Come Hell or High Water: The Complete Trilogy

by Stephen Morris

  “Why is that?” Nadezda could see why Lilith would hate the children of Adam and Eve, but why direct her rage especially against their descendants keeping the laws of Moses?

  Ryba shrugged. “Some say it is because King Solomon, the king of Israel whose wisdom knew no bounds and who was able to command demons to do his will, was the first to learn the secrets to fending off the attacks of Lilith. Some say it is because the prophets, inspired by God, railed against her as one abandoned by the Lord and given over to her own desolation. Others say it because the Jews in Babylon practiced the magic bequeathed to them by Solomon and perfected the defenses that keep her at bay and frustrate her attacks, so that she desires all the more to attack their children and prove them powerless over her.”

  Nadezda looked into the other room, where Alena now sat up in her bed with her new daughter. Nadezda could see the joy on Alena’s face and wished, more than anything, to spare her friend and new goddaughter from the visitation of the shadow she had seen last night. She turned back to Ryba.

  Ryba had seen her watching Alena and the baby and nodded her agreement. “If Lilith has come to attack both the Jewish and the Christian children of Prague, it is up to us to stop her. You are lucky, my child, that your oil lamp flared up when it did and startled her. The icons are known to protect the children committed to their care, but the presence of one was clearly not enough to keep her from entering your house or drawing near to Milos. She must have been surprised and fled before she could encounter any other defensive measures.

  “But she will attack again, Nadezda. Once Lilith sets her eyes on a child, she returns again and again until she kills the babe or is driven from the cradle once and for all and knows she can never return.” Ryba pointed towards the door. “You must go from here and speak to the rabbi in the Jewish Quarter. The Jews know best how to protect a child Lilith has taken aim at. It is Jewish magic that is best able to drive Lilith from your house and keep her from Milos. Furthermore, the rabbis of Prague are said to be the most expert at the Kabbalah and other hidden lore. Did you know, Nadezda, that the synagogue here is said to have been built with stones brought from the ruins of the Temple in Jerusalem, which their rabbis commanded the angels to carry?” Ryba was clearly very impressed with the supernatural abilities and talents of the Prague rabbis. “If you drive Lilith away from Milos, it may be that she will depart from Prague. If not, if you keep Lilith from Milos but are unable to drive her from Prague, you will be able to teach other women here how to protect their babes.”

  Nadezda understood what she had to do. The residents of the Jewish Quarter had known terrible persecution, but much less here in Bohemia than in other regions of Christian Europe. It was possible that the rabbi would willingly share with her the secret ways of driving away Lilith. If Lilith had come to Prague to attack Christian children—had Fen’ka’s curse called her here?—then it would not be long before she turned her attention to her more usual victims, the children of the Jewish Quarter. “Surely the rabbi will agree that is in the best interests of us all to drive Lilith from our city before she can cause the havoc that always travel in her wake, will he not?” Nadezda anxiously asked Ryba.

  “I hope so, Nadezda,” the midwife agreed. “I know the midwife in the Jewish Quarter. If need be, tell him that Ryba, the friend of Batsheva the midwife, sent you. Leave Milos here with us for the moment. Some of the others can nurse him if he wakes before you return. But go. Now. Speak to the rabbi and learn the magic that he knows will protect all the children of Prague from Lilith.”

  Nadezda slipped her sleeping son into Ryba’s waiting arms. She gathered her cloak about her and stepped into the street. It had begun to snow again. Delicate snowflakes drifted down lazily from the iron-gray skies. She made her way to the bustling marketplace of the Old Town Square and then crossed it, weaving her way between the stalls and the crowds that thronged the square. She arrived on the northern side of the square and looked about her.

  Although there was no wall to block access from the Old Town to the Jewish Quarter, she had never crossed into the territory on the other side of this invisible line. She had never had any real reason to cross over to the Jewish Quarter. By law the property of the king, the Jewish Quarter was protected by royal authority and an attack on it was considered an attack on the king himself. The Jews who resided there were also protected by royal law and many Jewish merchants and bankers were active members of the Old Town market and the financial world centered on it. It was a crowded, even overcrowded place, as few of the Jews had ever accepted the king’s offer of free land in the recently established New Town.

