19. Belladonna

As soon as she touched American soil, Marie Cornel began to die. As unexpected as it may seem, that was the truth. Perhaps her body, which she'd tamed and made resist during that trip to Turkey, her last trip, gave up when feeling again the homeland's scent. And the signal of her giving up was that the pain, usually quite constant, suddenly became unbearable.

Marie didn't want to scream in pain in front of her son, much less in front of her granddaughter. It wasn't pride, although she'd been proud, and for a while. It was the need, the urgency of not making them suffer. But it was difficult. Her last days were going to be horrible.

She was an exceptional woman though, and, in the same way that she'd given birth to her son without uttering even the slightest groan in the middle of a field surrounded by enemies, she didn't utter a single word, nor a moan of pain throughout the journey back home to her rancho in the Navajo Nation. Anna noticed absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, except that she was tired and sore, so when she reached the rancho, the girl didn't waste time to pounce on her beloved Niyol, greet him with affection, brush and jump on him to leave for the gallop.

Only then Marie allowed herself to collapse in Kurtis's arms, while the world revolved around her and diluted as in a watery paint. She heard his son say something, but she didn't understand. It was all pain. Only pain.

She felt him lifting her in his arms and carrying her inside, a shrivelled, deformed and wrinkled doll in the arms of the one she'd given birth to. How strong he was. How strong he'd become. If the old woman had any pride left, he was its personification.

When she regained some consciousness, she was lying in her old and dear bed, while Kurtis tried to make her drink some water. She rejected it. "No." She murmured in a faint voice. "I need... I need the infusion."

"What mixture?" She heard him saying. His voice was distant, very distant, behind the brutal veil of pain.

"Belladonna." She managed to murmur and closed her eyes tightly.

Kurtis frowned, but said nothing and got up. He knew the mixture she'd indicated as "belladonna." Actually, this plant was only one of the components. It was a strong sedative and analgesic infusion. Too strong, depending on what for. But he didn't protest and prepared it without questioning, feeling that he suddenly returned to childhood. He knew how to do it since as a child he'd helped his mother to prepare thousands of different healing beverages, or simply for pain relief, while the patients screamed in their bed of pain.

Now it was she, his mother, who was screaming.

Help me. Help me. Please. I can't stand this.

Who was she telling? To a God in whom she didn't believe, to the spirits of her people, to herself and her long years of experience in relieving pain, to her absent husband, or to the present son? She didn't know. It was all pain. Only pain.

She noticed Kurtis incorporating her and finally, the warm, sedative liquid that poured into her throat. She swallowed it eagerly and almost instantly began to feel relief. It wasn't just belladonna. It also had opium, and other drugs. It would numb her, although the effect wouldn't last long. It would also deprive her from her mental faculties, which she hated with all her might, but she could no longer resist the pain. She would try to sleep through that state of drowsiness. "Kurtis."

"I'm here." A large, warm hand grabbed her cold and deformed hand.

She licked her lips, dry and cracked. "Anna." She murmured. "Bring her."

"She went riding. She shouldn't…"

"Bring her, Kurtis. Please. Please." Silence. "Kurtis..."

"You want her to see you like this?"

She smiled sadly. She tried to look at his son, but the familiar face was diluted in a mist. Thus, with the veil of the drug clouding her eyes, she couldn't have said if it was Kurtis or Konstantin who was next to her. They were so alike... "Bring me my granddaughter. I don't have time left."

The hand that grabbed her froze. Then he released her.

When Anna entered the room, an awful, overwhelming feeling seized her. The room reeked of sickness. Sickness and pain. Reeked of suffering. Of…

"Anna." A broken, weak voice came from the bed. As she approached her, she saw her grandmother lying, a film of sweat covering her face. She was holding something in her right hand, her fist clenched.

"Grandma, what happened to you? You're very bad!"

"Nothing that hasn't happened to me for months, honey. I've been getting worse these past few days, but I can't anymore." She spoke with her eyes closed, as if light day ached, although the room was dim. "Come, come closer, darling."

