by Rena Rossner
And so she did.
Even though she knew it meant that she might never see the dragon again.
She crawled back into the dragon’s cage and waited for the evil prince to find her. She didn’t care what happened to her. She only cared that her true love was free and happy.
Her love became a wolf—a great white wolf that rode through the skies on a cloud. Others say her love became an owl—swooping in the light cast by the moon. Still others say her love became a black dragon who visits the earth on occasion in the form of a black mist—and sometimes on the tail of a star.
She never stopped looking out her window, waiting for her love. Sometimes, when she saw a falling star, she would kiss her fingers, then press her hand up to the sky.
When I wake up the next morning, I’m alone and the window is open.
I have lost so much, but I press my hand to the swell of my belly and feel the burst of life growing within me.
This is finally something that feels like it’s all mine. Something nobody can take from me. I will do whatever it is I need to do to protect it.
I call the clergy to my bedroom and ask what I must do to prepare myself to be baptized.
If one dragon is the same as any other, a wolf the same as any fox, perhaps all faiths are the same in God’s eyes. I will be a dragon of light in the darkness. A black mist won’t defeat my family, my children, or my people ever again.
I tell Prince Ivan Alexander when he visits that Theodora ran away.
I don’t know if he will marry me, but if I can take Theodora’s place at his side, then my child’s future will be secure. In my child, there is a holy spark of God. There are many different ways to calm a storm, I think, and one way is to put yourself at the very center of it.
My mother once told me the story of Esther—who sacrificed her life so that her son, Darius the Second might sit on a throne. Darius who went on to rebuild the holy temple in Jerusalem, and Esther, who wove the tapestries for the holy ark and sanctuary.
To ensure a future for my sons and daughters, I will put them on the throne.
I’ve changed before, and I will change again. I will take on a different name—Sarah Theodora. I will become something else entirely.
Not a Jew, but a survivor.
I once made you a promise, I say to Theodora in my mind, thinking back to that day in the wood when my sisters and I tried to be carefree and happy. And for the first time, I hear my own voice, echoing back at me:
If I were to be chosen by one of those fine strapping young lads… I would weave him a shirt out of the branches of this tree and it would wrap itself around him and fit him perfectly, and keep him from drowning and protect him from fire, and leave him unscathed when he fights dragons and other kinds of beasts. And then he could live forever.
I rummage through my trunk until I find it. Guvriel’s tallit.
I open the window shutters and stare out at the sky and make a wish: “Please come back to me… even if only for one night.”
But I know that promises can be broken.
I’m about to close the window when an owl lands on the ledge and turns itself into Theodora.
There are tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to leave for so long. There is something I must tell you.”
“Come inside. It’s good to see you,” I say. As I reach out to embrace her, I press the tallit into her hands. “When you put this on, it will turn into the finest armor anyone has ever seen—it will shine silver in the moonlight and gold during the day. It is intricately stitched with all the creatures of the forest—owl, serpent, wolf and fox—they will protect you. It will keep you safe from fire; when you go through water you will not get wet.” I take a deep breath. “I love you enough to set you free.”
She opens and closes her mouth but no sound comes out. She clutches the shawl to her chest and starts to cry.
“Your sister…” she says, shaking her head as if she’s trying to dislodge the words. “Your sister is dead.”
Do not fear the darkness when it comes. There is a lamp of darkness that lights the heavens, but out of the hidden, the mystery of the infinite, a line of light embedded within the ring can emerge.
—The Book of the Solomonars, page 45, verses 4–5
There was once a noblewoman who buried two babies because she didn’t like the look of the golden stars on their foreheads.
In that place, deep inside the earth, where the babies cried and their tears fell, the Holy One, Blessed Be He made two aspen trees grow. The trees grew tall and lush, until their branches reached the high window of the woman who buried them. Their leaves flowered with leaves that looked like golden stars.
As the wind rustled through the trees at her window, she heard words like “murderer,” and “baby killer,” stories about her—both true and untrue. At night, all she could hear was the sound of two babies crying.
The sounds were unbearable—deafening.
One day, while her husband and son were out in the fields, she ordered that the trees be cut down and made into beds for herself and her husband.
When her husband returned home, he said to his wife, “What did you do? Those trees provided shade and such lovely dappled light through the window of our bedroom.”
The noblewoman replied, “Their bark was such a pretty color that I had them made into beds for us. I thought it would be a nice surprise. We can plant other trees in their place.”
But that night, when she went to sleep in her new wooden bed, she dreamed of leaves and vines and babies tangled in trees. The whispering was louder than before, and the babies cried in her ears. She woke in the middle of the night, screaming, because she was certain that branches and vines had grown from the beds and trapped her. But when her husband pulled off the covers, there was nothing there.
The next day, she ordered her servants to burn the beds and replace them with other identical beds made from different wood.
