“Failed? Maybe we have,” Dmitri shouted in concession. “But the city will protect itself! The power of the Royal Road will rise up to stop you!”
No more blood bubbled from the rooster’s throat. Magdalena stood and faced Victoria and the others opposing her and George.
The moment she stood, the humid clouds above shuddered and darkened. They drew tight, seemingly sucking other clouds towards them and staining the new-arriving clouds with inky filaments. The clouds congealed and condensed, hanging low and almost scraping the spires of the cathedral.
“The Royal Road?” George mocked Dmitri. “That power has slept for centuries! Even if you were to waken it without a coronation procession, it would be a feeble swat at a spirit as powerful as Svetovit!”
A tendril of lightning flickered between the massive cloud-boulders above them.
Victoria heard Sophia whisper to her husband, “How do we summon the power of the Royal Road now that it is awake?”
Dmitri shook his head, hoping George would not notice. “I don’t know,” he confessed.
“Wouldn’t an awakened Road respond if Prague were in danger?” Sean turned to the priest. “If so, it should come without any further prodding from us!”
George laughed, apparently amused at their consternation. He gave an order to Magdalena. “Bring the staff and stand here with me.”
Magdalena hurried to get the staff and returned to George’s side, resting one end of it on the ground and holding it upright as if it were a flagpole. George rested the sword’s point against the ground, between his feet, continuing to look across the plaza toward the academics and at the sky above the cathedral, where the clouds continued to gather and grow heavy in addition to darker and darker. The hilltop seemed shrouded in shadows even though it was still early morning.
Lightning flickered above them again.
“You have failed!” George shouted again. “Neither you nor the Road can prevent Svetovit’s arrival now!”
Victoria turned to the others, tears running down her face.
“No! We can’t have failed!” she cried.
A cold breeze ruffled the feathers of the dead rooster and then Victoria’s skirts.
“Svetovit is coming. I can feel it,” Magdalena shouted with awe. She searched the sky above the cathedral. “He is nearly here, is he not? Fen’ka will be vindicated at last!” She smiled up at the sky and closed her eyes, the breeze playing in her hair.
“Fen’ka should be here to share in this triumph,” Magdalena announced. She opened her eyes and looked at George. “I brought river water. Can we use that?”
“Possibly.” George glanced over his shoulder at her. “Pour the water into your chalice and use the yew to stir it.” He turned his attention back to the sky.
Victoria watched helplessly as Magdalena rushed to her bag, setting down the staff and pulling out a small plastic bottle of water, then pouring it into a chalice.
“Fen’ka.” Magdalena’s low call was carried to Victoria by the wind. Magdalena jerked on something green in her hand, sending water droplets splashing around her.
The faint, translucent image of an old woman stood in front of Magdalena where the water had splashed onto the cobblestones. The woman seemed startled, unfamiliar with where she stood, and her head darted from side to side.
A flash of lightning and thunder crashed around them, nearly knocking over Magdalena and several of Victoria’s companions. The image of the old woman winked out.
Wind gusted down the hilltop, and with it, a look of awe struck both George and Magdalena. George stood taller, straighter, and both prouder and more reverentially.
“Svetovit is here,” muttered Sophia. “See how George and Magdalena are looking at the sky over the cathedral?” Victoria twisted her head to try and glimpse the ancient devil-god but could not see him. However, she felt an electric charge in the air, a malevolent energy crackling around the hilltop.
“Svetovit!” called George eagerly. “I have prepared your advent! Welcome to your ancient home!” Thunder crashed around them as lightning sizzled and hissed across the sky.
A neigh like thunder and a war cry of fury burst from the sky and echoed across the city. A great eight-legged horse with the ancient four-headed god astride it came galloping along the roof of the cathedral, clouds of sparks showering down from its hooves. The devil-god and his horse careened around the bell tower next to the Golden Gate. The horse, hardly pausing to make the turn, nearly slid around the baroque spire atop the bell tower and sent another great shower of sparks raining onto the plaza where Victoria and the academics stood.
