by Bryce Moore
Katka smiled. “I take it the potion worked?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “But I came up with something else.”
“What?” she asked.
“I’ll explain later.”
“I missed it all?” Dad asked on my left. He sounded disappointed.
“Be glad you did,” I said.
“Glad?” His shoulders slumped. “That was going to be my plotline for the book. Now what am I supposed to do?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll fill you in on how it turned out. Don’t worry.”
He grumbled something about “missing out on the first-hand experience.” The fall hadn’t changed him a bit. Thank goodness.
After that, there was one of those uncomfortable pauses where no one can think of anything to say. The last couple of days had been crazy for all of us. My return from the dead, Katka’s coma, getting the potion. But it was over now. It had worked, as hard as that was to believe. Ever since the fire that burned our house down, it felt like I had been shoved from one mess into another. Now maybe I could just be a normal guy again. Then I thought of Babka, Lesana, and the whole Death’s Assassin thing. Not to mention being a Rasputin and having new regenerative powers.
Well, maybe not a normal guy, but that would probably have been boring anyway.
My mom hugged me again. “Tomas, I am so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I—”
“No,” she said. “It’s not okay. I’ve . . . behaved badly. It might not be easy for me, but I want you to know, I’m starting a no-secrets policy from now on. You can tell me anything.”
A pang of guilt struck me. “Anything?”
She nodded.
Well, technically I hadn’t agreed to this policy yet, so I figured I could wait to tell her about Babka. At least until morning. Maybe I could say it had slipped my mind. But some things had to be addressed sooner. I thanked my mom, then pulled out of her hug and faced my uncle. “L’uboš,” I said. “The . . . uh . . . castle courtyard got a little trashed.”
“Trashed?”
“Well, I’m not sure what normal people will see, but when I left it last, there was an enormous water dragon melting in the middle of it. And I kind of burned down that wooden tower across from the tourist guide office.”
“Where was Julo during all of this?”
“The night watchman? He ran away.”
“Typical,” L’uboš said. “Well, I suppose I can forgive you, under the circumstances. But repairing it all . . .” He tried to smile. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. The Germans are making their final preparations for the buyout. At least this way, they’ll have to pay more to fix it all.”
“About that,” I said. “Have you ever thought of suggesting someone search inside the well for Matúš Čak’s grave?”
He frowned. “Inside the well? I think people have tried that already.”
I grinned. “I don’t think they looked hard enough. When I was down there cleaning it, I think I might have seen something kind of like a door. Maybe we should check it out. There might be a lot of treasure down there. It would be sure to attract tourists. Lots of tourists. And I’ve got a hunch people are going to stop complaining about Roma curses in the town pretty soon too.”
It’s not every day you get to witness someone go from troubled to carefree in a matter of seconds. L’uboš had been happy before, but now he stood up straighter, his shoulders seeming to swell and a smile breaking out on his face that was as genuine as I’d ever seen. He laughed and slapped me on the back. “You were born to be here in Trenčín, Tomas. Check the well? That’s a great idea. I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”
I beamed back, doing my best not to wince from the back slapping. L’uboš was right about one thing, though. It did feel like I was born to be in Trenčín. Even with everything I had to put up with from storekeepers, strangers, and the Bigot Gang. Thinking about my family—and Lesana—I felt like I belonged. Like I fit in, in a way I’d never felt in America.
Like I was home.
I’ve been to quite a few cities in Europe, big and small. But when I first visited my wife’s hometown of Trenčín, something seemed different right away. I’ve always been a fan of cities that have their very own castle, and Trenčín’s is a real doozy, having endured everything from marauders to Communists. I went to the joust, took the tour, and had a barbecue by firelight next to the tower. I toured the city, ate the ice cream, and had a wonderful time. I’ve tried to recreate that experience in this book. All the places described in it actually exist. Trenčín is a beautiful old city, with a rich history and friendly people.
When I lived in former East Germany for a few years, I was surprised at how different the perception of Communism is to people who had lived with it for decades. In America, we’d like to believe everyone in a Communist regime is miserable and wants to be free. In reality, many people missed the days of Communism, when prices were low and work was plentiful—but sometimes you couldn’t buy bananas, televisions, cars, or even toilet paper. I believe Communism set Slovakia back by at least a decade, maybe two. But it’s a resilient country, and it’s emerging stronger and more beautiful than ever.
