Against a Rising Tide

by Alma T. C. Boykin

  “Sir?”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what, sir?”

  Rudolph rolled his eyes. “Link so quickly to the House council. His Maj—ah, blast it. His Highness can’t shift that fast, even when he is within the House’s lands.”

  “Ah, I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. I just assumed anyone could who is . . . Hmm.” He thinned his shields. “Link, sir, and look.”

  He felt Rudolph extending a mental thread and caught the link, then opened a passive connection to the House and Matra. He heard Rudolph whistle in surprise. It sounded as if they were some distance apart, not in the same room, and István realized that Rudolph remained hard-shielded.

  «That’s fascinating. No wonder the links are so strong, even from Budapest.»

  Rudolph withdrew and István pulled back as well.

  Rudolph gestured with his cigar hand. “Has your House Healer ever talked to you about what you see?”

  “Not really, sir. I suspect it is because we’ve been here, in this place, for so many generations, and are raised within the House lands. I could identify the next Healer and Guardian when the individual was eight years old.”

  Rudolph’s eyes bulged with surprise and he leaned forward, once again reminding István of a sight-hound with a rabbit in view.

  “Wait. You identified the next Guardian that early? Are you training him?”

  Interesting assumption, sir, and I don’t think I’ll disabuse you of it, not yet.

  “I’m not, but Mistress Nagy, the Healer, has worked with and taught him. He tried to Heal when he was four, and . . .” István made a wary gesture.

  “Good Lord yes. But he knows he will be Guardian?”

  “Not in so many words, but yes, he’s going to return to the House lands as soon as he finishes the last of his other training.” Because I do not think the University will allow her to stay, not with so many male students clamoring for her position, or any position, and her being my daughter. István closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. What has happened to the world?

  «Damned if I know.» He heard Rudolph sigh. «It went mad in 1920 and dragged the rest of us with it, will we nil we. I don’t see how his Highness managed for so long.»

  István sensed bitter envy behind the words, at the proto-Guardian being trained before the fact. Had Rudolph not been trained?

  “Because he had to,” István heard himself saying aloud. “Because we have to. It’s what we are, what we do. We survived the Mongols, the Ottomans,” he winked, “the Germans, we’ll outlast the current storm.”

  Rudolph drew back, eyes wide, and pointed the ash-grey tip of his cigar at his host.

  “I beg your pardon. We Habsburgs pushed the Ottomans out, if you care to recall, because you half-mad horse nomads couldn’t organize anything larger than a cattle raid without invoking that silly Golden Bull. And we all know what the Scripture says about golden bulls.”

  “Really. And who stopped the Mongols from overrunning you Germans in 1250? Vienna would never have survived if we hadn’t been in the way. And it is a golden calf in Exodus, if you care to recall, my lord.” He grinned, and Rudolph smiled back. “We’ve been civilized Christians since before your ancestors stopped worshipping trees, my lord. After all, Styria and Carinthia had to be re-converted from Slavic paganism. We,” he pointed to his chest, “never gave up on the true faith.”

  “Harumpf. You’re as bad as those crazy Bohemians, going on and on about mythical plowmen ancestors and pagan princesses.”

  István pretended to be offended.

  “Heaven forefend. Any rumors of a stray Slav in the family are just that: foul rumors. I’ll have you know that we can trace our line to—”

  Both men jerked like puppets with their strings pulled, turning in their seats to look east and slightly south. Something rippled, and István reached for the Matra while Rudolph turned his attention south. István dropped into the double-sight of a Guardian and watched a shimmer of light appear around part of Transylvania. He sent a query to the Matra.

  It was a Power, an old one that refused to respond to the Matra’s queries. The Matra shifted a little energy east, reinforcing the defenses there and matching Pannonia’s own shielding. A wall of light like an aurora built against Pannonia and the Matra both, and István got a sense of anger and rejection from whatever moved within Transylvania. The stranger Power looked dimmer to István’s mental eyes, and more diffuse, than the Powers he knew of.

