by Janna Ruth
I decide to smile at him. Nothing can take me down at the moment. “Yes, and no. My mum was born here, but we’ve moved around a lot. Hungary is definitely one of my homes.” I know better than to talk about Travellers in this environment.
My smile must have worked because his face muscles relax a little. “Where were you born then?”
It never really mattered to me, and I almost answer into my mother’s arms, but then I remember that she did tell me once. “In a coastal town in Croatia. I don’t consider myself Croatian, though, if you must know.”
“Do you speak Croatian?” he asks, more by reflex than interest.
“A little.” I’m in such a good mood, I decide to indulge him. “And Czech, German, English, Danish, Polish, a little bit of Russian, French, and Spanish, oh and some Turkish, though mostly insults in that one.” You get to hear quite a bit of Turkish on the streets of Berlin. It’s definitely worth seeing Wulf’s jaw drop. Crushing expectations is my favourite pastime. I grin at him. “What about you? Can you speak any other languages than German and English?”
Wulf straightens his back. “Italian.”
“Like pretty much every spirit seeker that cared a bit for the country they were studying in,” Iván quips.
His brother comes to Wulf’s defence. “You don’t need to speak Italian to become a spirit seeker. Wulf can actually speak it fluently.”
Judging from Iván’s slight eye-roll, I assume the brothers have some sort of rivalry going on. József seems to be a lot more severe than his little brother, fitting nicely with Wulf on the other side of the table.
We get the menu, but Iván takes mine away almost immediately. “I know what you should get. They’ve got a house plate with something of everything, and Rika, we need to get you rapidly reacquainted with some spiced food. Tokaji?”
“I don’t drink alcohol.” I know that some Tokajis have more sugar in them than alcohol, but I still don’t trust them. “Just a juice for me… no, do they have that grape soda?” Suddenly remembering my favourite drink, I try to sneak a look into the menu to see if they have it.
“Márka? Yeah, sure.” Iván puts it straight on the order. “What about you, Wulf? Soda or some wine?”
Judging by his look, it’s neither. “Do they have some beer?”
“Germans,” Iván quips, and I giggle despite noticing how Wulf’s ears grow red.
József clicks his tongue at both of us before giving Wulf a variety of popular beer brands to choose from. Iván lowers his voice and tells me in Hungarian, “I’ve heard rumours that for the sake of experiment, they banned fun out of their curriculum. Entire class, dead serious.”
I stifle a chuckle because Wulf’s watching me yet again. For his benefit, I answer in English, “But it worked in making them effective.”
“True. True that.” Iván leans back and smiles provocatively at his brother. Then he nudges me. “So, how is it working with the legendary Wulf Bachmann?” When he says ‘legendary’, it’s with a weird inflexion that makes it sound more like an insult than a compliment.
Despite his sleep on the train, Wulf looks tired. “Please don’t.” I can imagine he’s not the greatest fan of having his competence thrown at his face all the time. Especially not after whatever happened in Italy.
“I wouldn’t know,” I answer, a little more seriously. “I haven’t had the chance to see him in action yet.”
Iván gasps, finding a new thing to delight at. “Oh, you’re a baby! Just recently graduated?”
Wulf and I exchange a look, silently agreeing to go with the assumption. “You could say that, I guess.”
On the other side of the table, József looks like he really wants to know why Wulf decided to bring a newbie on this help mission. They obviously didn’t ask for one.
Before we can talk more about my newness to the job, the drinks and food arrive. A giant plate of delicacies is set down in the middle, offering something for everyone. I can see a selection of salami with rustic bread and an array of pickled cabbages alongside at least seven varieties of meat, all dripping juice. If it tastes just half as delicious as it looks, we’re in for a treat.
“Dig in,” Iván encourages me. “You, too, Wulf.” He raises his glass in a toast. “Egészségedre!”
“Egészségedre!” I answer likewise, before taking a sip of my long-lost childhood drink. It tastes just like my memories, sweet and not too sour. I had some snacks on the train, but looking at the plate, I feel famished. I haven’t eaten Hungarian food in ages. Or any food this rich and flavourful. I decide on a pickled cucumber filled with cabbage and bite into it. “Mmh.” It really is juicy and sour but in a yummy way. “That is so delicious.”
