Labyrinth

CHAPTER 82

Pic de Soularac

FRIDAY 8 JULY 2OO5

The thin robe provided little protection from the damp chill of the chamber. Alice shivered as she slowly turned her head.

To her right was the altar. The only light came from an old-fashioned oil lamp, standing in its centre, sending shadows running up the sloping walls. It was enough to see the symbol of the labyrinth on the rock behind, large and imposing in the confined space.

She sensed there were other people nearby. Alice looked down to her right and nearly cried out loud as she caught her first sight of Shelagh.

She was lying curled up on the stone floor like an animal, thin, lifeless, defeated, the evidence of her mistreatment on her skin. Alice couldn’t see whether or not she was breathing.

Please God let her still be alive.

Alice slowly became accustomed to the flickering light. She turned her head slightly and saw Audric in the same place as before. He was still tethered by the rope to a ring set in the floor. His white hair formed a kind of halo around his head. He was as still as a statue carved on a tomb.

As if he could sense her eyes on him, he caught her eye, and smiled.

Forgetting for a moment that he must be angry with her for charging it in when she’d promised to stay outside, she gave a weak smile.

Just like Shelagh said.

Then she realised something was different about him. She lowered her i to Audric’s hands, fanned out against the white of the robe.

The ring is missing.

“Shelagh’s here,” she whispered under her breath. You were right.“

He nodded.

“We have to do something,” she hissed. he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and glanced to the far side of the chamber. She followed his gaze.

“Will!” she whispered in disbelief. Relief rushed through her, and something else, followed by pity for the state of him. His hair was matted with dried blood, one of his eyes was swollen and he could see cuts on his face, his hands.

But he’s here. With me.

At the sound of her voice, Will opened his eyes. He peered into the darkness. Then, as he saw her, recognised her, a half-smile came to his battered lips.

For a moment, they stared at each other, holding one another’s gaze.

My love. The realisation gave her courage.

The mournful howl of the wind in the tunnel intensified, mixed now with the murmur of a voice. A monotonous chant, not quite singing.

Alice couldn’t work out where it was coming from. Fragments of oddly familiar words and phrases echoed through the cave until the air was saturated with the sound: montanhas, mountains; Noblesa, nobility; libres, books; graal, grail. Alice started to feel dizzy, intoxicated by the words that clamoured like the bells of a cathedral in her head.

Just as she thought she could take no more, the chanting stopped. Quickly, quietly, the melody faded away, leaving nothing but a memory.

A single voice floated into the watchful silence. A woman’s voice, clear and precise.

In the beginning of time,

In the land of Egypt,

The master of secrets,

Gave words and scripts.

Alice tore her eyes from Will’s face and turned towards the sound. Marie Cecile appeared from the shadows behind the altar like an apparition. As she stood before the labyrinth, her green eyes, painted with black and gold, sparkled like emeralds in the flickering lamp. Her hair, held back from her face by a golden band with a diamond motif on the forehead, shone like jet. Her elegant arms were bare, except for matching amulets of twisted metal.

She was carrying the three books, one on top of the other, in her hands. She placed them in a row on the altar, beside a plain, earthenware bowl. As she reached out to adjust the position of the oil lamp on the altar, Alice registered, almost without realising it, that Marie-Cecile was wearing Audric’s ring on her left thumb.

It looks wrong on her hand.

Alice found herself immersed deep in a past she did not remember. The vellum should be dry and brittle to the touch, like dying leaves on the tree in autumn. But she could almost feel the leather ties between her own fingers, soft and flexible, even though they ought to be stiff through the long years of disuse, as if the memory was written in her bones and blood. She remembered how the covers shimmered, shifted colour under the light.

She could see the image of a tiny gold chalice, no bigger than a ten pence piece, shining like a jewel on the heavy cream parchment. On the following pages, lines of ornate script. She heard Marie-Cecile speaking into the gloom and, at the same time, behind her eyes she saw the red and blue and yellow and gold letters. The Book of Potions.

Images of two-dimensional figures, animals and birds flooded into her head. She could picture a sheet of parchment, thicker than the other pages but different – translucent, yellow. It was papyrus, the weave of the leaves apparent. It was covered with identical symbols as at the beginning of the book, except this time tiny drawings of plants, numbers and measurements were interspersed between them.

She was thinking of the second book now, the Book of Numbers. On the first page was a picture of the labyrinth itself, rather than a chalice.