Anna felt her feet like nailed to the floorboards. Suddenly, she saw it clearly. Rather, she felt it. That sixth sense she now had. She realized right away.

Her grandmother was dying.

Her eyes drifted toward the tray with the kettle and the cup next to the bedside table. A strong smell, the one she'd felt when entering the room, came from the still smoking kettle. A vaguely familiar smell. A smell that nothing good predicted.

Belladonna.

"Anna..."

The girl startled and went toward her grandmother. She sat next to her, climbing on the narrow bed, and gently touched her arm. Marie was cold, cold and wet with sweat.

"Please, Grandma, don't die." The little voice came out pleadingly, and instantly felt stupid and childish. But what could she say?

Marie's hand lifted and caressed her cheek weakly, her hand trembling. A deformed, twisted hand. "My girl, my little girl." She muttered sweetly. "I've to bid you farewell."

She looked at her, dumbfounded, her blue eyes wide with horror. "Don't! There must be something..." She looked at the teapot. "This takes away your pain, right? You just have to keep taking it!"

"No, my love." Marie was calmer. She spoke sweetly and slowly. "No. It only eases me for a while. But it can't heal me. Today it'll suit me well, tomorrow it will do a little less, and in a week, it will no longer serve."

"There has to be something, Grandma!" Anna twisted her fingers, desperate. "You're a healer, you gotta know...!"

Marie smiled sadly. "Believe me, there's no cure for this. I know it well and I knew it well when I chose not to treat myself. My time's running out, and this will be the last time we talk, Anna. Then I'll go to rest." The girl was speechless, and suddenly, a veil of tears disfigured the image of her grandmother lying on her bed of agony. "No, don't cry, little one. We shouldn't mourn those who die achieving their wishes. I've lived long enough to see my son overcome his enemies, give me my coveted revenge, and then grant me the greatest gift: you, Anna. I could've died very young. It's true that I lost your grandfather, and many other loved ones. But I didn't lose your father, and I've seen you born and grow up. I still remember how I pulled you out to this world, a shrill and bloody baby. But you were the most beautiful thing I had seen in my life. You're still the most beautiful thing I've seen in my life."

Anna didn't listen to her, or at least, she'd take a long time to remember those words. She was crying inconsolably, rubbing her face in anger, but stopped when noticing her grandmother gently tapped her left fist against her thigh. She no longer had the strength to raise her arm. "Take this, Anna. Take it."

The fist slowly opened. Anna wiped her tears and watched, surprised, a nice but old pendant, a wooden hoop with a web of coloured threads, decorated with beautiful beads and feathers, and a cord to be hung around her neck.

"A dreamcatcher, Grandma?" And then she understood. She gasped, her jaw off the hook. "Not a dreamcatcher. The dreamcatcher!"

Marie smiled again, tired, and nodded. "Yes, my love. It was from my mother, then it came to me, then to my son, although he left it here when he fled to the Legion. It's yours now, Anna. I want you to have it."

"I thought... it was lost! Mom told me that Schäffer's mercenaries..."

"No, it just changed hands. It remained in my truck, and then, a brave, very brave woman, and good, very good too, picked it up. Her name was Giulia Manfredi, although she was known as Maddalena."

Anna nodded. "Maddalena." She was thoughtful. "She died. She gave her life for Dad."

Marie nodded in turn. "But before she left, she returned it to me. She put it back in my hands, and then followed your father into that world of horror she never came back from." She put the pendant in Anna's hands and stroked it. "It's fate, Anna. She couldn't keep it; you were meant to have it." The girl took the amulet, caressed it absently and slowly hung it around her neck and hid it under her shirt. "I don't want to fool you." Marie said then. "It has no power. That's you. This is just something... for you to remember me."

"Grandma." The voice broke. Marie wondered if she'd any awareness of how beautiful she looked, with her eyes full of tears. They looked like clear mirrors. "Grandma, I will never forget you."