As far as folktales go in the book, I tried to base as much as I could on real Slovak mythology. Vodníks are as widely represented in Slovakia as vampires are in the United States: sometimes portrayed as tricksters and occasionally villainous, with competitions with each other to see who can steal the most souls. Vílas are Slovak fairies, typically associated with a different element (fire, water, etc.). Matúš Čak did indeed rule from Trenčín castle, and his grave remains a mystery. The Well of Love gets many visitors each year, and has been the site of various proposals, as well as a wedding or two.
Ajax the water dragon, Rasputin powers, and Lesana the water spirit are all my own fabrications, although the story of the girl who dropped dead when her father forbade her marriage is a real Slovak legend that I adapted to my own purposes. Morena is the traditional Slovak goddess of winter and death. Starenka is a popular figure throughout Eastern Europe, although sometimes she goes by different names.
Capturing the Roma elements of the book proved more difficult. I had seen some Roma on my first trip to the country, but Trenčín doesn’t have a very big Roma population, and so it took a trip to more southern and eastern parts of the country for the situation to become real. It’s a complex situation, with Slovaks resenting Roma for what they perceive as an inherent lack of desire to be self-sufficient, and Roma resenting Slovaks for what they see as centuries-long oppression. While I haven’t been able to go into too much depth on the many facets of the conflict, hopefully what I’ve presented gives you an idea of the sort of struggles facing the Roma—not just in Slovakia, but throughout Europe.
Slovakia
Hurn, Margaret. A Foreigner’s Guide to Living in Slovakia. Modra Publishing, 2007.
Mallows, Lucy. Slovakia: The Bradt Travel Guide. Guilford, CT: Globe Peqout Press, 2007.
Spiesz, Anton, and Dusan Caplovic. Illustrated Slovak History: A Struggle for Sovereignty in Central Europe. Bolchazy-Carducci, 2004.
Slovak Language
Lorinc, Sylvia, and John M. Lorinc. Slovak-English, English-Slovak Dictionary & Phrasebook. New York: Hippocrene, 1999.
Naughton, James. Colloquial Slovak: The Complete Course for Beginners. London: Routledge, 2003.
Slovak Folktales
Cooper, David, ed. Traditional Slovak Folktales. M.E. Sharp, 2001.
Dobsinsky, Pavol. Slovak Tales for Young and Old. Bolchazy-Carducci, 2002.
Roma
Hancock, Ian F. We are the Romani People. Hertfordshire, England: University of Hertfordshire Press, 2002.
Yoors, Jan. The Gypsies. Prospect Heights, IL: Waveford, 1967.
This book has been a long time in the making, but it wouldn’t have gone anywhere if it weren’t for two key people: Denisa Križanová, who introduced me to Slovakia in the first place, and her brother, Miloš Križan, who pro
vided volumes of information and insight on Slovak folklore, history, and anything else I might need an answer for. Special thanks also go to my editor, Stacy Whitman, and my agents: Joshua Bilmes and Eddie Schneider. Isaac Stewart is a giant among men, and he did a fantastic job designing this book and helping it be the best it could be. Thanks to Nikolas Rybár, who evaluated the Roma cultural pieces of the book. My writing instructors at BYU also helped me in many ways: Louise Plummer, Dave Wolverton, Chris Crowe, and Doug Thayer. I’d like to thank members of my writing groups: Brandon Sanderson, Janci Patterson, Kimball Larsen, Holly Venable, Heather Kirby, Eric James Stone, Sally Taylor, and Bradley Reneer. In addition, I’ve had a variety of readers for this book: Robb Cundick, Ted Cundick, Wilson Coltrin, Audrey Stone, Emilia Križanová, Kristy Kugler, Molly Reed, and Betsey Hyde. Also, Reed Nielsen, who really ought to be a bigger BYU fan. Thank you all so much! Writing can be a very solitary experience, and having friends there to cheer you on makes all the difference.