By the end of the dinner, I’ve got a bite of everything, enjoying the sweetness of the paprika and the tanginess of the pickled vegetables as much as the chockful of flavour I get from the sausages. The twice-fried duck’s my favourite. Judging by the improvement of his mood, Wulf seems impressed by the food. Or maybe it’s the beer that has loosened him up a little.
“So, what about the rest of your team?” he asks József. “They don’t get to eat?”
It’s the first time I’ve seen the older brother laughing. “Oh, they’ve eaten earlier today. Iván’s got them patrolling the bridges at night.”
“That bad?” Wulf asks.
József shrugs a little. “Most attacks happen at night. Not exclusively, though.”
“We can talk about it at the convent,” Iván interjects. “For now, let’s push the work aside and enjoy the food. Did you try the pork crackling?” He offers the tiny plate to Wulf, who declines politely.
“Convent?” I ask.
Iván sets the plate down again. “Yeah, the old Dominican convent on Margaret Island? The one King Béla IV sent his daughter Margaret to, thus, the whole naming, you know? That’s our base in Budapest.”
“Spirit seekers really like their old, drafty places, don’t they?” I joke.
Iván laughs. “I promise you, it’s more comfortable than it looks. But yeah, we’re huge on fortresses.”
I guess it makes sense when you go to battle with the spirits. They seem to avoid those places of human crudeness. Taking a sip from my second grape soda, I look out to the dark spot between two bridges that’s Margaret Island. Only a few lights shine through the darkness, giving me the impression that no one really lives there. I vaguely remember visiting the parks and gardens of the island before. For the life in me, I can’t remember the convent, though.
It turns out that the reason I can’t remember the Dominican convent is that the whole place is in ruins. It’s been eight hundred years since Princess Margaret lived here, and through the centuries, people haven’t really cared about keeping it in shape.
“This is your base?” I ask Iván, who has lent me his arm on our stroll here. He’s a little tipsy, so I’m actually supporting him more than he does me.
He laughs and scratches his head. “Just the surface. The real base is below. Come on, I’ll show you.” He stumbles from my arm towards one of the more intact structures.
In the former retaining walls of a smaller room, a trapdoor the size of a garage door is set in the ground. Iván punches in a combination on the pillar next to it, and the door slides open, exposing a flight of stairs leading into darkness. I can feel my stomach turn. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.
“Come on,” Iván calls. “Follow me. I promise, you won’t get wet feet. Maybe!” His chuckle echoes under the earth.
My backpack slides off my shoulder as my entire body shuts down. I’m rooted to the spot, unable to take one step further. József and Wulf are already on their way to follow Iván when Wulf notices me frozen on the spot.
“Rika?” He takes a step toward me, frowning in confusion. “Are you coming?”
“I…” My voice sounds all wrong, distant and pitchy. “I can’t.”
His frown deepens, but then he turns around to József and tells him, “Go ahead. I’ll
take care of it.”
József nods and vanishes between the crumbling rocks.
Slowly, Wulf comes closer. “What is it?” I only manage to stare at him, and he cocks his head to search my face. “Talk to me, Rika.”
“I… I… can’t go…” The very thought of setting one foot below the earth is messing with my head. I can do subways, even those insanely deep ones in Budapest, because they’re still open in some way. But once the trapdoor closes over my head… I can’t even think about it without feeling my throat tighten. “I could sleep outside.” Yes, yes, it’s not even that cold.
“Nonsense,” Wulf says, but then his face softens. He looks deep into my eyes. “You don’t like being underground, I take it?”
“There’s no light. No air.” And I need both to survive. I need the wind on my skin, the soil under my feet. I need the wide-open world, not this… prison.
Wulf nods thoughtfully. “Tell you what, it unsettles me quite a bit as well.”
I latch onto his words as if they’re a fishing rod. “It does?”
