Valley of lilac

 

Chapter V

 

“In the Crystal Citadel”

 

A row of trees warmly greeted her in the wind. Radiant with the glow of the zephyr daybreak, she entered it gently, veiled by that singular dun-green shield of leaves that eclipsed all the pain and suffering she left behind. The sandy path gently meandered by the ocean shore, cut off by an old, white fence whose wooden, half-decayed structure helped it keep its fragile, slender figure, like some kind of barrier. 

             The crisp spring air wove about her miserable, road-weary face, and her chapped lips eagerly awaited a drop of water, to softly pour down her parched, longing throat. She glanced ironically at the blue-gray sky, gleaming with the metallic shine of the bloody swish of the heavens. Slowly descending from the hill, she observed how it reflected upon the calm surface of the ocean, unwaveringly showing her the way. Something restlessly quivered inside of her, she choked back her saliva with difficulty, probably the last she’d taste that night. Wanting to be certain, she turned her pale and beautiful face and pushed back her long, wind-tangled hair. “An old little church at the foot of the mountain, right next to the local graveyard, wrapped in a tight net of coniferous forest.” She recalled the words of the hermit. It was here, she said in her thoughts, and thought about the elaters that lived in the area. They inhabited small, modest houses with mysterious hourglass shapes, covered on the outside with decaying moss and grass that was eternally green. They stood all over the hill like scattered peas, creating a peculiar, geometrical emblem of equality. The words the old hermit had whispered rang in her head, veiled in a disarmingly sorrowful image – that of abandoned houses crumbling to the earth. How sad and alarming it was she thought, staring at the abandoned settlement. She wondered what had happened to snuff the life beating within this place so suddenly. It seemed even stranger to her than the mysterious pattern creating the sign of equality, which she seemed to apprehend without paying any attention to it at all. Nonetheless, somewhere deep in her subconscious she knew the answer to the question she set for herself... Nafutej silently screamed out a part of her soul. And, strange though it may sound, she felt as though that mute scream brought her some relief, calmed her soul. Now was not the time to think of the past, she had to focus on the present, and on building the future. She came back to herself with another gust of wind. And turning her gaze from the depressing sight, she fixed her lavender pupils on the wending field path, like a shield separated from the past by the trees wreathed in splashes of color, from behind which the sun emerged. She walked toward it, gingerly setting down her wounded, road-weary feet. After a long time she finally spotted the violet-gray, ruffled waves shattering against the stony shoreline, cloaking the coal-black rocks and concealing the nearby sand dunes. Before her was an unfathomable sun-sketched ocean, in the middle of which stood a small beach overgrown with flowers; this was where the hermit had said the crystal city was to be found. A line strung over the water ran toward it; alongside there was a small wooden harbor. She looked around, and a moment later she saw small, hefty man carefully loading crates onto a ship. “Thank God.” At the sight of him she breathed a sigh of relief. “At least I won’t have to risk my life on that rickety bridge,” she thought. Drawing near the stranger, she wondered what to say, how to ask if he would give her a lift. She still nursed the hope that he would notice her himself and start up a chat; but he pretended not to see her, and so she had to collect herself together and talk him up.

“Excuse me, are you going to the citadel, perhaps?”

“Yes… I’m sorry, what did you say?” The old man leaned in closer to her. Then he gently gathered up the hair covering his large right ear – the only one that heard much of anything anymore. The girl repeated the question, and the resolute old man willingly assented to it. “I wonder why this young person is going to the citadel, and who sent her,” he thought.

“At least I’ll have some company,” he declared out loud, loading up the last crate with difficulty. 

He’s agreed, she thought happily. 

“Thank-you,” she shyly said, trying to mask her equal-parts excitement and terror of the unknown with a delicate smile. Ever since she was a child, she’d felt an overpowering urge to tear off somewhere far into the world, and a simultaneous fear of it, in case she was disappointed. Something inside her said the risk was worth taking. “The world belongs to the brave.” She recalled the words of her beloved grandmother and a warm sweetness trickled inside her. She didn’t expect she’d miss her quite so much. Every evening she thought of her, and for just a moment wished she could find her in the humble little hut on the edge of the forest. She got in the boat and, lost in her thoughts, sat down on a damp, white plank. Observing the waves with a dull gaze, she came to the conclusion that all this was very peculiar. “The place she so longed to flee seemed so close by. Staring at the water, she understood her mission once more. Marika wants to return to the underwater world, to the place she fled from, the place which is more precious to her than any other. At that moment she understood this perfectly, and she assured her beloved spinner-woman:

“You’ll see, I’ll make you proud of me yet!”