Victoria screamed and the others also cried out as they ran for cover. Sophia dropped the now-empty bowl of protective herbs and huddled with Victoria and Theo, pressed against the rough stone walls of the cathedral. Dmitri and Sean darted across the plaza to take refuge on the porch of an entrance.
The cloud-horse and its rider came skidding to a stop over the western end of the cathedral, the horse again rearing up and scraping showers of sparks from the air with its hooves. Svetovit cried out again, tangling his fingers tightly in the horse’s tangled mane, and the two came charging toward the apse a second time. Lightning flickered.
Without warning, a great wall of rippling and undulating rainbow light sprang up in the air over the apse. Seeing it, the horse screamed and tried to break its forward hurtle. Svetovit tugged on the horse’s mane, trying to turn it aside before it crashed into the wall of light. The horse slid and tripped and stumbled but did not fall. Svetovit clutched the horse’s body with his knees and its mane with his fingers, retaining his balance on the animal’s back.
“Look!” cried Dmitri, pointing at the wall of light in the air. “The tarot figures!” Victoria peered up to see what Dmitri was pointing at with such excitement.
“He’s right!” Victoria exclaimed, jumping up and down and darting into the open plaza to see better. “The power of the Road is awake!”
Dmitri gazed at the four figures standing in the midst of the quivering light now slithering through the sky to make a circle around Svetovit and his eight-legged horse. The figures began to walk as the light moved, and as the light pulled away from the figures to encircle Svetovit, the four entities from the tarot cards were clearly visible. The Magician held his staff upright, now with a small sword in his other hand. The figure of the Emperor stood beside him, wielding his great unsheathed sword. Next to him stood the Empress, her flowing gown tumbling behind her in the wind, the scepter she held a torch in the dark sky. The last figure was also a woman, the High Priestess, her vestments curling about her and behind her as if they were living things, the crescent moon still snarled in them. The scroll she held was now unfurled.
The horse stood, snorting and pawing the sky as the circle of light closed around it. The four tarot figures—Dmitri was not sure if they were best described as spirits or archetypes or phantoms—took up positions around the horse and Svetovit, one at each cardinal point of the compass. The horse kept snorting, furiously pawing the sky as it turned first one direction and then another as if trying to discern a weakness in its prison through which it might charge. Svetovit grumbled with it. Dmitri felt the reverberation of that grumble in the stones.
Was it the Magician who began speaking? Dmitri thought so but was unsure. It was a male voice. He was certain of that. But as the Magician spoke, George cried out to Dmitri and Sean.
“Four figures of the Major Trumps? Is that all?” he taunted the priest and the professor. “You only were able to awake four of the powers of the Royal Road?” He laughed in mockery and derision. “If you had been able to waken all twenty-two, you might have been able to accomplish something! But four? Do you honestly think four can stand against Svetovit?”
Dmitri struggled to hear what the Magician was saying to Svetovit. It seemed to be a challenge, as the figure pointed his staff first at Svetovit and then back toward the western horizon, but Svetovit’s only response was to throw his
head back and laugh. The old cloud-devil reached one hand into the air and pulled a lance out of nowhere, which he then tucked under his arm, the long spearhead protruding along the horse’s shoulder and far past its nose, which it flared and snorted, pawing the air with its left front hoof.
The Magician seemed to repeat his demand that Svetovit depart, again gesturing with his staff toward the western horizon. Thunder rumbled.
Svetovit bent down, nearly rubbing one of his faces in the mane of the horse. The spear’s tip was pointed directly at the Magician’s torso as the horse leaped forward, charging at the Magician.
