Wolf's Cross (41 page)

M
aria’s heart raced as Josef led her back through the forest. He had explained how this was necessary, but still the fear grew thicker inside her even as the fog burned off around them. She told herself that fear—any sort of fear—was ridiculous now. She had been prepared to die.

But the fact that she hadn’t died made each moment afterward precious, and she clung to each one as tightly as she clung to Josef’s good arm.

He was, again, naked to the waist. This time his shirt had gone to bind her wounds, and she wore his cross-bearing surcote to cover herself. The embroidered head of a black wolf rested over her left breast, defaced by Darien’s blood. She kept glancing at it, feeling as if it meant something but unsure of what.

Josef couldn’t carry anything in his right hand. The wrist wasn’t broken, but it had been severely dislocated, and it had swollen black and purple. Since he supported her with his good arm, she had to carry the skin.

Darien’s skin. Not all of it, but enough from his head and face to show that the beast was dead. It clung to her fingers in a way that made her wish that she was horrified at the violence done to him, but she couldn’t even bring herself to feel regret at his demise.

Josef led her out of the woods in front of her cottage. For a moment, the scene almost seemed normal, before she smelled blood and heard shouts from inside her home, and saw the glint of a crossbow from between two slightly open shutters. She tensed, waiting for the shot, but someone called out, “Hold!”

She stood there with Josef, her feet sinking into the mud of the road, the black soup of it squeezing through her toes. And as they waited, Josef whispered, “Forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

I’ve already forgiven you for trying to kill me
.

Still, the tension made her tighten her fists. Her free hand dug into the greasy underside of Darien’s pelt, and the one across Josef’s shoulder clutched the broken head of the crossbow bolt until it cut into her hand.

Let this work
, she prayed, hoping that Josef was right and God still cared for her.

The cottage door opened, and Wojewoda Telek stepped out, his sword drawn. He walked forward, stopping a few paces from them.

“It’s over,” Josef called out. “The monster is dead.” He nudged Maria and she tossed Darien’s skin at Telek’s feet.

Telek prodded the skin with his sword, then lifted it so that the outline of the giant wolf’s face was recognizable drooping from the point. Maria bit her lip, because she recognized Darien in the sagging, empty skin.

Telek held the skin up so that the people in the cottage could see. Maria thought she heard a muted cheer from someone inside. Still holding up the skin, Telek turned back toward them and said, “Step away from her.”

Maria swallowed. She wanted to tell Josef not to sacrifice anything more for her, but before she could speak, he flatly said, “No.”

“There were two beasts,” Telek said. “One blond, one black. You hold the other.”

“You’re wrong,” Josef said. He spoke loudly, as much to the men inside the cottage as to Telek. “This woman is an innocent in all of this.”

“Innocent? These things can pose as human, even as a woman. Her cross was found in a slaughtered boy’s hand.”

“Yes, Wojewoda Telek, and where was
she
when that boy was killed? You and Brother Heinrich are yourselves witnesses to her blamelessness in that death.”

Telek opened his mouth to speak, but he obviously had not had a chance to think about the matter. He shook his head and said, “Explain, then, how it came to be there.”

“Lost when she was caring for my wounds in the woods or bringing me back to Gród Narew. The boy found it during his duties. And I ask you this: Why would a disciple of evil, a demon cloaked as a man, spend her life wearing a cross made of silver? Would the Devil bind himself like that? Would this monster stand mute and powerless before these accusations while I stand here unarmed, and you stand holding only steel?”

Telek lowered his sword and looked at Josef. “Perhaps—”

“Lies!” The door slammed open, and Heinrich stumbled out of the cottage holding a long silvered sword. Half of his face was covered in bandages, and his chest was bound tightly, but he ran toward them as if in full health. “Lies and deception!” he cried.

Telek stepped into his path and leveled his skin-draped sword at him. “You will stop and lower that weapon.”

Heinrich pulled up short, but he didn’t lower his sword. “That woman is a vile temptress, an agent of Satan. You saw yourself how she healed. You saw her change—”

“Did anyone see this girl grow into a slavering monster?” Josef countered.

Maria tensed, expecting someone to call out, to say they had watched her transform into the black-furred beast. But no one did.

Heinrich looked up into Telek’s face. “You grabbed her. You must have.”

“Brother Heinrich,” Josef said, “before God, can you bear witness against this woman? Can you say that you saw her become this demon?”

The sword lowered slightly and he looked around, and for the first time she could see something like uncertainty in the half of his face that was not covered by bandages. “Someone must have seen this,” he said. No one answered him. “She jumped, naked and wounded, on this monster—”

“A monster that was threatening her family. And you mention that in testimony to her evil?”

“I saw her heal!” Heinrich said finally—the only unarguable evidence he had left.

“Wojewoda Telek?” Josef asked. “Do you have a plain dagger to lend me?”

Telek looked back over his shoulder, frowning and furrowing his brow.

“Please?” Josef added.

Telek pulled a steel dagger out of a sheath on his belt. He held the hilt up to Josef. Josef looked down at his wounded wrist and said, “Perhaps you would be good enough to do this for me?”

“Do what?”

“Cut her.”

“
What?
”

“Take her arm and draw blood,” Josef said. “You claim she is this demonic beast. Cut her with anything but silver and she will heal, as Brother Heinrich says.”