  Now she had reason to enter the Jewish Quarter and speak with the rabbi himself. “Will he be willing to speak with a Christian woman like me?” she wondered as she pulled her cloak tight and stepped onto the street that led to the synagogue a few blocks away. The snow began to fall more heavily.

  Walking down the street toward the synagogue, she made her way through the crowd that bustled here as well. It was slow going, not because anyone hindered her because she was a stranger, but because the people were all headed in the direction she was coming from. A few small children, noticing a woman they did not know, stopped and stared or pointed and said something to their mothers. But she felt no anger, no animosity toward her. In a few steps, she found herself standing before the synagogue.

  It was a squat stone building with a pitched roof. It was surrounded by the homes of the leading members of the Jewish community, and she could see the walls that surrounded the ancient cemetery down another narrow lane. Flagstones covered the small plaza surrounding the synagogue. A few men were standing together and talking near the door of the synagogue. She walked up to them.

  “Excuse me, sirs,” she began. Their conversation halted immediately. She looked from one face to another. Impenetrable silence greeted her.

  “Pardon me, gentlemen,” she began again. Again silence. This was a very different greeting than the one she had hoped for making her way along the crowded street from the Old Town Square. Finally, one of the men quietly asked her, “Who are you? Whom do you seek?”

  “Please forgive my ignorance and my interruption.” Nadezda did not want her mission to fail when it had hardly begun. “I am Nadezda, a woman of the Old Town, sent by Ryba the midwife, a friend of Batsheva the midwife here.” The man murmured together at the mention of a name they recognized. “I am sent to speak with your rabbi.” Glances of disapproval shot from one man to the next. “Lilith has been seen in the Old Town and we need his knowledge of the ways to protect our children from her attacks.”

  “Lilith? Are you sure? Where was she seen? Was it your child who was attacked?” The men instantly became a cluster of concerned fathers. Their questions buzzed in the air and the man nearest her clutched her arm wrapped in her cloak. “Tell us about the child Lilith attacked. Does the baby live?”

  A passerby overheard the question. “Lilith?” The young man, a newlywed, blanched at the she-devil’s name. “Here? In Prague? When was she seen?” Faster than the wind, the news rippled through the people coming and going on the streets and lanes of the Jewish Quarter. Lilith had been sighted and a woman from the Old Town had come to ask the assistance of the rabbi to drive the ancient witch away. People pushed and shoved, some eager to spread the news as they would any gossip and others racing home to slam the shutters and the doors shut and prepare to defend their children.

  “The rabbi was here at the synagogue just a short while ago,” one of the men told her. “But he said he was going home for a short time. If he is still at home, I do not know. But even if he is not at home, they will know where he has gone and can send for him.”

  “Come with me.” Another man pointed down the lane. “He lives there. Let me take you to him.”

  Nadezda struggled to keep up with him as the panic-stricken crowd swirled around them. Children in their mothers’ arms, hearing the name of the fearful witch, began to cry. Older siblings tried to cover t
heir ears and the ears of their younger brothers and sisters so they would not hear the dreadful name. Mothers hastened to calm their children even as they felt fear rising within their own breasts. Fathers heard the name and hurried home even though it was midday, some feeling powerless to stop their ancient enemy but all wanting to be with their families.

  Finally her escort delivered her to the rabbi’s door. He whispered to the maid answering the door who Nadezda was and what she had come for and the maid nodded, her face anxious. She pulled Nadezda into the small parlor right inside the door.

  Inside, the door shut, Nadezda could barely hear the commotion on the street. The maid indicated that she could sit on a small stool as she waited. “I will tell Rabbi Isaac why you have come,” she promised. “Wait here just a moment. This is terrible! Lilith seen in the Old Town?” The maid stepped out another door and Nadezda could hear her walking down a hall, clucking in distress as she went.