Without realising she was doing so, Alice looked around the chamber once more, this time seeing the space through different eyes, unconsciously verifying its shape and proportions.

She looked back to the altar. Her memory of the third book was the strongest. Shimmering in gold on the first page was the ankh, the ancient Egyptian symbol of life, familiar now the world over. Between the leather-covered wooden boards of the Book of Words were blank pages, like a white guard surrounding the papyrus buried in the centre of the book. The hieroglyphs were dense and unyielding. Row after row of tightly drawn symbols covered the entire sheet. There were no splashes of colour, no indication of where one word ended and the next began.

Concealed within this was the incantation.

Alice opened her eyes and sensed Audric looking at her.

A look of understanding flashed between them. The words were coming back to her, slipping quietly from the dusty corners of her mind. She was momentarily transported out of herself, for a fraction of a second, looking down on the scene from above.

Eight hundred years ago Alais had said these words. And Audric had heard them.

The truth will make us free.

Nothing had changed, yet she was suddenly no longer afraid.

A sound from the altar drew her attention. The stillness passed and the world of the present came rushing back. And, with it, fear.

Marie-Cecile took up the earthenware bowl, small enough to cup between her hands. From beside it she took a small knife with a dull worn blade. She raised her long, white arms above her head.

“Dintrar,‘ she called. Enter.

Francois-Baptiste stepped from the darkness of the tunnel. His eyes swept around his surroundings like a searchlight, skimming over Audric, then Alice, then coming to rest on Will. Alice saw the triumph on the boy’s face and knew that Francois-Baptiste had inflicted the injuries on Will.

I’ll not let you hurt him this time.

Then his gaze moved on. He paused a moment at the sight of the three books laid out in a row on the altar, surprised or relieved, Alice couldn’t tell, then his eyes came to rest on the face of his mother.

Despite the distance, Alice could feel the tension between them.

A flicker of a smile played across Marie-Cecile’s face as she stepped down from the altar, the knife and the bowl in her hands. Her robe shimmered like spun moonshine in the flickering light of the candles as she moved through the chamber. Alice could smell the subtle trace of her perfume in the air, light beneath the heavy aroma of burning oil in the lamp.

Francois-Baptiste too started to move. He came down the steps until he was standing behind Will.

Marie-Cecile stopped in front of him and whispered something to Will, too quiet for Alice to hear. Although Francois-Baptiste’s smile stayed in place, she saw the anger in his face as he leaned forward, lifted Will’s bound hands and offered his arm to Marie-Cecile.

Alice flinched as Marie-Cecile made a single incision between Will’s wrist and elbow. He winced and she could see the shock in his eyes, but he made no sound.

Marie-Cecile held the bowl to catch five drops of blood.

She repeated the process with Audric, then came to a halt in front of Alice. She could see the excitement in Marie-Cecile’s face as she traced the point of the blade along the white underside of Alice’s arm, along the line of the old wound. Then with the precision of a surgeon with a scalpel, she inserted the knife into the skin and pressed the tip down, slowly, until her scar split open again.

The pain took her by surprise, an ache, not a sharp sensation. Alice felt warm at first, then quickly cold and numb. She stared mesmerised by the drops of blood falling, one by one, into the oddly pale mixture in the bowl.

Then it was over. Francois-Baptiste released her and followed his mother towards the altar. Marie-Cecile repeated the procedure with her son, then positioned herself between the altar and the labyrinth.

She placed the bowl in the centre and drew the knife across her own skin, watching as her own blood trickled down her arm.

The mingling of bloods.

A flash of understanding went through Alice. The Grail belonged to all faiths and none. Christian, Jew, Moslem. Five guardians, chosen for their character, their deeds, not their bloodline. All were equal.

Alice watched Marie-Cecile reach forward and slip something out from between the pages of each of the books in turn. She held up the third one. A sheet of paper. No, not paper, papyrus. As Marie-Cecile held it up to the light, the weave of the reeds was clear. The symbol was clear.

The ankh, the symbol of life.

Marie-Cecile lifted the bowl to her lips and drank. When it was empty, she replaced the bowl with both hands and looked out over the chamber until she had fixed Audric with her gaze. It seemed to Alice she was challenging him to make her stop.

