Reaching back into the open shelf below the desk, he brought out a small spike and mallet. Placing the spike carefully towards one end of the amulet but obscuring none of the writing, he tapped it with the hammer and punched a small hole at the left end of the new amulet. Replacing the spike and mallet on the shelf below, he then produced a silver locket. He rolled up the amulet and placed it within the locket, which he then carefully placed in Nadezda’s open palms.
“My child, take the locket home to your child. Remove the amulet from its case this night and tie a ribbon through the hole that I punched. Then hang the protective image around your baby’s neck. The child should wear this each night as he sleeps. When Lilith returns, which she will, she will be driven off by the power of God and of the angels Senoi, Sansenoi, and Samangeloph, which is contained in the amulet I have made for you. If you are wakened by her attack, you may also call out for the angels and they will come to save you in your distress.” He smiled and Nadezda felt safe. Safe for the first time since she had begun to worry about Fen’ka and the curse. She placed the locket in her small purse and withdrew a coin, hoping it was enough to offer the rabbi for his work that morning.
“No, no!” the rabbi laughed, throwing up his palms as if to fend Nadezda off. “The making of the amulet is a mitzvah, my child, a brokhe that I am happy to give to you.” She stared, not understanding the words he used. He laughed again. “It is my gift to you, my dear.” She replaced the coin in her purse, embarrassed to have insulted the rabbi, but he laughed again, seeing her confusion.
“Do not fret, my child. It is enough that you bring us word that Lilith has come to Prague. You give us time and opportunity to arm ourselves. There will be many mothers coming for such an amulet, I fear, but they will be hoping only to keep Lilith from their own doors and not seeking to drive her from Prague altogether.” He slid from the stool and stood.
“I have given you the most powerful of the variations of this protective amulet, my dear. Use it well and never let your baby sleep without it. Bring me news of your encounter with that ancient makhesheyfe.”
Nadezda stood as well. “Thank you, rabbi! Thank you for saving my Milos and for—I hope!—helping me to drive the she-devil from Prague forever. Thank you!” She stepped toward the door leading from the study. The maid, who had been listening to the exchange between the rabbi and his visitor with concern, stood and opened the door to lead Nadezda out.
“You are always welcome here, my dear!” Rabbi Isaac called after her. “Both in our town and in my study!”
Nadezda was careful to follow the rabbi’s instructions as she prepared Milos for his night’s sleep. She had explained to both Ryba and Vavrinec that she had been given an amulet by the rabbi, which he had promised would protect the baby as he slept. They were both relieved to know that her mission to the Jewish Quarter had been a success. She took a ribbon and slid it through the small hole punched through one end of the vellum and then tied the ribbon very loosely around the baby’s neck. Determined to take no unnecessary risks, she also trimmed the new wick of the oil lamp that hung before the icon and lit it from the hearth with a straw. Then she and Vavrinec retired for the night, little Milos sleeping between them.
Aside from half-waking to nurse, the night passed without incident. As did the next, and the one after that. Another week passed and there was no sighting of Lilith, not in Nadezda’s house or in any of the other houses of the Old Town or even in the Jewish Quarter. Nadezda listened carefully to the gossip and news that circulated in the markets of Prague and even visited the rabbi again, but there was no word that Lilith had been seen by anyone. As the days passed without another attack from Lilith against her family, Nadezda considered what she might do when Lilith did finally reappear.
“Is she biding her time? What is she waiting for?” Nadezda asked the rabbi.
“It is hard to say.” He took the spectacles from his nose and tapped them gently against his forehead. “She is a vengeful, determined makhesheyfe who never abandons her quest to torment and slay the children of mankind. Could she know that you possess the amulet? I think not, unless she came in the night without disturbing you. But that is unlikely. Her shock and dismay at discovering the amulet would have certainly awakened you.”
“Perhaps she thinks I will forget and become slovenly in my defenses against her,” offered Nadezda. She dared to discuss an idea with Rabbi Isaac. “When she does come again, I would like to speak with her.”
“Speak with her?” exclaimed the rabbi in shock. “Why would you, such a good woman, want to speak with such a monster as Lilith?”