  The maid returned quickly, popping her head into the parlor. “Step this way, balibt, and come with me. Rabbi Isaac will see you at once.” She pulled the door open and held it for Nadezda to step through and then led her down the hall into Rabbi Isaac’s study. Knocking on the door to the study, she opened it and pointed the way for Nadezda to enter.

  Nadezda stepped into a small and cluttered wonderland of books and scrolls and parchments, inkwells and quills and straps of leather, small knives and mortars and pestles. Many things were covered with dust. Tables and bookcases overflowed and a reading desk, with a dripping candle atop it for light, stood in one corner. The rabbi was perched on a tall stool on the other side of the reading desk and peered at Nadezda as she entered.

  His white beard flowed down his chest, obscuring his old and torn vest. An embroidered cap sat atop his head, held in place by ears poking through his whiskers, but he seemed bald beneath the cap. A pair of lenses set astride the end of his nose, round pieces of quartz held together by a thin metal frame such as Nadezda had seen once on the nose of one of the Italian artists who labored in the castle. His eyes were kind and the lenses, which magnified his pupils, also revealed the depth of the wrinkles that seeped into his face from the corners of his eyes. He smiled and beckoned for Nadezda to approach.

  As Nadezda stepped forward, the maid stepped into the cramped study and took a seat on a low stool tucked into a corner of the room, picking up the stack of parchments that had been placed there and holding them on her lap.

  “You will, please, excuse the presence of my maid,” the rabbi apologized to Nadezda, indicating the older woman with his open palm. “You must understand that I am forbidden by our laws to be left alone with a woman other than my wife.”

  Nadezda nodded. “Of course, your honor.” She bobbed a small curtsey, unsure of the proper gesture of respect to such a learned elder. He climbed down from his stool and approached her.

  “My name is Isaac, my dear, the Rabbi Isaac of Prague, and I understand that you have come in distress and need.” He folded his hands across his ample girth, careful not to touch her.

  “Yes, Rabbi Isaac. My infant son is in danger. I woke suddenly last night to see a shadow reaching out to seize him from my arms, a shadow I have come to learn was Lilith.” She paused and looked around the volumes and tomes that bespoke a lifetime of study. She resumed her request. “I am told that you know the secrets to driving Lilith away and I hope to save not only my son but to drive her from Prague.”

  “Drive her from Prague altogether?” the rabbi repeated. “That would be quite a feat, my child. In my experience, the best one can hope for is to drive Lilith from your home so that she never comes near your son again. But to drive her from Prague? I am afraid that exceeds even my quite considerable skill.” He gestured towards all the manuscripts that surrounded them. “But let us see what we can accomplish together.”

  He stepped around her and peered over his spectacles at a series of books and scrolls, some of which he took down from their shelves, having to blow layers of dust from before examining their contents. The dust sent the maid into a fit of coughing as she shook her head with disapproval. Nadezda guessed that the rabbi refused to ever allow her to tidy the study or dust in here when he was not occupied with his reading or prayers. Nadezda covered her mouth and coughed too. The rabbi laughed and turned towards her again.

  “Please, my dear. Sit down. Forgive my lack of manners. What was I thinking?” He gestured towards another tall stool near his reading desk with the scroll he held unfurled in his hands. Nadezda carefully navigated her way through the stacks of books and papers that leaned into what narrow aisles left to walk about the study, afraid she might knock them over and introduce even more chaos. She clambered atop the stool behind the rabbi’s and waited as he continued his examination of texts. Selecting one thick tome at last, its leather binding coming loose from the dry, yellow pages, and carefully balancing the open book on both palms, he made his way back to the reading desk.

  He settled the book on the upper portion of the desk and perched again on his stool before pulling a small sheet of vellum from the open drawer above his lap. Taking a small knife, he sliced away a strip from one side of the vellum, leaving a ribbon of vellum that he kept after setting aside the larger remnant for some other purpose later. He placed the ribbon lengthwise before him and pointed one stubby finger at a diagram in the book. Nadezda peered over his shoulder.

