Back to the Tower
Chapter 4: An Unexpected Arrival
The moons had long passed their apogee when Vladimir padded barefoot through the dark halls of the monastery. The low wailing of the winter wind as it whirled around and through the old stones barely masked the inevitable rattles coming from the large wooden tray he carried. On the tray were two striped kitchen cloths draped over steaming loaves of bread, a ceramic pitcher of honey mead, a small kettle of soup, and a pair of wooden bowls complete with spoons.
Vladimir labored over his burden, trying at once to move quickly, quietly, and without spilling any of the repast. His thin hands gripped the tray desperately, his breathing a series of gasps. The yearning had been much worse lately, and he had not been able to keep any food down in days. He felt weak, sometimes dizzy, and although you could never have called him stout, his ribs had never showed so much. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with heavy bruises from lack of sleep.
Liesel was so concerned about his failing health that she had cancelled their past three nightly tutoring sessions. She had told him that he needed sleep and she would brook no nonsense about it. Vladimir still had not worked up the courage to tell her about the yearning, or that the only place he found any peace was in her arms. The situation was quickly getting worse, a downward spiral from which he could not escape. It caused the yearning, which made him ill, which made Liesel worry, which kept them apart, allowing him no relief, which made him more ill.
The only way he could see to break the cycle was to somehow deal with It. He prayed constantly to Sigmar to destroy the thing, to release him from this torture. Part of him genuinely feared that if It were destroyed, his very soul would perish horribly.
He also knew that his situation would never improve by doing nothing. The Priests of Sigmar were having no success in destroying It. Vladimir had not even felt any contact with It, much less an attempt to unmake It, in over a week. He was beginning to think they had given up. If he could find out more about It, then maybe he could help the Priests in their worthy endeavor. The problem was, how could he learn more about It, and still conceal his connection with It?
He paused at the heavy oaken door that opened to the cellar steps. Taking a deep breath he knocked three times, wincing with every hollow boom, hoping no one but those down below would overhear and discover his subterfuge. No one answered his knocks, but he knew there were two Brothers standing watch below at all times. He knocked a little louder, then pounded when his impatience had gotten the best of him.
Presently, the grating sound of the iron bolts being drawn heavily back were followed by the echoed creaking of the hinges as the door swept inward. Brother Rutger, torch held aloft, stared out at him with a questioning gaze. Vladimir offered a weak smile and lifted the towel off of one of the loaves. Rutger eyed him skeptically then begrudgingly nodded towards the darkness behind him indicating Vladimir should follow, and turned to go down the stairs.
Vladimir struggled silently behind the ambling Brother Rutger, blinking away the beads of sweat that stung his eyes. It was all he could do to stifle a grunt with every jarring step down. He half expected Rutger to hear his heart pounding in his chest. He had to fight back an urge to drop the tray and rush down the stairs to It.
Vladimir made a great show of serving the two and not even noticing the runes arrayed about a circle, traced in golden chalks on the floor, surrounding It. By sheer force of will Vladimir kept his eyes on the task at hand until the two Priests were thoroughly absorbed in their meals. Vladimir had positioned himself behind the two, out of their field of vision, where he would not be noticed.
It was really rather plain in comparison to his unformed yet splendid idea of what It might have been. It was black metal torc, a simple piece with no distinguishing marks. There were no jewels or gilding, no blazing runes, no iconic figures. A simple semi-circle of jet, each end terminated with a simple knob of the same ebon steel. Fiery images danced along its length, reflections from the flickering torches.
Vladimir stood very still, entranced by its simple beauty. A feeling of peace settled around him, like he felt when he was with Liesel. Fatigue, pain, sorrow, the yearning, all swept away like autumn leaves on a windy day. A tear slowly streaked its way, unheeded, down his cheek.
Presently, Vladimir became aware of a peculiar sound, a barely perceptible hissing, low and throaty. He was certain that the sound had not just started, that it had been going on from the time he entered, but he failed to notice earlier. It rose and fell like a whisper on the wind. A whisper, Vladimir thought. That is exactly what it is. The more he listened the more it sounded like someone speaking slowly, quietly.
He glanced at the two priests, to see if they were conferring in hushed tones. Father Rutger had a mouthful of bread, and Father Lukas was busy quaffing his mead. But Vladimir knew it wasn't them. It seemed to come from all around. Now in front of him, now behind, now from off in the corner. Vladimir strained to make out what was being said, but he may as well have tried to catch smoke in his hands. The words eluded him.
