The Lights of Prague

by Nicole Jarvis

  “Don’t play semantics with me, girl.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “You still owe me an answer,” he said, coming closer again. “I want to know. Why not offer him the chance? Why let him die?”

  “I can’t,” she said, backing away. Birds hopped to get out of her way. Grief, rage, and guilt warred in her stomach, a maelstrom worse than any of Czernin’s intimidation attempts could have caused. “I’m done here.” She turned toward the door.

  There was a shift of a heel against stone, too quick to be casual. Ora whirled around and found Czernin lunging toward her, jaw fully extended and fangs bared. His pale eyes were bright and glinting. Startled, Ora stumbled backward, tripping over one of the cobblestones. She was slower than she had once been, and they both knew it. The fire of the hunt was alight in Czernin’s eyes, vicious and hungry. He slammed her shoulders into the stone, claws ripping through the fabric of her dress to pierce her skin.

  “Did you think I would let you go again?” Czernin snarled.

  Ora twisted, making the claws dig in more deeply. “Fuck you,” she spat.

  “Your blood is all prey animal now,” Czernin told her. “You’ve let weakness into your veins.”

  “Let me go,” she said, voice wavering.

  He rattled her shoulders, knocking her head against the stone. His claws were deep enough to pierce bone. This was not the controlled violence he had used to toy with his family. He was going to kill her.

  She screamed.

  He jerked her again, and then inhaled deeply. His pupils had vanished beneath an expanse of black. Poison welled from the tips of his fangs, dripping onto her face. “I should have done this before you left.”

  “Lord Czernin.”

  Czernin turned to look at Darina, but Ora kept trying to break from his hold. She could not die here, not like this. Not after fighting so hard to escape.

  “This human has been making a fuss looking for her mistress. What shall we do with her?”

  Lina. Ora finally managed to free one hand and drive it into Czernin’s stomach, dislodging him. She scrambled away, nearly flying across the aviary to her maid’s side. She was standing slightly behind Darina, wide eyes on Czernin.

  “Ah, thank you, Darina,” Ora said. Her voice was shaking. The other pijavica would be able to smell the terror on her skin. “I’m still training manners into her.” Lina gaped at the chill in her tone, but Ora just turned back to Czernin. “We’ll be going now.” She tried to sound firm. If Czernin ordered Darina to help him kill Ora and Lina, they would be dead before either of them could escape the aviary.

  Czernin climbed to his feet in a smooth motion. His claws and fangs had retracted as though they had never existed, though his fingertips were still stained with her blood. The feral creature that had knocked her to the ground was nowhere to be seen. He straightened his disheveled cuffs. The mania was still in his eyes, but he had pulled on a mask of his old self. “I’ll see you in another few decades, then, Lady Fischerová.”

  She left him in the dark aviary, the unknowing birds fluttering at his feet.

  Darina walked them to the front door. It was a testament to how shaken Ora was that she found her old enemy’s presence a comfort. The loudest sound in the empty hallways was the thudding of Lina’s heartbeat. Ora expected to hear Czernin’s pursuit, but it did not come.

  “I told you,” Darina said simply, her hand on the door handle. How long had Czernin been so volatile? He had always been brutal, but with an iron grip on his control. While Ora had been traveling the world, seeing the mountains of China, the art of Paris, and then falling in love, Darina had been stuck inside this dark palace with the unraveling Czernin. “Darina…”

  “I know you’re not sorry for leaving. Don’t waste your breath. You were a fool for coming back, much less with a bite like that,” she said, waving at Lina. “Go.”

  Ora wanted to linger, to tell Darina her advice for fleeing Czernin’s reach, but Jan or Czernin could appear at any moment. Czernin had taught her all her tricks, including how to mask their presence in shadow. Darkness had ears in this estate.

  Ora nodded once, and then ushered Lina toward the carriage. She could feel Darina’s eyes following her until the door was safely closed between them.

  “I can’t believe you left me alone in there,” Lina burst as the carriage lurched into motion.