Now she pulled the ring from her thumb and turned to the stone labyrinth, disturbing the hushed air. As the lamplight flickered behind her, sending shadows leaping up the walls, Alice saw, in the shadows in the carved rock, two shapes that she had never before noticed.

Hidden within the outline of the labyrinth, the shadow of the shape of the ankh and the outline of a cup were clearly identifiable.

Alice heard a sharp click, as if a key was being inserted into a lock. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, from deep in the wall, there was the noise of something shifting, stone against stone.

Marie-Cecile stepped back. Alice saw that a small opening a little bigger than the books had been revealed at the centre of the labyrinth. A compartment.

Words and phrases sprang into her mind, Audric’s explanation and her own investigations all mixed up together.

At the centre of the labyrinth is enlightenment, at the centre lies understanding. Alice thought about the Christian pilgrims walking the Chemin de Jerusalem in the nave of Chartres Cathedral, walking the ever decreasing spirals of the labyrinth in search of illumination.

Here, in the Grail labyrinth, the light – literally – was at the heart of things.

Alice watched as Marie-Cecile took the lantern from the altar and hung it in the alcove. It was a perfect fit. Straight away it brightened and the chamber was flooded with light.

Marie-Cecile lifted a papyrus from one of the books on the altar and slid it into a slot at the front of the alcove. A little of the lamplight was lost and the cave darkened.

She spun round and stared at Audric, her words breaking the spell.

“You said I would see something,” she shouted.

He raised his amber eyes to hers. Alice willed him to remain silent, but she knew he would not. For reasons she did not understand, Audric was determined to let the ceremony run its course.

“The true incantation is revealed only when the three papyri are laid one on top of the other. Only then, in the play of light and shadow, will the words that must be spoken, rather than the words that must be silent, be revealed.”

Alice was shivering. She understood the cold was inside her, as if her body warmth was bleeding out of her, but she couldn’t control herself.

Marie-Cecile turned the three parchments around in her fingers.

“Which way round?”

“Release me,” Audric said in his calm, quiet voice. “Release me, then take up your position in the centre of the chamber. I will show you.”

She hesitated, then nodded to FrancoisBaptiste.

2›“Maman, je ne pense-‘ 2›

“Do what you’re told,” she snapped.

In silence, Francois-Baptiste sliced through the rope holding Audric to the floor, then stepped back.

Marie-Cecile reached behind her and picked up the knife.

“If you do anything,” Marie-Cecile said, pointing it at Alice, as Audric walked slowly up the chamber, I’ll kill her. Understand?“ She gestured to where Francois-Baptiste was standing by Will. ”Or he will.“

“I understand.”

He darted a glance at Shelagh lying motionless on the floor, then whispered to Alice. “I am right?” he whispered, suddenly doubtful. “The Grail will not come to her?”

Although Audric was looking at her, Alice felt he was asking his question of somebody else. Someone with whom he had already shared this experience.

Despite herself, Alice found she knew the answer. She was certain. She smiled, giving him the reassurance he needed.

“It will not come,” she said under her breath.

“What are you waiting for?” Marie-Cecile shouted.

Audric stepped forward.

“You must take each of the three papyri,” he said, “then place them in front of the flame.”

“You do it.”

Alice watched him take the three translucent sheets and arrange them in his hands, then carefully insert the papyri. For a moment the flame burning in the alcove guttered and seemed to fade. The cave became very dark, as if the lights had been dimmed.

Then, as her eyes adjusted to the increased gloom, Alice saw that now only a handful of hieroglyphs remained, illuminated in a pattern of light and dark that followed the lines of the labyrinth. All unnecessary words had been veiled. “Di ankh djet…” The words were clear in her mind. ‘Di ankh djet,“ she said out loud, then the rest of the phrase, translating in her mind the ancient words she spoke.

“In the beginning of time, in the land of Egypt, the master of secrets, gave words and scripts. Gave life.”

Marie-Cecile turned on Alice.

“You read the words,” she said, striding towards her and grabbing her arm. “How do you know what they mean?”

“I don’t. I don’t know.”

Alice tried to pull away, but Marie-Cecile jerked her forwards towards the point of the knife, so close that Alice could see the brown stains on the worn blade. Her eyes closed and she repeated the phrase.

“Di ankh djet…”

Everything seemed to happen at once.

Audric launched himself at Marie-Cecile.

“Maman!”

