Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Horror, #Vampires, #Transylvania (Romania), #Krakatoa (Indonesia), #Volcanic Eruptions
Dark of the Sun (55 page)
“Thank you.” He continued to wait patiently until Heovo appeared in the door of the church and waved them forward. “There are pallets on that side. You may sleep on them,” he said as Ragoczy Franciscus came up the stairs to the narthex of the church.
Ragoczy Franciscus took note of the dark corner Heovo had indicated and nodded. “You are most kind to travelers.”
“If Irkovoyto did not command it, it would be otherwise,” Heovo said grimly.
“Then I thank him through you,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, pushing his blue roan aside so that Rojeh could come in through the tall, narrow door.
Scowling at Ragoczy Franciscus’ mare, Heovo declared, “The Devil rides a black horse.”
“This is not a black horse, as you will see in the sunlight,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, unperturbed.
“You ride in the dark,” said Heovo sharply. “Then it is black.”
“She is a blue roan, a fairly rare coat, but handsome.” He moved the mare a little nearer the oil-lamp. “Look for yourself.”
“She seems as black as night to me,” said Heovo,
Rather than give a brusque answer or argue the point, Ragoczy Franciscus said amiably, “I fear I must have done something to offend you, and if I have, I offer my apology, although such affront was not intended.”
Only slightly mollified, Heovo glared at him. “We are not well-disposed to strangers; had Irkovoyto listened to me, you would have been left outside our walls—such as they are.”
“I can understand your distrust of strangers in these hard times; it would be irresponsible of you not to question any traveler.” Ragoczy Franciscus wondered how old the young man was—sixteen? seventeen? certainly no more than that—and that his life was probably half over. “You have done a courageous thing in remaining here.”
Heovo shot an angry look at him. “The brave ones are dead,” he muttered.
Ragoczy Franciscus shook his head. “No. For their bravery is over and was brief; yours is just beginning and it must last you all your life long.”
“However long that may be.” The stare Heovo gave him showed he was at least considering what Ragoczy Franciscus said. Turning abruptly on his heel, Heovo ordered Mopuoli and Otsija out of the church, announcing, “We will keep a guard on the door. If you have to leave the church, call to the guard first, or he will spear you.”
“We will,” said Ragoczy Franciscus as the three young men left them alone with two oil-lamps burning.
“Not an easy situation,” said Rojeh when they were alone.
“No, but being in the open at dawn would not be … pleasant.” He watched Rojeh take their bucket and measure out into it the grain for the night. “A pity we cannot tie them out to graze tonight, but tomorrow afternoon, perhaps the villagers will allow it.”
“I’ll take them outside the walls. There is some grass there that the raiders didn’t cut.” Rojeh began unloading the mule’s pack saddle. “Who do you think the raiders were?”
“Probably a clan driven by hunger and bad weather, as we’ve seen before,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “They are not the first, and they are not the last.”
“Then you are concerned.” Rojeh set down their case of clothing. “At least you know—” He stopped. “I didn’t intend to—”
“To imply that I am not at my best? I know I am not, and I know you have been looking out for me, and have held your tongue,” Ragoczy Franciscus said. “It is not the first time you and I have had to deal with people like these: isolated, attacked, abandoned. What matters if Huns or other tribesmen are responsible for the damage? the people are bereft of possessions and family, surely as much an injury as a blow on the head.”
“There is no Nicoris here, I think,” said Rojeh with calm sympathy.
“No; there is not, nor would I want her in such a place. I gather most of the women were carried off; not the priest’s wives, but many of the others, and the men know they are gone for good,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “Of those who are left, they are probably sequestered somewhere under lock and key.” He pursed his lips in distaste. “That may be worse. Whatever the case, you and I will not be permitted to see any of those who remain, not even the priest’s wives.”
“You will still need sustenance.” Rojeh tapped his hand.
“It will not be found here,” Ragoczy Franciscus said in a tone that ended their discussion.