Telek shook his head.

Maria held out her naked left arm, shaking slightly because of the wound in her shoulder.

“Are you afraid she is not what you think she is?” Josef asked.

Telek flipped the dagger around in his left hand, still holding the sword in his right. He hesitated a moment, then quickly drew it across Maria’s forearm. The blade was sharp, and she barely felt the cut, but it quickly welled up with blood. It began to sting as the blood dripped slowly down the skin of her arm.

Maria squeezed the crossbow bolt with her good hand, the silver point digging into her flesh.

Telek stared at the cut; it refused to heal.

Heinrich lowered his sword at last.

“Satan has been deceiving us,” Josef said. “He has deceived us with blood, chaos, and confusion. He deceived you, Brother Heinrich, with your own anger. You saw this woman, whom I love, as leading me astray—so much that you did not see how your own wrath led you astray. Satan would have you kill an innocent woman and believe your duty done.”

Heinrich’s sword pointed at the ground. He looked at Maria, and she could tell that he did not truly believe Josef’s words. But his expression said he was beaten, as if he couldn’t quite understand how to fight them. She could see the weight of his wounds bearing upon him, and she felt a strange sympathy for this old man, understanding what he had lost here.

Telek sheathed his dagger and walked up to Heinrich, slapping the flat of his sword, and what remained of Darien’s face, into the
monk’s chest. “Take your prize and leave my lands.” There was little trace of sympathy in Telek’s voice.

“The black one is still—”

“Brother Heinrich, that black-haired beast did not trouble us before you arrived. I suspect much the same will continue after you leave. You came here hunting your wolf, and you have your wolf.”

“We have a duty to hunt all—”

“As I see it, you can return to your master with one of two tales. You can tell how, after great sacrifice, you found your quarry and defeated it, or you can return telling how you’ve annoyed the Masovian court, broken the peace, and allowed the secrets of Brother Semyon to be known to all the szlachta in Poland.” He withdrew his sword, leaving the gory prize in Heinrich’s hands. “I will let you pray for guidance, but I expect you to quit Gród Narew at the next sunrise.”

W
agons came from Gród Narew to carry away the dead and wounded. It was evening before all the men left Maria to her home, her family, and Josef. Her mother dressed her wounds—all but the cut on her arm, which healed by itself as soon as she let go of the silver head of the crossbow bolt she had clutched in her hand.

She fell into an uneasy, feverish sleep on one of her brothers’ beds. Over the next few days, her body fought the infection of the silver-inflicted wounds. She faded in and out of awareness, but Josef was always there, next to her bed, holding her hand, wiping her brow, caring for her the way she had cared for him.

In her fever, she found the symmetry of it comforting.

They weren’t that different, she thought. They had both been chained, hiding themselves—he behind the black cross of the Order, she behind the silver cross of her father. Yet now that they were free, they had lost their proper places in the world.

But when she tried to tell Josef of her epiphany, her German was not quite up to the task. His response was to gently brush the hair from her face and say, “My place is by your side.”

I
n her more lucid moments, she came close to hating herself for what he had given up for her sake, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret the fact that he had. During one point of clarity she said to him, “You’re not going back.”

“I told you, I’ve left the Order.”

She looked up at him and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He squeezed her hand and said, as he had before he knew what she was, “If God had wanted me to remain a monk, He would not have placed you in my path.”

She still couldn’t quite understand how someone could sacrifice so much for her, for what she was. But for all she mourned for his loss, she was grateful to him.

T
he day after her fever broke, she opened her eyes and did not see Josef. Instead, the rotund bearded face of Wojewoda Telek loomed over her bed, making her flinch and gasp as if confronted by her nightmares made flesh.

Telek saw her reaction and drew back, and she felt someone squeeze her hand. Turning her head, she saw that Josef was still next to her, and that helped calm her racing heart.

Still, her voice had trouble finding itself. All she could manage was “W-why?”

Telek smiled down at her. “Forgive me for disturbing you in your sickbed, but I came to fetch Josef before the Duke makes his leave of Gród Narew.”

She realized he was speaking German for Josef’s benefit.

“Is there something wrong? I don’t understand.” She feared
that some sort of trial might be at hand, the Duke taking his ire out on the remaining Germans in his domain.

“The Duke wishes to reward the hero of these past events; Josef’s valor and bravery were witnessed by many. Three times he engaged these monsters by himself, the final time returning with the skin of the wolf. Ennobling a foreigner is almost never done, but the szlachta all agree with the Duke’s decision.”

Maria opened her mouth, then closed it. She was filled with a mixture of joy and fear at hearing that Josef might find himself elevated to the szlachta. God surely was repaying him for his sacrifices by granting him a position in Masovia. But what did that mean for her? For them?

She looked up at Josef and her vision blurred. “That is good news, Wojewoda Telek.”

Josef said nothing, though he looked down at her with an expression that said,
I will not leave you
.

But doubt already squeezed her heart.
Maybe you should
.

“I also wished to speak to you, Maria.”

She turned to look at Telek again. He was regarding her with a puzzling expression—not one she was accustomed to seeing on her betters. In fact, it was almost identical to the way he had looked at Heinrich after the Order had crossed the river: wariness mingled with respect, as if he regarded a peer, not a serving girl.