“Mugwort.” He heaved a sigh of relief. “How it got itself to the top shelf, I will never know!”
“Mugwort, I take it then, is an earthen herb of protection?” Nadezda asked. She looked closely at the pale greens and browns, the delicate veins in the bits of leaves that were still intact.
“It is, my dear,” the apothecary announced. “Most powerful indeed. Truth to tell, it is one of the most powerful of the protective herbs. It has been used since ancient times, when the Roman soldiers would place a sprig of it in their boots to protect them on the march. It can also be used to inspire prophetic dreams, if you so choose.”
He took a breath and went on. “Of course, I am careful to stock only the mugwort that is picked during the waxing or full moon, and that only before sunrise. I take the further precaution—the only apothecary to do so in all Prague, I can assure you—that the mugwort in my shop comes only from the plants that incline to the north. The Devil’s direction, you know. Even as a youthful sprig, the mugwort plant seeks to destroy the Wicked One.” The apothecary pulled himself up to his full height and threw his shoulders back.
Nadezda was impressed. She had come hoping for only four protective herbs and had stumbled into what was evidently the best-stocked and most knowledgeable apothecary’s shop in Prague.
“Yes, these will do nicely,” she told him. “Even better than I hoped for.”
“Shall I bundle these into sachets for you, my dear?”
“Yes, please do.”
The apothecary hummed and sang snatches of tunes under his breath as he weighed the portions of the four things they had selected and made notes on a small chalkboard to help him calculate the prices. When all four sachets were ready, he announced the final price.
Nadezda found she had just enough coins to pay the bill, which turned out to be considerably more than she had anticipated. Nevertheless, she thanked the man for his good cheer and assistance. “Quality costs,” she reminded herself, but said nothing of that to the apothecary.
“Always happy to help a young lady, my dear,” he brushed aside her compliments. “Come along anytime, anytime.” He bowed low and then trotted to open the door for her, her arms again laden with baskets of purchases, only now with the additional burden of the sachets of myrrh, mugwort, mint, and toadflax.
Nearly two weeks later, a boy knocked on Nadezda’s door.
“We have the rooster you were looking for,” he announced, “at the stall of Andrei the dealer. It is a fine and handsome bird, with great spirit.” He grinned and held up the bloody knuckles of one hand. “His claws are sharp and his beak is swift. He will win many fights in the ring.”
“Thank you so much, young man!” she exclaimed, pressing a small coin into his other hand as a reward for bringing such happy news. She hurried to finish her midmorning chores and bundled little Milos for a trip to the market in the light rain that had been falling for the fortnight since she had spoken with the rabbi and the midwife. Folk were unsure if the floods would dissipate before reaching the capital, but many had begun to pack their things into bags and wheelbarrows that could be pushed along the streets at any time if the waters approached their doorsteps. She had heard from Vavrinec the stories of more hamlets and towns upriver being washed away in the tremendous floodwaters of the Vltava. Refugees were streaming into the outlying areas of Prague, away from the riverbanks. These extra mouths to feed were an additional strain on the food markets, driving up the cost of a valuable rooster even further. By the time Nadezda reached the dealer’s stall and concluded her bargaining for the black rooster in its wicker cage, she had paid nearly twice what she had hoped. Nevertheless, she thought the rooster priceless, so long as she was able to gain Svetovit’s attention.
She gathered a small collection of other supplies she would need for her self-appointed task. The red cord the rabbi had given her. A lantern holding what remained of the Candlemas candle. A small but very sharp knife. The four sachets from the apothecary. The small metal canister of dead water. She placed the rooster’s cage next to the hearth and her other tools in a small sackcloth drawstring bag beside that. When Petr and Vavrinec returned home from the bakery that evening, they noticed the cock beside the fireplace but had other news to report.
