Cybele's Secret (40 page)

Now, abruptly, I knew exactly why the crone had given it to me. I imagined strong stone supporting and aiding the passage of fluid water; a delicate flower protected by its sharp thorn, the two interdependent, contrasting parts of the same whole. I pictured a gale shivering through the trees, seeds spiraling downward to start a new forest. I considered how day followed night in inevitable sequence, each giving meaning to the other. The perfect team could be two people who were as unlike as rock and stream, high peak and west wind, bare earth and green shoot. They could complement and enhance each other’s strengths and make up for each other’s weaknesses. They could be so close it was as if they shared flesh and bone, heart and mind. That was how it had felt with Stoyan and me as we traversed the cave of the lake. We had worked together as if we were two parts of the same self. And that was how it felt now. I knew that if I lost him, something inside me would break beyond mending. There was no need to present him with logical arguments to support my case. There was no need for
despite.
All I needed to say was
I love you.

The sweeping finished, I paced up and down the courtyard until Maria called me up to her quarters, saying she couldn’t bear to watch me any longer, and plied me with coffee and little honeyed pastries. I could tell she had seen me talking to Duarte, but I offered no explanations, and she was not quite prepared to ask what had occurred between us. I did wonder what damage my reputation had suffered after the journey and how much impact that might have on Father’s continuing success in these parts as a trader. Once we sailed back home, the stories would all die down, I thought. People would forget as soon as some new scandal took their interest.

“I think your father’s back, Paula,” Maria said, looking down toward the courtyard. We had been standing by the railing, finishing a second glass of tea and enjoying the warmth of the day while the activity of the han went on below us. She was smiling; it was clear she knew my mind was far away.

Father had come in through the arched entrance and was heading for the steps to the gallery. There was no sign of Stoyan.

“Thank you for the tea,” I said. “I’m sorry if I seem a little out of sorts. I’m still tired and there’s so much to do before we leave….”

“No trouble, Paula. Let me know if there’s anything more Giacomo and I can do to help.”

When I reached our apartment, Father was taking off his hat and cloak. He looked unusually somber.

“Father, is something wrong? You were gone a long time. Was there a problem with the goods?”

He shook his head. “No, Paula, everything is loaded and the
Stea de Mare
’s captain is confident of leaving on time tomorrow morning. I can hardly believe we’re headed home at last. It’s felt like a lifetime.”

“I’m sorry—”

He hushed me with an uncharacteristically sharp gesture. “No, no. Let’s not have that. What’s happened has happened, and you acted with the best intentions. You are safe, and I have come through my experience undamaged, if somewhat prematurely aged, so no more need be said on that score. I suppose I should ask what answer you gave Senhor Aguiar.”

“I refused him, Father. I like Duarte very much, but we are not suited as life companions. He accepted my answer, though I could see he was upset. Father, where is Stoyan?”

He did not answer immediately but looked at me with a little frown, as if he had some news he was unwilling to tell me.

“What, Father? You’re worrying me. What is it?” I put my hand on his sleeve.

“You won’t like this at all.”

I waited, heart suddenly racing.

“Stoyan’s gone,” Father told me flatly. “Once we’d seen the goods safely loaded onto the
Stea de Mare,
he announced that as we were to sail tomorrow, his duties for us were effectively at an end. He requested to be released forthwith. I had already paid him what he was owed and a little more for service beyond the call of duty. I did protest. I told him you’d be most upset if you couldn’t say goodbye, but he wouldn’t change his mind. On the face of it, his request was entirely reasonable. I had no choice but to let him go.”

I felt as if my insides had plummeted to the ground. Stoyan couldn’t do this! He couldn’t! I clutched Father’s arm. “Father, I have to see him! I have to go down to the docks. He might still be there! We must go right now—”

“Shh, shh, Paula, take a deep breath. It’s much too late for that, I’m afraid. The goods are already loaded; Stoyan could be anywhere. You know what that crowd is like—”

“I can’t let him go like this, Father, I just can’t. I never told him…And then he saw us, me and Duarte, and…I can go by myself. I’ll run all the way—” I heard what I was saying and came to a shuddering, tearful halt. “Please, Father,” I said, struggling to sound calm. “Can we try?”

