MY HEART IN STONE

PART NINE:

It was a scenic trail Rachel found, a footpath that appeared to diverge from a narrow gravel 

drive that rose up to crest on a ridge to be to the benefit of the backpackers, yet Rachel saw 

that none of the groups heading out that morning went near it, choosing instead to go south or 

east or west.  The North part of town seemed to be off limits to everyone, described only as 

‘private property’ and debate of passage through it discouraged.  But aside from a general 

warning by guides to keep to main roads, there was no other indication that a meandering 

trail was off limits to those who were…curious. 

 

She stopped at the entrance to rummage through the purse for a small pair of binoculars, 

prepare her camera, when she heard a faint scrape on the gravel ahead.  She saw a dark 

head turned to look off into the woods before taking the bend that curved to meet the path 

where Rachel stood, a small brownish figure pausing to reflect…or listen for suspicious 

sounds themselves.  Rachel glanced around and found a thick bush of some prickly plant 

nearby and scrunched down behind it, heart racing while it rose up in her throat, hoping 

any sounds she made would be taken for a rabbit or deer fleeing.

It was Gerta!  She was walking toward her on the road, seemingly relaxed and unaware 

that she was being watched.  The sparrow-like woman was impassive, caught up in personal 

thoughts, taking notice of those steps that would keep her journey towards its destination.  

When it felt like Gerta would not see her leave the hiding place, she hustled to its entrance 

and plunged into the green depths.  

The scenic route took a decidedly circuitous meander through the woods that blanketed the 

side of the hill, for she was indeed on the slope, a terrace or two lower than the main road, 

which bent abruptly and took a sharp rise.  The trail held steady in its level, and she began 

to catch glimpses of Kamen through openings in the trees.

There had only been one picture that they found on the internet, and that a poorly defined one 

taken by aerial and from a long way off at that.  Pictures could do nothing to give the small 

castle justice, though, in its curving abutment of the cliff that overlooked the hinterlands of 

Bohemia.  It was irregular in shape, not defined in sleek orderly lines.  Its buttresses were 

curved to follow the rill, a shape that must have been dictated by the time-worn form of the 

sandstone blocks it was fastened to. More than that, it was punctuated by a single round 

tower with a delightfully pointed roof.  Crenellated ramparts set off the square-shaped 

buildings like medieval gingerbread.  

Rachel snapped several pictures when she thought she had a good view and turned her gaze 

downwards and out to looking into the sea of hills.  The slope’s gradation was looking less 

severe now.  Perhaps she could…?

Rachel turned slowly around her, listening, watching, a sudden vague sense of alarm causing 

her muscles to freeze.  For all she knew, there were trigger wires that would set off silent 

alarms. Dogs could be used to find her.  But it didn’t look as if anyone ever came this way 

aside from a well-trodden path through the better part of the woods.  And she could see some 

ways off that the wooded slope went suddenly bare because the base of the rill ballooned into 

climbable swells. Surely no one expected a person to reach the castle from that angle?  

Rachel made sure her things were secure and left the trail.

The slope then took a cantankerous plunge into a tiny ravine, a plunge that actually was not 

too hard to crawl into, but looking back up from the bottom, Rachel could see she was going 

to have a hell of a time climbing back up.  She marked the spot by hanging her purse off a tree 

growing sideways out of the slope, taking out her camera and binoculars to carry on.  The 

vague sense of alarm did not go away, so she stopped once more to listen and look.  The only 

thing that came close to causing suspicion was a raucous crow.  

So she followed the ravine, dry now because there had not been rain for several days and the 

run-off apparently headed even further downhill.  Rachel was starting to talk herself into 

turning around and going back to her purse when the narrow ravine opened up into a wide, 

deeply shaded gully.  Almost overhead loomed the stretching walls and round tower of
Neviditelny Kamen.  

Then the smell hit her.  In woods where the breeze ruffled only the tree tops, filling the air 

with rain-like rustles, a sudden puff of wind took her by surprise; not by its strength, 

because it was not a very brisk one, but by the weight of the stench it carried with it.  

Both horrified and fascinated, Rachel realized the sense of alarm must have been because 

she had been picking up the smell as she had advanced on it.  Glancing back up at the 

curvaceous billow of sandstone base, Rachel now saw a bizarre streak of dark running 

almost exactly perpendicular to the lateral striations of the sandstone.  Was it black?  