“I spent almost two months inside a volcano.” He chuckles a little, but it sounds strained. “And…” He needs to take a deep breath. “I wasn’t entirely sure I’d ever find a way out from under tons of rock.”
Nausea floods my body. At least the trapdoor can be opened again. We’re not stuck inside. “I’m sorry.”
There’s a gentle smile on his face, but it vanishes way too fast. Instead, he offers me his hand. “Can we brave this together? It’s just a spirit seeker base, after all.”
Tentatively, I put my hand into his. Concentrating on the light squeeze he gives mine, I manage a nod, which sets the rest of my body into motion. One foot in front of the other. One breath after another.
Together, we face the trapdoor. It’s no longer completely dark. The brothers must’ve turned on the light. I’m incredibly grateful to them for not having to step into darkness.
The base isn’t very deep, a maximum of three metres under the former convent, and it’s as modern as it gets. There’s even some 20th-century art on the walls. When the door closes above our heads, I can feel Wulf’s handshake in mine. It gives me something to concentrate on. If he can do this after two months spent underground, I can too.
The corridor leads into a vast, open space that makes me feel instantly better. Partial walls split the room into small alcoves that create little spaces for work, retreat, or social mingling. József and Iván stand near the back of the area, facing each other. Something must have happened in the short time Wulf and I took to follow them because both of them are snarling.
“We wouldn’t need him if you hadn’t fucked this up,” József hisses.
“Basszon agyon a kénköves istennyila!” Iván hurls at his brother, then marches out on us, vanishing into the deeper vaults of the convent.
Wulf looks at me in confusion. “What did he say?”
I feel my face flush and let go of his hand. “Literally? Get fucked to death by lightning with sulphuric stones.”
“It’s just a more colourful version of fuck you. Really drives it in,” József explains, coming towards us. He sighs. “I’m sorry, Wulf. He didn’t want me to call you. He’s such a child.”
To Wulf’s credit, he doesn’t immediately accept his friend’s evaluation, but scratches his chin. “What do you mean? I thought you guys wanted my help.”
“I want your help,” József stresses. “Iván thinks he can get it all under control. He’s got a plan, he says, but if he has, it’s not working. Twelve people died last week in a rare tidal wave sweeping down Elizabeth Bridge. Whether he likes it or not, we need your help.”
Wulf nods thoughtfully. “And you’ll get it.”
József’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.” He waves us along. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can sleep.”
I get my own room under the earth, but I already know I will spend next to no time in it if I can help it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice little room with a comfy bed, more art, and even daylight lamps that are supposed to make up for the lack of windows under the ground. It’s smaller, however, than my room at the citadel, making me feel as if I’m trapped in here. It’s almost a blessing that the bathrooms are down the corridor, so I have one more excuse to get out of here. Then again, that means I won’t feel safe to do more than a quick shower.
As soon as everyone else has turned in for the night, I take my backpack and sneak back out. I’m rather sleepy after the early start and late end of this day, but the fresh spring air invigorates me immediately. I can’t see much around the convent, as there are no streetlights to illuminate the ruins, which are black shapes against the night sky. It’s even darker in the garden next to the ruins. Even so, I can make out rows of rose bushes, hedges and a group of trees. Flowers are lining the roadside.
I can’t fathom why the spirit seekers would voluntarily live in a lifeless bunker under the earth with so much beauty to surround them. Maybe it’s for protective value. The water is close but can’t come near, dryads only like to stretch their feet in soil, and gnomes would have to cross the Danube first. I shrug. That’s what they get for being afraid of spirits.
After I got some distance between me and the convent, I take out the spirit trap from my backpack. Aeola has had to wait long enough. Hopefully, she’s okay.
I unscrew the cap and set the tube on the ground. “You can come out.”
The wind picks up, rustling through the leaves above me. I pull my jacket closer, shivering in the coldness. Then, with a gust, Aeola bursts from the trap and stretches out. At first, it looks like she’s gonna expand forever, but then she shrinks back to her normal size. “Finally.”
“I’m sorry it took so long. It’s been a long day.” I sit down on the ground and let my fingers run through the grass, as if every fibre of myself needs to be exposed to the living world.