“Because I think she might know something of the curse which Fen’ka called on the town last September. I think that Lilith was brought to Prague by Fen’ka’s curse and came to my house first because my husband was in the Old Town Square at the time of the burning.”
“Perhaps.” The rabbi tapped the spectacles against his head again, staring into space as he considered the possibility. “I remember the witch Fen’ka burning in the Old Town Square. I heard it was going on but wanted nothing to do with such business. However, I know that many of the Jews of Prague were there, attracted by the mob, the flames, the excitement. But the priest who incited the burning could just have easily turned to the Jews and incited the crowd to hurl burning faggots into the Jewish Quarter. But could the curse of Fen’ka have called Lilith to the city?”
He continued to consider the possibility. Nadezda noticed that the maid, detained from her housework to remain in the study with the rabbi and his guest, fidgeted.
“It is possible,” he finally conceded. “Fen’ka’s curse might well have been heard by Lilith and she saw it as an opportunity to strike back against the city from which she has long been absent. Or the curse was the key that opened the door to Lilith, seizing her here whether she willed it or no. But even if that is the case, Nadezda, why do you wish to speak with her? It is a dangerous game to play.”
“Yes, I realize the danger.” Nadezda agreed with the rabbi, which was why she had not discussed her idea with Vavrinec or Ryba. “But if Fen’ka’s curse summoned Lilith, then perhaps Lilith understands the inner workings of the curse and can explain what the key of the curse might be. If she divulges that secret to me, then it is possible that the curse can be rewritten—and Prague be spared any further suffering, not only at the hands of Lilith but from the words of Fen’ka.”
The rabbi pursed his lips. “I said you were clever and inquisitive, Nadezda, that day you first came into my study to ask for an amulet. If what you say is true and you are able to discover the secret key to Fen’ka’s curse and rewrite it to save the city, then you will have done us all a great boon, and be lauded for many years to come.”
Nadezda felt herself blush.
“But it is a dangerous game,” the rabbi reiterated. “Be cautious, Nadezda. Lilith’s treachery can never be overestimated.”
Resolved to attempt to speak with Lilith, Nadezda considered what other magical weapons she might need. “What would grandmother have recommended that I use to protect myself against such a one as Lilith?” She dug through her memories of her grandmother and the things she said about herbs, images, the magical arts, all the old ways. She was surprised to discover that she could recall few of the old ways in enough detail to be of assistance. Half-forgotten phrases and snatches of herbal lore came to her. Nothing that promised success.
Then she remembered! They were no secret in Prague society even now. The feast of the presentation of Christ in the Temple when he was forty days old would be celebrated throughout Christendom tomorrow, on February the second, the fortieth day since Christmas. Tomorrow, the ‘Candlemas’ feast would celebrate the elder Simeon’s declaration that the infant Christ had come as “a light of revelation to the Gentiles and to be the glory of his people, Israel.” Candles would be blessed in all the churches of Europe with prayer and holy water and incense. Everyone knew blessed candles could banish illness, drive away darkness both
physical and spiritual, light the way of the dead to find their way to their eternal rewards, and dissolve a witch’s most potent spells.
“Surely a Candlemas candle will be protect me from Lilith! She will be unable to bear one if I light it after she has entered the house. She will be trapped between the amulet and the burning candle and—if I call on the angels which the rabbi promised would always hasten to protect anyone who calls on them—she will have no choice but to tell me all she knows of Fen’ka’s curse and then promise to leave Prague in peace.” Nadezda spoke to herself, formulating her plans as she scrubbed Milos’ diapers clean in the yard behind her house. Pleased with herself, she resolved to be attend the celebratory Mass at her local parish and to bring a few coins to obtain one of the more expensive, high-quality candles to be blessed.
