Wildwood Dancing (15 page)

I turned my back and climbed into the salamander sledge, my eyes blinded by tears. The gnomes struck up a dirge. I was scarcely aware of crossing the Deadwash, or of bidding Grigori a hasty farewell before the sledges sped back, racing the dawn’s first rays. My mind was full of Gogu: abandoned, bereft, shivering with cold and fright—or, worse still, lying dead somewhere—because
I had allowed myself to lose sight of common sense. I’d never felt so miserable or so guilty in my life.

Tati stood on the shore with Sorrow. He was leaving his departure until perilously late.

“You’d better go,” she said, apparently trying to be strong. An instant later she flung herself into his arms. He held her, his head bowed against her shoulder, his lips on the white neck exposed by her upswept hair. Then he detached himself, backing toward the sledge with his hand still in hers. They held on as he got in; they held on while the swan sledge began easing away from the bank, with Tati balanced precariously on the ice and Sorrow leaning out at a perilous angle. Then, all at once, the sledge sped off into the morning mist and the clasping hands were torn from each other.

We made our way through the Gallery of Beasts, whose occupants were no more than vague bundles up in the corners. We climbed the long, long, winding stair.

“Hurry up, Jena!” called Paula. “Hurry up, Tati!”

I was last, walking behind Tati. I did not trust her to bring up the rear and not decide to bolt back down and go crashing away across the ice in search of her pale-faced sweetheart. Up, up, and up … I felt each step as a blow to the heart. At last we reached the portal. We stretched out our hands toward the stone wall—but I snatched mine away, without touching it. I had heard something.… I strained to catch it again. For a moment all was silence. Then it came once more, a little, weary thud from down the stairs.
Plop … plop …

“Something’s coming up,” Stela whispered, turning as white as linen.

Plop … plop …
It was getting slower.

“Gogu?” My voice was reed-thin and quavering, an old woman’s. A moment later he came into sight, three steps down. He was shaking with exhaustion, a rime of frost over his whole body. A big heaving sob burst out of me. I gathered him up and held him to my breast. He was so cold; his skin felt all hard and crackly, as if his damp body had begun to freeze solid. His eyes were half closed.

You left me. You left me b-b-behind
.

“Put out your hand, Jena!” snapped Iulia. “It must be nearly sunrise—quick! We might get trapped in between worlds!”

I hardly heard her. A flood of tears was running down my cheeks. I hugged my frog close, trying to warm him against my body.

“Come on, Jena.” Tati had moved up next to me. Her eyes met mine, and some kind of forgiveness passed between us. We each set a hand against the wall. Our sisters placed their fingers beside ours. The portal opened and we went home to Piscul Dracului.

No water bowl this morning. I lay in bed with Gogu on my chest. I had rolled him in a woolen scarf after warming it on the little stove. Monumental shivers still passed through him. Beside us, Tati lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. I know you were trying to rescue me. I promise I’ll never leave you again.”

Gogu made no response, but the shivering began to die down and his eyes took on a brighter look.

“Anyway,” I whispered, “how did you get across the
Deadwash? You’re too scared to go anywhere near it by yourself. Did someone bring you?”

D-D-D- …

“Never mind,” I said. “You’re safe and we’re together again. I don’t want to think about anything else right now.” I couldn’t stop crying. Maybe I was making up for all the times I had stayed calm and sorted out other people’s problems. How could I have been so foolish? I had let Tadeusz lull me into forgetting what was right. I’d made it all too easy for him. I must never, ever do that again. His words were still in my mind: the startling revelation that Dark of the Moon allowed a passage to the Other Kingdom; the news of another portal; the tantalizing reference to a way of looking into the future.… What if I could see Cezar’s future, and somehow use that knowledge to stop him from going through with his threats? What if I could see what would become of Tati and Sorrow? And what would I see for myself, or for Father? I tried to stop thinking about it, but the images filled my mind—images of what might be revealed to me if I only had the courage to look.

After a while I felt Gogu wriggle out of the scarf and hop up to the pillow. He snuggled close to my cheek.
Don’t be sad, Jena. I’m here
.