Meanwhile, Aeola tests out the winds over Budapest. She doesn’t stick around but uses her chance to shoot up in the sky and let the wind carry her through the city. I can’t say I blame her. In fact, I wish I could follow her, see the city by night, reacquaint myself with the streets, and walk the Széchenyi Chain Bridge, enjoying the sight of its pearls of light strung up across the Danube.
The surrounding trees are almost as good, though. I enjoy the quiet sounds around me, listening to the wind sighing in the trees. The leaves spread the stories of the day amongst them, passing on rumours and facts alike.
“They’ll kill us all,” one frightened little voice says.
Another one answers, “It’s wrong of them.”
“They’re wrong,” a third voice adds to the chorus.
Alarmed, I get to my feet. I know I shouldn’t be surprised about the fear in these spirit voices. After all, they live next to the spirit seekers. But the intensity of it makes my heart ache.
I run my fingers over the bark of the next tree. “Who is killing you?” I believe I already know the answer.
Silence.
Even the wind has ceased. Then it picks up with a small whisper. “She let her out.”
“She freed the sylph.”
“But she’s one of them. She lives with them.”
My hands start shaking. They’ve watched Aeola and me, though it looks like they misinterpreted my actions a little. I try to make sure my voice carries my honesty. “I’m with them, but not one of them.” I know at this very moment that it is the truth. Until I complete the official training—which I never intend to do—I’ll always be just with them, no matter what enjoyable evenings we might share. “Do they kill you? Do the spirit seekers kill you?”
“When have they not done that?” comes the prompt answer. It hurts me physically.
But another one speaks up. “Long, long ago.”
Before I can dwell on that surprising advocacy, the frightened one speaks again. “It’s not them. It’s the nymphs.”
“Be quiet.”
I dr
aw my hand back in shock. Spirits fighting amongst themselves? I shouldn’t be too surprised, I guess. I’ve yet to meet any intelligent species that doesn’t do it. Still, I’ve never encountered such unbridled fear in a group of spirits. Not even when the Erlking forced his own people into battle. Something is terribly wrong.
“Why would they do that?” I ask, but there’ll be no answer. A rustle of leaves tells me that the dryads have hidden.
The reason becomes apparent immediately when I hear footsteps coming my way. The light of a cell phone flashlight blinds me, so I can’t tell who it is that’s come after the spirits.
A husky female voice speaks to me in Hungarian. “Who are you? And what are you doing talking to the trees?”
Raising my arm, I try to shield myself from the light. I still can’t see her, but I can see that she carries a staff with her. Another spirit seeker.
“I’m with Wulf Bachmann. I mean, I’m Rika. Could you please turn that light off?”
She only lowers it, so it illuminates the ground instead. Now that I can see again, I notice that she’s about my size with hair on the lighter side. Dirt is smudging half of her face. “What are you doing out here, then?” Her voice has lost none of the aggression.
I’d rather not tell her about the dryads, though I’m itching to discuss it with somebody. From what I’ve gathered, these spirit seekers are just like everybody else. Stubborn and blind to the spirits’ true intention. “I was taking a stroll, but I got lost, and now I can’t find the entrance.” She doesn’t move, so I add in what I hope is a sufficient show of embarrassment. “I tend to talk to myself when I’m worried.”
“Don’t you have a phone?” I notice that she still hasn’t introduced herself, but at last, she accepts my explanation and starts shining her light the other way. “Come with me. We’ll see if you are telling the truth.”
I have no choice but to follow her, leaving the dryads behind.
CHAPTER NINE
IT ISN’T UNTIL next morning that I learn who my involuntary late-night guide was. Her name is Rebeka, and she went to the academy with Iván. Oh, and she’s his girlfriend, which she makes very clear at a PDA-filled breakfast. There are four other spirit seekers Wulf and I get introduced to in the morning because they were patrolling by night, though none has caught a spirit. They all look exhausted and thus grateful when Wulf suggests we investigate the nymph problem by ourselves, since I can speak enough Hungarian to get us through the city.