Was it red?  Her feet developed a mind of their own and carried her forward.

But not for far.  Her eyes fell back to the gulley ahead of her and saw bits of color and 

shape that immediately told her they were not part of the natural terrain of the hills of Kamen.  

Faded blue…a jacket? ... Red…pants?  Yellow…hands?.  Orange…metallic?  

White.

Bones.

Then, as if it had leaped out at her from some hidden trap in the side of the gulley, a form 

hung positioned at eye level, gray-green with large round blotches, dressed in shockingly 

familiar Roman togs, a salt-and-pepper beard…

Dimetri.

Rachel felt heat in shade that did not allow strong sunlight to penetrate, felt heat fall upon 

her head as if the sun were poured upon her crown with liquid gold intensity.  That heat 

slagged downward through her face, melting her throat, finding a path in her spinal cord, 

filled her stomach.

She made it back into the ravine before her stomach decided it didn’t like being filled with 

such virulence and she retched onto the river stones, choking with horror.  When she was 

able to control the spasms of her stomach, she staggered to her purse and rinsed her mouth 

out with the water bottle she carried, panting more from an accelerated heart rate than

running.

Her point of descent into the ravine beheld the full length of the castle, looking for all the 

world a frigate cruising through the greenwoods of land.  With a bizarre presence of mind, 

she took a picture of it, then climbed up the ravine side, using tufts of grass as anchors.  By 

the time she fell out upon the terrain once more, Rachel was trembling with fear and anger. 

That was what happened to those who failed Mikol. Brianna had never talked about the 

possibilities of failure, seemed to take it as fact that what they were offering to do was save 

her from this fate.  Once that was obvious, there was no need to discuss it.  But that wasn’t 

what shook Rachel to the core the most. If she slipped up, if Cort…oh God!  If Cort should 

suddenly meet with disfavor…!  

Her eyes lifted naturally to the heavens, met with another shock.  There, at the edge of the 

castle’s crenellation, she saw a familiar brown head peering down, seeming to focus on the 

little undulation where she stood sheltered from sight by a pine. 

Long seconds went by and Rachel was torn between shouting out his name or rushing 

forward.  Could he see her? Was he looking for her?  She made a split second decision to 

step out into the small patch of sunlight, where she could wave to him, let him know she 

was here…

Another figure joined Cort at the edge, looking down into the ridge as well, although he 

didn’t seem to have been that interested in finding out what fascinated Cort.  The second 

figure put his arm around her love and drew him away.

Tears were running a full course by the time she made it back to the trail’s truncation at 

the access road.  She had found Cort, but he might as well have been on a mountain on 

Mars, and knowing what his final gravesite might be, she felt as if death were riding her 

back, all the way up to her room, where she grabbed up his old shirt and sobbed.

"Are you awake, my young friend?" 

It was Henri, poking his head up into Cort's room as he slid a breakfast tray onto the floor. 

Cort had been awake for at least an hour, just lying there, thinking. He'd had more strange 

dreams again in which he was following some faint trail through a snowy pinewood with 

skulls and bones scattered about.  It seemed to him that he'd been trying to follow someone, 

but he had no idea who.  Or where the woods might be. Or why he would be doing that in the 

first place.  But he was on a  horse.  He remembered the horse from his dream, even 

remembered that he had stolen the horse. That would have more likely been a desert 

scenario, he mused, as he'd stolen several horses while riding with Herod.  Then as he 

probed his dream more deeply, the scent of the pines came to him again.  He closed his 

eyes, seeing the trees. Only these pines had bushes scattered throughout them rather than

skulls. And they were blooming. 

Why pines, dammit! Pines in the snow, pines with flowers! None of it had anything to do 

with the desert that had been his home. And so it was that when Henri asked his question,

Cort responded with a rather loud sigh and a curt, "Yeah." 

Henri cocked an eyebrow at the tone, continuing up the stone steps until he was fully in the 

room. "Something is bothering you?" 

Cort blew out a long breath and swung himself off the bed.  "Dreams.  More dreams that 

don't make sense." 

"That is understandable," Henri smiled kindly.  "Your mind has much to process.  We 

tend to do a lot of that in our sleep." 

