Chapter 3: Secret Meetings

Vladimir’s life had changed drastically since that fateful night in the snow. Prior to that his days had consisted of fervent worship, dogged pursuit of his studies, and productive work at the scriptorium. Since, his mind was persistently preoccupied with two things.

The first was the yearning. It permeated every thought, invaded every dream, disrupted every action. He would spend hours imagining what it could be that possessed his thoughts so. At night it would call to him, whispering seductive secrets, promising power…unimaginable power.

He schemed a way to allow him to frequent the cartography section of the library, and the door. He proposed a project to Father Ehrlich that he begin to transcribe all of the maps of the Old World and bind them into a comprehensive atlas. The librarian was pleased at the suggestion and granted him permission to do so. Vladimir was genuinely thrilled at the prospect of authoring such a work, for such things were usually left to the Ordained.

The other entity that dominated his thoughts was Liesel. When not obsessing about the thing in the basement, he was dreaming about her soft chestnut locks, or her pleasantly fragrant skin, or her dazzling green eyes. He would deliberately work long hours at his atlas project so as to miss the prescribed meal times. He had established a good relationship with the Mistress of the Kitchens, who seemed to have taken a liking to the young initiate. He ate three meals a day at that little table, talking to Liesel or gazing at her while she worked. The only time he completely forgot about the yearning was when he was with her.

With Ehrlich’s permission, Vladimir moved his desk into the cartography section of the library. There were two racks of books between his new station and the basement door, but when no one was around he arranged them so he had several clear lines of sight to it. He eagerly watched all the comings and goings, which were numerous for a ‘storage room’. He observed that the most scholarly and pious of the Brethren began to frequent the basement of the library, down the long flight of stairs behind the securely locked door. Many of them returned visibly shaken and pale.

One day while working diligently at his atlas project Vladimir made a frightening discovery. It was late in the evening, the winter sun had set, and he was working by the meager, flickering light of several candles. He had just returned from dinner with Liesel, which always set him at ease. The yearning was so slight, as it usually was after his visits with the girl, that he had almost forgotten it. The atlas, merely an excuse when he started it, was coming along nicely. He was reproducing a worn and ancient map of Athel Loren. It was vague at best, because very few who entered the mystical wood ever returned, and those who did had only hazy memories of it. He had procured some fine green inks, which he was using with great care to transcribe the elvish lettering.

His concentration was shattered by a piercing and wretched scream. Muffled though it was through the stone walls of the monastery, Vladimir heard it with alarming clarity. In unison with the shriek the yearning in his head surged. The force of it made Vladimir lurch forward, blinding him with unbearable pain, and making him wretch uncontrollably. He knocked the bottle of ink over, spilling its contents on his carefully penned map, ruining it. He convulsed wildly with the pulsing agony in his skull, gasping for a breath that would not come.

Just as suddenly as it had come, the pain was gone. Vladimir went limp and slumped to the floor, panting and sobbing. The muscles in his abdomen ached from the strain of his seizure. He wiped tears from his eyes. As the misery faded he heard the door to the basement crash open, making a hollow booming sound. He held his breath, straining to hear more. What he heard terrified him. A cacophony of steps, coming up the stairs, and a commanding voice.

“Get this man to the infirmary, quickly. And for Sigmar’s sake hold him!” Vladimir recognized the voice immediately. It was Maximilien, the High Theogonist. The young initiate crawled to one of his vantage points in the stacks and peered eagerly towards the door.

The Priest was standing with his back to Vladimir, facing the open doorway. Through it two stout clerics, dragging a third between them, emerged. The detainee twisted and wrenched at his keepers, causing them to stagger as they hauled him forth. He went limp in their grasp, appearing to lose consciousness. The two relaxed visibly. With a surge of strength he hauled one of their hands to his mouth and bit down viciously, causing the startled cleric to cry out and loose his grip on his crazed prisoner. With inhuman strength he heaved against the remaining captor, hurling him to the floor.

The mad cleric climbed to his knees, babbling incoherently. His mouth was a mess of blood and drool, which flowed unnoticed down his chin. Vladimir recognized him as Brother Jurgen, a warrior priest of the Martial Order of Sigmar. His eyes darted about, bloodshot and crazed, as if witnessing unspeakable horrors. The terrified priest screamed again. Before anyone could regain control of the situation he raised his hands, clenched into rigid claws, and raked them over his eyes. They erupted in gouts of fresh blood.

