and smell of Luka.
“Good evening, brother,” he said, setting the amulets down on his desk.
Luka joined him, carrying a bottle of wine and a half-filled glass. He took a drink and asked, “How went the interrogation?”
“The girl is terrified, which is of little surprise,” Iosef answered. “I would be more concerned if she were less affected than she is. But she answered what questions I put to her. After she has recovered further, we will speak again.”
“About the sacrifice?” Luka asked.
“Among other things, yes. I touched on the matter, but it troubled her greatly so I did not press. Not this time.”
“Surely you were curious,” Luka said. “Why the restraint?”
“We cannot allow curiosity to incite cruelty,” Iosef answered. “That is the road of the Basilisk, and I know better than to dare even a few steps along its path. The girl will give me all the answers I require. It is only a question of time. Indeed, talking about the cult and her upbringing in it will probably help the girl more than it distresses her. To voice one’s ordeal is cathartic.”
“So is watching a play,” Luka noted dryly.
Iosef smiled a little. “Are you volunteering to give us a theatrical performance, brother? I am certain Ekaterine would be eager to assist.”
Luka made a noise and took another drink of wine. “Do not joke about such things,” he said. “One day spent entertaining a couple of artists, and she suddenly fancies herself a poet. It will be a playwright next.”
Iosef chuckled and asked, “How is your cousin?”
“Displeased at having missed our adventure, or so she says.” Luka scoffed and then sighed. “I foolishly mentioned the bonfire and the skulls, and now she will not give me a moment’s peace about it. Apparently it sounds ‘profoundly romantic and sublime’.”
“Did you mention the human sacrifice?”
Luka sighed again and drank more wine. “I did. While distraught at the fate of the victim, she claims it proves her thesis about the Latins.”
“That Europeans are all fundamentally pagans?”
“That is the one,” Luka said. “Evergreens and blood sacrifice, such is the nature of the West, she says.”
Iosef looked at the amulets that lay on his desk and frowned. “I sometimes wonder if that is not, in fact, the nature of mankind,
whether in the West, the East, the North, or the South,” he murmured, half to himself. “Murder and idolatry seem to be our most fundamental instincts, whatever pageantry we use to clothe them.” He quickly dispelled such melancholy thinking. “Regardless, your cousin reads far too many novels.”
“Far too many,” Luka agreed.
There was a lengthy silence as Luka refilled his glass and drank again. In the quiet, Iosef heard the shadows murmuring to him, whispering hints of Sophio’s name. He was exhausted again. He could not remember whether he had properly meditated since their return from Germany. Long hours spent in research were good for learning but not for sanity.
“Brother,” he said softly, “did you see me when I collapsed in the chapel?”
“When it happened? No,” Luka answered. His voice was tinged with a half-thought of guilt and worry at having not been at hand to safeguard his friend. “I saw you standing, I turned away in the fight, and when I turned back, you were on the ground.”
Iosef closed his eyes and spent a few seconds reconstituting the fragmented memory.
“I imagined that I saw Sophio,” he told Luka.
“What?” Luka exclaimed. “You saw her? How?”
“I did not see her,” Iosef clarified. “I imagined that I saw her. I imagined a shape…a figure in smoke hovering above the altar. It whispered to me in her voice, and then I lost consciousness.”
“How is that possible? Do you mean to say you saw her ghost?”
“Ghosts are not real,” Iosef said.
Luka shook his head. “I would not be so certain of that, brother. When I was a boy, my grandfather told me a story—”
“When you were a boy, your grandfather told you many stories, Luka.”
Luka grinned. “That he did, and it is my duty to pass them along to a younger, even more impressionable generation.”
Iosef smiled at this. It felt good to smile, especially with Luka.
“You are as bad as your cousin and her tales of Kent,” he said. He returned to the question of his vision. “I did not see a ghost. I did not see anything. I believe I was poisoned, possibly by a weapon, possibly by something in the air.”
“Poisoned?” Luka grew pale. “It must have been strong to affect the Living.”
“Possibly,” Iosef agreed. “It is difficult to say. Most poisons are too weak to do us much harm, but sometimes certain substances can produce unforeseen afflictions that do not occur in mortals, who inevitably die before any other effects are allowed to set in. When I was attacked in Mordechai’s bookstore, I was stabbed several times, and I found myself becoming…confused.”
“Confused?”
Iosef searched for the words. “The shadows grew darker and sounds became dull. I repeatedly lost track of my enemies in the darkness. I even heard voices. Something affected my senses, and I suspect it was a toxin.”
“And you believe that is what happened in the chapel?” Luka asked.
“I am certain of it. Just as I am certain that Varanus was also poisoned. You recall her behavior when she returned from killing Julius von Raabe.”
“Drunk,” Luka said, not at all tactfully.
“Severe poisoning,” Iosef replied. “I think there was something we both encountered that distorted our senses. But alas, I do not know what it was or how we were both exposed.”
“Or why the rest of us were not affected,” Luka added.
“Indeed,” Iosef agreed. “That is the most puzzling question. Why the Living were affected and those in the Shadow of Death remained unharmed.”
* * * *
“And there truly were skulls everywhere?” Ekaterine asked Friedrich, as the two of them walked along the upstairs hallway. “Truly?”
“More than I care to remember,” Friedrich said.