Marie smiled when she noticed the girl was curling up beside her. She reached out and gently stroked her hair, thin and shiny, brown like her mother's. "Promise me that you will always live free and fearless." She told her. "Now there are many things I'm telling you that you won't understand, but one day you will. Live free and live without fear, like your mother. Lara has done a good work with you. That's the way. I'd have wanted that for your father too... but for a Lux Veritatis, it's hard. He's been raised in an invisible prison, like his father, like everyone before him."

"I am a Lux Veritatis." She heard her granddaughter say. She was very still next to her, motionless under her caressing hand.

"Yes and no. You're going to be different, Anna. Promise me. Live free, live fearless, but above all, live. Don't sacrifice yourself for anyone. You don't owe anyone anything. It'll take years to master those powers, but once you do, never use them to do evil. And if you don't need it, don't use them at all. If you see a demon you can't beat, turn around and run. Your only mission is to live, Anna."

The girl didn't understand half of what she was saying but she let her talk. Marie's broken, weak voice, which despite everything couldn't stop, was the voice of a dying woman. Years later, Anna would understand everything. "Grandma…"

"Let me finish, Anna. I'm very proud of you. You don't know how much. I'll see you again, someday, if the dead meet again. And if I'm allowed, I'll be always with you. But now I have to rest. Will you do what I asked?"

"Yes, Grandma."

"And promise me something else."

"Whatever you want, Grandma." What else could she say?

"Take care of your father."

Anna blinked, confused. "Grandma, he's the one who takes care of me... of us, although Mom's kinda unruly." She couldn't help smiling at the idea of her, a child, taking care of an adult man, even more being someone like her father. For Anna, her father was God.

Marie laughed softly, a cracked sound revealing the pain of her body. "Take care of him, Anna. You know what I mean, don't play dumb. You're almost a woman. We all need to be taken care of... also those who are strong and brave. Got it?"

"Yes, Grandma."

Marie nodded, and dropped her hand. Anna sat up slowly. Her grandmother was pale, very pale, and breathing convulsively. She kept sweating.

"You want more belladonna, Grandma?"

"No... call your father. Tell him to come."

"Grandma, I..."

"Honey, I've nothing more to tell you. Now leave. Always remember I loved you so much."

"Grandma…"

"Go away, Anna. Go away."

Anna got up from the bed and went to the door. As in a dream, she turned the knob and went out into the hall.

Kurtis was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Anna jumped. She still hadn't gotten used to how tremendously silent he was. When he saw her, he uncrossed his arms and turned to her.

Suddenly, rage invaded the girl. Her eyes got filled again with tears. "You!" She exploded. She didn't know whys he suddenly felt so furious, but she couldn't stop. "Why are you so calm? She's dying, and you do nothing!"

"Anna." He murmured, and extended his arms towards her, but the girl rejected him, furiously, pushing him aside.

"Don't touch me!" She yelled and ran. She came out from the house like an arrow, cracking the door against the wall when opening it, ran to the fences of the horses, jumped over, and in a few seconds, she was again on Niyol. The magnificent animal, although tired of the previous ride, didn't rebel at its rightful owner. It jumped the fence at her signal and got lost in the dark.

"Wooo-ho!" Shouted a voice in the night. Kurtis stopped on the porch, having watched his daughter leave, and saw Shilah coming down the road on his own horse. "Did you see that, Hashkeh? Your daughter rides better than any man!"

"I need to go after her." Kurtis replied, running his hand over his face. "She shouldn't go alone around this night. Leave me your horse."

Shilah stopped him with a hand gesture. "No way. I'll go for her." Before Kurtis could protest, he cut him. "Stop it! I ride faster than you. I'll find her. Go back with your mother." And, spurring on his mount, the Navajo shepherd went after Anna.

Marie seemed to have fainted, but when he leaned over her, she opened her eyes. "Anna?" She muttered.

"She fled away on horseback. Shilah has gone after her."

The old woman closed her eyes again. "Poor thing." She murmured. Then she heard Kurtis moving the kettle and cup, so she tapped his thigh gently with her deformed hand. "Wait." Her twisted fingers surrounded his wrist. "I need you to prepare it again. But, this time, triple the dose." Kurtis stared at her, in that way that made her shiver. But no expression surfaced his impassive face. "Kurtis..."