*

The master’s tower loomed splendidly overhead; it was not by accident that he had set up a comfortable apartment in its highest quarters, combining the functions of laboratory, office and bedroom. This allowed him to see who was approaching the citadel, and if something of interest was happening in town, something worthy of his attention. It was with difficulty that he arose that morning out of bed, as the humidity had risen substantially during the night, and his painful nerve endings were having their say. The pain was unbearable. The poor thing turned from side to side in his bed in his attempts to sleep, and when at last he was successful he awoke every 40 minutes and once again made a desperate attempt to sleep. He was then cheered by the sight of the first rays of sun, and with a monstrous headache he crawled out of bed. Just as every morning for some days now, he awkwardly threw on a robe and went to the window, looking out expectantly. He beetled his brow and narrowed his eyes. “It’s her!” he said, carefully studying the tiny creature in the boat that was slowly approaching, like a walnut shell battling against the watery depths. His heart began wildly beating. “It must be her, my intuition never lets me down, it’s too strong for me to be mistaken,” he mumbled, wondering what he ought to do now. “Maybe I should send a messenger after her, to bring her here. Gawro definitely told me about her, so he should come without delay. It’s just that… I’ve a funny feeling that it would be wrong to check if he’s changed his mind. No, she’s been chosen. I should greet her personally,” he decided. He hastily got changed, putting on a thick woolen trench-coat, and went down the bright, spacious streets toward the port, where the local merchants were collecting the load ordered by the carrier. At the sight of her boat, the men spontaneously waved their greetings.

“I was afraid she wouldn’t be coming. My wife kept on saying that if the boat didn’t come yesterday, there was no sense in waiting. I tell you, she said, something must have happened to it and you won’t ever be seeing it again.” “Who knows where she is, who she’s going round town with,” my sister threw in, and my head felt like it would explode. “I could find literally no room,” the chubby gentleman moaned, trying to find some understanding from my friends.

“That’s actually not so hard to believe,” the scrawny young man admitted, and there was a salvo of booming laughter. Everyone knew, after all, that the women in his family had an irresistible tendency to exaggerate.

“Hey Ruben, where’d you get off to? Matik was afraid he’d never see you again,” the well-built redhead shouted out to the mooring boat; the man inside replied with a kindly, sincere smile, displaying a row of even teeth. He was well aware of the friendly shopkeeper’s pessimism. The carrier often assisted various people, and so the girl’s presence didn’t make the slightest impression on them. She was so exhausted that the only thing on her mind was a warm, comfortable bed to stretch out in. Her half-conscious gaze wandered past the gathered people to the illuminating glow of the city.

“Who’s that?” a man asked the carrier, pointing toward the emaciated young creature with the pale face.  

At that moment everyone stared at her, as if noticing her for the first time. 

“I met her on the other side, by the pier...,” he trailed off mid-sentence, bowing with respect. The surprised men looked behind them and humbly bowed their heads, making way for the master. The stranger stepped on shore and slowly, as if in a trance, went up to the tall old man. 

“Szemran?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye. He gently nodded his head, and somberly looking at the girl, returned the question: “Liljana?”

“Yes, it’s me!” she responded, brushing the hair from her brow. At that moment a great sorrow crushed his heart; in spite of everything, he had not expected to see her so impoverished and miserable.

“Right now you have to sleep and eat your fill. Get your strength back,” he declared, sighing loudly. “Don’t be afraid, you can rest in my tower, you can sample Ertrycja’s cooking, and I must tell you: what she cooks is truly splendid... and everything will be fine.” He spoke this last part more to himself than to her, but he did not forget a welcoming sweep of the hand – and so there was nothing left to do but to follow him. First she gratefully turned back toward the carrier and politely thanked him for his services rendered. After which she went after the wise man, leaving the crowd greatly confused, wondering about this young woman who didn’t even bow before Szemran, who in turn came out to greet her and to invite her to his home...