A huge figure hurtled out of the open doorway, and with the edge of one meaty hand chopped down hard on the back of the bleeding cleric’s neck, knocking him to the floor, immediately unconscious. Father Larsen dropped to his knees beside the prone cleric and quickly wrapped a strip of heavy cloth around his head to staunch the bleeding.

“You two! Take him, and make haste!” he barked to the clerics who had dragged him before. They snapped into action at the warrior priest’s order. Carrying the lifeless casualty between them, they hastened past Vladimir’s hiding place and out of sight. Father Larsen then turned his ire on Maximilien.

“I warned you of this. That thing is treacherous. You were arrogant to think that you could control it. That you could unmake it,” he growled angrily. Vladimir was shocked to hear him speak so bluntly to Maximilien.

“Father Larsen, I value your opinion, but you overstep your bounds,” the Theogonist replied calmly, but sternly. “The events of this evening were tragic, indeed, but we cannot let them deter us from our goal. With time and careful scrutiny as our weapons we will defeat this foe, Sigmar be praised.”

“Please, Maximilien. Listen to reason,” Larsen pleaded, spreading his hands in supplication. “If this thing is what we think it is, then it is beyond our ability to control. We should hide it, someplace where no one would ever find it.”

“Hide it? Where? The Unspeakable Powers will not rest until they recover this foul talisman. Great peril will follow wherever it goes.” Vladimir reeled, stunned. The notion that he had been subconsciously denying became glaringly clear. The yearning. The talisman. They were one and the same.

“Sail with it to the middle of the Sea of Claws and throw it in. Bury it under a mountain.”

“No Larsen,” Maximilien resolved. “This thing is an abomination to Sigmar and to the Order. We cannot risk it ever falling into chaotic hands again. We cannot shirk our duty here, and we cannot fail. It must be destroyed.”

Father Larsen’s shoulders slumped, defeated.

“At least let me double the night watch. I do not want anyone to be alone with…it.”

“That is reasonable,” Maximilien conceded. “Make it so. I think we are done here for tonight. Have someone clean this up, then set your guards. I will be in my chambers, should I be needed.”

The High Theogonist turned and glided out of sight. Larsen immediately took charge, ordering priests about to fetch water and a mop. Vladimir didn’t move from his hiding place and barely registered the bustling sounds of the clean up efforts. He was in a daze. This thing that haunted his mind was a dreadful instrument of Chaos, the ruinous powers that his Order devoted itself to defying. It had some sort of hold on him, a grip on his very soul.

Vladimir knew he needed to tell someone about this. He considered dashing from his hiding place and confessing all of his secrets to Father Larsen straight away. If the Brethren knew about his affliction they could help him to overcome it. Somehow they could exorcise the Talisman’s grip on his soul. After all, he was innocent in all of this. They couldn’t blame him for being attacked from within his own mind…could they?

It was clear that the Talisman was powerful and imminently dangerous. Vladimir had been severely punished for merely stumbling across the knowledge of its existence. How would they react if they knew that he was somehow linked to it? What if they didn’t even consider the idea that he was an unwilling thrall to its power, that he was being victimized?

The Order treated the followers of Chaos with extreme prejudice. In these dark times the mere mention of association with the ruinous powers brought about swift and brutal retribution. A scant whisper overheard in a tavern could spark a fevered witch-hunt. The accused were rarely allowed to plea their innocence, and those who were could not be trusted to tell the truth, being followers of Chaos. The only remedy was fire. “Better a thousand innocents face wrongful and horrible persecution than one disciple of darkness go free” was a common saying amongst the warrior priests.

Vladimir envisioned Maximilien’s baleful gaze as he passed judgement. He imagined the High Theogonist’s cool detachment as he cast the torch onto the fuel-drenched wood. As part of his clerical instruction, Vladimir had been made to watch followers of chaos burned for their heresy. He was only nine years old at the time. It was horrifying. For weeks afterward he had woken, sweating and shivering from the nightmares. Their tortured shrieks echoed in his mind still.

Then again, what if they did understand about this affliction, and couldn’t break the bond? Judging by Father Larsen’s conversation with Maximilien, they had not had much success in defeating the Talisman. If Vladimir could not be cleansed one way, it must be the other. Vladimir shuddered at the vision of the flames licking at his legs.