As the fire raged, two golden sparks jumped out of the flames and landed in a nearby river. The sparks swam along the river and were swallowed by two golden fish. The fish fell down a waterfall and were borne along the rapids until they reached a cave. In the cave were two boys with golden stars on their foreheads. The boys caught the fish and ate them, then they dove into the water and swam…
Hannah
24 Iyar 5123
I wake while it’s still dark. I’m staying in my parents’ house now. Constantin is still away. He knows nothing of what has befallen us.
Soon my parents will be waking up to sit shiva. Soon, ten men will assemble here for morning prayers. I knocked on all the doors in Curtea’s Jewish quarter. I gathered the men myself. There is not a soul in this town who doesn’t know now that the blood of Solomon runs in our veins. It means we are not safe here anymore.
When Abba heard about Levana’s death, he didn’t cry. He got up out of his chair by the fire and left the house. Eema and I looked at each other, but we let him go, a few hours later, he came back. He tore the fabric above his heart, then helped us do the same, then he said kaddish, the first Hebrew words I’d heard my father speak since we fled Trnava. And only after that, did he allow himself to sit on the floor and cry.
I didn’t tell them about the babies. Lord forgive me, but they would have wanted to see them, and I fear I would have condemned them and us to certain death. There is only so much the heart can bear.
Soon, I will tell them. Soon, I will need to sit shiva with them. But for now, I must go to the forest.
25 Iyar 5123
So much has happened in a day. Yesterday we sat and cried. Today, when I got to the cave to check on the babies, the wood and vines and ivy parted for me. I rushed inside… and saw that the babies weren’t there. I panicked—heart pattering inside my chest like a frightened rabbit. Where did they go? How did I fail them? I had hoped that if I could hide them until they grew, I might find a way to save them. To take them away from here. Did someon
e find them? Someone… or something? A bear? A wolf? A man? I walked farther back into the cave… and then I saw their swaddling cloths, discarded on the banks of an underground stream. No—no no no, my mind raced, my hands shook with fear. I dove into the water.
I knew what I would find. Two bodies dead and swollen at the bottom of the river.
Someone must have followed me. Someone must have found them.
I remember thinking, At least I can give them a Jewish burial. I will not fail them in the way I failed their mother—my sister.
I searched the water in vain. I waded through the stream which turned into a river. Shivering, I dove down and let the river carry me out of the cave. I came out the other side, and still, there was no sign of them. I followed the river, my eyes scanning its banks, all the way to the palace.
I knew I was too late. I knew that someone had found them. Perhaps Marghita herself. There was no blood, no sign of struggle. It would have been so easy to drown them. My mind raced. Why did I not protect them better? Why did I not take them with me? I thought I could save them—but I realize now that I can’t save anyone. Not even myself.
I no longer know what drips down my face—river water or tears.
I saw a fisherman from the palace kitchens on the banks of the river. He caught two golden fish in his net. I watched as he drew the bag up into his boat, then he docked near the palace and hauled out his catch.
I wanted to ask him if he’d seen them, if he saw someone drowning two babies in the river, but there is nothing I can say that won’t implicate me. As far as anyone knows, Laptitza’s babies were stillborn.
I turned around to go home. I failed to save her life, I failed to give her a proper burial, and now I’d failed not one, but two of her sons. There is no redemption for me.
I hung my head as I walked away, distraught and alone. Gutted like those fish were about to be. All the wisdom that my father had imparted to me—all the words he’d written down—all the wisdom of Solomon was not enough to save her, to save any of us.
I walked slowly, silently, lost in my own grief, trying to figure out how I would tell my parents, that I’d failed us all. I’d prevented them from meeting their grandchildren—how could I do such a thing? There is no redemption for me.
But then I heard shrieks from the palace. Something compelled me to turn around. To run back. I raced into the kitchen and saw two boys, naked as the day they were born, golden stars on their foreheads shining bright. They stood dripping water by the hearth. I blinked my eyes, scarcely believing what I saw. How could they have grown so quickly? The cook and her assistants were screaming, the fisherman held up a gutting knife, the cook brandished a cleaver.
“Wait!” I said. “Stop!”
“Who are you? Get out of here!” they spat at me.
I felt my toes aching to dig into soil, but there was no earth here. I had to find strength in a different way.
“I am the wife of Constantin Valeriu, commander of the voivode’s army. You will tell me what happened here,” I said in a voice of command.
“I caught two plump golden fish in the river,” the fisherman said. “I thought they’d make a nice supper for the voivode and his wife. I brought them in here and showed ’em to the cook, and she told me to gut ’em. I took out my knife, but as soon as it touched one of their bellies, the fish started to grow, they were shaking and shimmering, golden light was streamin’ out of ’em…”
“It’s true,” one of the kitchen maids chimed in. “We all saw it.”
“Them fishes were flapping around, and I called for the cook, but as soon as she got over here, she saw, clear as day, that they weren’t fish anymore. They grew legs, then arms… then they turned into these boys.”
“Is there a room I can take them to?” I asked.
“They are devil-spawn,” the cook said. “I won’t have you bringing them into the palace.”