“Oh, dear,” Father observed mildly, getting back to his feet. “I suppose Giacomo might be prevailed on to lend us a cart. Come, then. Please don’t get your hopes up, Paula. I have no idea where he was headed, and this city is a very easy place to get lost in.”

We made good progress, Father driving the horse himself, I seated beside him with my veil up over my nose, trying to scan the crowd in all directions for a very tall man with dark hair, a pale, scarred face, and a wounded look in his eyes. Deep inside, I was muttering a silent prayer to whomever would listen, to bring him back to me just long enough for me to tell him I loved him, even if he heard it and chose to walk away again. Why hadn’t I got those words out the night of Cybele’s return? Why had I left it so long that he had seen me in Duarte’s arms and probably leaped to all sorts of conclusions? Why, oh, why had I forgotten the riddle? He had chosen to step back, on the voyage home, and give me and Duarte time alone together. He’d probably made a decision that the pirate, with his wealth, status, education, and ready wit, was better suited to me than he was. In the eyes of the world, perhaps this was so. But not in mine. And if I told him how I felt, if I was brave enough to come right out with it, maybe not in Stoyan’s either.
If a man truly loves…he gives no heed to what others may think. His heart has no room for that, for it is filled to the brim with the unutterable truth of his feelings.
That hadn’t been a speech about me and my pathetic attempt to express myself or he would have said,
If a woman truly loves.
Those had been the words of his own heart. And I’d missed it; I’d missed it. I’d been so stupid, and now, if we didn’t hurry up, I was going to lose him forever….

Halfway down the last road to the docks, a cart had lost a wheel and was blocking the way completely. A group of men stood around it arguing while a boy worked to unharness the two horses.

“Oh, please, oh, please,” I breathed as Father used skills I had not realized he possessed to turn our vehicle and head off down a side way. We went through a maze of smaller streets. A dog that had been sleeping outside a doorway fled at our approach. I found myself wishing Tati were still here to guide us safely to the waterfront, but there were no eerie presences about today, only obstacles in the form of crates and barrels, fruit vendors’ little stalls, porters bearing bundles, stray cats streaking across our path.

“Breathe, Paula,” my father advised as he turned the cart onto the dockside and we were enveloped in a press of folk. “You’re wound as tight as a spring. Stay on the cart or you’ll be trampled. I’ll drive along to the
Stea de Mare,
but if you can’t see him anywhere on the docks, there’s nothing more I can do.”

I bit my nails to the quick as we made a painfully gradual progress along the busy waterfront to the place where our vessel was moored, her decks shipshape, the last of her cargo being neatly stowed as we watched. Farther along, the
Esperança
was at anchor. I looked ahead, behind, into the mass of dockworkers and trading folk, visiting dignitaries and port officials, anonymous robed travelers and sweating slaves. I looked until my vision blurred, until my neck was stiff, until an aching flood of unshed tears had built behind my eyes. At the
Stea de Mare,
despite Father’s warning, I got down from the cart—he followed quickly, motioning a crewman to come and hold the reins for him—and went on board to question the crew about Stoyan. Nobody had seen anything of him since he and Father had brought the last load down. I came back down the plank and stood very still by the cart a moment. Then I climbed up to the seat and put my head in my hands.

“I’m sorry, Paula,” Father said as he got up beside me. “Truly sorry. But the fact is, if he doesn’t want to be found, there will be no finding him. This will fade in time, my dear. Once we’re at sea and on our way home, things may not seem so desperate.”

I said nothing as he flicked the reins and the horse headed back toward the han.