As the priests finished their meals Vladimir smoothed his robes, wiped his cheeks, and did his best to put a look of sheer boredom on his face.
"I trust the victuals were adequate, Fathers," Vladimir said, surprised his voice did not croak.
"Adequate indeed, Initiate, and my thanks to you. This nightly vigil seems like ages with an empty stomach," Rutger replied.
"This vigil falls to you every night?" Vladimir asked, hopeful.
"It is our poor fortune, and no mistake," Rutger grunted.
"Then I will see you both on the morrow with another meal." Vladimir was ecstatic. He had been terrified that the watch would rotate. The fewer that knew about his clandestine visits the better.
"Ah, so this will be a regular meal, then. I had not thought that Brother Larsen so charitable. I will have to thank him personally," Rutger said with an acerbic tone.
"I believe it is the Mistress of the Kitchens that deserves your gratitude, Father. I do not think Father Larsen knows about this."
"Well then I, for one, will not inform him. Nor will the good Father Lukas, I trust," Rutger winked to the other Priest. "Please convey our appreciation to the good Mistress."
Vladimir grinned. "I will do so."
The Initiate felt rather pleased with himself. He had an excuse to come back to his Torc every night, and virtually no way of being discovered. Father Rutger got up to use the chamber pot, and Father Lukas was poring over an old tome. Vladimir gathered up the mugs and bowls, careful to wipe up all the crumbs.
Father Rutger walked with him up the stairs to the library.
"I will see you tomorrow night, then," Vladimir said.
"I look forward to it," Rutger replied. Vladimir turned to go.
"Vladimir, one more thing," Rutger said. Vladimir froze. A cold dread gripped his heart.
"Y-yes father?"
"Some butter would surely make that bread go down a little smoother next time, if you please." Vladimir sighed, relieved.
"Certainly, Father," he replied.
Vladimir all but skipped back to the kitchens to dispose of the tray. As he was leaving the scullery he thought he saw a shadow move in the corner of his eye. When he turned to see what it was, all was calm. Surely Pavel could not be lurking at this hour. Vladimir waited silently for several minutes. There was no movement anywhere, and no sound but his own breathing. Vladimir dismissed it as nerves and continued on his way to bed. He slept soundly that night, dreaming about his Torc.
After that, there was no more yearning for his Torc. Not like before. Vladimir was aware of it at all times, as well as who was in the cell with it, and sometimes what they said. Father Larsen and the High Theogonist visited nearly every day. They studied it, they discussed it, but they took no action. Vladimir was certain that they were devising a plan to unmake the Torc. That made him very sad and quite scared. Vladimir's health returned with the absence of the yearning. He and Liesel saw each other every night. After their lessons, Vladimir took the meal to the night watch in the cell and basked in Its presence.
He caught up on sleep at his desk in the library. His atlas was coming along nicely, when he had time to work on it. Father Ehrlich stopped by occasionally to monitor his progress, but for the most part left him to his own devices. He had taken a special interest in Norsca and Troll Country, but there was precious little information on those areas.
"Ruh-ruh-rie. Rieg. Riegtus," Liesel stammered, her brow furrowed in concentration. They lay in the arboretum, side by side amongst the fragrant flora. Vladimir had brought her the primer with which he was instructed on reading. The moons were a pair of silvery crescents in the night sky, so they read by the light of a single candle.
"Righteous. The h makes the g soft," Vladimir instructed.
"Righteous. The forces of man were lead by Sigmar the righteous," she said, proudly.
"Very good, Liesel. You are my best pupil."
"I am your only pupil, silly."
"Well then I suppose that makes you my worst pupil, as well" Vladimir quipped.
"Your wit is astounding, teacher. If you were not so handsome, I might be offended," she jibed back.
"Is that so? If you would not find it too offensive, spell astounding for me."
"Alright professor. A-S-T-A."
"Not A."
"O then, U-N-D-I-N-G," Liesel finished, looking pleased with herself.
"Correct, my beautiful novice."
"I think I deserve a reward for my good work," Liesel announced.
"I agree. What did you have in mind, my dear?" Vladimir feigned ignorance.
"I think a K-I-S-S would be in order," she said slyly.
