Chapter 12

The infernal hurricane that never rests

Hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine;

Whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them.

Dante, Inferno, 5.31-33

The four of them left the monastery early, before the sun was even up. The monks gave them back their two horses, along with two of their own – a black one for Bogdana and a white one for Adam – so Bogdana no longer rode behind Dante. As unfamiliar and disconcerting as her sitting behind him had been at first, he stole glances at her now, and felt less sure of himself without her being so near.

They rode over the drawbridge and back on to the road leading up the valley. As the sun came up behind them, the wind picked up, and the temperature dropped suddenly, from that of a cool spring morning to the first blast of winter in late November. Dante looked ahead and saw a flock of starlings shoot up in front of them, wheeling first to the right then to the left, increasing their speed to flee from the rising windstorm. The wind started picking things up off the forest floor, even tearing branches off trees. Their faces stung as the flying leaves and sticks pelted and cut them. Their progress slowed to a near halt, as the horses bucked and snorted, terrified by the sudden, violent change. Dante looked back to see the sun pressed between the jagged line of the horizon and a black, roiling ceiling of clouds that seemed intent on pressing it back down.

“What’s happening?” Dante asked.

“Storms come up quickly in the spring,” Radovan shouted.

“Yes, but not usually like this,” Adam said. “This seems quite out of the ordinary. It’s so dark, and the wind so powerful, overwhelming us and our animals. We should find some shelter, quickly.”

Dante looked about, trying to see anything between the swaying trees and swirling debris. One tree snapped and fell over right by them. “There!” he said, pointing off to the right. “I think I see a light!”

“Yes,” Radovan said. “Let’s go.”

With difficulty, they worked to get their horses through the woods. After a few steps, they could see there was a small cottage among the trees. The constant raging and howling of the storm was now punctuated by an irregular, slamming sound, as the door of the cottage swung open all the way, smashing into the wall of the building, then swung back when the wind shifted in its frenzied assault. The door didn’t slam shut, but stopped three-quarters of the way closed, as though it were hitting against something keeping it from closing all the way, then a second later it would swing back and slam back into the wall.

They dismounted and dragged the animals closer. Near the cottage there was a simple lean-to built between a large boulder and a tree. It was open on one side, and whatever animals it was meant to house were not there. Just some typical farm implements – shovels, spades, wooden buckets -- within. The structure was not quite big enough for their four horses, but they would have to try to tie the animals in there and hope they didn’t escape. Dante’s horse was on the end, with its side pressed up against the boulder. Sticks continued to hit the wall and roof of the structure, and the wind’s howling was fierce and unnaturally high-pitched, but Dante thought the animal might stay, now that it was at least partly protected from the storm’s fury. He’d had it some time, and like many such animals it was more trustworthy than most people. Dante patted its head before backing out between it and the large, white horse Adam had been riding. “Easy, friend,” he said. “I need you to stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

Leaving the makeshift stable, the four of them approached the cottage. Dante noticed Bogdana had picked up a short-handled shovel from the stable. Through the flying debris, he could see the light coming from the cottage’s window and partly open door. As they got closer, Radovan suddenly raised his left hand to stop them. He drew his sword.

Dante drew his weapon as well. He looked closer, squinting and raising his left hand to try and protect his eyes. The door couldn’t close all the way because two motionless, human legs were sticking out through the doorway. He heard the familiar moaning. It rose in volume and pitch, cutting above the sound of the storm, as it grew into a howl of hunger and rage – and this time, Dante thought, of infinite, sleepless sadness.