Are you brave enough, Paula?
I asked myself as the tears began to fall.
Are you brave enough to live with a broken heart?
And I could not dismiss his words because, after my mother had died, that was exactly what my father had done.

“Tell us about going across the swinging bridge! No, tell us about balancing on that man’s shoulders and collecting the animals!”

It was spring, almost a year since Father and I had left Istanbul, and Stela was still thirsty for the story, no matter how many times I told it. My younger sister found the tale of desperate pursuit at sea, deeds of courage and magical trials, a devious Greek scholar and a charming pirate captain utterly thrilling. The pirate, especially. As for the news of Tati, all my sisters had greeted that with mixed feelings when I told them. They were happy that she was well, impressed by her bravery, and sad that she was missing us so badly. Iulia and Stela were also, I suspected, a little jealous that I had been the one chosen for an Other Kingdom quest. For the first few months, we had expected Tati to turn up one day, out of the blue, ready for the visit she had earned. But so far there had been no sign.

“Tell us about the time Duarte gave you the shell scarf,” Stela urged now, glancing at our other sisters, who were seated with us on a rug. It was a beautiful day, the warm air heady with the scent of hawthorn and wood smoke. The charcoal burners were busy farther down the valley.

It was unusual for the whole family to be here at Piscul Dracului. Iulia and her husband, Rçžzvan, were visiting Jena and Costi, who lived on the estate next door to ours, and today all of them, with the children, had come down through the woods to see Father, Stela, and me. The narrow stairways and crooked passages of the old castle where we lived had been full of shouts and laughter and running feet. Now the sun had drawn us outside with a basket of provisions. We were in a field not far from the house, just below the spot where grazing land met wildwood. On a stretch of level ground a little farther down the hill, Rçžzvan and Costi were energetically teaching four-year-old Nicolae the best way to kick a ball into an improvised goal. Father was on the sidelines offering expert advice and keeping an eye on Iulia’s son, Gavril, who had a tendency to wander out into the middle of it all with no warning. His self-confidence was admirable but, at two, a little perilous.

“Father seems happy,” observed Jena. “I haven’t seen him looking so well since you came home, Paula.”

“Of course,” put in Iulia, who was busy spooning a glutinous substance into the gaping mouth of her daughter, Mirela, “it must have helped that you and Costi scored such a coup in Vienna. That’s set the business on its feet for another five years at least. It’s entirely made up for Father’s disappointment over the failure of his deal in Istanbul.”

She was partly right. A lucrative long-term agreement had been struck by Costi and Jena with a trading house in the great northern city, and the profits from that would remove our financial worries for the foreseeable future. Thank heavens for that. Despite his avowal to put the whole episode of Cybele’s Gift behind him, his perceived failure had left Father feeling low, and he still wasn’t back to his old self. He did remind me quite frequently that he, too, had learned a vital lesson during that time: He knew now that no trading deal, however advantageous, meant anything at all beside the life and safety of a loved one. All the same, the events of last spring had saddened him, and I was glad to see him today with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes.

“Come on, Paula, tell the story.” Stela wasn’t going to give up. She reached into the basket, helped herself to a bread roll, and began to munch, fixing expectant blue eyes on me. At twelve, she still had the enthusiasms and energies of a child, but she was hovering on the edge of womanhood. Her figure was rounding out, her features gaining a bloom that hinted at future beauty. She would be like Tati: the kind of woman men’s eyes were drawn to despite themselves. “Please, Paula.”

“Not today,” I said, leaning back on my elbows and narrowing my eyes against the sun. “Everyone’s heard it a hundred times before. And it’s over; all I want to do now is forget.”

In the silence that ensued, I felt Jena’s eyes on me. I knew that she, of all the family, understood how much the season of Cybele’s Gift had changed me.

“Stela,” said Iulia, “will you go down to the kitchen and ask Florica for another bottle of her elderberry wine? And maybe some more cheese…Rçžzvan’s sure to be starving when they finish running around.”