Vladimir moved closer and pressed his lips firmly to hers. He put his hand into her hair, pressing his body against her. To his surprise, she pressed back. He could feel the soft curves of her body, smell her delicious scent. He heard a soft moan in her throat. Her mouth opened, and her tongue darted into his mouth. He lowered his hand to her delicate throat, their lips and tongues performing a slow, sultry dance. He moved his hand again, this time to her breast. It was full, supple, tantalizing. Liesel pulled back.
"Vladimir, we have to stop."
"Of course. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…" Vladimir stammered, looking at the ground. Liesel lifted his chin with one finger.
"Vladimir, darling, you have nothing for which to apologize. You did not force yourself upon me. I invited you. But if we continue…we might do something that I…that we are not ready to do."
"Liesel, I…I…" Vladimir wanted to tell her how he felt about her. To tell her that he loved her, but that would only complicate an already complex situation. The priests of his order took a strict vow of chastity, and were often suspicious of women in general. As an initiate, he was bound to the same code. To make matters worse, he still had not told her about the torc, or his association with it. How could he involve her in his plight?
"You what?" she asked.
"I think it is time for you to go home. Your father must be getting suspicious."
"Oh, he is fine. He thinks I am doing extra work in the kitchens."
"All the same, you should go. I will see you tomorrow night."
"Until tomorrow night, then." She caressed his face tenderly, then began to gather her things. Vladimir saw her to the back door, then made his way to the kitchens for his visit to the cell.
Vladimir knocked quietly at the heavy oaken door. Although his nocturnal visits had become quite routine, he remained cautious. He felt uneasy, like he was waiting for some unnamed doom to fall.
Father Lukas answered and together they descended into the cell. After serving the priests Vladimir took his customary position by the wall and gazed at his torc. He had developed a good relationship with the priests. Father Lukas was quiet and reserved. Vladimir could only remember a handful of words exchanged between them over the weeks he had been coming. Father Rutger was another story. He was obviously bored by his duty and Lukas' silence, so he and Vladimir often chatted while they ate. This allowed Vladimir to ascertain the status of the torc, and the goings on in the cell. He was careful not to be too direct and make Rutger suspicious.
"I reckon this long winter will be over soon. Not that it makes much difference, I never get to see the sun anymore," Rutger grumped.
"Yes, the season has begun to turn. It will be a while until we get an actual thaw, but spring is not far off now."
"By then the Adjurator will have destroyed this blasted thing, and I can enjoy some sunshine," the Priest growled. Vladimir was puzzled. He had never heard of such a thing.
"Adjurator?"
"A priest from Riekland. More than half witch-hunter I am told. He specializes in this sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?"
"Relics. Artifacts. Tokens of the ruinous powers. Rumor has it that he is adept at examining and unmaking such things. He will finish what Maximilien and Larsen could not," Rutger smirked grimly.
"Have a care, good Rutger," Lukas spoke. "It would not be well if Maximilien heard you speak thus."
"Indeed Brother, Maximilien was furious when he heard about Larsen's missive to the High Theogonist in Riekland. Anyone else would have been flayed to the bone for that indiscretion." Rutger took a long draught of mead.
"When do they expect him?" Vladimir attempted to sound nonchalant.
"Weather permitting, within the week," Rutger replied through a mouthful of stew. Vladimir was overjoyed, and at the same time gripped with a sense of dread. Surely this Adjurator would be able to vanquish whatever powers of chaos dwelled within his torc. That would mean his freedom or his doom. His eyes slid to the black metal shape amidst the golden chalks. The haunting whispers became fierce, almost commanding, but he still could not make any sense of them.
Vladimir watched furtively from his desk, pretending to pore over old maps, as the procession moved quickly by. Maximilien was in the lead, followed closely by a young, well-groomed man in resplendent robes. Suspended from a chain around his neck was a golden medallion. Vladimir could make out the hammer and flame embossed on the medallion, which marked him as a member of the Order of Adjurators. His jet-black hair was smoothed back against his head, and thin moustaches of the same jet curled around the corners of his mouth. He carried himself with the confidence of a man who was not used to being questioned, much like Maximilien. He was followed by the ever-massive Father Larsen, who was in turn flanked by two more priests of Sigmar.
Nearly three hours had passed since Maximilien and the Adjurator descended into the cell. Vladimir could feel that they were near the torc. They surrounded it. He was quite sure that he could draw exactly where each was sitting around the circle. Now and again he almost thought he could hear them speaking.
Without warning, a wave of nausea swept over him. Vladimir felt as if his stomach was trying to crawl out of his mouth. He lurched off of his stool and stumbled to the corner, falling to his knees. He tried to empty his stomach over and over, but there was nothing to give, and still the sickness increased.