  The curtained windows stopped her from being able to see the courtyard beyond, so Ora’s ears and nose were sharp. Darina was still nearby, but the stone dampened the activity inside the palace.

  When Ora did not respond, Lina pressed, “That woman came and collected me. I didn’t know where she was taking me. Until I saw you on the ground, I thought she was going to kill me. She wouldn’t tell me where we were going.”

  “She thinks it’s fun to scare people,” Ora said. They had finally passed through the front gate onto the dirt road outside, if the rattle of the carriage wheels was any indication.

  “She succeeded,” Lina snapped, shrill. “I thought you were going to stay with me. You sent me away to get watered like I was one of the horses.”

  “I couldn’t,” Ora said. “They couldn’t know you were important to me.”

  “Am I? You dragged me into a viper pit without thinking twice,” Lina said.

  “Damn it, Lina, I barely got us out of there alive.” Czernin’s last question pounded in her head to the throb of pain in her bloodied shoulders. Why did you let your husband die? Today, Lina had nearly joined the long list of mortals Ora had loved and lost.

  “You should never have let Sokol convince you to go. He manipulated you for his own reasons, just like I said he would. I knew you’ve been feeling reckless, but we could have both died today.”

  “Lina!” Ora snarled. “Leave me alone!” Her rage shuddered through her, and she turned and punched the wall of the carriage. She screamed, shrill and keening, when her fist crunched through the wood paneling and stretched into the sunlight beyond. She jerked her hand back into the carriage and leaped to the opposite seat, pressing herself against the front of the carriage. Her hand was blackened and withered. In another few seconds, she would have lost it completely.

  Lina silently moved to the other bench and sat against the side wall of the carriage, body twisted awkwardly to press her back against the hole and block the caustic light. She shuffled for a moment, and then lifted her feet onto the bench, wrapped her arms around her knees, and rested her head against the back of the carriage.

  Ora opened her mouth, but Lina’s eyes were closed tightly. Her heart, which had only just begun to slow after they had left the palace, was rabbit-fast again.

  They sat in silence for the duration of the ride back to Prague, leaving Ora to nurse her burnt hand and her bitter thoughts.

  Domek wandered through the streets in a circuitous route after leaving his ruined flat, satchel securely slung over his shoulder. The sky was clear and bright overhead, free from clouds. Years of nightly patrols had made each street familiar beneath his boots, a home as beautiful as it was deadly. On one street, he had shyly kissed Bina Laska when he was sixteen. On the next, he had held an elderly woman in his arms as life drained from her body, blood pooling onto the cobblestones like rainwater. Prague did not know Domek, did not need him, but his life was overlaid on the ancient streets in watercolor, the patterns sheer and impermanent.

  He passed Prague Station where it sat half inside, half outside the old city walls, filled with the heaving sighs of steam engines. A train’s sharp whistle clawed the air. He allowed himself to be lost in a crowd of tourists speaking a quick, foreign tongue before slipping through the other side.

  Thanks to the lull in the spring rain, the streets were crowded in the city center. The Old Town Square was the heart of Prague. At this time of day, it pulsed with activity. Vendors stood along the edges, selling sausages in the summer, mulled wine in the winter, and hand-carved puppets and trinkets year-round. The grand square sat in the shadow of
Týn Church, a four-hundred-year-old structure with dark, pointed towers that shot toward the sky like spears. Around it, pastel façades clustered like flowers, their uniform orange roofs creating a bright, jagged horizon in every direction.

  He went north and wandered through the winding streets of the Jewish Quarter. Broad synagogues sat on street corners, the six-pointed star carved into their thresholds. Many people had moved out of the ghetto when the Jews had been granted their citizenship two decades earlier, but there were still some who refused to leave their homes. Older men with locks of hair curling by their temples from under black hats talked in cafés while women in multicolored headscarves looked through the wares of the street vendors. Called by the warm scent, Domek stopped by a bakery Abrahams had shown him when he had asked for help eliminating a nest of pijavice living under an apartment building. Abrahams was a talented lamplighter, dedicated to keeping his home safe, and was humble enough to bring in reinforcements when necessary.