Stela’s expression told me she knew this was a ploy to get her out of the way, but she went without question, dark hair streaming behind her as she ran across the hillside to the stile. The grass under her feet was dotted with wildflowers, blue, purple, yellow, pink. Down the hill, I could see a cart coming up the track to the castle. The red tassels on the horse’s bridle swung as it moved. On the driver’s seat was Dorin, our man of all work. He and Petru had a big job on hand, something to do with drains. The cart would be loaded with building supplies.

“Paula,” said Jena in a big-sisterly voice, “we’re worried about you.”

“You’re not yourself,” added Iulia. “Florica says you’re only picking at your food these days, and you can’t afford to lose weight. You’re skin and bone already.” She herself was a shapely woman, the delight of her husband’s eye, and had been telling me for years I was too thin.

“Worse than that,” put in Jena, “Father says you haven’t even been reading much lately. Or at least not the way you used to, as if you could never get enough of books and learning. If I didn’t know you better, I would say you’re exhibiting all the signs of having been unlucky in love.”

“You should come and stay with Rçžzvan and me,” Iulia suggested, reaching out to grab Mirela’s smock before the child could grasp a bee that had caught her interest. “It would take your mind off things.”

“What things?” I could hear the growl in my voice. I did not want to talk about it, not even to my sisters. I’d been doing my best to forget, to pick up the threads of my old life, helping Father, teaching Stela, making myself useful around house and farm. It was just unfortunate that I wasn’t better at hiding how unhappy I was.

“Come on, Paula,” Jena said. “We’re your sisters. We’re here to help. There’s a part of this story you’ve held back, Iulia and I are certain of it. You need to talk about it sometime, get it off your chest.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered. “Anyway, it’s much too late now.”

Down the hill, Dorin had driven into the courtyard, and Petru’s farm dogs were going crazy. The frenzy of barking went far beyond the greeting they usually provided when someone came home.

“Paula.” Jena’s tone was stern. “You can’t fool us. Before you went to Istanbul, you were bubbling with plans for the future. You were so confident and hopeful. You convinced all of us that you’d achieve your dream one day. That’s all changed since you came back. You seem…adrift. Not simply unhappy, but unsure of yourself. And yet you had such adventures during that trip. You were tested to the limit. That was terrifying, I know, but wonderful, too. To go back to the Other Kingdom, to see Tati again…” I could hear the longing in my sister’s voice. “And to be given such an important task, a quest of your own…You’ve told the story pretty modestly, I suspect. It sounds as if you had to call upon all your reserves of courage and intelligence to get through it. I can’t understand how you’ve lost faith in yourself.”

“Unrequited love,” said Iulia. “It’s written all over you. Come and spend the summer at our place, and we’ll introduce you to any number of suitable men. In a pinch, I may even find one or two who like books.”

The noise from below had not abated. I was trying to think of a reply when Stela came sprinting back across the field, babbling something that did not become clear until she arrived in our midst. “Paula! There’s something for you! Dorin brought it, a…a delivery. Come now! You have to see this!”

“A delivery?” I tried to remember if I had ordered anything, books maybe or some household supplies that might have been packaged under my name rather than Father’s. “Can’t Dorin deal with it? I’ll come down later.”

“No!” Stela was beside herself with excitement. “You have to come!” She grabbed my arm and hauled me up, tugging me after her in the general direction of the house. With a grimace at my elder sisters, I followed.

In the courtyard, Dorin was unloading the supplies. The farm dogs were clustered around the front door, barking hysterically.

“What’s wrong?” I shouted.

“In there,” Dorin yelled, pointing to the doorway.

The dogs did not follow me inside; they were well trained. Their raucous challenge died down behind me as I walked along the red-tiled passageway to the kitchen. I went in to find a crate in the middle of the floor and our farmer, Petru, crouched down beside it, peering through a narrow opening in the top. His wife, our housekeeper, Florica, stood by the stove, lips pursed, eyes thoughtful.