"Only doubling this dose is already lethal. You think I don't remember that, mother?"

Marie smiled patiently. His son had a good memory. "No. It can cause death only to those weak at heart. But even now, my heart's still strong and healthy. So, triple the dose."

A huge silence weighed between them for a moment, in which Kurtis' expression didn't change. "No." He said at last.

"It's not a plea, Kurtis. Do what I say. Triple the dose."

"You're not serious."

"Oh, of course I am. Don't pretend you don't know me." When he tried to bring the cup to her lips, she rejected it. "No! Listen to me, please. This will only relieve my pain for a while. I need to end this, Kurtis. I can't stand the pain anymore."

He pulled the cup aside and dropped it on the tray. The clink of porcelain tore a vibrant echo in the room. "Why are you doing this to me." He muttered under his breath, flushed with fury.

"Don't you do this to me, Kurtis. Don't condemn me to a slow and horrible death, I beg you."

He ran his hand over his face. "You didn't tell me you were sick. You've not wanted to treat yourself." He let out a sigh of exhaustion. "You've hurt everyone, including your granddaughter, who's just run away on horseback and got lost in the night."

"I won't fight in my last hour, Kurtis. Not with you. I'd bid farewell to everyone already. I just have to leave... help me do it in a clean and decent way."

"I've lived the life of a criminal. I've killed people who deserved it, and I've killed innocents too." He removed his hand from his face. He was pale again, and now his eyes began to redden. "Now, as a climax, I've to kill my own mother."

Marie smiled sweetly and put her hand on his arm, but he pulled away. "You don't kill me. It's not a murder. It's mercy. A painless death."

"Call it whatever you want." He got up. "I'm not doing it."

"Kurtis!" She shouted. "I won't get any better. I'm only getting worse. How long will I be like this? Hours? Days? Weeks? Are you going to let me die like a dog?"

He didn't answer. He left abruptly, slamming the door.

She could hardly move. She couldn't even get out of bed, much less prepare herself what she needed to leave. Struggling, she managed to swallow the rest of the belladonna infusion, although it was already cold. For a few hours, she slept, experiencing some relief. But then the pain returned. And there was nothing left to relieve it with.

Sitting on the kitchen table, arms over it, Kurtis heard her mourn in a low voice. Shortly after her groans turned to screams. He folded and slowly unfolded his hands on the wooden panel, observing the strong palms, the calloused fingers, the intricate drawing of the veins marking the skin. As his mother's screams increased, they became more marked.

She didn't pretend. She hadn't yelled in her life. Not of pain, anyway. And even within that lament, there wasn't a hint of supplication. She didn't call him once. She just suffered.

He knew he was going to give in long before he actually did. He got up, as if driven by a spring, entered the dying woman's room and, without saying a word, took the tray with the kettle and the cup and returned to the kitchen. Mechanically, like a robot, he prepared the infusion of belladonna again.

Then he tripled the dose.

He let it boil in silence and as he looked out the window. The night was black, dark, without stars. There was no sign of Anna or Shilah.

Better like that.

He took the infusion and returned to the room. His mother kept lamenting in bed, writhing in pain, but this time, he no longer felt doubt, he was no longer afraid.

He picked her up like a little girl, held her in his arms, and brought the cup to his lips. Marie's hands gently circled his as he gave her the deadly liquid to drink. Her hands trembled, deformed. His own hands didn't.

"More." She said, when she'd drunk it. "Finish it."

So, he gave her another cup. And another. As the sensation of numbness spread throughout her body, the pain went numb with it. She felt the heart speeding up, her breath altering, a side effect of belladonna, a curious contrast with the numbness of opium. The killer combination.

"Thank you." She muttered at last and stroked his arm. "My poor boy."

He didn't say a word. He rocked her gently, as he'd rocked his daughter when she was little. Gradually, her weak and twisted body became lax, soft.

Kurtis laid her down gently on the bed, but even then, she was still breathing.