Outside the parish church the next morning were a dozen merchants hawking their wares: numberless candles in a variety of heights and diameters and qualities of wax or tallow. Some were very refined. Some much less so. Some were so cheap as to begin melting in your hand. Some were brilliant white while others were a dirty yellow or a fair cream color. Some had thick wicks that would burn quickly or erratically while the wicks of others were designed to burn slowly and evenly. This being one of the most popular feast days of the year, the entire neighborhood was converging on the church, all looking to get the best candle they could afford to take into the church for the blessing that would render each a Candlemas candle.
Nadezda and Vavrinec, with Petr and Milos, found the merchant with the best quality candle wares in the plaza outside St. Martin’s Church that morning. Bargaining briefly, but not obtaining as good a price as Vavrinec had hoped for, Nadezda purchased a candle nearly as long as her forearm and of a high-quality, nearly-white wax. It was clearly a candle that would burn smoothly and lazily should it ever be lit. Vavrinec hoped it would never need to be. Nadezda hoped it would be soon.
“Hurry!” a man cried from the steps of the church. “It is beginning! Hurry, or you will miss the blessing!” Was he chiding his slow-moving wife or was he announcing to the crowd that they had best conclude the purchase of their candles and enter the sanctuary? People pushed and shoved, anxious not to miss this year’s blessing. Who would want to face the year without a Candlemas candle and risk whatever wraith might come stalking in the night?
Entering the dim church, Vavrinec and Nadezda found clouds of incense already hanging in the air and the choir singing the final syllables of the opening antiphons of the Mass.
…lumen as revelationem gentium: et gloriam plebis tuae Israel.
…a light of revelation for the Gentiles and the glory of thy people Israel.
A priest, standing in the midst of several clergy at the altar, all wearing sumptuous vestments of gold and white brocade, intoned the prayers. The congregation held their candles aloft so as to catch the echoes of the priest’s voice, if possible, in the wax and tallow.
Domine sancte, Pater omnipotens, aeterne Deus… ad perfectionem cerei venire fecisti… ut has candelas ad usus hominum, et sanitatem corporum et animarum… et per preces omnium sanctorum tuorum, benedicere, et sanctificare digneris…
Holy Lord, Father omnipotent, everlasting God, who… has brought the labor of bees to perfection in these candles of wax… we humbly entreat thee to bless and sanctify these candles for the use of mankind and the health of body and soul…
Domine… effunde benedictionem tuam super hos cereos, et sanctifica eos lumine gratiae tuae, et cobcede propitius; ut, sicut haec luminaria igne visibili accensa nocturnas depellunt tenebras; ita corda nostra invisibili igne… omnium vitiorum caecitate careant… quatenus post hujus saeculi caliginosa discrimina, ad lucem indeficientem pervenire mereamur…
Lord… pour out thy blessing on these candles and sanctify them with the light of thy grace; mercifully grant that as these lights, enkindled with visible fire, dispel the darkness of the night, so our hearts, illumined by invisible fire… may be free from all blindness of vice… so that after the dark dangers of this world, we may deserve to attain everlasting light…
He lifted his hand several times, tracing the sign of the cross in the air over the hundreds of candles held aloft. As the final “amen” still thundered in the air, he took the branches of willow held by the deacon and dipped them into the silver gilt bucket of holy water. He splashed the holy water onto the candles and the upturned faces of the congregation, the children giggling with delight at this, one of their favorite aspects of the celebration. Finally, he took the heavy censer, great spoonfuls of frankincense deposited on the red-hot coals within, and censed the congregation thrice. Clouds of fragrant smoke drifted lazily about and settled in the hair, the garments, the nostrils of those assembled. What the smoke glanced across was sanctified and each candle was held out to any aromatic trail that wafted by.
The choir began the antiphons that would accompany the clergy as they processed around the church, continuing to sprinkle and cense the candles so that none of them might escape the benediction of God and prove a failure in the year to come.
Adorna thalamum tuum, Sion…
Adorn thy bridal chamber, Sion…
Smiling and laughing or alternately serious and dignified, the entire congregation held out their candles for the tangible reinforcement of the priest’s prayer when the holy water came splashing or the incense billowed beside them. Candlemas, with Ash Wednesday and Palm Sunday, always brought more crowds to the churches than the buildings could contain. As the Mass of the feast itself began, people already drifted out. They had obtained the candles they had come for that would drive away the evil and wickedness from their homes for the coming year.