“The river is so high and flowing so quickly that the mill in the Little Town is having difficulty controlling the waterwheel that grinds the wheat,” Vavrinec reported. “Logs and broken carts that have been swept along by the floods have become jammed in the waterwheel and nearly broken it several times. The miller is beside himself. No one remembers seeing the river this high or flowing this fast. It is even nearing the bottom of the wooden bridge that spans the river. The brothers that collect the tolls say it has been heard creaking and groaning in the current in a way none of them can recall ever hearing.”
“They say it could wash away!” Petr exclaimed. “They say the river could break it up and carry it away, just as it carried away Queen Judith’s bridge. Only it would be even more easily broken, since it is wooden and not stone.” He knelt and peered into the wicker cage. The rooster crowed and attempted to flap its wings in its confinement.
“Get back from the rooster, Petr!” Nadezda snapped at her younger brother. “It could peck your eye or scratch your face!” Petr pulled back a bit but stayed on his knees near the bird.
“What is it for, Nadezda?” he asked. “Why such a black, black rooster?”
“It is for cockfighting.” Nadezda used the same excuse with her brother that she had used in the market to explain her interest. “If he doesn’t win in the ring, then we can eat him.” She ran her fingers through Petr’s hair and he turned toward her.
“Cockfighting? Why?” He admired the rooster again. He looked to Vavrinec. “But can I go with you to the cockfights and watch it kill the other birds?” He could hardly contain his excitement.
“Perhaps,” Vavrinec replied slowly, his eyes on Nadezda, who had hers on Petr and the rooster. “In the meantime, get ready for supper!” He playfully swatted at the boy, who dashed into the back to wash his face and hands in the tub.
Vavrinec knew what the rooster was for, Nadezda having explained her intentions between their first and second sleep one night a week ago. He had objected at first but not strenuously. He knew that once her mind was made up, his protests would be of little use.
“When do you plan to do this thing?” he asked.
“I am not sure,” she told him. “It should be soon. But I will need access to the construction site atop Hradčany, and how simple that may be to arrange, I cannot tell.”
“If the bridge fails, it could be months—perhaps years—before it is replaced,” Vavrinec pointed out. “No doubt there will be ferries and other boats to carry folk across the river, but it may take weeks for the river to subside enough for even those to navigate the current. If you are certain this can only be done on Hradčany, little opportunity remains.”
Nadezda bit her lip. “This may be part of Svetovit’s strategy, Vavrinec. He may have started the rainfall and the flooding so that I could not cross to Hradčany and the fire would be all the more likely extinguished. The flood may even be the way he intends to destroy Prague. Who can say what he intends? I only know that our only hope is rewriting the curse, so that it comes due in four times eight generations and not when the fire is extinguished. The fire has been given to us and it is our duty to use it to save the city.”
Vavrinec studied her face and finally nodded. “Then you should do it soon. While the bridge still stands. Even tomorrow may be too late.”
Petr burst back into the house and Milos began crying for his supper.
“I think not tonight, Vavrinec,” Nadezda said quietly. “It would look suspicious, going up to the castle in the night. But tomorrow… Tomorrow may be the best. Besides,” she added, starting to laugh and picking up Milos to swing him in a circle about the room, “if I went tonight, how would all these fine men have a supper to eat?”
Petr
slept on his cot. Milos lay in his cradle. Vavrinec waited for her in their bed. Nadezda sat before her hearth that night, preparing to burn her protective sachets and then bank this fire for what she knew would be the last time.
She spread the logs and embers evenly across the back of the fireplace. The carpet of red glowed warmly in the otherwise dark room. Delicate tongues of flame danced here and there above the chunks of wood and clumps of coal. She could sit and watch the fire like this for hours as a small girl. The waves of light and heat playing along the edges of the remnants of the logs, which crumbled and fell into each other with a burst of sparks, had always fascinated her. Golden hints of treasure troves lay deep within the labyrinths and coves of the coals, places where the fire fairies known as salamanders might easily hide, waiting to dart out when they thought mortals least likely to notice them.