*

For a few days he left her alone. He left her under the watchful eye of his stewardess; in this way she quickly gathered her strength and returned to her old, girlish vigor. She began visiting the city with increasing enthusiasm, going to visit the sun-bright buildings, filled to the brim with colorful materials and tasteful, antique furniture brought in from remote lands. The city struck her with its majestic chill, reflecting climate changes like a looking glass. This seemingly sublime place was a mixture of tastes, smells and people from the four corners of the world. Their white, red, and brown faces sent her kind-hearted, friendly smiles. All without exception wore long, color-saturated tunics, over which they threw warm woolen trench-coats on chilly days. At the beginning she was astonished by the cold, “serious” walls of the city, which clearly contrasted with the colorful interiors and the cheery natures of the inhabitants; it somehow clashed with them. Thus it was to a certain afternoon, when she saw a rainbow with her own eyes. Its rays spread out from building to building, leaving the city sprinkled with its colorful light for a few minutes. The light spread the same at sun-up and sundown, leaving the city in a colorful glow. She walked the streets without obstacle, arousing the genuine interest of passers-by. After a few days, everyone had heard that this petite girl was Szemran’s special guest, and no one was allowed to come too close to her or take too many liberties with her, as it would be seen badly. There were whispers about her in the shadows, she was spied on surreptitiously, they pierced her with their stares. She was fully aware of all this. She was a witch, after all, and was able to turn human thoughts “on” and “off” inside of her. She heard voices that told her everything she wanted to know, and even more. At first they bothered her sometimes, but now, however, this gift had developed in her to such an extent that she gave it no thought. Whenever they seemed useless or irritating, she simply ignored them. On one such day, she decided to take a stroll to the city, get some fresh air and plan her next move. “Should I go to the wise man and ask about the map, or wait until he comes for me?” she wondered out loud, not knowing what to do. “Two quarters of the moon have passed since I came here, and I’ve only seen him once so far. He never has time for me, he’s always at work.” She thought things were not so simple. She thought she’d find herself here and take the map just like that...! But nothing’s ever easy. It’s often the things that seem easy that are in fact the most difficult. She recalled the words of Gieron Latjowicz, her 7th-grade teacher of omens, and she even trembled. She had never liked him, but not for any reason she could put her finger on. But now inside her she cried out – WHY? And she could find no answer. Everything made her anxious, and she longed to calm down, to greedily soak up the city’s colors.

Passing the clock tower and the monument to the voyager, she arrived at the short streets leading to the market square. Two youngsters almost fell on top of her in their hurry to get there. “Hey, cool,” one of them yelled, jumping in ecstasy, and the other grabbed her by the hand and suggested she join them. 

“Where to?” she asked in astonishment.

“To the festival. It’s journeyman day, everyone’s going to be there,” they responded in unison – and right they were. The normally subdued market square was brimming with crowds of people. White tents stood there, set up between the stalls. Music lifted all around, blending with the happy screams of the gathered crowds. She was in no state to chose where to go on her own. The crowd picked her up and swallowed her to such an extent that she couldn’t get out of it. She pressed forward, following its whims. Someone in the crowd slapped a colorful party hat on her head. She didn’t catch who it was.

“Welcome one and all to a juggling show,” shouted a resonant bass from somewhere in front. “Come and feast your eyes on sights the likes of which you never have seen,” added a skinnier young crier. Everyone took up these invitations with enthusiasm, gazing at a show of colorful kites soaring upward in the air. And then, unexpectedly, colorful torches began swirling between them, constantly changing their shapes. A heart pierced with Cupid’s arrow, a carriage with four saddle-mares, a house transforming into a pair of lovers, and a star shattering into dust. The beautiful glistening light reflected against the sky in a multicolored brilliance. Unsure of when she forgot about her worries, she became absorbed in watching the slides projected against the sky; she was glad indeed that she had come there. Her jaw dropped in amazement and she stared up along with the others.

“Liljana?” came a familiar voice from behind, and someone touched her left arm. Her knees buckled involuntarily, like they were made of cotton, and her heart started to beat like mad, rising up into her throat. “It’s him,” she repeated softly, and slowly turning her head so that he couldn’t disappear, she hesitantly said: “Gawro....” But he only smiled that indecently radiant smile of his, showing two small dimples in his cheeks, embraced her tenderly and touched her lips. The world ceased to exist, only the two of them mattered. A marvelous instant, this second meeting.