  The Matra prodded him, pulling his attention northwest, toward Germany. What, he asked. Brandenburg and . . . something black like tar oozed south, dripping across the landscape toward Nuremberg. A few lights flickered, then faded. House members, he asked? Not exactly, but potential allies now hidden behind the noxious stain, came the reply. It reminded him of something else, something foul and deadly dangerous.

  «Now you see the danger.» He heard Rudolph/Pannonia/Austria/Bohemia in his head. The Matra withdrew a little, putting István between itself and the other Powers. «The Nazis and Communists destroy the soul as well as the body. Even the Mongols and Turks never, ever managed such an abomination.» The venom in Rudolph’s mind voice scared István a little, but he did not break contact. «This is what must be defended against. This destroyed Galicia, will destroy it again. Only blood can clean the land.» The cold, ageless voice replaced Rudolph’s own, and if the Matra could have, it would have put hands over its ears at the weight and force looming behind the words. István did not dare turn his sight to the south. He did not want to see Pannonia—the voice terrified him enough. Then all four Powers withdrew, leaving their vessels panting, drained.

  “At least this time I didn’t set the rug on fire,” Rudolph muttered, lifting his cigar with a shaky hand and taking a deep pull until the tip glowed. He held the smoke, then sent a cloud of grey white toward the fire. István finished his own cigarette and his schnapps.

  “I appreciate that, sir.” After the two recovered, or at least after István recovered his nerve, he sighed. “Now I see what Gabor was talking about with the Sibenbergen.”

  “Ahm, yes. And I want to know why I had no idea that a Power remained in that backwater bastion of barbarity.”

  Rudolph hissed with anger, eyes narrow, talons out, the picture of draconic resentment.

  “Does His Majesty know?”

  Rudolph raised one eyebrow.

  “How can I tell from here? Your ‘friend’ is keeping me from sensing anything from the House.” He sounded resentful and intrigued both.

  István opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was not going to ask. Instead he made a suggestion.

  “If we are going to reach the edge of the hunting field before dawn, my lord, I believe we need to get a little sleep. We are no longer young.”

  The snort from the other chair was pure Rudolph. “You rural barbarians, getting up with the dawn instead of making the most of the nights as the good Lord intended.” He got out of the chair, staggered, and blinked as he threw the last stub of his cigar into the fire. “I fear my lady cousin Her Highness’s bad habits are wearing off on me. Two glasses of cognac after a bottle of excellent wine should not affect my balance.”

  “I believe it was the Transylvanian digestive that caused the difficulty, your Grace.”

  István, too, felt as if he’d ridden all day, hiked the length of the Matra peak-to-peak, then cut down four trees.

  “No doubt. Good night, my lord.”

  Rudolph, despite his words, managed to walk a straight line to the door, then found the knob without difficulty and closed the door quietly behind him. István waited until he heard the stealthy approach of a servant in the back hallway before finishing his own smoke and drink, then putting out the lamp.

  The next day passed quietly. On the following day, István caught the reply from the House to his query about accepting more True-dragons. He also broached the topic of Tadeas.

  Both men had gotten nice deer, although István r
ued not at least trying for an absolutely magnificent buck, eighteen point at the bare minimum, that had broken cover when he was in one of the worst possible positions to have fired. So I might have ended up on my ass in the creek with my trousers down. If I’d have made the shot, though! As István finished cleaning his deer, he caught Rudolph’s mental nudge. The Archduke and two servants walked into the tiny opening in the trees.

  “What are you feeding these deer, my lord?” Rudolph asked.

  “Everything short of the laundry on the line, or so Hans and Luka have been complaining.” István straightened up and beheld the heavy sacks the servants carried. “Ah.”

  Rudolph set down his own sack and opened the top, exposing a perfect twelve-point rack. He gave István that irritating, smug little grin. István stepped aside from his own kill and pointed. Rudolph’s eyebrows went up, then down.

  “What about the one that got away?”

  “Mine was only eighteen points.”

