ALIX OF DREAMS - CHAPTER 11

"There is strife between God's ways and human ways; damned by you, we are absolved by God."
--Tertullian

climbed the well of sleep slowly at first, then, when I tried to move and found that I could not, more quickly. The reason for my immobility was that my hands were tied behind me, and my ankles had been bound as well. A rag had been pushed into my mouth and another wrapped around my jaw to hold it in. At first I thought it was the rag that tasted bad, then I realized that it was the inside of my mouth. I had been given something to keep me asleep. Hushed voices echoed around me, amid the sounds of lapping water and oars moving in their locks. When I opened my eyes, I could see nothing. I was lying on my side in the bottom of a small boat; only that much was for certain. Light flickered in the corner of my eye, and shifting my gaze that way, being careful to betray no movement, I could see the yellow light of a lantern illuminating a barrel-vaulted ceiling above. The catacombs.

I had been placed in the stern of the boat, facing aft. As far as I could tell from the voices, there were three people in the boat, two men and a woman. They were speaking nervously in soft, staccato phrases, and I was not able to pick out more than a few mundane words from their conversation. My mind raced as I lay still and tried to determine who would want me enough to risk sneaking into the dean's house to take me from it. Try as I might, I could not come up with an answer. Whoever it was, I would find out soon enough. In the meantime, there was little that I could do. Even were it possible for me to somehow escape the boat, there was no way that I would be able to swim, bound as I was. I would be choosing certain death over the possibility of it.

So, I waited. The boat moved slowly under the power of its single oarsman, and I guessed that we were moving against the current. Eventually we took a turning into a smaller side passage and our speed increased. Then, suddenly, the water became very turbulent, then much smoother as a wash of moonlight illuminated the boat. A cool breeze carried away the dank smell of the catacombs as we moved out into the middle of the Garonne.

The impulse to move was becoming nearly irresistible. Something sharp was under my hip bone, and the circulation in my wrists was being cut off. I had lost all feeling in my ankles some time ago. I wondered if I should let my captors know that I was awake, but decided against this. They may not want it known where they were taking me, and I did not want to risk being put back to sleep the hard way. So I gritted my teeth and waited.

Luckily, it was not long before the boat was brought aground. I let myself go limp as I was lifted gently but firmly from the boat, feigning unconsciousness. I was put into the back of a cart or wagon, and we started off again. The same voices continued their monotone discussion, even less intelligible under the clopping of the horse or mule that pulled us.

With the lurching movement of the wagon, I was able to roll discreetly into a position that was not only more comfortable, but afforded me a view out the back. The moon was a half one, bright enough to see that we followed a narrow, rough, winding track between thickly forested hills. Twice, I saw the lights of distant dwellings, telling me that it was not yet past midnight. I had gone to bed at dusk, as was my habit these days. I had come to look forward to the world of dreams.

This thought brought another into focus: Why had I not been warned? I had always felt secure in my dreams, ever since the dark lady had alerted me to the danger of my would-be assassin. I had assumed that I was still being watched out for, that Riothamus, in his omniscience, would know of any dangers that may present themselves in the waking world. I was not so sure that he had not known of this one. It seemed that he had some idea what the glowing of the Valkan-Meer had meant; somehow what was happening to me now fit into someone's plan for me.

We traveled for about an hour, arriving at last at a little farmhouse. One of the men lifted me to a sitting position, and a feminine voice spoke near my ear.

"He is still out? That drug should not work so long." Something was familiar about that voice...

"Perhaps he is not asleep. Give him a shake."

"Alix. Alix." Her voice again... Isa!

I opened my eyes, partly because I knew that I could not keep up the charade any longer, and partly because I had to look, see if it was really her. It was.

She smiled a little when she saw me "awaken," then frowned abruptly and looked away.

"He is awake now. Let's get him inside."