Rojeh said nothing more; he looked about, taking stock of the little church. “Windows for the Apostles? What do you think?”
“The Apostles or the Armenian Martyrs, whoever they might be,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “Twelve is a useful number, in any case.”
“How many martyrs do you think there were?” Rojeh asked.
“I have noticed that twelve is the number of Magi who attended Christ’s birth, or so some of the churches preach. One Magi for each Apostle, it would appear, and it may be the same with the martyrs. The Romans are now tending to three Magi, for the Trinity.” Ragoczy Franciscus rubbed his chin. “I will need another trim in a few days.”
Rojeh nodded. “Soon, then.”
“Very good; I’ll be glad to be a bit neater,” said Ragoczy Franciscus as he lifted off the saddle and reached for a brush; a short while later he paused in his work. “I am disturbed by the raid here. It means that there are more bands of men about, and as the spring advances, their numbers will increase.”
“And they will prey upon travelers as readily as they attack villages like this one,” Rojeh concurred. “Desperate men do desperate things. Some travel thousands of leagues westward,” he added deliberately.
“To the Egyptian abode of death,” Ragoczy Franciscus said in a distant tone. He finished the on-side of his horse and went around to the off-side, starting to brush her neck, working down and back with the grain of the hair. “I wonder if she’ll ever come into season again?”
Rojeh said nothing; he continued to groom the mule and then his stallion. The horse lowered his head into Rojeh’s hand, nuzzling; Rojeh scratched his withers and saw the spotted horse crane his neck and flop his ears in pleasure. As he continued his care with a stiff-bristled brush, he said to Ragoczy Franciscus, “You know they put us in here to make sure we are not demons or other fell beings.”
“No doubt, and if Priest Irkovoyto did not bless it as soon as the raiders were gone, he must have been unconscious; he is hardly the sort of man to allow his village to be contaminated by malign influences if he could do anything about them,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, a sardonic note in his utterances. “I have no illusions about this village, or this church—this is a good jail, but it also provides other protection.” He looked about the little church.
“Do you sense something?” Rojeh looked alarmed now.
“The church is set away from other buildings. It has been looted. They will want to cleanse it.” There was a hard edge to his remark. “Come. Get the saddle-pad and hand me the pack-saddle.”
Perplexed, Rojeh obeyed. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes.” Ragoczy Franciscus took the girth and saddle-pad. “He’s well-groomed, thank goodness. We do not have to start with brushing.”
Their efforts were interrupted by Heovo and Otsija, who carried two wooden buckets apiece, all filled with water. “Is everything well?” Heovo asked as he put the buckets down. Neither youth would look directly at either Rojeh or Ragoczy Franciscus. “Are you going to sleep shortly?”
“Yes,” said Ragoczy Franciscus.
“Then we will bid you a good night; may God protect you and all good Christian souls,” said Otsija; he and Heovo retreated, banging the door in their haste to be gone.
“Do you think they believed us?” Rojeh asked, trying not to sound worried.
“I do not know,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, buckling the girth into place; he felt the mule stiffen in anticipation of more travel; he patted the mule’s neck. “This is a poor way to thank you for all you have done, but we will need to get away tonight.”
“What is it that you perceive?” Rojeh persisted even as he helped saddle the mule.
“I think I’ve smelled something, or heard something,” Ragoczy Franciscus replied.
“Are you certain? Or are you reminded of being with the Desert Cats, who kept apart from you when they intended to sacrifice you?” This direct question was meant to be blunt; Rojeh stood still, waiting for Ragoczy Franciscus to provide an answer.
“This is not the same thing,” Ragoczy Franciscus said at last, his voice so quiet that Rojeh almost wondered if his throat were hurting him. “We were no strangers to the Desert Cats, although we were foreigners. I may not have been so willing to visit their camp had not the clan been familiar to me and had we not been accepted as companions to the clan. I do not know these villagers, but I know something has gone wrong.”