After watching the fire for a few minutes, she pulled the four sachets toward her and set them in her lap. She had a two-fold purpose in burning these protective herbs tonight. One was to cleanse her house of any remaining vestigial presence of Lilith. The other was to purify the fire itself and, by releasing the cleansing smoke up the chimney into the city’s air, to further protect the city. Though the amounts of the protective herbs were small, their power would settle wherever the smoke from her chimney drifted.
Beginning with the sachet with the elemental association most akin to her purposes, she opened the toadflax. With her fingertips, she picked up the small, dry seeds belonging to the element fire, held them aloft, and then cast them into the midst of the element that was their home.
The tiny, dull-brown seeds fell all about the fireplace and instantly began to snap and pop. The seeds burst and jumped about in the coals at the same time their faintly fish-like smell caught her attention. The dark gray smoke curled and twisted in the air, hanging above the coals. The toadflax was a long time burning, and Nadezda could see the jumping seeds turn to shiny black in the heart of the fire. The smoke and the unexpectedly fishy scent drifted into the room and then finally up the chimney and into the night air.
Next, she unwrapped the sachet of mint, the herb associated with the air. Its scent hung strongly on all the sachets, since they had been wrapped up together by the apothecary and kept in the same drawstring bag awaiting their use. Now the dark green leaves, cut and diced into tiny fragments, lay open to the air and looked as fresh and green as the day they had been harvested. Nadezda breathed deeply of the refreshing fragrance and then tossed these leaves into the fireplace.
The mint burned much more quickly than the toadflax. The light gray smoke, tinged with green along the edges of its furrows and ridges, smelled surprisingly acrid, though Nadezda could detect an occasional hint of the familiar mint smell. The shards of green quickly blackened in the fire, though Nadezda could still distinguish them in the sea of reds and oranges of the coals and embers.
The next heaviest of the four elements was earth, so she opened the sachet of mugwort. It was clumpy, and the clumps clung to one another like tufts of fur falling from a cat. The tendrils and veins of the dry leaves held the bits together both in Nadezda’s palm and when she tossed them in the fire, in the depths of the flames.
The gray-brown smoke quickly rose and hovered above the burning herb. Nadezda recognized the smell of leaves burning in the countryside in the autumn and closed her eyes, breathing deeply of the earthy fragrance. She could see the gardeners in the countryside, where her grandmother had brought her to visit distant cousins, and they were burning the damp leaves to hasten the making of compost and mulch to protect their plots over the winter.
She opened her eyes at last. The feathery black remains of the mugwort drifted among the coals, looking denser than they had in her palm. Nadezda couldn’t decide if the dried leaves had simply melted together in the heat of the fireplace or if they resembled scraps of mouse fur in the coals.
Finally, she opened the sachet of myrrh. The myrrh, associated with water and the most antithetical to the fire she intended to give it to, sat in her hands like pale yellow pebbles ranging around the size of her thumbnail. “Almost the color of bread dough,” she thought.
She tipped her hands up and the myrrh cascaded into the fireplace and nestled among the embers.
The myrrh was very slow burning, the pebbles singing black along their edges and then taking on the look of toasted, even burnt bread. The gum resin seeped into the coals, causing pools of inky blackness to appear among the red embers. It was the only substance of the four that actually seemed to burn and not simply scorch in the heat. The bitter scent floated into the room as well as the chimney. It was similar to, but not as sickly sweet as, the decomposing flesh of those who had died two or three days before being taken to their graves.
Finally, even the last of the myrrh’s smoke rose through the chimney to join the other smoke from Nadezda’s fireplace.
Teased and pulled by the night breezes, the four substances associated with the elements drifted across the Old Town. During the course of the night, wisps of the smoke reached each of the three other towns that together made Prague, and cast a protective cloak over the city.
Even the wooden bridge, groaning and sighing under the assault of the rising river and its powerful current, seemed to draw strength from the smoke that drifted by it and curled along its handrails. Already coming loose from its moorings on the Little Town side, the bridge shivered and seemed nearly ready to careen away. Touched by the wisps of smoke, the nails stretched and grew sharper as they bored themselves more securely into the supports that anchored the bridge on the Little Town side. The planks along the length of the bridge seemed to draw together as those nails also burrowed more tightly into the joists. Even the groaning of the bridge seemed to subside, and if anyone had been standing on the bridge, it would have listed somewhat less and felt more sturdy underfoot.
