The Ghost Rider Read Free Page B

of relatives and friends, his own heart was suddenly so heavy that he wondered what had come over him. Everyone looked sad, not only Doruntine’s mother and brother, but all her relatives, for she was the first girl of the country to marry so far away. But Stres’s sorrow was quite unique. As she rode away, he suddenly realised that the feeling he had had for her these last three weeks had been nothing other than love. But it was a love without shape, a love which had never condensed, for he himself had gently prevented it. It was like the morning dew that appears for the first few minutes after sunrise, only to vanish during the other hours of day and night. The only moment when that bluish fog had nearly condensed, had tried to form itself into a cloud, was when she left. But it had been no more than an instant, quickly forgotten.
    Stres stood at Doruntine’s bed, looking steadily into her face. She was as beautiful as ever, perhaps even more beautiful, with those lips that seemed somehow full and light at the same time.
    “Doruntine,” he said in a very soft voice.
    She opened her eyes. Deep within them he sensed a void that nothing could fill. He tried to smile at her.
    “Doruntine,” he said again. “Welcome home.”
    She stared at him.
    “How do you feel?” he said slowly, carefully, unconsciously taking her hand. She was burning hot. “Doruntine,” he said again, more gently, “you came last night after midnight, didn’t you?”
    Her eyes answered “yes.” He would rather have putoff asking the question that troubled him, but it rose up of itself.
    “Who brought you back?”
    The young woman’s eyes stared steadily back at his own.
    “Doruntine,” he asked again, “who brought you back?” His voice seemed alien to him. The very question was so fraught with terror that he almost wanted to take it back. But it was too late.
    Still she stared at him with those eyes in whose depths he glimpsed a desperate void.
    Get it over with now, he told himself.
    “You told your mother that it was your brother Kostandin, didn’t you?”
    Again her look assented. Stres searched her eyes for some sign of madness, but could find no meaning in their utter emptiness.
    “I think you must have heard that Kostandin left this world three years ago,” he said in the same faint voice. He felt tears well up within him before they suddenly filled her eyes. But hers were tears unlike any others, half-visible, almost impalpable. Her face, bathed by those tears, seemed even more remote. “What’s happening to me?” her eyes seemed to say. “Why don’t you believe me?”
    He turned slowly to his deputy and to the other woman standing near the mother’s bed and motioned to them to leave. Then he leaned towards the young woman again and stroked her hand.
    “How did you get here, Doruntine? How did you manage that long journey?”
    It seemed to him that something strained to fill those unnaturally enlarged eyes.
     
    Stres left an hour later. He looked pale, and without turning his head or speaking a word to anyone, he made his way to the door. His deputy, following behind, was tempted several times to ask whether Doruntine had said anything new, but he didn’t dare.
    As they passed the church, Stres seemed about to enter the cemetery, but changed his mind at the last minute.
    His deputy could feel the glances of curious onlookers as they walked along.
    “It’s not an easy case,” Stres said without looking at his deputy. “I expect there will be quite a lot of talk about it. Just to anticipate any eventuality, I think we would do well to send a report to the prince’s chancellery.”
    To His Highness’s Chancellor. Urgent
     
    I believe it useful to bring to your attention events that occurred at dawn on this 11 October in the noble house of Vranaj and which may have unpredictable consequences .
    On the morning of 11 October, the aged Lady Vranaj, who, as everyone knows, has been living alone since the death of her