“As when Dukkai read the smoke?” Rojeh pressed on.
“No.” Ragoczy Franciscus picked up the case containing their clothes. “If you want something else to wear, take it out now.”
Rojeh said, “I will change my garments after we have rested.”
“Then hand me the chest of medicaments. I know we have use of what it contains.” He set it in place on the pack-saddle and lashed it there. “The sack of grain, to give a soft container for the chest of treasure to rest upon, and my roll of farrier’s tools.”
“Can you not tell me what has made you uneasy?” Rojeh asked.
“If I could identify it, I would.” He handed Rojeh his saddle-pad. “I’ll finish up here. You get your horse ready to go.”
“And yours?”
“I will attend to her directly, just as soon as the net is in place.” He sighed as he checked the mule’s halter and leads. “I will make new buckles and repair the billets.” He was almost finished when the mule brought up his head and brayed loudly; an instant later, the tang of burning wood was on the air. “They have set fire to the church!”
Rojeh hurried to tighten the saddle-girth and free the stallion’s reins from the stout pillar to which they were secured. “You were right,” he said as he vaulted aboard his horse and reached for the mule’s lead.
Ragoczy Franciscus went to open the door and was not entirely surprised to find it braced from the outside. “Come. Back your horse up to the door and set him kicking.”
Rojeh complied at once, using the mule’s lead to tickle his stallion just above the stifle; almost at once, the horse lashed out with his back legs. Three more kicks and the wood splintered, and Rojeh kneed the horse around, dragging the mule with him. “How do we get out of the village?” he shouted back to Ragoczy Franciscus, who had bridled his blue roan and, taking a fistful of mane, swung onto her back, leaving his saddle behind as he rode her out of the church.
In the dark, the first brilliant flames were glaring at the far end of the church, and they were spreading fast. Four shadowy figures could just be made out near the fire, one of them carrying a pair of torches; they wheeled about as they heard the sound of breaking wood and the clatter of insistent hooves.
“Go toward the stream! There will be a door to the stream!” Ragoczy Franciscus shouted. Clinging to the mare with his calves, he urged her forward, passing near enough to the fire to feel the rush of its own wind. Then they were into a passageway that had a break in the wall at the end of it, where a waist-high gate stood; they made for it at the gallop. Even the mule cleared the low gate in a scrambling leap, Ragoczy Franciscus’ blue roan immediately behind him. Almost at once they were in the stream, bound for the far bank, while behind them the flames from the church stretched hectically toward the sky. Water splashed up and foamed ahead of them. Shouts rising behind them faded quickly; they were not being pursued. At the far bank as the two horses and the mule climbed up the pebbly shore, Ragoczy Franciscus had to lean forward and wrap his arm around the mare’s neck to keep from falling off. In the narrow meadow beyond the bank of the stream, they pulled in and took stock of their present situation.
“At least we have all our goods on the mule,” Ragoczy Franciscus said, his voice hushed from the strain of yelling.
“You’ve lost your saddle,” Rojeh pointed out.
“Yes.”
“It was padded with your native earth.”
“I know.” Ragoczy Franciscus looked up at the sky and noticed a plume of smoke sliding along the night breeze. “That fire is going to burn more than the church, I fear.”
“Serves them right for trying to burn us,” Rojeh declared indignantly.
“It is—”
“If you say
sad or unfortunate or a pity,”
Rojeh warned tranquilly, “I will … I don’t know what I’ll do.”
sad or unfortunate or a pity,”
Rojeh warned tranquilly, “I will … I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“It is all those things, as well as mad and murderous. Relentless trouble is everywhere.” Ragoczy Franciscus wiped his face, leaving a smear on his cheek above his beard. “We should have found a thicket in the forest, after all.”
“We had better do that snow,” said Rojeh. “We don’t want to be in the open when the sun rises.”
“No; that would suit neither of us,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, turning his blue roan and heading toward the west and a vast expanse of trees that vanished into the darkness.
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