The two men came to lift me from the wagon, and I at last got a good look at them. They did not appear to be the sort of men who would be in the kidnapping business. Both were young, only a few years older than me. The larger of the two seemed to be very nervous, and kept glancing over his shoulder. The other had a matter-of-fact quality, as if this were just part of some job. The two men carried me gently into the house.

This was a typical rude country home, whitewashed wattle and daub walls and a large hearth, in which no fire burned. It had been quite warm lately, even at night. The only illumination in the room was cast by several dim lanterns which hung from hooks in the ceiling. These illuminated many faces, all turned toward me.

My captors placed me on the floor in one corner. The larger man took a position at the door, while the other crossed the room and began speaking earnestly, in low tones, to what sounded to be an older man, sitting in the shadows. Isa began untying the gag in my mouth. She had to work at the knot in back for several minutes before she was able to release it.

"Isa..." I started.

She quickly placed her hand over my mouth. "Do you want some water?"

I nodded. She brought over a bucket and ladled some water from it, holding it to my lips. I drank my fill, then she began mopping my face with a damp cloth. While she did this, I strained my ears to hear what the others were saying, but could ascertain nothing. I decided to try my hand at questioning Isa again.

"What is this about?" My voice was low this time.

Isa kept her eyes on the floor. "You will know soon enough," she said.

"Isa." And when she did not look at me, again, with more urgency, "Isa!"

Her eyes swallowed me whole. For the first time in months, I was able to see the pain that I had caused her. A wave of self-loathing washed over me.

"Isa," I said, "I have treated you badly. It was... wrong of me. I am sorry."

I watched her face, uncertain what thoughts moved behind it, but hoping without hope that she would forgive me.

"Ha!" It was a cruel sound, not at all like the gentle creature that I had come to know. "It is easy enough to seem sincere when you are in fear for your life. Well, you need not worry, Alix. Murder is not our way. That is for those of your faith, monk."

Isa's outburst had drawn the attention of the dozen or so others in the room, including the older man whom the kidnapper had spoken to. He seemed to be in charge, for he called Isa over to him, and she quickly rose and obeyed. He began speaking to her in low tones, and she nodded.

As I watched them, I puzzled over what she had just said. "Those of your faith." My faith, Christianity, her faith... Cathars! That had to be it. But why had they taken me? Did they think that I had knowledge of Nicolas' association with them? Perhaps they saw me as a danger to them. If so, they would find some way to silence me.

But Isa had said that murder was not their way. And surely, if they had seen me as a threat, they would have done something long before this, when I went before the Inquisition. I discarded the thought and moved on to the thing that puzzled me more.

Isa, a Cathar. I had not remotely guessed at this. Hopefully, no one else had either. She certainly did not fit the image of the sternly ascetic martyr that I had come to believe was the Cathar ideal. Yet she was obviously in good standing with them, since she had participated in my abduction from under the nose of our master.

Before long, my thoughts shifted again as I gloomily pondered Isa's reaction to my apology. I had not really expected her to forgive me after all I had done to debase her. Isa was a proud woman, despite the meekness she exhibited before her masters. I was surprised to note that her rejection of me affected me more deeply than the fact that I had been dragged from my bed, bound and gagged, and spirited away to an uncertain fate.

She was looking at me now, as was the old man. Lantern light reflected dimly from his eyes, while the rest of him remained silhouetted against the benighted room, making him appear slightly sinister. The kidnapper he had been talking to was coming toward me with a knife in his hand. I looked a question at Isa and she smiled strangely. The man cut the straps around my ankles and pulled me to a standing position. My hands were still tied behind me, making it difficult for me to catch myself when I started to collapse under my own weight. The man held me up, but I could not feel my feet at all.

"The blood has been cut off from my ankles for too long. I cannot walk," I said.

"Just try to get your feet under you. I'll hold you up."

I moved my legs around awkwardly, until needles of pain began shooting through my feet. After a minute, I was able to take a few shaky steps, and soon I had been led to stand before the old man. A lantern was brought forward and placed on the floor between us.

