In a passageway far from the skirmishes he heard footsteps-sandaled, not booted-coming after him. He turned to face his pursuer. It was a monk, his scrawny features every inch the ascetic’s. He arrested the sergeant by the tattered collar of his shirt.
“You’re God-given,” he said. He was breathless, but his grip was fierce.
“Let me alone. I want to get out.”
“The fighting’s spreading through the building; it’s not safe anywhere.”
“I’ll take the risk.” The sergeant grinned.
“You were chosen, soldier,” the monk replied, still holding on. “Chance stepped in on your behalf. The innocent boy at your side died, but you survived. Don’t you see? Ask yourself why.”
He tried to push the shaveling away; the mixture of incense and stale sweat was vile. But the man held fast, speaking hurriedly: “There are secret tunnels beneath the cells. We can slip away without being slaughtered.”
Yes?”
“Certainly. If you’ll help me.”
“How?”
“I’ve got writings to salvage; a life’s work. I need your muscle, soldier. Don’t fret yourself, you’ll get something in return.”
“What have you got that I’d want?” the sergeant said. What could this wild-eyed flagellant possibly possess?
“I need an acolyte,” the monk said. “Someone to give my learning to.”
“Spare me your spiritual guidance.”
“I can teach you so much. How to live forever, if that’s what you want.” Mamoulian had started to laugh, but the monk went on with his dreamtalk. “How to take life from other people, and have it for yourself. Or if you like, give it to the dead to resurrect them.”
“Never. ”
“It’s old wisdom,” the monk said. “But I’ve found it again, written out in plain Greek. Secrets that were ancient when the hills were young. Such secrets.”
“If you can do all that, why aren’t you tsar of all the Russians?” Mamoulian replied.
The monk let go of his shirt, and looked at the soldier with contempt freshly squeezed from his eyes. “What man,” he said slowly, “what man with true ambition in his soul would want to be merely tsar?”
The reply wiped the soldier’s smile away. Strange words, whose significance-had he been asked-he would have had difficulty explaining. But there was a promise in them that his confusion couldn’t rob them of. Well, he thought, maybe this is the way wisdom comes; and the sword didn’t fall on me, did it?
“Show me the way,” he said.
Carys smiled: a small but radiant smile. In the space of a wing-beat winter melted away. Spring blossomed, the ground was green everywhere, especially over the burial pits.
“Where are you going?” Marty asked her. It was clear from her delighted expression that circumstances had changed. For several minutes she had spat out clues to the life she was sharing in the European’s head. Marty had barely grasped the gist of what was going on. He hoped she would be able to furnish the details later. What country this was; what war.
Suddenly, she said: “I’m finished.” Her voice was light; almost playful.
“Carys?”
“Who’s Carys? Never heard of him. Probably dead. They’re all dead but me.”
“What have you finished?”
“Learning, of course. All he can teach me. And it was true. Everything he promised: all true. Old wisdom.”
“What have you learned?”
She raised her hand, the burned one, and spread it. “I can steal life,” she said. “Easily. Just find the place, and drink. Easy to take; easy to give.”
“Give?”
“For a while. As long as it suits me.” She extended a finger: God to Adam. “Let there be life.”
He began to laugh in her again.
“And the monk?”
“What about him?”
“Is he still with you?”
The sergeant shook Carys’ head.
“I killed him, when he’d taught me everything he could.” Her hands reached out and strangled the air. “I just throttled him one night, when he was sleeping. Of course he woke when he felt my grip around his throat. But he didn’t struggle; he didn’t make the slightest attempt to save himself.” The sergeant was leering as he described the act. “He just let me murder him. I could scarcely believe my luck; I’d been planning the thing for weeks, terrified that he’d read my thoughts. When he went so easily, I was ecstatic-” The leer suddenly vanished. “Stupid,” he murmured in her throat. “So, so stupid.”