Grigor didn’t miss his wife, he realized as they walked up the road toward the manor. If she were there now, she’d be leading the way, telling them all what to do when they arrived. ‘Let me do the talking,’ she’d say. She’d have had no patience for Grigor’s new outlook. And she would have disapproved of his relationship with Ina. She’d have kept me trapped, Grigor thought.
‘Is that what you’re wearing?’ his wife would have scoffed.
Grigor wore his old brown coat, which was tattered at the cuffs and collar and stained with black mud along the hem, and the same pants and tunic he’d worn for decades. He felt this was appropriate—why should he pretend to be richer than he was? Jon and Vuna wore their red garments under their coats. They walked on into the bright light. The snow was no longer falling, but the wind picked up the glitter of the top layer of white and swirled it around in the light shivering through the naked trees. The swirling snow instantly dissolved in the sunlight. Vuna and Jon walked up ahead, Jon going first. Something was amiss between them, Grigor thought, realizing that he, too, was nervous. He quickened his pace to catch up. He didn’t want to walk in the bright light alone.
‘We haven’t brought a gift,’ Jon said, grinding his teeth.
‘We pay our taxes. That’s gift enough,’ Grigor said.
‘We had no time,’ Vuna said.
‘You could have wrapped up a cake,’ Jon said.
‘What cake? I made no cake.’
‘You could have.’
‘When could I have made a cake, Jon? Did you know we would be invited?’
‘Of course I didn’t.’
‘Then don’t blame me.’
‘Nobody’s blaming you, Vuna. But you might have made a cake. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘Shush,’ Vuna said. They kept walking.
‘Ina will be there,’ Grigor said after a while.
‘That witch?’ Jon sneered. He was still sore about the cake, even though he knew it was ridiculous.
‘Don’t say that,’ Grigor said. ‘Ina must be the reason we have been invited to this feast. She is a friend to me. You’re hungry, aren’t you?’
‘I’m not hungry,’ said Vuna.
‘Then maybe you should go home,’ Jon said crossly.
‘Don’t be cruel,’ Grigor said to Jon. He turned to Vuna. ‘You’ll be hungry when you smell the food, don’t worry.’ She said nothing. ‘Maybe Ina can fix you something to calm your nerves.’
* * *
*
‘Merry Christmas,’ Villiam said as he trudged into the great room. He took his seat at the head of the table. He was disappointed by the look of the guests, who were in turn disappointed by the absence of the nun and Ina. Grigor, especially, had hoped they would have a chance to see one another. Villiam sensed their displeasure. Later he would have to complain to Klarek that he ought to have invited more cheerful visitors. These were haggard and ugly. The girl’s cap was crooked, and she looked bald underneath, and the boy’s face was grouchy. The old man reminded him of his own father, spiteful and suspicious, and so Villiam forgot to say a prayer, and reached for his wine to refresh himself.
The priest, completely distracted, was already slurping his soup. He’d had a rough night’s sleep. His head hurt. The approaching miracle of the new Christ had been gnawing at his nerves, so much so that he had begun to hear things. First, strange growling noises that he thought came from the barracks—dogs or goats. He wasn’t very smart about animals. But recently, as the holidays began, he’d been awakened each night by what he was sure was the barking of dogs. Their voices echoed from afar, sometimes yipping and reffing, other times howling long notes in harmonies that twisted painfully in his ears. He’d slept through most of the fire last night, but had woken to huge black clouds of smoke hanging in the air. They seemed to extend infinitely toward the horizon, like a road in the sky. The barking of dogs was louder than it had ever been, so loud that Barnabas couldn’t hear the crackling of the fire or the calls of the stableboys as they conveyed the buckets of water down from the reservoir. He only heard the snarling reffs and calls, which scared him, so he drank more spirit of elder. He kept a bottle by the bed for such troubled nights. He drifted off for a moment, covering his ears with his pillows, only to be awoken by a deafening howl that seemed to be calling for Barnabas specifically. There was something familiar to its tenor. It got louder and louder, as though the howling dog were riding up the road of smoke in the sky. Barnabas couldn’t stand it. Eventually he gave up on sleep and lay there listening, surrendering to the bellows and pondering the meaning of such dogs, recalling as best he could the teachings of the church. One story—he barely remembered it—had to do with hunting dogs, he thought, and ghouls on horses chasing souls into hell. He wondered if he’d been right all this time about the Devil roaming free. If God had locked heaven’s gate to keep the Devil out, the wicked one might lead a wild hunt and take whomever he could with him back to hell. ‘This must be the Devil’s cavalry,’ Barnabas thought. Now they were coming for him. He had risen from bed and opened his window to the cold night to get a better listen. There he saw, lit by the stars, the wild hunt, a thunderous crowd of animals trampling across the smoke in the sky, heading straight toward him. Barnabas ran back to bed and clutched his pillow and his cross, as though its power suddenly meant something to him. After that he didn’t sleep at all. He barely moved until the sun broke into dawn and the echoes of hooves and howling had retreated, and he could hear his own heart beating again. ‘I’ve gone insane,’ he thought.