Nonsense, he thought to himself. Sigmar is with us, we cannot fail. Vladimir had great confidence in the pious might that Maximilien commanded. Chaos was an insidious and malignant force, but it was no match for the glory and power of Sigmar. The righteous powers would prevail. And when they did, Vladimir would be free.

Vladimir resigned himself to wait for his liberation. He would continue his work with the atlas, which would allow him to monitor their progress. He would resist with all his might against the dreaded Talisman. When they unmade it, his obsession with the thing would be over, and he could go on with his orderly life in devotion to Sigmar. As he crept quietly back to his desk, he could not help but feel the Talisman pulling at him, more urgently than ever.

The low, resonant chimes from the library clock brought Vladimir out of his contemplation. He counted nine bells before the echoes died in the dark of the library. Father Larsen and the others were gone, the door was securely locked, and Vladimir was alone. His thoughts were scattered. They leapt from terrifying realization about the Talisman, to the gruesome sight of Brother Jurgen brutally blinding himself, to the constant yearning in his mind. The only thought that brought him any peace was Liesel.

Quiet as a whisper, Vladimir made his way out of the library, past the dining hall, through the kitchens, and back to the familiar area where he knew the fair Liesel would be. He heard the girls chattering as he approached. From among the cacophony of voices, he picked out Liesel’s clear, melodic tones. It was as if a great fist unclenched itself from around his heart. He breathed a relieved sigh.

He turned the corner and saw her flowing chestnut hair as she walked away, untying her apron and hanging it on a hook. She retrieved her heavy winter cloak and gracefully slung it over her shoulders, tying it about her slender neck. Vladimir blanched. She was leaving for the night, along with the other serving girls. Going back to her home outside the monastery walls.

Vladimir’s throat knotted up. He needed her. Needed to talk to her. To listen to her. To see her. He felt he was drowning, as if a massive weight was dragging him down and the only thing he had to hold on to was Liesel. He felt that if the night passed without seeing her he would go mad. In desperation he stepped forward and called to her.

“L-Liesel?” The name stuck in his throat. She turned, her long hair swinging about. Her emerald eyes opened wide in surprise, then bloomed along with her mouth into a beautiful smile. She approached him slowly, eyes downcast, as if she was suddenly shy.

“Good evening, Vladimir. Have you come to see me off?” she asked, twirling a lock of her chestnut hair around her slender finger. Vladimir closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, taking in the scent of her. It thrilled his senses, and at the same time quieted his racing mind.

“I need to speak with you, Liesel.”

“What about?”

“I…just…many things. Can we speak…alone?”

“Well I was just about to leave, Vladimir. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“I suppose…well…no, it can’t. I need to speak with you.” Liesel’s face wrinkled in consternation.

“Are you well, Vladimir?”

“No, Liesel, I am not. I need to speak with you, alone,” he said, eyeing the other girls, who had finished donning their cloaks and lingered by the door, attempting to appear oblivious to the conversation. “Please. Will you speak with me?”

“Very well, Vladimir. I will speak with you for a while,” she said, concerned. She turned to the other maids. “You girls go ahead. I will be on my way later.”

The maids gave Vladimir a rather embarrassing look, then nodded and filed slowly out the door. For the first time Vladimir could remember, they were not chatting or giggling at all. Each one looked once over their shoulder as they departed. After they had left Liesel turned back to face him, her cheeks blushed a rosy red. She, too, had felt embarrassed by the other girls’ reaction.

“What is troubling you so, Vladimir?”

“I am not quite sure how to tell you. Or even what to tell you. I am incredibly confused.”

“That, at least, is evident,” she replied, a little smile quirking up the corners of her mouth. “Come, sit down.”

Vladimir seated himself on a stool opposite hers, near the table. Liesel scooted her stool up close to him and took his hands into hers. Her skin was so cool and smooth to the touch. She gave his hands a tender squeeze.

“You are clearly confused. So do not worry about making sense. Tell me how you feel. We can make sense of the rest later,” she said in soothing tones. Vladimir was acutely aware of how close they were. Her eyes were captivating, almost hypnotic. He felt as if he could tell her anything.

His reverie was broken by a movement he spied behind Liesel. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from hers, and focused on the shadows behind her. It was Pavel again, watching them from behind a stack of crates. Vladimir was baffled. Did Pavel spend all of his time lurking about the dark recesses of the kitchens? How long had he been there? It was entirely possible that Vladimir had walked right past the lurker in his agitated state. Pavel had probably been watching Liesel. Vladimir was surprised at how angry that made him.