He could not imagine how Ekaterine could speak of such things in so excited a tone. She sounded genuinely excited at the prospect of pagan witchery and sacrifice. But surely that was the comfort of distance speaking. Had she been there, she would have recalled it as Friedrich did: a horrifying, bloody ordeal that he wanted simply to erase from his memory.
“And they wore crowns, you say?” Ekaterine pressed. “Of flowers?”
“Holly, I think,” Friedrich answered. “And they had horns. No…no, skulls with horns. They wore them on their heads.”
Ekaterine took Friedrich’s hand and held it tightly, her eyes lit up with excitement. The sight of her warmed Friedrich a little. As he gazed into her eyes, he felt himself smiling. He was seized by the urge to tell her more, to relate every last lurid detail he could remember—and as many others as he could invent—simply to delight her. Which was foolish, he knew. No one should be delighted by such stories, nor should he find it so infectious to witness her delight.
“You must tell me everything, Friedrich,” Ekaterine said. “Luka told me a little, but now he refuses to relate any more. And he said there was a bonfire. A bonfire! Who builds bonfires in ruined castles? You tell me that.”
“Um.… Sorcerers?” Friedrich ventured.
Ekaterine’s eyes lit up yet again at the suggestion. “Sorcerers!” She paused as they passed a mirror and took a few moments to examine herself and adjust her hair. “I could be a sorcerer, don’t you think? I would be very good at it.”
Friedrich gazed at her reflection in the mirror and found himself still smiling, even though he knew that she could see it too. But what of that? He had nearly died in Germany. Life was fleeting. Why should he hide the fact that Ekaterine made him smile, that her delight was his delight?
Not that life was fleeting any longer. As he studied himself in the mirror, he saw yet again the youthful face he had not known for almost ten years. His face was younger, fitter, healthier. Even the gash on his arm had almost faded away, though admittedly a certain celerity of healing was not unfamiliar to him even before subjecting himself to the treatment. But now his very youth frightened him. He had hit upon something on that mad and frantic night, just as he had destroyed it. And now he had to live with the realization that he might never be able to reproduce it, though he silently swore to himself that he would try.
“A marvelous sorcerer,” he murmured to Ekaterine, remembering himself. Best not let her notice him drifting away into such frantic thoughts. “The best of sorcerers. Though as I recall, sorcerers are expected to have a long white beard.”
This paused Ekaterine only for a moment. “Spirit gum,” she said firmly, with an accompanying nod. “A little spirit gum and I shall have the longest beard you have ever seen. And a skull to match it.”
For a moment, Friedrich almost imagined her as she described, her reflection dressed in the regalia of Von Raabe or his cohorts. He pictured Ekaterine in dark robes, bedecked with skulls, drenched in sacrificial blood, and holding a dagger above her head. He shut his eyes against the vision and turned away.
“I am certain it would suit you well,” he said, trying to play off his sudden distress. “A goddess of the harvest. You should wear it to a ball sometime.”
Ekaterine smiled at him and gently touched his arm, perhaps sensing his distress.
“No, I think not,” she murmured. “It is always more fun in novels than in life, isn’t it?”
“Significantly,” Friedrich agreed. “Not that it is so unfamiliar to me.… My travels in Asia held their own share of bloodshed. But I fear that I shall never become accustomed to it.”
“You will,” Ekaterine said sadly. “Eventually, we all do. We must. A cruel world will not permit otherwise, not if we face it and refuse to turn away. The more you see, the less it will trouble you.” Her voice grew a little distant. “Which is troubling in itself.”
“I hope so,” Friedrich confessed. “I suspect that I will see much more of this cruel world than I ever thought I would. It sometimes feels like I am drawn to it, unable to escape. Unwilling to look awa
y.”
“Evil does not vanish simply when we ignore it,” Ekaterine said. “When we look away for our own sake, we betray those who need us most. When the world horrifies us, we must confront it and make it better, not flee in fear.”
Friedrich grinned at her. “I will never flee in fear.” Then his voice fell as a certain memory from his travels rose to trouble him. “Never again,” he whispered.
Ekaterine touched his cheek with her hand and looked into his eyes. Friedrich gazed back and found himself suddenly dizzy, falling away into the marvelous uncertainty he saw there.
“Friedrich,” Ekaterine murmured, “promise me that you will not rush to harden yourself against the evil in this world. Courage in the face of cruelty is splendid, but I think your aversion to violence is far more admirable than a callous disregard for cruelty. Stay as you are and promise that you will not lose that gentleness.”
It was such an odd thing to say and said with such seriousness that Friedrich laughed with uncertainty and felt an awkward grin cross his lips. He quickly drew back and coughed a few times. Surely he had looked a fool just now.
“What a curious thing to ask,” he said.
“Will you promise me?” Ekaterine asked.
Friedrich quickly rallied from his earlier uncertainty and answered, “I would promise you the world, if you asked it. And I would deliver it, were it in my power.”
“I do not want the world,” Ekaterine told him, smiling a little but not quite approving. “And it is not right for you to speak to your aunt in such a way.”
“My aunt by marriage,” Friedrich reminded her.
Ekaterine sighed and shook her head, but she did seem at least amused by what had been said. Friedrich counted that as a success. He was about to say more when a door along the hallway opened, and Karel rushed into the hallway, carrying the one piece of luggage he had brought with him. He was quite disheveled, more than Friedrich had seen before, which was saying something given the state of their previous lodgings.
A Sojourn in Bohemia Page 29