As rapidly as the horse charged forward, the Magician snapped his hand back with the staff and held it horizontally before him, swinging the dagger in his other hand upwards as if to eviscerate the cloud-horse. The horse reared and whinnied, Svetovit clutching its mane and the spear jerking upward, missing the Magician’s chin by inches. The razor-sharp hooves came crashing down and the horse charged at the Emperor standing at one of the other compass points along the curling circle of lights. The Emperor shouted at the horse and its rider, swinging his broadsword sideways as if to cut open the horse’s breast. Again the horse reared up, the front four of its eight massive legs pawing frantically at the air, Svetovit gouging its ribs with his knees to drive it forward. The horse reared again, its whinny like the shriek of a hurricane’s wind. The Emperor thrust his sword forward, and as the great forelegs came tumbling down, the horse turned aside and charged back towards the Magician.
The Magician figure slashed at the air beneath his feet with his staff, as if drawing a line and daring the horse to cross it. The now-terrified horse bolted towards the Empress standing opposite the Emperor.
The Empress held her scepter up as if to illuminate the darkness of the storm-cloud steed and then darted forward to thrust the scepter towards the horse’s eye. Vines and thick thorny stems of roses came curling from beneath her feet, wrapping around the eight legs of the horse. The horse stumbled and whinnied and nearly threw Svetovit from its back as the thorns cut shreds of cloud from its legs. Svetovit swung his javelin over the horse’s head to strike at the Empress, but she was already back wrapped in the safety of the rainbow lights. Svetovit slashed at the vines and roses tangled around the horse’s legs, cutting away most of the quickly growing greenery. The horse again reared and whinnied, this time coming down on its hooves and chasing its own streaming tail. Svetovit roared in anger and drove his knees into the horse’s ribs, and the animal charged at the High Priestess.
Her vestments still curling and twisting about her, she held the unfurled scroll in one hand as if it were a matador’s cape taunting an infuriated bull in the ring. The horse lowered its head and galloped toward the scroll, Svetovit aiming his javelin at the High Priestess, who stepped nimbly aside at the last instant. The horse screamed as it collided with the circle of twisting, curling light. Black smoke and ruddy flames burst from the light, the thunder of the explosion ricocheting off the stone walls of the cathedral and castle below and nearly knocking over Dmitri, who was still crouching with Sean on the castle porch.
The horse stumbled back and shook its head as if to clear its thoughts. Its ribs heaved and shook as it struggled to control its breathing. Then, slowly, with Svetovit whispering words to calm the beast and nodding his head as his four faces smiled, the horse turned to face the empty space between the Magician and the Empress.
As Dmitri continued to watch, enthralled by the battle in the sky, the horse took a handful of backward steps, brushing its tail against both the High Priestess and the Emperor as it swung from side to side. Svetovit again took aim with his lance, pointing it at the glittering wall between the Magician and the Empress, and pulled his head down until one cheek rubbed the horse’s neck. Clutching the mane with the fingers of his other hand, he slapped the horse’s side with his thighs and howled a battle cry. The horse galloped toward the unprotected wall.
“Magdalena! The staff! Stand here with me!” George barked and Magdalena scurried, stuffing the chalice into her bag, bringing the staff to stand again beside George.
Sean grabbed Dmitri’s shoulder and shook the priest. “Wait! What are George and Magdalena doing?” he shouted over the roar of Svetovit’s war cry.
George was speaking to Magdalena and pointing at Svetovit, the Magician, and the Empress. He raised the great sword he held. Magdalena raised the rabbi’s staff.
The horse bore down on the wall of light. The Magician and the Empress moved toward each other as if to close the breach in the wall, but as they moved, George slashed the air before him with Bruncvik’s sword, cutting the air to his left while Magdalena swung the staff to her right. The Magician crumpled, dropping his staff and dagger as he clutched the back of his legs as if their tendons had been severed. The Empress threw up her hands and fell backward as if struck in the ribs by a heavy club. Her scepter flew from her grasp. The horse charged through the wall of light, another explosion of smoke and fire erupting as it did so, but Svetovit rode in triumph past the barrier of light and past George in his own magic circle on the ground. Coming over the basilica of St. George, the horse turned to face the cathedral again. The horse cantered in place as if dancing, shifting its great weight from foot to foot to foot to foot. The javelin point bobbed as Svetovit eased his grip on it.
