Anna von Wessen (40 page)

She walked for quite a long time, looking ever and anon up at the star-splashed sky, and thinking. Finally she came to a little cluster of trees at the bottom of a slope, went amongst them, and set herself down beneath one’s heavy bole. There was a circular opening in the net of branches overhead, with the sky showing through as if hanging in a picture frame. She watched it carefully, and slowly felt a strange lightness settling over her: a perfect antithesis to the heaviness, and the latter’s miraculous remedy. She almost fancied that she could feel the cool, flowing light of the stars. Though she had promised herself she would, she did not worry for Vaya. Somehow she knew that she was safe. Somehow she felt her, even while she was gone, hovering in the empty space round her heart. It was a feeling which had started up at the sight of the stars.

Again she looked to them with great attention. Then she squinted, and peered with all her might into the black veil which lay behind them. And then she wondered – what lay behind
it?

XLI:

Graves

T
he hour of eleven had not even struck when Vaya returned to the fortress. She went first to report to Xeros, but then came to Anna. She found her lying awake, and staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. When she sat down beside her, she received no response.

“You’re angry with me,” she said.

“No,” Anna replied mildly. “I’m not.”

“You’re angry about something?”

“No.”

“You’re only thinking?”

“I suppose – yes, I think so.”

Vaya laughed, and asked, “Are you not sure?”

“Well,” said Anna seriously, “I wasn’t for an hour or so. But then, even though I was fairly certain, still I wasn’t sure what it was I was thinking
of.
Yet it seemed important.”

For a moment she was quiet. Then she frowned, and asked, “Where did you find him?”

“In Hungary.”

“What was he doing?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“I suppose it doesn’t much matter, anyway.”

Anna turned her face a little, then, and gazed raptly into Vaya’s; for she had heard something. “Do you want to sleep,” she said – “or do you want to go?”

“Ah,” returned Vaya. “You saw what I want to do?”

“Not what you want to. Only that you do.”

“Perhaps another time.”

“Where is it?”

“A cemetery.”

“You want me to come? Maybe you wanted to go alone.”

Vaya shook her head.

“Show me,” said Anna.

A moment later they were standing beneath a tall tree, which kept all to itself beside a low, splintered wooden gate. Vaya stood silent for a moment, but then took Anna’s hand, and shifted with her again to a spot of deep, springy grass. A chill wind blew in from the North, and made the blades wave round their ankles. Before them stood a single large, heavy headstone, towering protectively over a grave. Several other stones formed a row with this one, and several other rows made a sad little square of death; but neither of the cemetery’s visitors thought to study the inscriptions of the other unfortunates. They saw only the first stone which had been Vaya’s destination, and read upon it:
“Here lies Krestyin, mighty King of the Weld. His son Tirymus sleeps beside him.”

The dreaminess which had previously hung over Anna, an effect of what ponderous half-sleep had lain upon her since she returned from the hills, was quickly dispelled. Presently she was looking anxiously into Vaya’s face. That same countenance, however, was calm. Vaya reached into a pocket of her cloak, and took out the golden ring
upon the chain. Then she laid it on the stone. When she spoke, the words carried a palpable weight, and seemed almost to throb, though her voice itself was free from strain.

“For a long time,” she said, “I have been meaning to give this back to you. I should not have taken it from you, but I did – and the poor child with whom you lie has paid the price.”

For quite a long space she was utterly silent. Anna watched her from the corner of her eye, but stood a little aside, not wanting to encroach upon what seemed a very solemn moment. Finally Vaya shook herself from what could only have been a bitter reverie (Anna had the delicacy here to pull away from her thoughts as much as she was able), and knelt down before the stone. Softly she kissed the cold grey rock, and said, “I am sorry, Tirymus. I am sorry, so very sorry – but it cannot be undone.”