We surveyed each other for a long while. He was indeed old, perhaps older than anyone I had ever seen before. Deep lines criss-crossed his face, and some of them appeared to be scar tissue rather than age lines. His eyes were clouded with the first stages of what I knew to be cataracts, softening them to a light blue. He sat awkwardly on the stool, as if one of his legs were damaged in some way. He was clad only in a grey robe. Despite all of this, the tilt of his head and the straightness of his back gave him a certain grace, and the others in this room seemed to revere him.

"I think there is no need for the bonds, Maurin. And bring a stool for our guest." Maurin must have been the name of the kidnapper, for he again produced the knife and cut the ropes from my wrists, then pushed a stool up against the backs of my legs. I sat down.

"I am Aguilar." His voice was wheezing air forced through gravel, but his words were clearly formed and precise. It was the way an orator speaks, after years of use have robbed him of his timbre. "I am of a very old house, but that is no more, so I will not tell you its name. And, according to many, I am a heretic." He paused for effect, then went on. "Also, according to you, I am a murderer."

At first I did not know what he referred to, then I grew wary as I remembered the story I had told to the inquisition, in which, in order to attempt his martyrdom, I had accused the Cathars of having murdered Nicolas.

"I had to do it," I said. "they intended to dishonor him."

"Yes, I know. It really matters very little to me. I am only sorry the lie did not serve you better. The inquisition has accused us of murder and various other crimes many times in the past. One more accusation will make no difference. If they find us, they will kill us, slowly. It is their way.

"I must commend you on your loyalty to your friend. He was my friend, too, you know, a long time ago. I was his follower. He led a veritable exodus of our faithful." He gestured around the room with a stick-figure arm. "This is all that is left of them, save for a few that are not here. Most of these are too young to remember him. Tell me, Alix: can you be that loyal to another?"

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. I said, "Someone asked me that same question, not long ago, in exactly the same context. My answer would be the same for you as for him--"

"Yes," Aguilar interrupted, "I believe you said, 'Loyalty must be earned, or it is false allegiance, and can be lost in times of duress. I have no reason to be disloyal to you now.'

"Very well put, Alix. Very well put. And very pertinent, too, for I know something that you want to know."

I had been trying to keep my composure, but felt it slipping now. How had he known about our conversation? His recital of what I said had been verbatim! My eyes slid from his face to Isa's, and I knew the answer. Isa was this man's spy, and a good one at that. She stared back at me expressionlessly. There was a lot to this woman.

Aguilar waited patiently for me to assimilate what he had said, then continued. "I see that you understand. Gascon has chosen his assistant well." He paused and leaned toward me. "Note, Alix, that I said chosen. He chose you from the start, and stopped at nothing to have you. Not even the murder of your closest friend."

"What? You..." I stopped, for I knew that it was true. Somehow, it just fit. Gascon had hired the mercenaries that had brought death to Nicolas. I searched for the rage that I had so long counted my ally, but it had deserted me. In its place was a pristine, dead calm, and beneath that the certain knowledge that I would be there to watch on the day that Lucien died.

"You don't believe me?"

"I am afraid I do. I half believed my own story up until now, but I have been blinded. Gascon is entirely capable of such a thing, and it has become evident to me that he needs something from me."

"Something that you will give? I warn you, he is used to getting what he wants. We did not give him what he asked from us, and he nearly brought about our destruction."

They had not...? "You have had dealings with him?"

Aguilar nodded and smiled mirthlessly. "He was once of the Catharist faith, like all of us, though in the end he proved false. Beware the man who chooses his faith out of convenience. He was respected, both for his knowledge and the power he could wield on our behalf. But he held that power in too high esteem. Have you heard of the Knights Templar?"

I nodded. The Templars. There were no more of them. The order had been disbanded by the Church forty years ago. They had been accused of plotting the overthrow of the Church, and of profaning the cross in bizarre sexual and demonic practices. Many, including Nicolas, believed that the church had disbanded them in order to seize their immense wealth. I thought this likely.