“Vladimir?” Liesel said, giving his hands a small shake, and a wink. “If you want to speak with me, you must stark speaking.”

“Yes, of course. But not here. We must go someplace else.”

“Someplace else? Are you mad? You of all people should know that women are not allowed anyplace in the monastery except the kitchens, the laundry, or the cathedral. And that only during worship.”

“I know, but…” Vladimir paused, desperately searching for some reason he could keep her here, and also get her out of the kitchens and away from Pavel’s prying eyes. His mind leapt on a wonderful but precarious idea. “I have something I want you to see, something wonderful. You will love it. I promise.”

“Vladimir, I am not interested in a tour of the monastery. I have to get home. My Da will be worried. I can stay a bit, if I tell him there was some extra work to be done, but I have no time for sightseeing. You said you needed to speak with me, and I am here to listen to you. So speak.”

“I cannot say what needs to be said here, Liesel. It will not take too long, I promise.”

“You make a lot of promises, of a sudden. Can you promise I will not get in trouble for your little jaunt, if we get caught?”

“No, I cannot. But I can promise it will be worth it if we do. Come Liesel. Please?” Vladimir gazed pleadingly into her beautiful eyes. Liesel wrinkled her nose at him, frowning, then smiled and laughed. A wonderful sound, like clear, sweet bells.

“How can I say no to that face?” she asked. “Lead on, Vladimir. I am in your hands.”

Vladimir led Liesel by the hand through the kitchens. He noticed that Pavel was following them. Presently, they reached a large wooden door that lead out to a long corridor. Henceforth they would be in territory where Liesel was prohibited. Vladimir waited and watched the corridor for ten heartbeats before dashing across with Liesel in tow. For several nerve wracking minutes they made their way from shadow to shadow down the corridor. Vladimir could hear Liesel’s breathing. She was either very excited or very scared. Probably both. He was not sure why he was doing this, only that it felt good, doing it with her.

At last they came to their destination, a set of tall oaken doors at the very end of the corridor. Once again Vladimir waited and watched from behind a tapestry which hung on the wall. Liesel was pressed close to his shoulder. He could feel her bosom heaving, her quickened breath a warm breeze on his neck. After what seemed an eternity, he worked up the courage to leave his refuge and approach the doors.

Vladimir flinched when the knob clicked loudly as he turned it, and when the hinges groaned under the weight of the door. He thought the sound would echo all over the monastery, even though he only opened it enough for them to squeeze through. He blocked the entrance and looked back at Liesel.

“You must close your eyes now,” he whispered.

“Close my eyes? For what purpose?” she whispered back incredulously.

“Because I said so.”

“Vladimir, if you think for one minute…” she hissed.

“Please Liesel. It is a surprise.” Liesel considered him for a moment, then gracefully closed her eyes. Vladimir marveled at how long her lashes were. He placed his hand over them to be sure, then carefully guided her through the door. He winced again as he edged it shut with his hip, making more noise.

Vladimir waited for nearly a minute, as Liesel shifted from foot to foot. He could feel that she was thrilled by the anticipation. Just as he sensed she could stand it no more, he whisked his hand away from her eyes with a flourish.

“Voila! Your surprise, Milady” he announced grandly.

Liesel opened her eyes and gasped dramatically, clasping her hands over her heart. Her beautiful emerald eyes looked about dreamily. Her mouth made an O of wonderment. She turned slowly in a circle, taking in all of her surroundings.

The source of her astonishment was the Conservatory of Erengrad Monastery. Located in the center of the complex, the arboretum was composed of stone walls, a peaked glass roof, and an earthen floor. The walls were only barely visible, because the entire expanse was filled with dense foliage. Trees, bushes, shrubs, ferns, and flowers of all shapes, sizes, scents, and colors for as far as the eye could see. It was like a living museum. Most of the plant life was indigenous to the region, but some exotic flora could be found from as far away as the mysterious Lustria. There were some that had not grown outside the confines of the Erengrad Conservatory for hundreds of years. Each plant had a little placard placed nearby that named it, and detailed facts of note.

“Is this magic?” she asked, still gazing about in awe.

“No, not magic,” Vladimir replied, moving behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders.