A heavy blanket of snow lay over the hillside, making the paths treacherous. The forest had a special beauty in winter: frozen waterfalls like delicate shawls; foliage shrouded in a glittering, rimy coating; blue-white snowdrifts revealing, here and there, a rich litter of darkened leaves in a thousand damp colors of brown and gray. The forlorn, peeping cry of a bird … neat imprints in the white, the tracks of a hungry wolf or wildcat. The bears would be sleeping, curled deep in their hollows. My breath made a big cloud as we went, Gogu’s a smaller one.

I’d found it hard to sleep and had headed out early for a walk. I hoped that exercise would clear my mind, which felt as if a dense fog had descended over it. It was all very well for me to lecture Tati about becoming involved with Sorrow. What I had done was almost worse: I had let one of the Night People lead me off the path and whisper his dangerous lies in my ears—and I had felt, just for a moment, the delicious, forbidden
sensation of considering what he had offered. In the cold light of the winter morning, I could not believe I had allowed it to happen.

I walked all the way down to the village. Behind the carved gates of each smallholding, cows lowed and chickens squawked. Here and there, a woman swathed in shawls and scarves could be seen on the muddy pathway, carrying a bucket or a bundle. A long cart loaded with logs passed by, pulled by a pair of heavy horses. Red tassels dangled from their bridles, a charm against evil spirits. The logs would be from Cezar’s plantation, and destined for Braşov. I stopped by Judge Rinaldo’s house to offer his wife our regards. She invited me in for a glass of rosehip tea and expressed the hope that Aunt Bogdana would be ready for visitors soon. I did not tell her that even we had been told to stay away.

The village church stood on a little hill, its pointed wooden roof reaching toward heaven. I wavered outside, tempted to seek out Father Sandu, but not sure exactly what I wanted of him. I could not speak of Night People. I could have asked him to pray for Father’s recovery, but in the end I walked past, for it was early and I did not wish to disturb the priest without good reason. The shutters of his little house were closed fast. I headed back past Ivan’s place and his wife gave me a small pot of honey. I suspected that she could ill spare it, but it was impolite to refuse such a gift. Iulia would be happy, I thought—Tati or I could use this to bake something sweet. Maybe Florica had some nuts hidden away.

Gogu and I made our way back into the castle courtyard
under a light falling of snowflakes. I was planning what I needed to say to my sisters. I’d start with an apology to Iulia for hitting her. What she had said to me last night, about letting Gogu go, had made perfect sense. She could not know the mixture of grief and guilt that had made me strike out at her. I would tell them how sorry I was that I hadn’t specified we were not supposed to mix up the funds. I would explain truthfully that we had been quite short on both foodstuffs and silver even before Cezar had walked off with our two coffers, and that I had no intention of begging from him. Then they could give me their ideas on how we might get through the winter. I began to feel a little better. Admitting I was wrong did not come easily to me; I preferred not to make errors in the first place. But today, with the echo of Tadeusz’s soft voice in my ears and his touch fresh on my skin, I knew I must make peace with my sisters and allow them to help me.

Horses
.

“What?”

Horses. Visitors
.

Gogu was right. Tied up before our front door were my cousin’s black gelding and two other mounts.

“A pox on Cezar!” I lengthened my stride, putting a hand up to balance the frog. “He’s the last person I want to see this morning.”

The morning after Full Moon wasn’t the best time for us to receive visitors. We tended to be tired and cross after too little sleep. In the kitchen Florica was brewing fruit tea and Iulia was slicing a loaf of bread while Paula put out dishes of plum
preserve. Stela was setting out glasses and plates—she looked so weary, she could drop something at any moment.

Cezar was talking to Tati, who was pale and drawn and did not seem to be paying much attention. My cousin’s two friends sat at the table. Cezar had met Daniel and Rǎzvan during the years of his formal education in Braşov. They were landholders’ sons, the kind of young men deemed suitable to be future husbands for girls like us. I thought Daniel supercilious and Rǎzvan rather slow. Both were of solid build, like Cezar, and their interests ran along similar lines: hunting, drinking, and discussing their own exploits loudly and at length. The kitchen was full of their presence; I felt as if we had to shrink to make room for them.