She turned back, then, and retraced her steps to Anna. She laid her head on Anna’s shoulder, and they stood together for a while, staring at the stone. It was the gentle pressure of her hand that told Anna they could leave. So again the night began to spin; and again they found themselves in their cool, dim chamber. Considerably weary, they laid themselves down upon the bed. A little time passed; but Anna was not sure whether she should say anything about the errand from which they had come. Yet to say nothing seemed unthinkable. She knew, too, that Vaya was awake.

“You’re all right?” she asked.

“Quite,” answered Vaya. The tone of her voice did not seem to betray anything contrary to the claim. “I feel much better, now that I’ve done what I should.”

Again Anna hesitated before speaking. There was no need, she thought, to pursue the sad subject of Krestyin; and besides, it was probable that Vaya could see already whatever doubts she entertained on the matter. She settled, then, that it was not unseemly to alter the theme somewhat. So she said:

“I can ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Had you gone to the cemetery since you woke?”
Vaya looked up at her curiously, but answered, “Yes.”

“Then that is how he knew – the miserable slime!”

“What?”

“Wolach,” Anna spat. “That fiend! When I was on board his ship, he spoke to me of your child. As he intended, I was sufficiently impressed – though I see now that he’s nothing but a filthy spy. The vermin!”

“You told me nothing of this. Strange, too, that I did not see it.” She turned her face to look at Anna again. “You kept it back from me?”

“I keep nothing back from you,” Anna replied hastily. “If you did not see it, it was only because I feared to hurt you. I didn’t know –” (she cleared her throat slightly) “– I didn’t know whether I ought to speak of Tirymus.”

Vaya dropped her head back down to her pillow. “I should thank you, then,” she said quietly. “It’s true I don’t like to talk of him. Now that I’ve – said goodbye, I only want to let it go.”

Anna said nothing.

“But,” Vaya told her, in something of a stronger voice, “little as I esteemed Wolach before, my opinion of him cannot be much lower sunk. And what does it matter! It’s nothing to me.”

They fell asleep, then. But Anna was woken after only a very little while, by Vaya’s moaning to her left. She started up in bed, and reached for her.

“Vaya!” she said. “Vaya, what is it?”

But it seemed Vaya was not even awake. She shivered in her sleep, and clutched Anna’s arm with her right hand. It was only with great effort that Anna finally roused her. She lit a candle, and leant over her, the better to look into her face.

“You don’t look well,” she said.

Indeed, Vaya’s olive cheeks were blanched almost white with a sudden sickness, and her lips were pale and dry. She hadn’t the strength to speak, it seemed, so her voice rang directly through Anna’s head.

I’m hungry,
she said.
Only hungry.

“Then let me get you something to eat!”

I will try.

Anna went immediately in search of food. Not knowing where she might find any, she woke Dio Constantín from his sleep, and begged him be up quickly to fetch her some.

“For Vaya?” he asked.

Anna nodded.

“Well,” he said, “we will do what we can.”

He led her to the kitchens, and from a large refrigerator took a slab of meat, which he set for Anna on a plate. He gave her a knife and fork, and patted her shoulder.

“You had best get back with that,” he said. “Best of luck.”

In their chamber once again, Anna knelt on the bed, cut the meat into small pieces, and fed them slowly to Vaya. It took her nearly an hour to finish it, and though she did not lose her stomach afterwards, neither did she look any better. It was very difficult for Anna to see her so ill; and soon, against her own admonitions, she was thinking rather particular, darkish thoughts.

No,
said Vaya.
No – not that. I’ll never eat it again.

“Then how will you get well?” Anna demanded. One of her legs hung over the side of the bed, with the foot tapping perpetually upon the floor, while she tugged at the knuckles of her fingers nearly hard enough to pull them from their joints.

“We are meant to leave in two days’ time,” she said. “How will you fight?”

None should have to die, so that I can live. It took me long, too long – but finally I see. My life means no more than any other.

“It does to me.”

Vaya answered nothing this time, but merely curled her body near to Anna, and nestled her head in the crook of Anna’s arm. Her face was ashen, and her eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. Anna ran a hand through her hair, and kissed the top of her head. Vaya smiled thinly, and was very soon asleep.