“But it is the dead of winter outside. It feels warm in here, and humid too.”

“Yes, well, they make steam in a chamber beneath this one, and they vent it in. The glass lets the sunlight in, but does not let the heat escape.”

“It is beautiful,” Liesel breathed. Vladimir took her by the hand and led her down the stone path that wound its way through the arboretum. They strolled about, taking in the sights and scents of the place. The night had cleared and the moons were full, casting their silvery light down through the fogged glass roof and onto the foliage, giving it an enchanted aura. Vladimir imagined that Athel Loren looked like this.

Liesel spied a burst of purple blossoms beside the stone path. She knelt gracefully and immersed her face in the bouquet. She inhaled deeply, smiling. “These are wonderful, what are they called?”

“Those are kingsmantle. They are commonly found on the shores of Bretonnia. It says so right on the card,” Vladimir replied, pointing to the carefully lettered wooden placard.

“I can’t read, you goat.” Liesel admonished. Vladimir was taken aback.

“Cannot read? Why not?” he puzzled. Liesel paused for a moment to ponder, then replied.

“I suppose because no one has ever offered to teach me. There is not much call for a serving girl to be lettered, after all.”

“Everyone should learn to read. Reading opens up worlds that you couldn’t even imagine existed.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to learn, Vladimir. I said I haven’t learned. When do you propose I study my letters? I work in the kitchens from dawn till dusk to help my family, and then there are more chores to be done when I get home. Besides, who would waste their time teaching a scullery maid to read?”

“I would,” Vladimir stated matter-of-factly. Liesel turned to face him, gazing deeply into his eyes, searching.

“I believe you would, dear Vladimir. I believe you would.” They stood that way for some time, their faces barely apart, sharing the same breath. After what seemed like an eternity, Liesel shook her head slightly, as if waking from a dream.

“So Vladimir, what was it you so urgently needed to talk to me about?”

Vladimir bit his lip in his anxiety. He was afraid if he told Liesel too much about his affliction, she would not undrstand. That she would leave him.

“I was just troubled. About things going on with my work,” he lied, hating every false word that passed his lips. “It doesn’t seem very important now.”

“What is so different about now?” she asked. Vladimir spread his hands.

“I am with you.”

Liesel’s lip began to tremble, her eyes welling up with tears. Vladimir was confused. He wasn’t sure what he had said to upset her. He put his hand on her shoulder, and leaned forward, intending to console her.

“Vladimir, you are the sweetest boy I have ever known,” she blurted out. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. Vladimir tensed at first, then melted into her arms. He could taste her lips on his, could smell her wonderful hair. It was intoxicating. He felt a heat and a stirring from within his robes below. He had had these sensations before, but now he knew the purpose for them. This was the distraction that Father Ehrlich had warned him about.

Vladimir backed away from Liesel, so she would not feel his ‘distraction’ against her. His head was spinning. He felt as if he had drunk too much mead at festival. Liesel smiled at him.

“That was your first kiss, wasn’t it?” she asked, slowly tracing a finger across his chest.

“Yes,” Vladimir admitted.

“You are quite a natural, my young initiate,” she grinned. Vladimir smiled back.

They found a mossy hillock amongst some fragrant flowers and lay down together, watching the moons trace their way across the winter sky. The stars seemed surreal, filtered as they were through the foggy glass. They didn’t speak, didn’t move, just shared the silence. Morrislieb had set and Mannsleib was alone in the sky when Liesel finally spoke.

“Vladimir, it is getting very late. I must go home. My Da will be worried.”

“I know,” he replied glumly. “But you have to come back.”

“Come back? When?” She asked. Vladimir raised up onto one elbow and looked Liesel in the eye.

“Tomorrow night. Tell your parents you have extra work to do in the kitchens.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So we can see each other again. So I can teach you to read.” Liesel sat up.

“You are amazing, Vladimir. It is a date.”

Vladimir led Liesel to a small wooden door, half hidden behind a huge fern. It was an access door, which led down a tunnel to the outside of the monastery. It was used to bring soil and other goods to the arboretum. Vladimir walked her to the outer gate and bid her farewell, their breath misting in the crisp winter air. She promised to meet him there after her work in the kitchens the very next night. They kissed again, deliciously long, then parted.

Vladimir returned to his room and collapsed on his bed, exhausted.

Back to the Table of Contents

Back to the Tower