The Vampire Megapack. Nina Kiriki Hoffman

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СКАЧАТЬ water, he began his ascent, sorry that he had not been able to line the soles of his Persian boots with his native earth. The climb was not very difficult and he made good progress upward. In spite of the slight dizziness the running water imparted. Every step on the aneling earth returned a little of his strength. The night would ease his discomfort somewhat, but he would be up the cliff before the sunlight faded, and would need to husband himself against the long walk he was about to make. Grimly he kept on, ignoring the shouts from the men beneath him.

      By the time he reached the top of the cliff, he was aching, slightly dizzy, and feeling unusually weak. He coughed experimentally as if to assure himself he could breathe again, then lifted his oil-lantern and cast about for some kind of pathway that would lead him toward his goal. Almost at once he found a narrow goat-track leading northward along the ridge. As the last streamers of sunlight flashed through the clouds, Sant-Germainus began walking, his stamina gradually increasing, and with it, his hunger. On this, one of the longest nights of the year, he took comfort in the dark ahead. The moon would be half-full, he thought, but invisible behind the fading storm, so he would have only the light of the lamp, which for him was more than sufficient; his eyes were little impeded by night. With no one to see him, he moved quickly, covering the ground faster than the living could do. He held the oil-lantern aloft so that he would be readily visible to any shepherd or goatherd; he did not want to seem furtive or surreptitious. There as a great deal of low-lying brush but no tall trees; the few stunted cypress that grew in the clefts and gullies were bent from the constant force of the wind; they offered little shelter. As he walked he smelled thyme and rosemary, an odd perfume in the blowing night. He passed two large cisterns as he followed the path, and noticed both were full, an observation that gave him genuine satisfaction, and the assurance that his journey had not been in vain. He stopped once near a sheep-f0ld and considered using one of the animals to slake his tremendous thirst, but the sleepy bark of a dog kept him from acting on that impulse, and he went on, promising himself sustenance when he reached the monastery.

      Some time later, he topped slight a rise and saw below him a closely locked compound of two long rows of L-shaped cells angled toward a square chapel topped with a drum-cupola and a large crucifix; there were three other buildings, one for poultry and livestock, one that appeared to be a kitchen or bakery, one that was probably a communal hall, and four large cisterns, all within a high rectangular stone wall surmounted at each corner with a Greek crucifix. He nearly smiled. “The monastery,” he said aloud, and started down the trail toward the southern gate, the nearest to him; the path was steep, and he went slowly so as not to take a misstep. He was almost at the wall when a bell began to chime its single, monotonous note, and shortly after it began to sound, the drone of chanting arose. Sant-Germainus stopped on a bend in the path, watching intently.

      Gradually a number of men formed a line from their cells and walked slowly toward the low building in which the bell was kept. A few of the monks carried oil-lamps, providing light for their slow advance. They continued their three-note chant as they walked, reciting the words of ancient psalms in Anatolian Greek. At the front of the chapel, all of them knelt, prayed aloud in ragged unison, prostrated themselves, then rose. As they entered the chapel, they fell silent.

      After a short while, Sant-Germainus approached the gate again, searching for some means of summoning the monks to admit him. He had almost decided to knock when he heard a shout from inside the walls.

      “Glory to God! Glory to God! The Angels proclaim the Birth of the Savior!” followed by a clamoring of the single bell, accompanied by shouts of “Glory! Glory!”

      “On this night, God pledges His Love!” cried one bass voice. “In the darkest hour we are redeemed.”

      “God have mercy on us. Christ have mercy on us,” the others clamored.

      Sant-Germainus hovered at the gate, his oil-lantern still in his hand. He waited until the exclamations died down and the chanting resumed. Then he used the flat of his hand to pound upon the thick wooden gate in four strong blows. He waited, and when nothing happened, he pounded again, this time shouting, “Help! We need help!”

      The chanting broke off, and there was a guarded, listening quiet.

      “Brothers!” Sant-Germainus shouted as he bludgeoned the gate more emphatically, using the dialect of Constantinople. “Brothers, lives are in danger! Without your help, men will die!”

      This time a deep, rough voice answered. “We are at worship.”

      Sant-Germainus waited a long moment. “There are sailors and oarsmen in need of food and water and shelter, Brothers. They will perish if they receive none. The storm has deprived them of their food and water.”

      “Is that what you want us to give?” the gravely voice asked, as if he had not heard.

      “Yes: water and food. There is almost none of either left aboard the ship. With your help, we can return to the home port. The men are worn out and they suffer from the cold and two days of heavy weather. On this night of all nights, have mercy upon them, as your god has mercy upon you.” He paused, giving the monks time to speak; when they remained silent, he continued. “The ship needs repairs, and there is not much wood on this island to use, so we may ask for your help in—”

      “We have no lumber to spare,” said the monk who had spoken for the rest. “This island has few trees.”

      “Then the oarsmen will improvise, if you will let us have a few empty barrels,” said Sant-Germainus. “If they have food and water, they will be able to work, and the staves may be enough to hold the hull together.” He had to stop himself from thinking what it would be like to return to the boat, and the relentless enervation of the sea.

      “It is the Nativity. We cannot stop our worship for such things.” The voice had a finality to it that boded ill for Sant-Germainus and the crew of Captain Argourus’ ship. “I ask you to leave us to our rites.”

      Sant-Germainus took a chance. “How can you say this and maintain your faith?” He recalled the many Christians he had encountered in the last five centuries and knew that each group had its own interpretation of the religion, but he persisted. “Charity is a duty for Christians, is it not?”

      “We are true to our faith: this is a sacred time for us. This is the time we devote to the birth of the Christ, not to the misfortunes of this world.” His tone was becoming testy. “We will be thankful to God for what He has provided to us.”

      “Yet how better to show your devotion, than to give succor to those in need?” Sant-Germainus countered. “It is what your founder bade you do, is it not? It is what your god did for you in your Christ’s birth.”

      There was a short silence, and then the harsh voice said, “How many men are there on this ship?”

      “Thirty-four, counting the captain,” said Sant-Germainus quickly. “Five are suffering badly from cold, and all are hungry.”

      The speaker hesitated, then said, “Where is this ship?”

      “At a cove on the south side of this island. There are two boats left undamaged aboard to bring the men ashore.” He faltered, trying to discern the impact his words were having, then said, “If you are willing to help them, some lives will be saved. It will bring glory to your faith. Their prayers of gratitude will be heard in Heaven.” He listened closely, trying to be aware of their response.

      This time there was a low murmur of conversation before the speaker said, “We will open the gate for you. You and I will speak while the Brothers continue with their prayers. Ordinarily we would not consider dealing with seamen tonight, but, as you say, God provides. Whatever СКАЧАТЬ