Will took advantage of Francois-Baptiste’s lapse in concentration. He pulled his leg back and kicked him in the small of the back. Taken by surprise, the boy fired his pistol into the roof of the cave as he fell, deafeningly loud in the confined space. Instantaneously, Alice heard the bullet smash into the solid rock of the mountain and ricochet across the space.

Marie-Cecile’s hand flew to her temple. Alice saw the blood pouring between her fingers. She swayed on her feet a moment, then collapsed.

“Maman!‘ Francois-Baptiste was already on his feet and running. The gun skidded away across the ground towards the altar.

Audric snatched up Marie-Cecile’s knife and cut through Will’s bonds with surprising strength, then placed the knife in his hand.

“Release Alice.”

Ignoring him, Will dashed across the chamber to where FrancoisBaptiste was on his knees cradling Marie-Cecile in his arms.

“Non, maman. Ne’t”en vas pas. Ecoute-moi, maman, reveille-toi.“

Will took hold of the shoulders of the boy’s oversized jacket and slammed his head down on to the rough stone floor. Then he ran to Alice and started to hack at the rope binding her.

“Is she dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about-”

He kissed her, quickly, on the lips, and then shook her hands free of the rope.

“Francois-Baptiste will be out long enough for us to get the hell out,” he said.

“Get Shelagh, Will,” she said, pointing urgently. “I’ll help Audric”

Will lifted Shelagh’s depleted frame in his arms and started to walk towards the tunnel. Alice ran to Audric.

“The books,” she said urgently. We’ve got to take them before they come round.“

He was standing looking down on the inert bodies of Marie-Cecile and her son.

“Audric, quick,” Alice repeated. We have to get out of here.“

“I was wrong to involve you in this,” he said softly. “My desire to know, to fulfill a promise I once made and failed to keep, has left me blind to other considerations. Selfish. I thought too much of myself.”

Audric put his hand on one of the books.

“You asked why Alais did not destroy it,” he said suddenly. The answer is, I wouldn’t let her. So we devised a plan to deceive Oriane. Because of that, we came back to the chamber. The cycle of dying, of sacrifice, continued. If had not been for that, then perhaps…“

He walked round to where Alice was trying to get the papyri from the lamp. “She would not have wanted this. Too many lives lost.”

“Audric,” she said desperately, “we can talk about this later. Now, we must get them out. This is what you have been waiting for, Audric. The chance to see the Trilogy reunited again. We can’t leave them for her.”

“I still don’t know,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. What happened to her at the end.“

The oil in the lamp was nearly out, but the gloom was lifted little by little as Alice pulled out the first, then the second, then finally the last of the papyri.

“I have them,” she said, spinning round. She scooped up the books from the altar and thrust them at Audric.

“Bring the books. Come on.”

Almost dragging Audric with her, Alice picked their way across the gloom of the chamber towards the tunnel. They had stumbled over the dip in the ground where the skeletons had been found, when, from the darkness behind them, there was a loud crack, then the sound of rock shifting, then another two muffled bangs, in quick succession.

Alice threw herself to the ground. It wasn’t the sound of the gun again, but a different sort of noise altogether. A rumbling from deep within the earth.

Adrenalin kicked in. Desperately, she crawled forward, holding the papyri in her teeth and praying that Audric was behind her. The material of the robe caught between her legs, slowing her down. Her arm was bleeding profusely and she couldn’t put any weight on it, but she managed to get to the bottom of the steps.

Alice was aware of a rumbling sound now, but she could afford to turn round. Her fingers had just found the letters carved at the top, when a voice rang out.

“Stop right there. Or I will shoot him.”

Alice froze.

It cannot be her. She was shot. I saw her fall.

Turn round. Slowly.“

Slowly, Alice pulled herself to her feet. Marie-Cecile was standing in front of the altar, unsteady on her feet. Her robe was splattered with blood and her headdress had come off, leaving her hair wild and untamed around her face. In her hand she had Francois-Baptiste’s gun. It was pointed straight at Audric.

“Walk slowly back towards me, Dr Tanner.”

Alice realised that the ground was shifting. She felt the tremor vibrating through her feet and legs, a low rumbling deep in the ground, getting stronger and more insistent every second.

Marie-Cecile suddenly seemed to hear it too. Confusion momentarily clouded her face. Another thump shook the chamber. This time there was no doubt it was an explosion. A blast of cold air swept through the cave. Behind Marie-Cecile, the lantern started to shake as the stone labyrinth cracked open and started to fragment.