The circle of light shuddered where Svetovit and the horse had breached it. The light tore and began to unravel. Ragged wisps of light fluttered and danced and faded. The entire wall of light slithered out of the geometric figure of a circle and resembled more a snake struggling to make its way forward. Portions of the light-wall tumbled over.
The Magician lay sprawled on his back, the Empress bent nearly double and wrapping her arms around her torso. George and Magdalena lifted the sword and staff and repeated their slashing, hacking motions with the weapons. The Empress, cognizant now of George and Magdalena, turned and looked at them. Pain was evident in her face as Magdalena’s blows rained down on her shoulders. She collapsed to her knees.
The light that had come unfurled in the sky shuddered once again and dissipated altogether.
The Magician, unable to turn and face his attacker, reached one hand toward George. But the Magician had no weapon with which to fight and writhed on his back as George cut and cut and cut again. With a final, exuberant slash, George uttered his own battle cry and the figures of the Magician and the Empress, their power defeated by the principal magical weapons of Prague, faded from sight.
“No! He cannot do that! He can’t!” Victoria exclaimed. “No!”
Svetovit chortled and raised his javelin, shaking it in what was both a triumphant salute to George and a warrior’s taunt of the Emperor and the High Priestess, who still stood in their positions along the original diameter of the now-vanished light circle. The Emperor shook his sword at Svetovit in return. The scroll in the hand of the High Priestess fluttered in the wind.
George swung around to gloat, first at Dmitri and Sean on the porch, then at Victoria, Sophia, and Theo against the cathedral walls. Magdalena beamed in triumph with him.
Svetovit drove his knees into the horse with no warning and the beast screamed, lowered its head, and charged straight for the High Priestess. George raised the sword again. Magdalena lifted the staff.
“Magdalena! Stop!” Victoria shouted, urgently trying to get through to her friend. “Don’t do it!”
Fireballs sizzled and sparked along the outline of the circle George had drawn with the sword. Two translucent figures appeared just outside the fiery outline of the circle to confront George and Magdalena within it. In front of George stood a nude woman wrapped in a scarf, the woman from the card Dmitri and Sean had burned in front of the modern doors of the cathedral, minus her four companions—human, eagle, bull, and lion. The other figure, which was the Fool from the card incinerated with the last few crystals of salt, stood before Magdalena. His knapsack still hung from the staff over his shoulder but he was no longer looking into the s
ky, ignoring what was in front of him. He glanced from Magdalena, to George, and back to Magdalena again.
“Can’t we do something to help them?” Victoria asked Theo.
“How?” Theo asked her. “We have your chalice, but it’s empty. What other weapon do we have?”
Lightning flared, drawing Victoria’s attention back to the sky. Svetovit’s spear had struck the open scroll of the High Priestess and shattered, raining splinters and shards onto the plaza below. The horse careened past the High Priestess, past the Emperor before Svetovit could rein it in and turn the horse around. The Emperor and the High Priestess turned to face Svetovit. The two tarot figures on the ground continued to face George and Magdalena, seemingly oblivious to the battle above them.
Victoria wondered if appealing again to Magdalena might help and turned to ask Sophia’s opinion.
“Why didn’t we save some of those protective herbs?” Sophia said, wringing her hands. “I should have thought of that!”
Dmitri and Sean were carrying on their own debate.
“We need something to draw a protective circle of our own, if we go out there,” Sean told Dmitri. “Do we have anything to draw a circle with?”
The priest shook his head.
Above them, the horse reared up on its rear four legs and charged at the Emperor. Svetovit reached out an open hand, as if he planned to seize the Emperor’s crown or sword with his naked palm as he rode past.
At that same instant, the tarot figures on the ground uttered a war cry. The scarf-clad woman began a sensual dance as her four companions—even more translucent and less material than she was—appeared and rushed at George. The barrier of the circle convulsed and flared up to bar their way. Three of the woman’s four companions—eagle, lion, bull—vanished.
Come Hell or High Water: The Complete Trilogy Page 120