  “Twenty four at the lowest.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” The servants did not roll their eyes at the deadpan one-ups-man ship, but István caught the twitching corners of mouths and carefully bland expressions. “None of which matters if we allow the meat and hides to spoil.”

  “Indeed.”

  That night, well fed on bacon-larded venison roast and potatoes, preisel berries, and mushrooms, they retreated to the trophy room to savor the day.

  “Your Grace, we can take ten True-dragons, but no more for now. The Czech border is becoming a problem, and I do not want to try and settle people on that side of the House lands until things become more stable.”

  Rudolph closed his eyes and exhaled a deep, silent sigh.

  “Thank you, my lord. That helps immensely. They are all House Habsburg from Trentino and the uplands. They speak German, Italian, and Latin. And Old Drakonic.”

  “I didn’t think anyone used that for daily speech anymore.”

  “Not unless you don’t want the children to understand what you are saying.” Rudolph opened his eyes and it seemed as if a weight had lifted. “Thank you, my lord. You have no idea how bad it has become.”

  “Oh, but I do.” He started to mention Weronica, but stopped. That did not need to be aired. “I do have a favor to ask in return.”

  “And that is?”

  István took his own deep breath.

  “Find a position for Tadeas on your lands. Her ladyship has become rather insistent about certain matters.”

  “Ah.”

  “She will have excellent references, and I will send her with severance pay and her personal articles.”

  Rudolph gave István a surprisingly sympathetic look. “Problems with domestic harmony, my lord?”

  “Weronica is due any day. When she is with child, she becomes . . . concerned with proprieties. Perhaps excessively so.”

  Rudolph nodded and trimmed his cigar before answering.

  “I believe I have a place for a maid of her experience and skill. Yes, in fact, I suspect there will be a retirement at Schloss Tratzberg in Jenbach. Miss Tadeas should do well there.” Did he imagine it, or did István hear a bit of eagerness in his Grace’s voice, sense a hint of anticipation? He reminded himself that he did not need to know. “You do know that you are giving me the best scribe of any House I’ve visited?”

  “Ah, no, I was not aware of that.” István blinked.

  Rudolph all but rubbed his hands to gather in glee, like the villain from a children’s play. “I’ve been looking for someone who can help transcribe the oldest House chronicles into fair copies.” He smirked at István. “You can’t have her back.”

  “Hell, Your Grace, we’re burning copies of House Chronicles.”

  All color drained from Rudolph’s face and his eyes turned crimson with anger. “You’re what!”

  “Protecting our people. With that Tisza creature in the government, among other things, we’re going through papers, trying to get rid of what can be used against the family and the House. Think of what the Nazis would do with your Chronicles, my lord.”

  Rudolph cursed, quietly, in six languages that István recognized and one he didn’t. “Damn you, Eszterházy. I should have thought about that. Not just the Nazis, but the Soviets if they get Galicia. Fuck.” He got to his feet. “Fuck it all to hell and back. His Highness and I are such fools, we know what happened during the war. Damn it.” he leaned against the fireplace mantle, resting his head on his forearm. “Shit.” The outburst sounded so unlike Rudolph that István almost wondered if the House spoke through him, until he remembered that the Matra was blocking Rudolph from the House.

  “What the hell did we do to have to deal with this, Little Stephen? I’ve wondered, and I cannot think of a single sin so grave as to warrant God placing this load on my shoulders.”

  “If I knew, I’d have confessed and started my penance a year ago, Your Grace.”

  Rudolph dropped back into his chair. With that a quiet filled the room, broken by the clink of glasses placed on the tables and the pops of the fire. István reached into his collar and brushed his fingers over the St. István medal his father had given him. His son wore a matching St. Imre medallion. The two saints had held Hungary together—how could he not try to do likewise for the Matra?

  “Let us enjoy this season, Little Stephen,” Rudolph said at last. “For a night of storms is coming and we may not live to see the dawn.”

  István lifted his glass of tokay.

  “To the season.”

  “The season.”