  What would Abrahams think of Domek’s decision to keep the wisp instead of handing it to Paluska? Domek shook his head. Abrahams wasn’t the one who had had the wisp’s jar dropped into his hands, and he was doing the best he could to keep everyone safe. He bought a braided loaf of challah and tucked it under his arm as he walked along the river the rest of the way.

  By the time he made it to his mother’s flat, he was sure he was not being followed.

  “Hi, Maminka.” He handed her the challah, which she took with an appreciative sniff. “Sorry for just dropping by again. Do you mind if I sleep on the floor here today?”

  “Has something happened? You’re always welcome, but you haven’t done this before,” she said. “Did you and Anton get into a fight? I never thought he was the right roommate for you. Cord is so much more charming.”

  “Too charming,” Domek said, rolling his eyes. “Anton and I are fine. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “You can take my bed. I won’t need it until sundown. No reason for you to sleep on the floor. Besides, I’m not sure my legs could survive having to step over you to get around the flat all day.” The flat was small, but he knew it was an excuse to make him agree. His mother had always been self less to a fault—something his father had taken advantage of his whole life.

  “Thanks, Maminka.” He hesitated. “About the wisp…”

  “Did you free it?”

  “No. I couldn’t. I don’t know what it would do to the people in this city. My question is—do you know how to kill one?”

  “Domek,” she said, putting a hand to her chest. “Is that truly your first thought?”

  “It threatened to kill you,” Domek pointed out. “It’s dangerous. I can’t free it, but I can’t keep it.”

  “Everything is dangerous,” she said.

  “Not like this. It’s my job to keep this city safe.”

  “And this is what that job has convinced you. To eradicate anything you don’t understand. There are solutions to problems outside of violence,” his mother said. “I had hoped I had taught you that.”

  No, his mother had never resorted to violence, but nor had he seen her manage a threat. Her faith in eventual peace had only ever come about by luck. If his father’s heart had not failed him, Domek may have killed a man before his twentieth birthday. His mother’s attempts to appease him had certainly never worked. “Right,” he said, smile tense. “Of course, Maminka.”

  “You’re so conflicted, my love.” She frowned at him. “Sit down at the table.”

  He sat, staring at his hands. The wisp’s jar was tucked in the satchel by his side, but he felt the malice pouring from it. It had only led to trouble. Soon, he would have to make a decision.

  His mother came back into the kitchen with a small wooden box in her hands. She sat across from him and opened it with shaking hands. “Maminka…” he began, worried, but fell silent when the contents were revealed. A deck of yellowed cards.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’ve been afraid for so long, but you were right. If I can help you, I must.” She was pale, but her mouth was set in a firm line.

  He remembered the way his father had demonized his mother for her occult past, the way she had begged him for a forgiveness she did not need. How much of her light was still shuttered by his long-dead father? She had thrown herself onto too many pyres for Domek. “You don’t have to.”

  She put her hand over his. “If I can help bring you some clarity, I would do anything.”

  With stiff movements, she shuffled the deck. After a few moments, she found a rhythm. The cards jumped at her command. She closed her eyes, as though listening to music he could not hear.

  Finally, she laid out three worn cards in the center of the table. “This is a three-card spread. I knew other methods, but this is the simplest. I’m out of practice,” she said. She twisted her wrists, thin fingers fluttering. “I’ve asked for insight into what you should do. The first card establishes your past.” She glanced up at him. “Let’s see if I still remember what I’m doing.”

  She flipped the card, revealing a woodcut illustration of a man on a horse, a sword drawn and ready. “The Knight of Swords. Of course. My brave Domek.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “He’s a straightforward fellow. Dedicated to action and defending his values. If any card could summarize your journey, it’s this.” She traced the image’s curly hair, and then moved to the next.

  The second card looked like any seen in a standard card game. Red and blue lines arced toward each other, with a pair of yellow swords overlapping on top.

  “The Ten of Swords,” she murmured. “It urges you to protect yourself, and to lay low until the turmoil ends.”

