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loving my brother for his youth and spirit,
and respecting him as a proven fighter, but
those very qualities made me aware of the
span of years between us. Sometimes it
was most difficult for me to bear his
company, knowing that all his life lay
ahead of him, while most of mine was
forever lost.
True, I had many accomplishments in
conquest and war. I had turned Castle
Ravenloft into the jewel of my vision. But
what was this compared to the swift and
unstoppable passage of time? Once I'd
been as Sergei, unconsciously convinced
that I'd live forever. Like the proverbial
rich man and intelligent man, I, the young
man, had encountered the hard truth of the
world as it now concerned me. In these
three years of peace, that truth had grown
upon my soul like some parasitic plant run
wild. With every passing day I felt its roots
dig themselves in more deeply.
Alek Gwilym seemed to understand me
best, but was wise enough not to speak of
it directly.
"Get yourself a woman, Strahd," he'd once
said, picking up on my sour mood.
"Your solution, not mine," I replied dryly.
"Not a solution so much as a distraction.
Find some pretty flower and have a few
brats with her. There are plenty of
prospects to choose from right here in your
own court."
"Aye, and with any number of relatives
attached to complicate the balance of
power."
"Then talk to Lady Ilona. I'm sure she can
put you on to some orphans of rank that
have been placed under her protection.
You're a hero I guarantee you'll find
every one of them willing and grateful for
the honor of carrying on the Von Zarovich
name."
"My brother Sturm has already seen to that
detail."
"But Sturm's more clerk than ruler. You've
often said as much. He does fine playing
administrator to your father's estates, but
do you see him handling an entire country?
Would any of his children have the
necessary knowledge or experience to ably
govern after him? Hardly, not with him as
their only model. I suppose he could send
his eldest to live here and learn from
you& "
But then I'd have the same feeling toward
that child as I have toward Sergei.
"It's different when they're your own,"
Alek said, uncannily reading my thoughts.
I wondered, and not for the first time,
whether he was truly gifted with the Sight
or merely good at deducing what was on
my mind.
"Different?"
"Because it is your flesh and your blood
being carried on, not your father and
mother's in some other vessel, but yours.
That's the difference, Strahd. Find some
pretty flower, and if the gods are smiling,
within nine moons you'll be holding your
own immortality in those two hands. Much
better than a sword, and far more magical
than anything you'll find in all those books
you've collected."
I looked hard upon the books now. Despite
the rough-and-ready world of camp life, I'd
managed to assemble and preserve quite a
number of them. Not as many as I would
like; there was room on the empty shelves
of my library to hold five times as many
volumes as I presently possessed. Their
implied knowledge and wisdom seemed
empty to me, though. My mood would
pass, I knew, and I'd again fill my hours
with reading and magical experiment, but
with the memory of Alek's words haunting
me it seemed uncomfortably certain that he
was, after all, right.
*****
The day of national mourning was marked
in court by continuous services in the
chapel. I put in my allotted time in prayer
for the soul's rest of Most High Priest Kir,
then spent the rest of the day in my library.
No food was cooked; all the land supped
cold on whatever they'd prepared the day
before. I, for one, was not deprived by its
absence. The cheese, bread, strawberries,
and wine that sustained me were little
different in temperatures from the more
elaborate meals I'd had since moving into
Castle Ravenloft. (The master cook and
engineer still hadn't solved things.)
Sergei, though not yet ordained, was given
the Priest's Pendant to wear as a symbol of
the approaching ceremony. He was much
moved at the sight of it, since it brought
solidly home to him that he was soon to
take Kir's place.
"I'm not sure I'm worthy of this office," he
confided to me later.
"Who of us is?" I responded, which he
seemed to think a very wise answer. So
affected was he that he wrapped his arms
about me in a brief embrace and whispered
thanks before rushing away to his room to
privately mourn.
Lady Ilona presided over the chapel
services. It was very solemn and beautiful
in its way. When I'd been there, I saw
Sergei watching her every move from his
seat in the balcony overlooking the chapel.
Very soon, he would have to serve at
future functions, and he studied her
closely, his brow furrowed with
concentration. One could not fault him for
such honest concern, and though he was
inexperienced, he promised to make a
good priest perhaps because he naturally
possessed all the humility that old Zarak's
holystoning chores had failed to inspire in
me.
The day of mourning came and went, but
the church continued on quietly with its
own ancient rituals and devotions. Until
the proper period of time had passed, no
ordinations could be performed, so Sergei
was in a kind of limbo, unable to bury
himself in any official duties to get his
mind off things. With that outlet blocked,
being a Von Zarovich, he made another for
himself and began daily trips down to the
Village of Barovia, frequently spending
the night.
As a soldier, my initial idea of what he was
doing there had conflicted with the sort of
behavior one might expect from a future
priest. It struck me as being entirely
normal, though, and not worth my
concern& until Alek reported that my
brother was working among the poor
people. The news about Red Lukas had
been inevitably garbled, and now the
popular story was that, single-handed,
Sergei had captured and beheaded him and
his whole troop. No word of truth on the
subject from Sergei's lips could change
their minds, and he was frequently
subjected to a cheering welcome and a
shower of flower petals. Recently, he'd
taken it upon himself to see to the
beautification of the church and was
attempting to set up some sort of hospice
for the sick.
The news was hardly pleasing to me.
"He's only practicing for his vocation, my
lord."
"That's fine for a priest, but not for Sergei.
When he's put on his robes, he can do
whatever he pleases, but not until then." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]