“Szemran would like us to have dinner with him today. He didn’t let me meet up with you, he said that you should rest, catch your breath after all your experiences. I couldn’t wait to see you again.” His words reached her as if from a remote distance, from another dimension, but they were less significant than being able to cuddle in his strong arms and smell the scent of his skin. For the next few hours the world swirled in incomprehensible lapses of time. They told each other everything that had happened since they last parted. Their faces clouded over with unconcealed sorrow to hear all of the misfortunes that had befallen the other. But how they rejoiced at being given the chance to meet once more. They completely lost track of time enjoying their newly-regained happiness They didn’t even notice when evening was approaching. It did not, however, slip the attention of the wise man. He sat a good 40 meters away at a set table, upon which he anxiously drummed his fingers in anticipation of his now very late guests. He lit and blew out the candles in boredom, as if this might shorten the time he had to wait. The porcelain bowls were filled to the brims with fresh water, and decorated with colorful rose petals, filling the dining room with a sweet smell that veiled the aromas coming from the kitchen. 

“Have they come yet?” The old hostess kept coming out of her “kingdom” to ask the same question.

“No, not yet,” the scholar replied, increasingly dour, his voice full of resignation and doubt. 

“You see, so I was right!” she claimed every time. She tilted her head in a gesture of contemplation and, turning on her heel, she began walking away from HIM. But something stopped her. Szemran was astonished at what had happened. He couldn’t believe that his faithful Ertrycja had dared say such things. He became gloomy, he couldn’t understand. Though he could never have admitted it to anybody, he felt a little prick somewhere deep inside. He had to furrow his brow to hide his expression of confusion. The servant felt that she had to go up to him, look him in the eye and simply explain “what she was drinking to.”

“There is life wisdom and wisdom from books. There are formulae and feelings,” she began. “Those two are madly in love and haven’t seen each other for a long time. It was natural that when they saw each other they’d forget about everything else and be late for dinner. Obviously, you can’t understand this, because you only know books,” she concluded.

“Why does she judge me so harshly? I just don’t want to suffer. I too once loved someone, but the woman let me down,” he sighed sadly.

“I’m sorry,” said the woman, turning red all over. 

“No problem. Thank-you, you can go,” he said. But she felt as though she had been out of line, and went away in a hurry. He looked at her ruminatively... A chubby, heavy-set frame and waddling gait, and yet he had still felt that strange prick. He would have to think all this over. He went to the window. A moment later he had to admit she was right, as he wanted her to serve the food right away, at the time they had agreed upon. But she insisted they wait until the guests arrived. And she was right, everything would get cold. Further conversation was interrupted by the noisy entrance of two young people. At last! He was glad to see them. After a few courteous explanations, they sat down. At the beginning they didn’t say anything, they just sampled the delicacies Ertrycja had prepared, while the latter was constantly dashing into the kitchen to bring in something else. The master looked over the girl with a penetrating gaze. She was still a reed of a girl, but now her eyes sparkled, the sallow grayness had somehow vanished from her complexion, replaced by a normal, natural pallor.

“Tomorrow we start our training. You’ll come right after breakfast,” he said.

“What training?” she thought, not understanding a word of this, and then asked out loud: “Does this mean you’re giving me the map?” He replied with a gentle smile.

“All in good time, my child, all in good time... First I have to equip you properly. That dress, for example, seems rather worn out, you should buy a new one.” She narrowed her eyes, and her gaze fell to the floor.

“What difference does it make, it’s only my external clothing,” she retorted, trying to show that the vanities of the world made no difference to her. 

“Whatever the case, you’ll need warmer clothing and a few indispensable items if you want to set off on such a long journey. The same goes for Gawro. I have to get you well prepared.” At that moment they both looked at him at the same time. “What do you think, I couldn’t very well set you off alone on this distant journey.” “Thank you,” they replied, to which Szemran waved a hand dismissively. “Bah! Tomorrow morning Ertrycja will give you money, and you can choose what you’ll need for yourselves.”

“In terms of accommodations, I wondered if the two of you... Well, you know.” The boy made an indecent hand gesture. The wise man, who was sucking on fermented juniper-berry juice, swallowed wrong, began spluttering and coughing, and almost choked. At any rate he went as red as a beet, foamed at the mouth, and asked for help. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” the young man smiled, “I was only joking.” Laughing, he went up to the suffering man and slapped him on the back a few times. “One more time,” cried the master, until the drink gently slid down the right pipe. 

“Were you trying to kill me?” he asked, laughing whole-heartedly, and the rest of the evening passed merrily.  

                                                                                           *