"But PINES, Doctor!  I keep dreaming...seeing...pine trees.  Smelling them, even." 

Henri truly had no idea why.  "Perhaps, given time, their meaning, their significance to 

you, will make itself evident.  Be patient with yourself." 

"What've you got for me this morning?" Cort asked, smelling something very un-pine-

scented on the tray. 

"Pancakes. Do you like pancakes?"

 

"Flapjacks?  Yeah, I like those a lot!" And he proved it by eating twelve. 

"What's on the agenda for today, Doc?"  He made a broad gesture with a hand.  "Do I 

get to get out of this canister?" 

"You do, indeed.  Mikol was going to show you the castle, but he had to attend to some 

pressing matters in his, um, office, so I am assigned as your guide." 

Cort was pleased.  He much preferred the company of the pleasant doctor to that of 

Mikol's. 

Rather than use the elevator, Henri led Cort down a series of curving stone steps and along 

a different, straight passageway that led to the entrance of the building at the base of the 

tower.  They stepped out into an irregularly-shaped courtyard with high walls completely

surrounding it.  At the far end of the courtyard was another, larger stone structure that 

formed the eastern end of the castle. 

Cort blinked in the sunlight, enjoying the feel of it on his cheeks.  "This is my first castle," 

he remarked to Henri.  "I think," he added wryly, not sure at all any more where he might 

have been he knew nothing about.  Mikol had said that the time after his retrieval was of no 

importance, but he felt a certain instinctive curiosity about the blankness of it.  He'd gotten 

no straight answers to his queries about how much time had elapsed from that moment in the 

exploding street to when he'd awakened in the castle.  Had it been mere moments? Could it 

have even been hours? Or more? 

As Henri led him toward the eastern building, he paused, looking back the way they had 

come.  The structures seemed to pile like mountains of stone and behind them he saw the 

tower, noticing the small walkway at its top.  "Anybody ever go up there?" he asked. 

"Rarely," Henri replied. "Several hundred years ago, watchmen used to be posted up 

there to warn of intruders.  Mikol has more...sophisticated...means." 

"I can imagine." 

"Probably not," Henri muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he continued 

toward the larger building. 

Cort let it go, following along behind the older man as he was shown through various rooms 

in what was the main keep of the castle.  They ended in the dining hall, a large, flag-stone 

floored room with dark beams lining its flat ceiling. The walls were all paneled or decorated 

in some fashion, a fireplace on one side, a trestle table centered in the room with several 

straight-backed chairs around it. Cort didn't particularly care for the look of it. It was cold, 

formal, and generally uncomfortable in appearance. "Fancy," he said as his only comment.  

"Can we go back outside now?" He wanted to be in the sunlight again. 

"All right," Henri said agreeably, once again making Cort glad it was the doctor who was 

his guide. 

Back in the courtyard, Cort pointed to a high walkway built into the ramparts.  "All right 

if we go up there?" 

"I would think so," Henri ventured, leading Cort to a small stairway that would give access. 

As he came out onto the walkway, Cort took in a deep lungful of air. "This is more like it," 

he murmured. 

Henri noticed Mikol had come out into the courtyard and was signaling to him. "Stay here,"

he instructed Cort. "I'll be right back." 

Cort, indeed, was very content to stay there. He would have stayed there all day, in fact. It 

was the best he'd felt since he'd awakened in this place. He looked out over the rolling, 

forested hills that stretched endlessly on this side that was away from the view of Hromada. 

He'd not seen the town yet, was not yet aware it even existed. The tower window, too, 

looked out on a view only of trees.  

A desert-dweller, the sight of so many trees amazed him. He hadn't thought there were 

this many trees in the entire world. Then the memory of pines hit him again and he 

frowned. 

"Blasted pines!" he said to himself, perturbed that he kept seeing them. Then, the sunlight 

just too wonderful, he pressed the memory down and turned his attention back to the forest 

that lay right there, right now. Real forest with real trees. 

The breeze picked up, ruffling his hair. My God but he felt alive again. He leaned his elbows 

on one of the stones that formed the lower part of a crenellation and just...gazed. Some bird 

of prey floated, wings not flapping, riding a thermal over a ridge. He watched it until it 

disappeared in the distance. Then he turned to look at the forest closer to the castle, noting 

the steepness of the slope. A quick movement caught his eye where a single evergreen grew 

atop a small undulation in the terrain. Was someone there? He thought he could make out 

a form beneath the branches. He narrowed his eyes, peering more closely. It was a person, 

still too far to discern any details, but as he looked, whoever it was stepped out from the deep 

shade into the bright sunshine. He blinked. Sunlight glinted off something on the person, 

looking for all the world for one split second like a star was shining up at him from far 

below. 