After a time the nausea turned to pain. At first Vladimir was actually relieved. Then the throbbing pain turned to nearly unbearable agony. His entire body clenched like a huge fist. He raked his fingers across the stones and forced his jaw shut so his screams were reduced to strained growls.
In his head Vladimir could hear a strong voice commanding him. He could not make out what the command was, but the voice would not be denied. Under the dominating tones were softer ones. More seductive. A whisper. Vladimir focused on the whisper. He found shelter in its cool embrace. The commanding voice was assaulting the whisper, but where the strong voice pushed the whisper yielded and moved elsewhere. Vladimir clenched his hand into a rigid claw and swept it about him, as if warding off an attacker. The commands halted immediately, almost as if startled. The assault ended. The pain ceased. Vladimir slumped to the ground, his breath rasping through his teeth. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
He scrambled back to his scriptorium just as the door to the cellar swung wide. He snatched up a quill and made audible scratching sounds with its dry tip on some parchment, all the while watching from the corner of his eye and through the stacks.
Maximilien came first, followed closely by the Adjurator, who held a white silk handkerchief to the side of his neck. He removed it momentarily and examined the streaks of blood on it, frowning. He was clearly perturbed that his dapper appearance had been marred by what looked like four claw marks. Like from fingers. He turned to address the High Theogonist, but his voice held no deference or awe for the man.
"Do not be discouraged, Maximilien," he reassured. "This was just an exploratory exercise."
Vladimir recognized the voice. Not the sound of it, for he had never heard the man speak until now. He recognized its strength, its power.
"I suggest you take more care in your exploration next time, Adjurator Reichel," Maximilien retorted, "or you may not survive it."
"Worry not, dear Father. I have never failed in my duties," Reichel replied, the corners of his mouth curling into a smug grin, to match his moustaches.
"I see," Maximilien returned tersely. "Father Larsen will show you to your room now."
"I rather think I would fancy a stroll about the grounds," Reichel mused. He clearly would not be dismissed like some novice.
"Very well," Maximilien granted, "Please inform me when next you will…examine…the article.
"It will be done," Reichel said with a flourish. He and Maximilien turned and strode off in opposite directions. As he passed the stacks behind which Vladimir hid, the Adjurator paused for a moment, and turned toward the terrified initiate. The Adjurator's brow was furrowed in consternation, as if there was a faint smell that eluded him. His eyes scanned the shelves, probing. He stood perfectly still, and Vladimir was sure that the man could hear him breathing. After a few moments the Adjurator shrugged and sauntered out of the library.
Vladimir and Liesel strolled hand in hand through the balmy arboretum. They had just finished a lovely evening of tutoring, interspersed with passionate kisses. Reluctantly, they reached the wooden door to the outside. They kissed again, then just stood for a long time in each other's arms, enjoying the closeness. Liesel kissed him on the cheek one more time, then turned to go.
"Liesel wait," he called. "I have something for you."
"For me? Really Vladimir you shouldn't have…"
"It isn't much, but I thought you might enjoy this," he said, producing a small leather bound book from his robes. He placed it in her hands. They began to tremble.
"What is this?" she asked, looking at it.
"It's a book."
"I know it's a book, silly. Why are you giving it to me? Books are so precious."
"It is a book of poetry by Romelo Guliare…from Tilea. I thought you would like it. All of the poems are about the same woman. He loves her, but he cannot have her. They are beautiful."
"Thank you, when shall I return it?"
"It is a gift. For you to read at night…to practice. Perhaps it will remind you of me…as it reminded me of you." Large crystal tears rolled down Liesel's cheeks. Vladimir was still puzzled why she cried when she did, but had learned to accept it.
"This is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me. Oh Vladimir, I love you!" she cried throwing her arms around his neck. Vladimir was shocked at her admission. He had never been quite sure of her feelings toward him. He knew she really cared for him, and of course they had been somewhat intimate, but there was always that nagging doubt. After all, she was nearly two years older than he.
"I love you too, Liesel. I love you too." Those last words were at bit choked as his throat constricted and he felt hot tears begin to well up. For Sigmar's sake, now he was going to cry!
"I have to go. I will see you tomorrow night, my love."
"Until then." Vladimir watched Liesel glide down the tunnel that led to the road that eventually emptied out at the village where she lived.
Back to the Tower