  To István’s mild chagrin, Tadeas considered his Grace’s invitation to take up a position at Schloß Tratzberg, her head tipped to the side and whiskers relaxed, then pronounced a potential obstacle.

  «My lord, I will need to ask my family for permission to leave the House lands.»

  He hadn’t thought about that—he’d just assumed that she would have no objection to moving since she was not married. He covered his surprise well, he thought.

  “But certainly. And His Grace and I will see that you incur no expenses during your travel, if that is a concern.”

  «Thank you, my lord.»

  As it proved, her family raised no difficulties.

  «It is claimed that True-dragons first came from the mountains, my lord,» Agmánd observed later. «Perhaps it is fitting that we return there for our refuge. As the Psalmist said, ‘I lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my strength.’»

  “I would rather that it were not so, Agmánd, but you raise a good point.”

  Both men looked at Aunt Claudia, working on a project in the other room, deep in telepathic contact with Mistress Nagy. Then Agmánd returned to his work and István read through the stack of invitations, trying to keep his mind off Weronica.

  He wanted her back, he wanted news, he wanted to hold her and hear her laugh and see her smile. Had she delivered? How was their child? He’d begun adding prayers for her health and meditations on Our Lady and St. Ann to his daily devotions. He wanted to go north, to Poland, and bring her back, but did not quite dare. A nagging fear had begun haunting him: would they be allowed back into Hungary? He had served in the old government and had enemies in the new. And Weronica remained Polish, or at least sounded Polish as soon as she opened her mouth. István still could not fathom the fascists’ fixation with place of origin and their mythic blood and soil foolishness. They were as bad as Bismarck had been, but at least Bismarck had known limits. Well, he knew limits after Emperor Franz Josef’s army defeated the Prussians at Sadowa and almost captured King Wilhelm. Granted beating the French reinflated his delusions of grandeur, but anyone could beat the French at that point.

  None of which helped István sort out what to do with his marriage. Weronica, he sighed. He wanted her back. He wanted her to see reason, to accept his love, and to understand that he could not compromise while still being the man that she had married. And he wanted to see their child, to know that they were both healthy and happy. She�
�d sent two letters since her departure, one saying that she had arrived safely, and one with general family news and a reminder that Sophia and Petr would want to come home for Christmas and New Years, and that they needed to begin looking for a husband for Erzsébet. Which, to István’s mind, was about as fruitful as looking for elk in the Sahara. Erzsébet had a mind of her own, one remarkably like her late mother’s, God rest her soul, and István could imagine all too well the explosions and tears that would result if Weronica presented a fiancé to Erzsébet.

  Not that there were many candidates available just now. The gap in ages within the Houses seemed, if anything, greater than that among the rest of the people of Europe. So many young men had not returned from the war. He’d asked a few House heads over the years, and their children had already been betrothed, or had made their own plans. He’d held out great hopes for Prince Taxis’s second son, but the young man had joined the Benedictine Order. István and Taxis knew better than to obstruct a true Vocation, but still, he sighed, looking at a request for his and Weronica’s presence at a presentation ball, Frederik and Erzsébet would been such an excellent match.

  The second day of December, a telegram came to Nagymatra with the mail. István signed for it, then tore open the envelope. Thank you, holy Lord, thank you. Blessed Lady, thank you for your intercession, St. Ann, thank you. “Her ladyship delivered a boy, Josef Wladislav Andrew, on November 28.” He told the watching staff.

  “Thanks be to God,” they chorused, and he felt tears welling up at the wave of joy and honest relief and happiness from the men and women.

  “Amen.”

  His euphoria lasted three more days, until her letter arrived.

  “Dear Stephen,” it began. “Our son and I are doing well. He has blue eyes and brown hair, and looks like you. He seems to be a little fussy, but Sister Maria says winter babies tend to be fussy at first. I am tired, because he was a big baby—four kilos.” István winced. “Sister Maria says that is normal as well, given the long span the Lord set between our children.” He winced again, for a different reason this time. He had not wanted her to overbear, not after her first three came so quickly.