Alice ran back to Audric. The ground was fracturing in two, crumbling beneath her as solid stone and ages-old earth started to split apart. Debris rained down on her from every corner as she jumped to avoid the holes that were opening up all around.

“Give them to me!” Marie-Cecile shouted, turning the gun towards Alice. “Do you really think I’m going to let her take these from me?”

Her words were swallowed by the sounds of falling rock and stone as the chamber collapsed in on itself.

Audric got to his feet and spoke for the first time.

“Her?” he said. “No, not Alice.”

Marie-Cecile spun round to see what Audric was looking at.

She screamed.

In the darkness Alice could see something. A glow, a white glow, almost like a face. In terror, Marie-Cecile swung the gun back to Alice. She hesitated, then pulled the trigger. Long enough for Audric to move between them.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

Alice screamed. Audric sank to his knees. The force of the shot propelled Marie-Cecile backwards and she lost her balance. Her fingers clawed at the air, grasping, desperate, as she slipped into the vast chasm that had opened up in the ground.

Audric was lying on the ground, blood spreading out from the bullet hole in the middle of his chest. His face was the colour of paper and she could see the blue veins beneath the thin veneer of skin.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” she cried. “There might be another explosion. It could come down at any moment.”

He smiled. “It is over, Alice,” he said softly. “A la perfin. The Grail has protected its secrets, as it did before. It would not let her take what she wanted.”

Alice was shaking her head. “No, the cave was mined, Audric,” she said. “There might be another bomb. We have to get out.”

There will be no more,“ he said. There was no doubt in his voice. ”It was the echo of the past.“

Alice could see it hurt him to speak. She lowered her head to his. There was a gentle rattling in his chest and his breathing was shallow and faint. She tried to staunch the bleeding, but she could see it was hopeless.

“I wanted to know how she spent her final moments. You understand? I couldn’t save her. She was trapped inside and I couldn’t get to her.” He gasped in pain. Took another gulp of air.

“But this time…”

Finally, Alice accepted what she had instinctively known from the moment she had walked into Los Seres and seen him standing in the doorway of the little stone house in the folds of the mountain.

This is his story. These are his memories.

She thought of the family tree, so lovingly and painstakingly compiled.

“Sajhe,” she said. You are Sajhe“.”

For a moment, life flicked in his amber eyes. A look of intense pleasure flooded his dying face.

When I woke, Bertrande was beside me. Someone had covered us with cloaks to keep the cold out-“

“Guilhem,” said Alice, knowing it was true.

“There was a terrible thundering. I saw the stone ledge above the entrance collapse. The boulder was sent crashing to the ground in a welter of stone and flint and dirt, trapping her inside. I couldn’t get to her,” he said, his voice trembling. “To them.”

Then it stopped. Everything was suddenly quiet, still.

“I didn’t know,” he said again in anguish. “I had given my word to Alais if anything happened to her I would ensure the Book of Words was safe, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know if Oriane had the book or where she was.” His voice faded to a whisper. “Nothing.”

“So the bodies I found were Guilhem and Alais,” she said, a statement, not a question.

Sajhe nodded. We found Oriane’s body a little way down the hillside. The book was not with her. Only then did I know.“

“They died together saving the book. Alais wanted you to live, Sajhe. To live and care for Bertrande, your daughter in every way but one.”

He smiled. “I knew you would understand,” he said. The words slipped from between his lips like a sigh. “I have lived too long without her. Every day I felt her absence. Every day I wished I had not been cursed, to be forced to live my life, while all those whom I love grow old and die. Alais, Bertrande…”

He broke off. Her heart ached for him.

“You must not feel guilty any longer, Sajhe. Now you know what happened, you must forgive yourself.”

Alice could feel him slipping from her.

Keep him talking. Don’t let him go to sleep.

“There was a prophecy,” he said, “that in the lands of the Pays d’Oc, in our times, one would be born whose destiny was to bear witness to the tragedy that overtook these lands. Like those before me – like Abraham, Methuselah, Harif -I did not wish it. But I accepted it.”

Sajhe gasped for breath. Alice drew him closer, cradling his head in her arms. When?“ she tried to say. ”Tell me.“

“Alais summoned the Grail. Here. In this very chamber. I was twenty five years old. I had returned to Los Seres, believing my life was about to change. I believed I could woo Alais and be loved by her.”