At some point near dawn, Marie suddenly woke up, startled. Kurtis, who had silently watched her, leaned over her. Her hands gripped him tightly. "Konstantin!" She heard her moan. "Is it you? You're back?"

Opium. She was no longer aware of anything. Kurtis held her hands. "Konstantin!" She whispered again, and her nails stuck in him.

Finally, Kurtis responded. "He'll come." He murmured in her ear. "He'll be there. He promised. He told me... he would be waiting for you."

The Vortex's vision. His father, or rather, his ghost. Hooded, hands and feet drilled. His clear glance. Tell your mother... I'll be waiting for her.

It could've been just a hallucination, as far as he knew. A raving of his wounded, hungry, exhausted mind. A trick of the demons.

But it could've been real either.

Marie smiled slightly. Then she closed her eyes again and fell asleep, calm, relaxed, painless, gently rocked in her son's arms.

Minutes later, she stopped breathing.

He laid her gently on the bed, stretching her legs, crossing her arms over her chest. He checked again that her heart had definitely stopped beating. Although it made no sense anymore, he delicately covered her with the bedcover.

Then, slowly, he took the tray, left the room, closed the door behind him and headed for the kitchen. He crossed it, put the tray on the bench, stepped out onto the porch, and sat on the steps.

The dawn of a new day was beginning to clear up.

He would've liked to smoke a cigarette, but he realized that he'd no desire or strength to take it out. He stared at the horizon, exhausted, his eyes reddened, motionless.

What do you see, Kurtis?

I see the desert, the horizon in the distance, and the red sun rising. I see the home and the land of your people, my people, our people. And I see you, wherever I look, Mom, I see you.

In the distance, he distinguished a silhouette that approached walking. For a moment he thought it would be Anna, or Shilah, then he remembered, exhausted, that they had left on horseback. And a few meters later, he recognized her.

He would've recognized that way of walking among thousands of similar women in the world. That gentle swinging of her hips was unique.

He stared at her, mute, as he watched her approach. She carried a backpack on her shoulder, and was dressed in jeans, boots and jacket. Seeing him on the porch, she approached more quickly. "Kurtis!" She exclaimed, and after a few strides, she stood before him, looking at him dumbfounded.

He must be looking awful. "Lara." He murmured, his voice hoarse. "What are you doing here?"

She sighed, dropped her backpack to the ground and changed her leg weight, as when she felt uncomfortable. "I've changed my mind." She explained. "That decision wasn't right. I must be here. Marie…" She stopped when seeing Kurtis' bitter grimace. The unshaven beard. Dark circles under red eyes.

"It's too late, Lara." He said for an answer.

She watched him in silence and suddenly, she picked up the backpack and entered the house, pushing the mosquito net door. She dropped the backpack in the kitchen, crossed the hall and, opening the door with a push, entered Marie's room. Then she froze in the doorframe, watching the body lying on the bed. With just one look, she knew she was dead.

For a few seconds, Lara watched Marie silently, assimilating facts. Then she advanced to her, bent down and touched her cheek. It was already cold.

"Oh, Marie." She murmured, grieved. "Marie. I'm sorry. I should've been here."

She knelt by the bedside and stared at the deceased woman in silence, while holding her hand. It felt unreal she was dead. If Lara hadn't had experience in the real aspect of death, it would've seemed to her as if she was sleeping. Her face expression was sweet, calm, relaxed. As if she'd left while sleeping.

Like Winston did, she thought.

Lara tilted her forehead and rested it on the mattress, closing her eyes tightly. She thought she should cry, shed some tears for that woman who'd meant so much to her, whom she'd admired and respected without limits. It had been easy to cry for Winston. However, tears didn't come to her eyes this time.

No, Marie Cornel wouldn't want tears. Even at that moment, a great sense of pride and gratitude filled her, which prevented her from crying. Pride, for having met her. Gratitude, for everything she'd done for her.

"It's been an honor, Marie." She whispered, looking at the Navajo woman's body. "Thank you."

When she returned to the kitchen, her eyes caught the tray with the kettle and the cup. Distractedly, she picked it up and sniffed the content.