The inexorable rising of the river paused as well. Swift though the current remained, the slow creep of the river onto the Kampa island halted, allowing the fraying edges of the Old and Little Towns to remain dry a few hours longer.
As Nadezda continued to sit before her fireplace, she could not stop a tear from sliding down her cheek. The fire that her mother and grandmother had tended carefully for so many years would be extinguished tomorrow.
“Babička, forgive me.” She knew her grandmother would approve, even assist her if possible, but Nadezda nevertheless felt guilty for having to kill the fire and kindle a new one using coals from another family’s hearth. “All your work, babička, to keep the fire alive for us. Forgive me.”
That night, neither Nadezda or Vavrinec could sleep. Failing in their attempts and finally giving up the pretense of sleeping, they sat up and looked at each other in the dark. Nadezda heard Milos and Petr breathing steadily and quietly, unaware of the impending forces bearing down upon their household.
“Vavrinec, tomorrow I must extinguish the fire, all the fire, except for a small flame. This frightens me more than any other aspect of rewriting the curse. More than confronting Svetovit himself,” Nadezda confessed. She leaned against her husband’s shoulder and he reached around to hold her close. “This extinguishing of the bulk of the fire is the most dangerous thing I have ever done. It means that the safety of Prague rests on a small, unsteady flame. Once the bulk of the fire has died, it is only that small flame—preserved in the lantern—that stands between Svetovit and the accomplishment of his intent to destroy Prague.” She shuddered.
Vavrinec squeezed her shoulders more tightly and rested his cheek atop her head.
“That small flame could die so easily, Vavrinec. A gust of wind. A drop of rain. Someone bumps my arm and I drop the lantern and the fire goes out. Anything could happen, Vavrinec, anything at all, and once it does, no other portion of Fen’ka’s fire still burns to hold Svetovit at bay.” She shut her eyes and tried to block the thoughts of all the small things that might go awry and cause the last remnant of Fen’ka’s fire to die.
“I
’ve come so far, Vavrinec, so far to discover the secret of the curse and now… To be so close to rewriting its end and then fail because of the wind or someone jostling me…” Her voice trailed off into silence.
Everything she said was true, and she knew Vavrinec agreed. At this point, anything could happen and all her careful planning would have been for naught. What could he say?
He said nothing and held his wife until she finally dropped off into an uneasy, restless sleep as torrential rain poured from the sky and the river continued inexorably rising.
Nine of Swords, reversed
(Tuesday, August 13, 2002)
“T
he sword and staff are still hidden in my hotel room,” George reminded Magdalena. He had tired of listening to her telling him about how she had spent the day sprinkling river water along the streets with the bundle of horsehair-tied yew while evading Dmitri. “We will need to retrieve them.”
“But what about the rooster?” she asked, pointing toward the back garden where they had placed the caged bird. “What is it for?”
Dmitri and Sophia sat down on a bench near the gateway into the Loreto cloister, breathing heavily. Sophia pulled a tattered napkin from a pocket, which they used to mop their foreheads. Their suitcases tottered on the ground beside them and then tipped over. Neither moved to set them upright again. They were too exhausted to move. Dmitri tipped his head back against the cloister wall and closed his eyes.
The haze of late afternoon and early dusk covered the sky. Finally Sophia spoke. “What if the others never come to meet us here? Should one of us try to find another hotel nearby?” she asked.
“They will come,” the priest answered, his eyes remaining closed. “One of them will, at least. I am sure of it.” He paused and swallowed. “But we do need some water. I will go find a store with water and you will wait here, yes?” He remained there, his eyes closed, another few minutes and then roused himself to his feet, grunting loudly as he struggled to stand. He trudged off in what he hoped was the direction toward the shops of the area.
Come Hell or High Water: The Complete Trilogy Page 113