“She did love you,” Alice said fiercely.

“Harif taught her to understand the ancient language of the Egyptians,” he continued, smiling. “It seems that some trace of that knowledge lives yet in you. Using the skills Harif had taught her and from her knowledge of the parchments, we came here. Like you, when the time came, Alais knew what to say. The Grail worked through her.”

“How…” Alice stumbled. What happened?“

“I remember the smooth touch of the air on my skin, the flicker of the candles, the beautiful voices spiralling in the dark. The words seemed to flow from her lips, hardly spoken. Alais stood before the altar, Harif with her.”

“There must have been others.”

There were, but… you will think it strange, but I can hardly remember. All I could see was Alais. Her face, rapt in concentration, a slight line between her eyes where she frowned. Her hair flowed down her back like a sheet of water. I saw nothing but her, was aware of nothing but her. She held the cup in her hands and spoke the words. Her eyes flew open in a single moment of illumination. She gave the cup to me and I drank.“

His eyelids were fluttering open and shut rapidly, like the beating of a butterfly’s wings.

“If your life was such a burden to you, why did you carry on without her?”

“Perque? he said with surprise. Why? Because it was what Alais wanted. I had to live to tell the story of what happened to the people of these lands, here within these mountains and the plains. To make sure that their story did not die. That is the purpose of the Grail. To help those to bear witness. History is written by the victorious, the liars, the strongest, the most determined. Truth is found most often in the silence, in the quiet places.”

Alice nodded. “You did this, Sajhe. You made a difference.”

“Guilhem de Tudela wrote a false record of the Crusade against us for the French. La Chanson de la Croisade, he called it. When he died, an anonymous poet, one who was sympathetic to the Pays d’Oc instead, completed it. La Canso. Our story.”

Despite everything, Alice found herself smiling.

“Los mots, vivents,‘ he whispered. Living words. ”It was the beginning. I vowed to Alais I would speak the truth, write the truth, so that future generations would know of the horror that once was done in the lands in their name. That they were remembered.“

Alice nodded.

“Harif understood. He had walked the lonely path before me. He had travelled the world and seen how words were twisted and broken and turned into lies. He too lived to bear witness.” Sajhe drew in his breath.

“He lived for only a short time after Alais, although he was more than eight hundred years old when he died. Here, in Los Seres, with Bertrande and me at his side.”

“But where have you lived, all these years? How have you lived?”

“I watched the green of spring give way to the gold of summer, the copper of autumn give way to the white of winter as I have sat and waited for the fading of the light. Over and over again I have asked myself why? If I had known how it would feel to live with such loneliness, to stand, the sole witness to the endless cycle of birth and life and death, what would I have done? I have survived this long life with emptiness in my heart, an emptiness that over the years has spread and spread until it became bigger than my heart itself”.“

“She loved you, Sajhe,” she said, softly. “Not in the way you loved her, but truly and deeply.”

A look of peace had come over his face. “Es vertat. Now I know it.”

“If…”

Another flurry of coughing overtook him. This time, specks of blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. Alice wiped them away with the hem of her robe.

He struggled to sit. “I have written it all down for you, Alice. My last testament. It is waiting for you in Los Seres. In Alais’ house, where we lived, which now I pass to you.”

In the distance, Alice thought she heard the sound of sirens piercing the still night of the mountain.

“They’re nearly here,” she said, keeping her grief in check. “I said they’d come. Stay with me. Please don’t give up.”

Sajhe shook his head. “It is done. My journey is ended. Yours is just beginning.”

Alice smoothed his white hair away from his face.

“I am not her,” she said softly. “I am not Alais.”

He gave a long, soft sigh. “I know. But she lives on in you… and you in her.” He stopped. Alice could see how much it hurt him to talk. “I wish we could have had longer, Alice. But to have met you, to have shared these hours with you. It is more than ever I hoped.”

Sajhe fell silent. The last vestiges of colour drained from his face, from his hands, until there was nothing left.

A prayer, one spoken a long time ago, came to her mind.

“Payre sant, Dieu dreyturier de bons esperits.” The once familiar words fell easily from her lips. “Holy Father, legitimate God of good spirits, grant us to know what Thou knowest, and to love what Thou lovest.”

Biting back her tears, Alice held him in her arms while his breathing became lighter, softer. Finally, it stopped altogether.