"DON'T!"

Kurtis scream startled her. She jumped and released the cup which, falling against the table, broke into pieces, also breaking the plate. The man was standing in the doorway frame. Suddenly, in four strides, he stood before her. Lara made an instinctive withdrawal movement - Kurtis looked like a madman, with bloodshot eyes - but what he did was grab the kettle and, without more, smash it against the wall.

Lara took another leap at the crack of porcelain and stared, frozen, the lines of the dark liquid dripping down the wall. "What's wrong with you?" She shouted.

"It's belladonna." He muttered, panting. "Mixed with opium. Enough to kill a horse."

"What for…?" She began to say, and then stopped abruptly. Watching Kurtis' dishevelled face, she suddenly understood everything. "Oh my God." She murmured.

He ran his hand over his face, seeming shattered. "I couldn't take it anymore." He replied and collapsed in a chair. "I couldn't stand her screaming. She was... she wasn't herself... it wasn't a way to go."

Lara had frozen staring at him. Then she looked again at the infusion staining the wall. Poisoned with opium and belladonna? Marie Cornel? Impossible! She would've noticed. Unless… "It was her." The British explorer muttered then. "She asked you to."

Kurtis nodded, exhausted, and buried his face in his hands. He swung for some time in the blackness, through which he barely heard Lara gently drag a chair beside him and approach him. Noticing her arm on his, her head resting on his shoulder, he realized that it was the first time, in months, that Lara intimately approached him. "Oh, Kurtis." She murmured. "I'm sorry."

My poor boy.

My poor, poor boy. Why did it sound like his mother's voice?

Instinctively, he raised his other hand and placed it on Lara's hand. She didn't reject him. They remained silent for a moment. "Lara..."

"Let it be, Kurtis. You did what you must."

He moved his hand up and gently stroked her hair, that coppery hair, which was now Anna's hair too.

"Where's Anna?" Lara murmured, her face still resting on his shoulder.

"She's very affected. She rode Niyol and galloped hours ago. But don't worry, Shilah went after her."

"Alright." Lara trusted wholeheartedly the Navajo shepherd.

A few minutes of silence passed. Kurtis's hand began to gently stroke the back of her hand.

"Did she... suffered much?" She asked. "At the end, I mean."

"No. She didn't even know where she was. She..." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "She mistook me for my father."

Lara's hand turned up and grabbed his. He stared at her thin and long fingers intermingle with his. Then she raised her head and kissed him on the mouth.

For a moment, Kurtis failed to react. It was too sudden, too strange in that context. She'd spent months without approaching him that way. Months without allowing him that close. Months believing that she no longer loved him, that she would cast him from her side, fearing, even, that she might separate him from his daughter.

Lara noticed his hesitation and went on kissing him tenderly, circling his neck with her hands and drawing him to herself. And then he reacted.

He was a broken man, and no questions were asked. At least, not at that moment. He didn't wonder why she was coming back to him right now. He didn't wonder if she was doing that out of compassion. He was exhausted, shattered, confused and overwhelmed. He didn't think about anything else, not even about what he'd just done. He just thought he had Lara in his arms again.

He kissed her back decisively and wrapped her in a strong embrace, hugging her against him. Then he lifted her up, suddenly recovering all the strength he'd lost during that endless night, and in one blow, he swept everything that was on the table, the tray, the glasses, other cups, which crashed into the ground in a shrill clatter, to clear it, and then lay down Lara on its smooth and empty surface, while her mouth devoured his, while his hands ran down her neck, her breasts, her waist and her legs. He heard her mutter something and put her hands over his, as if leading him, but he didn't understand. Blood was thumping in his ears and he heard nothing but a shrill buzzing ringing in his head.

Instinctively, knowing clearly what he wanted and needed as soon as possible, and guided by her, his hands began frantically unzipping Lara's pants, and shortly after he pulled them off with a jerk.

She didn't stop him, what's more, she helped him. Then, dropping her hands on both sides of her body, Lara let him do the rest.