  “This, my child, is the amulet considered most effective in driving Lilith away from a child she has in mind to slay. Do you see this line of text that runs along the upper edge of the amulet? It is in Hebrew, our ancestral tongue and the language that our Torah was given in.” Nadezda was unsure of what text he was referring to but listened attentively. He translated the text. “It is a verse from the Psalms of David the King: ‘He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.’ Below, along the lower edge of the amulet, runs another text. Do you see?” He shifted his position on the stool slightly so Nadezda could see the diagram better. She recognized that this line was also in the Hebrew letters. The rabbi traced the words with his fingers as he translated them. “These are the names of the three angels given charge by God to protect mankind from the assaults of Lilith. Here reads, ‘Senoi.’ This reads, ‘Sansenoi.’ This last reads, ‘Samangeloph.’ These are the angels who have pursued Lilith since she first fled Paradise and hid herself in the wilderness outside Eden.”

  Nadezda recognized the story of the three angels that Ryba had told her at Alena’s home. “What are these three figures, Rabbi Isaac?” She reached around his shoulder and pointed to three odd caricatures that stood between the two lines of text. Small words, also in the Hebrew letters, were written next to each stick figure that resembled nothing so much as three oddly shaped birds. “What are these names written beside them?”

  The rabbi looked at her over his shoulder and smiled, his eyes twinkling behind his lenses. “Your eyesight is very good, my child. Alas, better than mine these days if I did not have these lenses sent to me from my fellow countrymen in the ghetto of Modena. You are clever and inquisitive. These are good qualities to have, especially if you seek to discover a way to fend off Lilith’s vengeance.” He turned back to the book and pointed to each figure in turn. “This is the emblem of Adam and this is the emblem of his wife Eve. These are the names of our first parents, indicating which emblem is whose.” He pointed to the third, which stood somewhat apart from the other two. “Whose might you guess is this third emblem?” He looked over his shoulder again towards Nadezda.

  “Lilith?” she ventured.

  “Correct!” the rabbi clapped his hands. “It is Lilith herself poised to attack Adam and Eve, but this line of text,”—which he indicated with his finger, and was also in Hebrew, running in three vertical rows between the sigils of Lilith and those of Adam and Eve—“is what stands between them. These are two of the ten attributes of the Almighty—blessed be He!—which we call sephirot. These are the sephirot called ‘holiness’ and �
��deliverance.’ This third row of letters spell out ‘Ehyeh,’ which is the name the Lord gave to Moses at the Bush-That-Burned to report to the Children of Israel: ‘I Am that I Am.’ Do you understand?”

  Nadezda nodded. She was fascinated by the rabbi’s explanation of the diagram. She considered whether she had any further questions about the talisman as the rabbi picked up one of his quills and dipped it into the inkwell resting near the still-burning candle atop the reading desk. Wax dribbled down the side of the candle and pooled along the binding of the book they were inspecting.

  “Now, my child, I must copy this amulet carefully onto this ribbon of vellum which I have prepared.” He touched the tip of the quill to the yellow-brown ribbon on the desk. Nadezda heard the scratching of the pen against the translucent animal skin. Slowly, with the pen tip gracefully flowing along under the direction of the rabbi’s fingertips, the diagram from the book reappeared on the vellum. He dipped the quill into the inkwell time after time, carefully shaking any excess drops back into the well to avoid smudges and blots on the amulet he was creating for Nadezda, who hardly dared to draw a breath as she watched the careful work play out before her eyes.

  “Any mistake and I must begin again,” the rabbi spoke as he carefully looked from the original in the book to his copy and back again. He glanced at Nadezda. “We would not want to waste either our time or our effort in making an error so close to the conclusion of our work, would we, my dear?” Nadezda swallowed carefully and nodded her agreement.

  Rabbi Isaac turned his attention back to the amulet and added the final flourishes to the small Hebrew letters identifying the figures of Adam and Eve. It was a breathtakingly beautiful piece of work. He waited momentarily for the last dot of ink to dry. Then he picked it up and blew on it gently, both to dry the ink and to impart, as he explained, “the breath of life to the amulet so that it might achieve all that we hope it will.”