"He was very high up in the Templars, very respected, very deeply embedded in the mysteries of that society. But he was a Cathar, not a follower of the Church. Many of the men who fought under the cross worshipped differently. This made it all the easier for the church to destroy them later. But not Gascon. Only, his name was not Gascon then--"

"Lucien. I know."

He stopped abruptly, looked as if he were going to question how I had come by this information, then seemed to change his mind. "Yes, that is one of the names he used. For all we know, it is his original given name. The Knights knew him as Lucien de Angers, and he was reputed to be somehow royal, though it was never quite clear what the connection was. He told me once that he was brother to a Duke, next in line for the title. He told another I knew that he was a Duke in his own right. We did not question it much, because he was a trusted follower of the faith and a powerful ally." I noticed that the old man was wringing his hands together and staring into space as he told his tale. Though all of this had happened almost half a century earlier, the story had an urgency for him.

"Despite all of this, we did not trust one piece of advice that Lucien repeated endlessly. He wanted blood. He was a military man, once, though never a commander. He was an advisor within the ranks of the Templars, mostly a strategist. He saw the end of his order of knights coming, knew that the Church was jealous of the power that he and others like him had come to wield. He tried to convince us that we, alongside the Knights Templar, could overthrow the church's power here in the Languedoc. He promised us hundreds of knights and thousands of infantry, including Saracen infidels from the Temple at Antioch. This frightened us. We did not like the idea of enlisting the aid of the devil, for surely that was what we would be doing by inviting such an army into our lands.

You see, Lucien was never proof against his baser instincts, which we Cathars strive above all else to be. We revere life, unlike the church, which only denies it. And we had no illusions. Our people had been slaughtered again and again for over a century or more. We simply did not have the ability to fight a wealthy power like the church, even had that been our way. Then, he suggested that the Templars could be persuaded to support us, teach us how to use arms and supply us with them, hide us and finance us. This excited a few of our younger men. His support began to grow, and many of us became alarmed. Among those who doubted his motives was my friend, your master. His name was Guillaume then."

I had already guessed that Nicolas would come into this story somewhere. I had to give it to the old man, he was a consumate storyteller. He certainly had all of my attention.

"He must have been young, then," I said. About my age, I figured, perhaps a little older. And Lucien must be older than he looked.

"Yes, we were very young. We had the energy, then, to join the majority of our faithful in opposing him. Eventually, most of his followers were swayed back to our side, and Lucien left in frustration. It was then that our secret faith began to become not-so-secret. The church had believed us destroyed. Now eyes turned our way again, shifted there by Lucien himself. We were no longer a useful tool to him, so it was necessary that we be discarded.

"We would have been destroyed that year, except by a stroke of fate's sword. It was 1307, and the Templars now found the persecution directed toward themselves. This drew some, though not all, of the attention away from us. One of the first casualties among the Templars was Lucien de Angers, who was tried and sentenced to death for plotting the assassination of an archbishop. Whether he was guilty or not I do not know, but it did not matter, for he escaped before his execution could be carried out. It was a dazzling feat of planning that would make any storyteller proud to tell of. He was not heard from again, until six years ago, when he returned, in the guise of Gascon, former instructor emeritus from the University at Paris, and the new chancellor of ours. Only now he was a different man, mostly reclusive where he had been boisterous, cagey where he had been outspoken. The years had changed his appearance as well, making him seem more scholarly, less military in his bearing. Yet, I knew him, from the moment I laid eyes upon him. And he knew me.

"I would not have said anything. I was content to watch him carefully, through Isa, who joined our faith of her own accord. But he feared me, and it began. Of those whom he had known before, I was one of the few still alive, and the only one of those still in this area. I alone could identify him, expose his true identity. This bothered him enough to prompt him to attempt several assassinations, all of which failed. I expect that he has given up on the idea, for there has been no attempt on my life for several years now." A thin smile crossed his face, then disappeared.

