Her thoughts carried further than she could have known; as she sat and pondered her past with a warmth and tenderness unfamiliar to her upbringing, locks withered and fell away, and the nailed-up doors grew soft, warping ajar.
Three days earlier, Ghertrude had enlisted Cyrena’s support and made the difficult journey to her parents’ home to tell them about her pregnancy. She had long been dreading it, and the drive there in her friend’s purring car was fuelled by trepidation. Cyrena held her hand, letting her feel the firmness of her purpose and her total support.
Ghertrude’s mother greeted the pair and showed them into the dining room; a strange choice, Ghertrude had thought, amongst the myriad of other, more suitable rooms in the house.
‘Your father will be here presently,’ she said in a hard, agitated voice.
Did she already know? Was she already upset and angry with her? Had Mutter let the cat out of the bag? Ghertrude sensed a strain, an unease showing in white, fractured marks through her mother’s agitation. She looked older and worn. Her buoyant ease had disappeared, replaced with a distance and distress.
‘Mother, is something wrong?’
The answer to her question chose that moment to walk in the door: her father was shrunken and hunched, his eyelids red-rimmed and his clothing dishevelled. Where had Deacon Tulp gone, and who was this poor imitation in his place? She looked on apprehensively as he waved them to the chairs.
‘Sit, sit down, please,’ he said, in a voice that had none of the stride or wit he was so famous for. ‘My dear child, you are shocked to find me changed so; you are not alone in that. Sometimes I shock myself.’ A weak smile flickered across his face and he looked at his wife, whose lips were pursed tightly together, squeezing the blood elsewhere.
‘The truth is, I am near the end of my tether. The business is dying and our savings have gone.’
‘Gone, father? Gone where?’
‘Gone with August Daren,’ Mrs Tulp interjected. ‘He has closed his bank, taken all the money and disappeared.’
‘He must have predicted the collapse,’ Deacon Tulp continued. ‘He saw the imminent destruction of the Timber Guild and the downfall of the city and he got out while he could, taking everyone’s savings with him.’
‘But father, why is this all happening?’
‘Because there are no trees, my dear. Without a workforce, there’s no one to bring the logs out of the forest, so they sit in desolate heaps, cut and rotting. No one will work there. We have tried everything!’
Ghertrude had never seen him so despondent.
‘The only thing we can do is take what we have and leave,’ sighed her father.
‘Where?’
‘South.’
‘But where?!’
‘I don’t know!’
They sat in silence for a long time, until Cyrena, uncomfortably intrusive in the unexpectedness of the family’s revelation, could hold her tongue no longer. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
There was a glint of annoyance in the old man’s eyes, which smoothed out as he shook his head.
‘No, thank you, dear. You are very kind.’ And then, as if it had only just occurred to him to remember, he said, ‘You can do one thing for us: keep an eye on this little one. Always be her friend.’
Cyrena nodded gravely and he brightened for a moment.
‘Anyway, my daughter, let’s talk about you. What is the important news that you have brought us today?’
The three days since her visit should have given Ghertrude time to get used to the idea of her family’s upheaval, but she could not erase the image of her father’s anger at her news. He could not speak, and had left the room distraught and furious. Since her disclosure, she had slept soundly for only one night, and her dreams had been full of displacements and endings; this was not the nutrient she had intended to feed her child.
She sat alone in the house, searching for a positive stance, when she heard a sound, something moving outside the kitchen door.
‘Sigmund!’ she called out, knowing that it was not he.
She stood up and walked to the door, cracking it open to listen at its gap. Hearing nothing more, she stepped into the hall and looked around. Though she saw it on her first scan, she did not allow herself to acknowledge it. The second look, however, was more deliberate, and it could not be ignored: the white envelope had not been there before. She knew what it was, and was terrified of what it had to say.
G.E.Tulp
The period that has passed since I last addressed you has been much longer than I suggested; it was not necessary to contact you before now. You have performed beyond my hopes. Your conduct and intelligence in all matters has been excellent, and you shall be rewarded.
Firstly, do not fear for your family. They shall be provided for, as will those who have assisted you in our quest, even Herr Mutter. No one will discover the fate of H, you may rest assured on this matter.
You will stay in this house and bring your child up in its safe confines. Help will be offered to you, but you should consider all factors very carefully before making any decisions. Your child will be healthy and well, and somewhat different from others. This will be a blessing for all. Over the next few years, much will change around you. The city may fall and rise, but this house will remain the same; it always has, and always will.
Ishmael now has his own life and will be left alone to use it.
I will contact you again after the birth.
Cyrena sat on the balcony looking out at the city, beyond the city walls, to the distant Vorrh. Ishmael brought her a glass of wine and gently laid his hand on her shoulder.
It was difficult to believe that so much change was occurring. Everything looked the same. Ishmael thought of the camera obscura; Cyrena watched the swallows. Their skin was warm in its contact and reassuring. Between them, they would endure.
The wind is at my back and I feel a great uplifting as I walk swiftly into a new landscape of roads and broken spherical boulders. The pitchy shadow of before is being bleached away by the oncoming light. There is a meeting of tracks ahead, a kind of crossroads with a tiny roadside chapel. A figure stands there, waiting. Is this the companion I sensed before, somehow ahead of me? It watches for my arrival, and I increase my pace to draw near.
It is a man, and not what I expected. At this distance, I can see there is something wrong with his face. His posture is sprung, and displays an agile, defensive confidence that puts me on guard. I sense ferocity and purpose. At least I have the gun, which I cock inside the bag before I get any closer.
The figure at the crossroads tensed his muscles and drew himself up to full height: there would be no passing this day.
No one had ever passed through the forest untouched; the figure before him had lived in it, and traversed it a second time with apparent effortlessness. He had worked hard and suffered much to keep the man before him alive – soon, he alone would possess all elements of the knowledge and their connotative power.
In his altered condition, the cleric had taken weeks to circumnavigate the outskirts and reach this point of interception. His anxiety to be enlightened peaked and crested within his broken body, sending tortuous spasms of adrenalin into his healing wounds. He tolerated the sensation unflinchingly: it would not last long. When he finally entered the sacred ground, in command of the Erstwhile and able to touch the most sacred centre, all things would be put right.