~

While Vaya slept this deep sleep of sickness, Anna left their bed, and took to the halls. She could not lie still with so much worry heaped upon her. So she meandered along, past countless closed doors, and innumerable torches. But it was an open doorway on the right-hand which finally arrested her steps. She turned to view what chamber lay through
it, and was much surprised to see Dio Constantín there, seated on a wooden bench at its front, with his wrinkled face all lit up in the orange glow of a candle. Anna entered the place silently, and made her way to Dio up a soft carpeted aisle fixed between two great masses of wooden benches. She looked to him when she had reached the bench on which he sat, but he did not notice her at first, for his eyes were closed, and he was whispering fervently beneath his breath. So she took a moment to inspect the chamber more closely.

The stone walls were bare. The carpet was dark, and the burning candles flicked many tongues of flame across its face, just as they cast great numbers of black shadows across the walls and ceiling. The ceiling was high,  much higher than that of any other chamber in the fortress, but apart from that it was unremarkable. There was only one thing, really, which was at all striking about this room; only one thing to arrest the attention of someone who had never set foot in it before, and only one to maintain that of someone who had inhabited it more times than they could count. This thing was a great wooden cross, propped up at the front of the chamber where would be found the pulpit in a church, standing with the same light and shadow upon it which touched quite everything else. Anna eyed it doubtfully.

It was after she had finished with her survey of the chamber, and had been staring quietly for some minutes at the large cross, that Dio finally marked her presence. He opened his eyes suddenly, and turned to her, raising the candle he held to see better into her face.

“Hello, Mila,” he said. “Tell me – how is Vaya?”

Anna avoided his eye, and answered nothing.

“Ah,” he said softly. “Come and sit beside me, my child.”

Anna sat. She still could not quite look at Dio, and still chose not to say anything of Vaya, but to her the silence was lonely, and she wished to break it.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“I am not sure what one would call it,” said Dio. “We have named it the chapel – but really it is not one. We have no need for the churches of the humans.”

“Meaning what?” Anna returned blandly.

“Meaning many things,” answered Dio. “Many things; but at the same time only one.”

“I don’t understand you.”

Dio smiled lightly, and watched the cross with shining eyes. “I would say this is no time to waylay you with ideas,” he began, “but then, considering the danger of these coming days, perhaps it is the best time.” He paused, and looked at Anna kindly. “Vaya is sleeping sound?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes! That is good. Rest, now, is what she needs.” He shifted the hand which held the candle, and patted Anna’s arm. “But I suppose that gives us time to talk! All the better. I have not had the chance to talk with you, Mila, nearly so much as I want to. But it’s well, it’s well! It is enough to have you near.”

He was quiet for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. But after a little he said, “We come often to this place. Sometimes together, more often alone. Only together when we wish to pray with one mind, one heart. Doubtless we will meet here, before we depart for Drelho.”

“To pray?” Anna echoed.

“Oh!” said Dio. “Oh, yes. That is not to say that He cannot hear just as well from our own bedchambers – but here it is easier to feel our unity, even when we are all apart.”

“He?”

“God,” said Dio simply. “My God. Your God.”

“Your God?”

Dio smiled, and said, “Our God.”

Anna was silent for a moment. But still she was looking to the place where the cross stood; and she asked only, “Who among you is the – priest? Is that what you would call it?”

“It matters not what you call it. Whatever the word – we have none who fill that post. We don’t find it necessary.”

“You must explain these things better,” said Anna. “I am not used to them, remember.”

Dio laughed, and continued, “I hold no quarrel with priests and preachers. Your own grandmother, you will remember, was a priestess. I do not doubt that Mordova loved God, or that she believed in Him with all her heart – but I think, too, there was a part of her which felt that she was better than the ones who looked to her, merely on account of her station. And I will always remember the way she abandoned her congregation in Leningrad, with hardly a word or a sign before she fled for her own life. But then – if she had not done that, you would not be here, Mila! Ah, it is a conundrum!”