This last bit about assassinations brought me back to Nicolas. "Then he knew who Nicolas was. That's why he assassinated him-- for the same reason he tried to kill you."

"Actually, I don't think he could have recognized him. Gillaume almost surely figured out Lucien's identity, for he saw him enough times, but Lucien would hardly have noticed Guillaume back then. He was just a young brat, certainly beneath notice to an ego like Lucien's. No, I think it probably an ironic coincidence that Lucien does not know that the man he killed is the boy who led hundreds of Cathars to safety twenty-five years ago."

"Nicolas did that? You must be... No, I can see that you are sincere. But Nicolas? "

"A meek manner disguises a man better than any title or costume can. It has worked for Lucien, and it worked for my friend. But surely you know that he was a brave man. He was never a leader in the truest sense of the word. Never a fighting man. No one ever even noticed him, until the night the mercenaries came to round all of us up. A huge pyre had been built in the middle of the town. There had been a short trial, and many names had been named. Now we were to be tried while we listened to the screams of our fellows being burned in the square.

But Guillaume got word somehow that they were coming, and he organized us into small groups and saw to it that many of us escaped. He sent messengers to those of us who lived outside of the town, so that we left perhaps only minutes ahead of the soldiers of the Church."

He paused for a long moment. I looked around and saw that all of the people in the room had become quiet, listening in complete fascination. Isa brought him some water, which he sipped a little of before continuing.

"My father was a wealthy man. We had a large house and over thirty men working the fields. All of that we left behind, in the blink of an eye. I have been told that my home was seized, and that some of our men were tortured in an effort to find out where we and the others had gone. None of them knew, so we were safe. In truth, I do not think Guillaume knew where we were going. We ended up crossing into Spain and then by water to Italy, in small groups. Many of us were found later, most of us in fact. None but I ever returned to this place. At least, that was what I thought, until I saw Lucien, and later, Guillaume. I had thought Guillaume dead, for I had heard nothing of him since that one night."

"But why," I asked, "did you return? Isn't it dangerous? For that matter, why did Lucien return? And Nicolas?"

"I returned because I heard that the faith had not died. I knew of the whereabouts of only a handful of our people, and most of them were too afraid to practice their chosen faith. I hungered for my own kind, and I heard that they were here, and practicing.

"As for Guillaume, I can only guess. I never had the chance to speak to him in person. We communicated through messengers only, and he was not receptive to me.

"He knew." My voice was husky. "Lucien knew who Guillaume was. He is sharper than you think. Do not underestimate him."

"Are you sure? This is news. I am very surprised that he let Guillaume live as long as he did."

An image of Nicolas' tortured face arose unbidden before my eyes, and I willed it away. Aguilar was speaking again.

"...your help. Without it we may not stand much longer. Will you help us?"

"I don't know. Too many--" I had started to say that too many had tried to enlist me already, but I did not want to answer the questions that would arise from that statement. "Too many factors here. I have my own purpose in all of this, and I will not veer from it for anyone."

He stared hard at me. I had heard that people seem to have haloes when seen through cataracts. I wondered if I appeared as some avenging angel to him now. He leaned toward me in an attitude of intensity. "I understand that you must be filled with rage at what has been done to your friend. I, too, am angered. But do not be hasty. If you confront him with this now, he may destroy you, and then us. We need time... and information." He looked at me pointedly.

This caught me off-guard. I had expected a sermon on forgiveness. "You want me to spy for you? Why me? You have Isa for that."

"Yes, but there are things that Isa will never be able to find out. He has accepted you into his confidence. He has enlisted you for whatever dark work he is involved in, and that work may concern us. We must know what he is about."

"He has shown me very little, I'm afraid. He has a secret laboratory. He has not even let me in on that. I don't think he trusts me."

"Then you must gain his trust. Your life may depend on it too."

"Hah! And what is my life worth if Lucien knows that I have been spying on him?"

Aguilar eyed me critically for a moment. "You do not strike me as the kind of man to be afraid of one such as Lucien."