Then Henri was at his elbow again, putting his arm about him, saying that he must go back 

inside now as something had come up that needed attending to. Reluctantly, he let himself 

be led away, back to the high room of the tower. He sat on his bed, looking at the small 

window, feeling suddenly...contained. He didn't like the feeling. Not at all. 

"What happened to her?" Henri was asking Mikol now that the two of them were alone in 

Mikol's study beneath the castle. 

"She was riding her bike on the road to Hromada this morning," Mikol explained, "coming 

back from, I believe, her mother's on the way to work. Truck killed her instantly." 

"Poor Katryn," Henri sighed. He'd always rather liked the young, dark-haired housekeeper 

who smiled shyly as she tended to her tasks. 

Mikol was ticked. He had a passionate need for orderliness in all things. Katryn was good 

at her job, rarely spoke, asked no questions, never poked her nose where she shouldn't. She 

attended to the parts of the castle above ground, not even aware of the vast portions of it 

concealed beneath her feet. "Call Gerta," he said sharply. "She should be at the con-

struction office shortly. Tell her what happened. Tell her to get on it, find me someone to 

replace Katryn." 

He turned ice-blue eyes on the doctor. "And tell her to investigate the replacement...

thoroughly. She knows what's at stake. I want a new housekeeper as soon as possible. Before 

the week is out. She's to understand that. Before the week is out." 

Gerta waited until she had made her way down further the road, then slipped behind a 

screen of dogwood to look back from whence she came, her hands balling in front of her in 

agitation.  Yes, there.  She saw the young American, Rachel, with the starry brooch in her 

hair flashing, creep out from behind her little hiding bush and sprint towards the entrance 

of the detour.  

Oh, this was not good, one half of Gerta pronounced with doom.  The other half nearly 

laughed out loud at the girl’s audacity, her initiative.  Both of these impulses were quelled 

by the thought of Mikol discovering her snooping around.  There was a reason why the 

natives warned off the backpackers, an entire pile of reasons why that occurrence would not 

be pleasant for the girl.  Gerta almost started back up the path after her, wondering if she 

should…but Mikol was waiting to hear from her office in town.  He always got suspicious 

when she took longer than normal.  If he were to find out that she helped a straggler get as 

far as the castle…

Gerta frowned grimly, turning her heels back towards town.  At best, the gates would 

prevent her complete entrance.  At worst…well, Mikol was ruthless in taking his time.  His 

was not a fiery anger or punishment. It was cold…like revenge, long in waiting, coiled to

spring when all seemed well.  So there would be some…time.  

She could race down, make her checks, and come back and undo whatever damage had 

been done then.

Gerta glanced at the roofs of Hromada, some chimneys puffing with white smoke, a few 

cars zipping up and down the few lanes of vehicle traffic.  The detour trail was more 

protected from guarded view than the main road, she thought.  If Rachel were wise, she

would not push the security of it beyond the quad-field that was at the entrance of the castle 

bridge, a solid bridge that spanned the narrow gulley separating the island fortress of 

Kamen from the main hill.  She would only stay where the trees would hide her…

With a burst of panic, Gerta pumped her legs as fast as they would go back up the road, 

down the trail. She had to restrain herself from calling out, unable to say anything by the 

time she got there, out of breath from fear and exertion.

Gone.  Rachel had disappeared.

She looked at her watch.  Mikol would not wait past fifteen minutes.  If she jogged, she 

would make it for her check in. 

Let the girl live, she prayed, trying to focus on not letting the thick heels of her pumps 

turn her ankles and send her sprawling.  Let her live and I will talk to her this evening.  If I 

have to go to every hotel in Hromada, I will find her and tell her she will become a 

permanent resident of her fairytale dream city, without the benefit of a wedding.

Somewhere between unlocking the blue door and toggling the computer to sign in her 

presence to Mikol, the thought occurred to Gerta that Rachel had been, still, very much

by herself.

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