Stay calm, Jena
.

“Cezar.” As I walked in, the eyes of the three young men traveled from the frog on my shoulder down to my wet boots and the sodden hem of my gown. “Another surprise visit?” I saw something on the table next to Tati’s tea glass, and my heart lurched. Instantly, Cezar was forgiven. “A letter! A letter from Father?”

My cousin had risen to his feet as I came in. Now he stepped forward and took both my hands in his. I resisted the urge to snatch them away. “It is from Constanţa,” he said. “But this is not Uncle Teodor’s writing. Paula tells me it is that of his secretary.”

“We waited for you, Jena.” Paula was solemn. In her eyes I read the unspoken message: if it was bad news, it would be best if we all heard it together.

“Father often gets Gabriel to address his letters,” I said,
picking up the folded parchment and reaching for the bread knife. I willed my fingers not to shake. “Thank you for bringing this, Cezar.”

“I’m at your disposal, as you know. This came with a representative of my agent in Constanţa. The man had not seen your father, only a messenger, who left this with him. I have no further news for you.”

“Excuse me.” I couldn’t ask him and his friends to leave the room, although I dearly wanted to be able to read Father’s letter in private, with just my sisters around me. I went over to the stove, my back to everyone, and slit the seal.

I saw immediately that the message, too, was in Gabriel’s writing. My heart plummeted with disappointment. I scanned the letter quickly. If it was the worst news, I needed a moment to collect myself before I told them. I cleared my throat, swallowing tears.

“ ‘My greetings to you, young ladies, on your father’s behalf,’ ” I read aloud. “Teodor is still too unwell to write. The cough has deepened and is causing his physician grave concern. Rest assured that everything that can be done will be done.

“ ‘Your father is not able to send any instructions for the conduct of his affairs while so severely debilitated. I am aware that you have Salem bin Afazi’s consignment in storage …’ ” As I spoke, my eyes were scanning the next section of the letter, in which Gabriel suggested that I ask Cezar to deal with the selling of Father’s precious goods. I decided I would not read this part aloud. “ ‘A decision was made not to give your father the news of his beloved cousin’s tragic and untimely death as yet. His physician believed that such a blow could well prove
fatal. I would ask that if you write to your father, you take care to shield him from this news.

“ ‘I will dispatch this by Cezar’s agent and hope it reaches you safely. Of course, I will remain by your father’s side through this difficult time. As instructed, I have sent word to Dorin that he should not return to Piscul Dracului until he hears from me again, since, in your father’s absence, there will be little employment for him there. Your obedient servant, Gabriel.’ ”

There was a silence after I had finished. Looking from one sister to another, I saw the same look on all their faces. It perfectly reflected what was in my own heart: the cold realization that our worst fears were coming true.
Grave concern. Severely debilitated. Could well prove fatal
. Those phrases seemed to add up to only one thing: we’d probably never see our father again.

After a little, Florica carried the teakettle over to the table and set it down with a rattle. “Praise God, your dear father is still with us,” she said, raising a hand to wipe her eyes. “Master Cezar, will you take tea?”

“I’ll pour it,” I said, wanting a job to help me stay calm. “Rǎzvan? Daniel? I’m afraid we have only bread to offer you.”

“Ah, how could I forget?” Cezar got up and fetched a capacious basket that had been set by the door. “I’m sorry there isn’t better news to celebrate, but Florica is right—we should be glad Uncle Teodor is still clinging to life. I brought you some supplies, a few little delicacies. I had a feeling you might be running short. Here.” He set the basket on the table and unfolded the cloth that lay over its contents. A delicious smell
arose. “Our own store cupboard is amply stocked,” Cezar said. “My steward attends to it diligently. We can certainly spare this. Nuts, honey, a little wine for you older girls, some preserved fruits … And I had our kitchen people make some spice cakes. We could sample those with the tea. You look as if you need a treat.”