"I am not...much. I despise him." I stared at the floor for a moment, then glanced at Isa, who looked as if she were holding her breath. Those eyes... they were fixed on me expectantly, like a doe surprised, knowing you hold her life in your hands. I looked back at the floor to escape them, going over it all in my mind. I was not warned. Somehow, my purpose was tied up with these people. So be it, then.

"I will promise you nothing. But I will do what I can. I will not come here again, unless it is absolutely necessary. He keeps an eye on me. I will send messages through Isa when I can. Do not expect miracles from me."

A look of amusement crossed his face for a second, and he said, "Guillaume said much the same thing to me once. Then he guided ten-score of our people through mountains that he had never traversed before... without losing a soul."

I shook my head. Aguilar simply nodded to the man behind me, who steered me by the shoulder to the door. Isa followed as we left the house.

I was given a horse and directions back to town, with instructions as to where to leave the horse. I wheeled and was about to gallop from the yard when I felt someone slide onto the back of the mare and grasp my sides. It was Isa.

"I will be missed too. He expects a hot meal tomorrow morning."

I said nothing as I assessed the time. Just after midnight, I guessed by the stars. Plenty of time to get back.

* * *

We rode in silence, I unsure what to say, and Isa, I felt, always on the verge of saying something. Finally, as we reached the ford, she put her hand out and tugged gently on the reins. The mare stopped at the water's edge and bent her head to drink.

"Alix, I..."

I didn't help her. I was still hurt by her words, and unsure what it was I felt about her now. "I am sorry." The resignation in her voice surprised me. "I have been unsympathetic, to say the least. I was angry, when I should have understood. It... it is a good thing you do, helping us like this, when you could rush to kill Lucien. I know you could do that, if you wanted to. You are... more than you seem.

"Alix, please..." Her hand tightened over mine, and I put my other hand on top of it. This was enough for her, and I felt her head press against my back. We sat so for some time, as I gazed out over the water. The half moon was about to set, shining dimly through treetops and reflecting in the calm waters of the Garonne. A night bird sang nearby, and another answered farther away.

"I need some water," said Isa, sliding from the horse. I dismounted as well, watching her dim form as she bent to the flow and put her lips to it. Her movements were so very delicate, her every step measured; the dipping of her hands in the water was like some devotional ritual, and she some river spirit.

It was so perfect, all of it. A small wellspring of joy opened within me. I smiled for the first time in months, and as Isa sat down in the moss of the bank, I moved to join her.

"How did you come to join the Cathars?" I asked. "Some things about you don't seem to agree with their way."

Amusement crossed her face as she replied, "You mean like sex? Yes, many abstain. We believe that the world is basically an evil place, and that to partake of its pleasures is to cut ourselves off from God. But there is much more to it than that. We have been around for hundreds of years now, and some of our doctrine has changed. For example, no one expects everybody to abstain from sexual pleasures, or not to enjoy it when we partake of them. Those who are able to do without it are the Perfecti, and we admire them. But nobody tries to force anybody to do anything... or not to. That is one of the differences between your Church and mine."

Her voice grew harsh, growling. "We call the Church the 'Whore of Babylon.' Its only purpose seems to be to oppress and cause misery. The whore gathers money for power, so that more may be oppressed, so that more may prostitute themselves. Her pompous knights go out and make war in the name of peace. Gascon was one of them." She clenched her fists and lifted them to shoulder height, eyes rolling heavenward. "God, I despise him! He is like all the rest, a despiser of women, an oppressor of everyone whose lot is beneath his."

She relaxed again and gazed at me. Those eyes again..."That is why, Alix. Here among us there are no poor, no rich, no superior sex. I am an equal here. I am free to think as I please, to strive for perfection in my own way and my own time, and among us there is no hell except for that in which we live. Agape, the ritual of love, is our holy holiday, not the day that a man, or the apparition of a man, suffered an excruciating death on a cross. We recognize the pain of this world, and we suffer it like everyone else, but we do not try to trick it, to outwit life's set course by the causing of pain to others. We carry the burden of our sins willingly and without guilt. We confess them publicly in open ceremony before all, not in the dark as a secret.