  “Not bad advice.”

  His mother tapped on the table. “But it’s a complicated card, Domek. There are layers to all of these, and alternate meanings for each. It could also mean defeat is already upon you. Or… that you’ll soon be betrayed.”

  “How do we know which meaning is true?”

  “It’s an art. I know which I would prefer for it to mean, but nothing in life is ever clear except in hindsight. I was hoping I’d be helping you. I’m only raising questions.”

  “I didn’t expect encouragement,” he assured her when she continued to stare at the card. “I know I’m in trouble. It’s not your fault.”

  “I wish I could bring you comfort,” she said. She rested a hand over the final card. “This one will show your future. If not comfort, perhaps it will bring you guidance.” Still, she hesitated.

  “I need to know,” he said.

  “My knight,” she said, and turned the card.

  A yellow skeleton stood hunched in the center of the image, a scythe sweeping from its hand. The field below its bone feet was littered with body parts: a head, a hand, a bare heart.

  Domek swallowed. “I’ve never read Tarot, but I can make a guess what that means.” He tried for levity, but his voice fell flat.

  “The Death card does not have to mean an actual death,” his mother said weakly. “It can be the end of an era, a time to leave aside what you know and embrace the new. We all have to change, Domek.”

  “But it can mean death,” Domek said. His mouth was dry. “Is there a way to stop the future from happening?”

  She spread her hands. “That’s a question I can’t answer.” She took a deep breath and then gathered the cards from the table, sliding them back into her deck. Once they were tucked safely away, she clicked the box closed as though it would erase what they had seen.

  “Would it have to mean my death?” Domek pressed. “Death surrounds me every night, Maminka. This doesn’t have to mean my doom. Could it be a sign I should kill the wisp?”

  “There are other signs for the death of an enemy. This death, metaphorical or not, will not be a triumph. I’m sorry, my love. I shouldn’t have tried this. I should never have kept these cards.”

  “No, no,” he said. “It’s better to know the truth, even if it
hurts.”

  “You’re always sweet to me,” she said. “Don’t dwell on the final card. It’s the present that matters now. Keep your head down. Stay safe. Don’t rush into any decisions.”

  “And if it did mean betrayal?”

  She reached out to straighten his collar, patting his chest twice. “Keep your eyes open, but your heart as well. Betrayal says more about the other person than you. I hope it does not come to that, but don’t change who you are to avoid the possibility. You’re a knight, Domek. You fight for what’s right.”

  * * *

  After he woke from a restless sleep on his mother’s small cot, he went down the street to his uncle’s shop—both to occupy himself and to give his mother some space. She had watched him as though he had already died, and she had killed him herself. He had given her a kiss on the forehead and told her not to worry, but knew the words would not help.

  He carried his satchel slung over his shoulder, one hand holding onto the flap like a child’s blanket. He had unpacked the extra clothes he had brought, but wanted to keep his stakes and the wisp’s jar close by.

  When Domek walked in through the shop door, a bell clanged overhead to announce his entrance. Though he knew the sound well, he still jumped, on edge. A shout echoed from the back room: “I’ll be with you in a moment!”

  “It’s just me, Uncle Zach,” he called back.

  “Domek? Come on back here. I need your help with this clock.”

  His uncle Zacharias owned a repair shop only a few blocks away from his mother’s flat, close to the river. Always eccentric, he had allowed Domek to play in the shop when he had been a child and his parents had been working their long hours. Domek had immediately loved the work. Tinkering with gears, testing mechanics, peering through a lens to do delicate work, and fixing things that were broken; it all had appealed to a child who had craved control and order.

  Though his uncle couldn’t afford to take him on as a full-time assistant, Domek worked in the shop at least twice a week—more or less depending on how often Zacharias could spare a day’s wages from the shop’s intake. Compared to Imrich, who paid him nothing and disparaged his work, the few days with Zacharias were a balm. His uncle did not know the truth about Domek’s night job, so with him, he was able to simply be Domek.