“Well then,” I said, my voice growing with a warmth that felt like power. “I’m glad you’re not the one in charge.”
This was my chance to make things right and I was going to take it.
“Do I need to repeat myself? I am Anna, wife of Constantin, commander in chief of the voivode’s army,” I said, “and you will do as I command. Now, will one of you please show me to a room?”
At first, none of them responded. They all looked at each other in fear. But then one of the maids curtsied to me and said, “Follow me.”
I bent down and looked the boys in the eyes. “I am your aunt, your mother’s sister. I am here to protect you. Please come with me.”
I placed one hand on each of their backs and urged them forward.
The maid led us into a room which must have been her own chamber. “What is your name?” I said.
“Alina,” she replied.
“Alina, thank you,” I said. “Can you find them some clothes and hats for their heads? You will be amply compensated. I swear it.”
She raced from the room.
I sat on the floor and cried, for I was still in mourning for my sister and could not sit on a bed or a chair. I looked up at the boys and saw that they were watching me. “Do you understand the words I say?” I asked.
They didn’t say anything. I couldn’t understand how they had grown so quickly, but then I remembered the circle I drew—the words I said when I took them from their untimely grave.
Please let them grow bigger,
tall as an aspen tree,
strong as a cedar…
But how?
Alina came back with the clothes. Once they were dressed, I asked her to get one of the voivode’s guards.
When I heard a knock at the door, I had a moment of panic. Maybe the cook sent word and the guards have come for me… like they must have come for my sister, but I prayed that my status as Constantin’s wife would protect me—even though nothing else had. When I opened the door I saw them, standing at attention. Waiting for my instruction.
“I request an audience with the Voivode Basarab and his son Nikolas. My husband, Constantin, is still garrisoned with the troops, otherwise he would escort me himself.”
“Yes, my lady,” one of them responded. “Come with us.”
I admit my heart still beat too fast for its own good. I feared I had made yet another mistake, that they were marching us to certain death—to doom.
But they delivered us to the voivode’s audience chamber. “Will you stay?” I asked them.
“We would do anything for Constantin’s wife,” the first one said. The second guard grunted in agreement.
I turned to face the Voivode Basarab, but Marghita said, “What is the meaning of this?”
I ignored her. I turned to Basarab and Nikolas.
I was sick of hiding. I opened my mouth to tell them the truth—how Marghita schemed and tried to murder these boys—mere babies—Nikolas’s rightful heirs, how she murdered my sister in cold blood. But then one of the boys stepped forward.
“We are twin brothers,” he said. “Two shoots from one stem, which has been broken. Half lies in the ground and half sits at the head of this table. We were born here in this palace, though half of us now lives in the sky. We have heard our mother singing in the wind, our mother’s voice in the branches, our mother’s tears wet the earth like rain. Her crying wakes us in the night with the song of our people. This was supposed to be our home. We were supposed to be protected here.”
“Now we wish to tell you a story,” the other brother said.
“There was once a man who wished to rule over the free state of Wallachia and he took a woman named Marghita as his wife…” Three cushions spilled out from under Marghita’s seat and she slipped and fell off her chair. The boys removed their hats and showed the golden stars on their foreheads.
“It is hatred that caused our suffering. We are children of Solomon, blessed by the God of light. We may look five years in age, but we are twelve in understanding, twenty-four in strength, and thirty-six in wisdom.”
&nb
sp; I could only watch, wide-eyed, mouth gaping open at this miracle that God had wrought for us.
The Voivode Basarab was the first one to recover. We were all under their spell. “I formed Wallachia as a free and independent state for all people,” he said. “All are welcome here. How can this have happened under my own roof?” His eyes pinned Marghita where she stood.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Then she said, “I’m sorry, my lord. I only saw their deformity—a clear mark of the devil—a mark of that whore’s sin. I didn’t want to cause my dear son such grief. To see the monsters she had borne—to bring a curse under our roof.”
“A curse!” Basarab laughed. “These boys are a blessing. A wonder—”
“Where is Laptitza?” Nikolas asked, interrupting his father calmly.
“She ran away from the palace in the dead of night,” Marghita said quickly. “I tried to stop her.”
I spoke up. “No.” I said. I won’t let this happen. “Permission to speak, your grace?”
“Granted,” the voivode said.
“My sister Laptitza is dead. She was buried in the town square by order of your queen. An aspen tree grows there now, with golden stars for leaves, one that I planted to grow over her grave. But it was Marghita who put her there.”
“You lie!” Marghita lunged for me, but the voivode, with a gesture, ordered his guards to seize her.
“A grave injustice has transpired here,” he said. Then he turned to Marghita. “You will live out the rest of your days in the Manole Monastery where you belong.”
“No, my lord, please no,” Marghita wailed, “I was only trying to protect you, and Theodora, and my son…” She cried and begged for mercy, but Basarab and Nikolas were deaf to her pleas as the guards dragged her away.
“I would be honored to raise you as my own,” Nikolas told the boys, tears in his eyes. “I promised your mother…”