"Do you see, Alix? We are not ashamed, we just are what we are, and what we aspire to be. Nothing more, nothing less. Only in this way is it possible for us to love one another. Where there is guilt there can be no love untainted. I got tired of feeling guilty." She gave me a sidelong glance from behind her hair, then continued.

"No, I know that I am not truly one of them. They use some small part of the old books of the Bible, and I cannot bring myself to believe in the words of men anymore. But a kinder and more devout people you will never meet, Alix, and it is a blessing to us that you have decided to help us."

Never before had I heard so much said against Mother Church in one place and time; yet I knew that what Isa had said about Her was true. Whether or not the Cathars had the right idea, the men who dominated the Church were wrong, in so many ways. What she had said echoed something within me with a finality that told me that I would never again turn to Mother Church for guidance. I was surprised to find that I did not care, nor did I fear for my soul. There was a lot more to this existence than I had been led to believe, and I was going to search for it.

All of this time I had been watching Isa. She was sitting a little higher upon the bank, so that I looked up into her face. She smiled now, extending her hand and twirling her fingers lightly in my hair. Then she bent down over me and we kissed.

Something exploded within me, some bubble of pain and joy and love and anger, all wrapped up at once. I jumped to my feet suddenly, knocking my tooth against hers and bringing surprise to her face. I pulled off my monk's robe, which seemed so soiled now, and dove into the water. I swam hard and quick out toward the middle of the night-blackened river, wanting to feel its cold wash the dirt from my body, wash the sins of my fathers from my soul, wash the hatred from my marrow. An answering splash a moment later told me that Isa had followed. I stopped stroking the water and rolled over on my back, and I saw Isa slowly struggling through the current toward me. I wanted her and so swam back, meeting her closer to shore.

She slid warmly into my arms and we kissed again. Her flesh was bumpy with cold, her nipples hard and erect. She wrapped her legs around my hips and gasped as I slid easily inside her. I pushed with my legs, carrying us just far enough toward shore that my feet touched bottom, and we stood like that, barely moving, content to be joined in that way. The dying moon made two bright spots in her eyes.

Isa pushed me away a little then, and I let myself slide out of her and followed her to the bank, where we fell once again into each other's arms among the leaves and bracken of the forest, among the little noises and cool breezes of God's creation.

* * *

Much later, we crossed the ford and rode into town, where we dropped the horse off to a nervous groom at a stable near the university. We decided that it would be a good idea not to return together, so Isa waited at the stable while I walked the short distance back to Gascon's house. I was worried that he would have noticed us gone, but he did not seem to be home. The house was dark and not even Phillippe answered the front door, which was locked. I circled around to the kitchen door, and found it open as usual.

As I moved quietly to my room, I thought about the commitment I had made. Between the God, Riothamus and Aguilar, there was a lot of interest in the man I now loosely regarded as my master. My own curiosity was, in fact, no less great. I thought Aguilar's ideas about Lucien's ill intentions in whatever he was doing were most likely correct. But what was he up to? Whatever it was, it was enough for a god to fear him as well as a lot of men.

I entered my room, lit a candle and tossed myself onto my bed. My curiosity was beginning to get the better of me. I was sure the answer lay in the secret laboratory upstairs. If I wanted answers, I would have to visit it again... now? Gascon was not home, but I was not sure when he would be back. I turned the options over in my mind a few more times, then, having come to a decision, rose and left the room.

The hallway was quite dark as I felt my way along to the pantry and the secret door behind. Once this had opened, some small light filtered through the high window. I started quickly up the winding staircase and froze. Another light shone from just around the last turning of the staircase above. There was a faint sound of shuffling papers, then a familiar voice called out, "Come up, Alix, I have been expecting you for some time now."

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