Recalling the events of that September afternoon when Svetovit had seemed to listen to his handmaiden’s cries as she burned to death in the Old Town Square, and all the strange and inexplicable events that had played out in Prague since that afternoon, more than one family hoped that this year’s Candlemas candle would keep them safe from whatever terror unleashed by Fen’ka was still lurking in the shadows.
That night, Nadezda kept the Candlemas candle close beside her. Protesting that her back ached and she was more comfortable sitting up than lying in bed, she arranged Milos—with the amulet, as he had worn to bed every night—to sleep on Petr’s cot while Petr took her place beside Vavrinec in the great bed in the other room. She settled on a bench near the door. The fire on the hearth was banked, the only light in the room the flickering oil lamp before the icon. In order to light the Candlemas candle quickly, should she need to, Nadezda set a handful of coals from the hearth in a ceramic bowl on the table. Covered with a dusting of silver ash, the coals were invisible in the dark room but would set the wick of the candle aflame should Nadezda touch it to them.
“Will she come tonight?” This was the eighth night since Nadezda had caught a glimpse of Lilith in the brief light of the oil lamp. Nadezda settled back against the wall and wrapped a coverlet about her. “I do not know how many nights I can play this ruse on Vavrinec without rousing his suspicions that I have more in mind than saving Milos from Lilith’s claws. Is there some way to lure her to a house? Hmm… Perhaps I should have asked the rabbi that.” She laughed quietly, imagining the expression that would have stricken his face. “He would have had a fit, no doubt. It was terrible enough suggesting that I wanted to speak with her. Even if he knows a way to lure her, I doubt he would have told me.” Another thought occurred to her. “Setting out something known to attract Lilith might have also raised her suspicions and kept her from coming for even longer.” There seemed nothing to do but wait.
Snoring soon rumbled from the bed. “That will be Vavrinec.” She closed her eyes, listening to all the little sounds that made a house comfortable at night. Her husband snoring. Her little brother attempting to talk in his dreams but quickly sinking back into the depths of slumber. The creaks and occasional groans as timbers settled and a mouse scurried somewhere across the floor…
She sat up. Ha
d she drifted into a dream? She was not sure but was certain that she had drawn close to the edge of snoring herself as she sat drowsy and warm in the dark. What had startled her awake? Had Milos whined, indicating that he still slept but was hungry and wanted to nurse? Had there been an unusual sighing of the wind in the chimney? Or had the mouse she heard earlier made its way onto the street and confronted a cat, which even now was snarling and meowing?
She sat there and gradually, hearing no other noise and perceiving no movement across the room, closed her eyes again. Were those Vavrinec’s snores that she soon heard, or her own?
There! She heard something! She was certain! Her eyes blinked open, alert and watchful, on guard for whatever came next.
There was a sigh and a groan, as if the door hung open in the wind and the hinges were exhausted with the effort of holding the timbers. But the door was closed tight. Nadezda had bolted it earlier that evening.
Then she saw, nearly invisible in the dark room, a pool of shadow spill under the door from the street. It curled and twisted like a serpent hunting for prey that it knew was nearby. The shadow, which was only slightly darker than the other shadows in the room, paused when it crossed before the icon and its oil lamp and Nadezda thought she heard a faint laugh. Then the shadow was on the move again, tumbling across the room as a stream tumbles over stones. It rippled and swirled, eddies of darkness within eddies of darkness.
Nadezda caught her breath. The shadow had come to a standstill near Petr’s cot where Milos slept tonight. The black pool hovered on the floor, silent and still, like a terrible tabby cat poised, waiting for just the right instant to strike its prey. Carefully, with as little motion as possible, Nadezda lifted the Candlemas candle and reached its wick over the lip of the ceramic bowl towards the live coals beneath the ash. She hesitated, then touched the wick to the coals. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then the wick curled and blackened. A tiny flame danced at the tip of the Candlemas candle.
Come Hell or High Water: The Complete Trilogy Page 106