“Apparently it’s for you,” she said dryly, glancing at me.

“Look, Paula!” Stela was already by Petru’s side, poking her fingers between the slats of the crate. “Petru, can we take the top off? He’s probably been in there all day, the poor thing….”

The flood of words abated as I moved closer, and Petru edged aside to make room for me. I peered into the crate. Through the opening, a pair of soft, expressive eyes gazed up at me. There was a low growling, a sound I interpreted as a token challenge. My heart was doing a dance. I had never really believed in tears of joy, but those were what seemed to be welling in my eyes right now.

“Open that and the creature’ll take your finger off,” said Florica. “It’s huge. That’s the last thing I’d be expecting you to want, Paula. A crate of books, now, or a box of paper and pens, but not a dog.”

“It’s a gift,” Stela said importantly. “Not something Paula ordered for herself, something someone’s sent her. Open it up, Paula. Maybe it’s from that pirate. He sounded as if he liked you. Perhaps he’s right here in the valley!”

Her words flowed over me as I borrowed Petru’s knife and prized off the side slats of the crate. The dog emerged, at first not entirely steady on his legs. He sniffed at my skirt, looked around, then ambled over to relieve himself against the wall. “I’ll clean up,” I said hastily.

I could see the message on Florica’s face: No dogs inside the house. Before she could say a word, Petru snapped his fingers to bring the animal close—I noticed how ready it was to obey—then ran his gnarled hands over its noble head, its straight, strong back, its extremely large feet.

“A handsome creature,” he observed. “Only half grown; I’d say he’s six months at the most. He’s going to be a fine big dog.” The animal was already larger than our adult herding dogs. “Unusual gift for a young lady.” Petru glanced at me, eyes shrewd. “I’ve never seen this breed before. Foreign, is it?”

“It’s called a Bugarski Goran,” I said absently as I hunted inside the crate for a note or message. “A special kind of mountain dog known for its strength, heart, and loyalty. Generally they’re treated as members of the family. That’s after they’re trained, I suppose,” I added hastily, feeling Florica’s skeptical gaze on me.

“So, is it from him?” Stela asked, giving the very big puppy a hug and receiving a slobbery kiss in return. “From your pirate? It is, isn’t it? I bet I’m right!”

“Wasn’t there some kind of note?” I asked, still searching. The inside of the crate held nothing but rather damp wood shavings.

“Oh, yes,” Florica said belatedly. “There’s this.” She handed me a folded piece of paper that she had put in her apron pocket.

“Tell us what it says,” Stela demanded. “Is it from him? Paula, why are you crying?”

My tears dripped onto the scrap of paper on which a single word was written in shaky Greek letters:
PAULA
. I felt the curious sensation of my heart warming, sending a rush of happiness all through my body. “It’s not from Duarte,” I said.

“Whoever it’s from,” said Florica, “take it outside and show it where to do its business.” As I grasped the dog’s collar in one hand and headed for the door, she added, “I’ve got some mutton bones put aside for a soup. I’ll fetch one out for you, and a water bowl. Best feed that one in here, give Petru’s dogs time to get used to it.”

“I expect he’ll hold his own,” I said with a shaky smile. “Stela, let’s take him outside, shall we? I need to talk to Dorin.”

That night I couldn’t get to sleep, even after Stela stopped bombarding me with questions I wasn’t prepared to answer and surrendered to exhaustion. The moon rose beyond the colored glass of our bedchamber windows, painting a wash of red and green and violet and gold across the stone walls and onto the embroidery that lay on my bedside table, five girls dancing in a line. A thousand feelings tumbled about inside me. A thousand memories jostled for space in my head.

Dorin had told me the dog was sent by a foreigner who was lodged not in our village but in the next one, a few miles along the valley. A big fellow, not the sort you’d want to get into a dispute with. The stranger didn’t speak our language, but he could say
Piscul Dracului
plain enough, and
Master Teodor,
and
Paula of Bra
ov.