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Eroica gasped as Eberbach tackled him, realizing only when he heard the shot that the Major had knocked him out of the line of fire. He fell against the hard rock trail, Eberbach hitting him as a dead weight.
... Dead weight?
The Major had gone limp. It wasn't until he lifted him and saw blood pouring down his face that Eroica realized his red suit was sticky with it. "Major!" he gasped in horror. Oh, God — any god! Don't let him be dead!
Eroica shook with terror — and then realized it was not his own trembling, but the mountain's! He scrambled against the cliff wall, hugging the Major to him. He saw Hualpa, Bonham, and Jones clinging to the ledge.
Screams echoed from above. Rocks and snow pelted down as the rumbling and shaking increased. A body, screaming, fell past him, followed by snow, more snow, ice, rocks, noise so tremendous that if anyone was screaming, including himself, he could not hear it.
Eroica buried his face in Eberbach's hair, clinging to the unresponsive body for dear life.
He could not have said how long it continued. When he finally realized that the noise had stopped, he lifted his head.
The ledge ... was empty. Hualpa, Bonham, and Jones were gone.
Two backpacks lay near the cliff wall; the others, like the people, had been swept over the cliff. The trail immediately below, what Eroica could see of it, was completely filled with ice and snow. He and the Major were trapped until it melted.
When he looked upward, there was more sky than before: the ledge on which the neo-Nazis had laid their ambush had fallen.
He was alone with his love in his arms, the only sound the soft wail of the mountain wind.
Don't panic, he told himself. What would the Major do?
Again he lifted the limp dark head and saw no sign of consciousness. Blood still ran down over the pale forehead. That was good, wasn't it? If he was bleeding, he was alive.
But he could bleed to death.
"Major?"
There was no response, but he saw a faint plume of breath in the frosty air. He was alive! Now it was Eroica's responsibility to keep him that way.
First, stop the bleeding. Second, find shelter.
The temple was the only shelter; he would have to carry the Major back there somehow. First aid kit? That was something the Major would certainly have, and one of the packs left on the ledge was his khaki one. Carefully maneuvering the unconscious man aside, he clambered down, found the kit, and in moments was cleaning the wound with an antiseptic swab.
The blood was coming from under the Major's thick black hair, so it took a panicked time for Eroica to determine that it was just a scalp wound. The bullet had grazed him, not penetrated his skull. He was probably concussed, and he would certainly have one hell of a headache, but it wasn't a mortal wound.
"Thank you!" Eroica whispered to any gods who might be listening, and pressed a compress over the wound until the bleeding stopped. Then he squeezed antibiotic salve onto the wound, and wrapped gauze around his love's head, recognizing sadly what a romantic picture it made when he had no time or inclination to appreciate it.
He knew virtually nothing about first aid, patient care, head wounds. All of that had always been left to someone else to deal with. Now he cursed his ignorance. Was it normal or a bad sign that the Major had not regained consciousness? After much fumbling with sleeves and gloves he found a steady pulse; at least he was sure that was good. Pulling his own gloves back on, he began to deal with the problem of getting Eberbach up the steep trail to the temple.
One step at a time, he told himself. The words became a mantra as he dragged the limp body upwards. In the thin air, with no help from the Major, he was soon sweating and gasping, and had to sit down.
The packs were still in view on the ledge. He needed the sleeping bags, food, anything else that might be in them, so he brought them up to where Eberbach still lay unmoving.
Thus began a nightmare trek in broad daylight. He would drag the Major as far as he could, and then "rest" by going back for the packs. Then he would catch his breath, and begin the process all over again. Only in three places was the trail level enough that he could grasp the Major in a fireman's carry, moving him farther and faster before he ran out of strength again.
And all the while, his fear grew, for the man he loved made no sound or voluntary movement.
By the time he reached the temple, Eroica was aching, his heart most of all. The sun was setting, the temperature dropping, when at last he carried Eberbach into the temple's great chamber. Putting him gently down, he knelt, looking up at the two mosaics.
"Help us," he prayed. "Please — this man came here to protect you. Even if I don't deserve it, he deserves your help! He took the bullet meant for me. Isn't he worthier to live than I am?"
There was, of course, no answer.
Fighting tears, Eroica dragged himself to his feet, and forced his weary body to bring the packs in from where he had left them at the top of the trail.
The sensible place to care for Eberbach was by the pool. It was warmer there, too. This time he took the packs in first, laying out the Major's sleeping bag, ready to tuck him into it.
But when he returned to Eberbach, and started to lift him, the emerald eyes fluttered open. Eroica watched in hope and terror as the Major tried to lift his head, but fell back with a moan. He writhed, muttering, head thrashing.
"Don't move!" said Eroica. "You're safe. I'll take care of you."
There was no reply, just gibberish in which an occasional word came through, most of them German, although he caught a phrase in French, another in Russian. Nothing made sense, nor was he responsive to anything Eroica said to him. His skin was clammy. Finally, exhausted, he drifted off to sleep.
Eroica was glad of that, for he was able to move the Major without causing him much pain. He seemed asleep rather than unconscious now, and cooperated without waking, like a child. The Earl stripped off his insulated climbing suit, and saw that he had sweated through everything he wore under it.
Intending to make the Major more comfortable, the Earl laid him on the waterproof surface of his sleeping bag, stripped him, and washed away the sweat with warm water from the pool.
It was the wrong thing to do. As Eroica was drying him, Eberbach began shivering, his teeth chattering as he tried to curl up in fetal position. When Eroica touched him, he found his skin freezing.
"Forgive me, my love," he murmured, stripped off his outer clothes, and wrapped his own warmth about the trembling form, pulling the second sleeping bag over the two of them like a duvet. Eventually the trembling stopped. The Major did not wake and punch him for taking liberties, and the Earl was too tired to move if he didn't have to.
But there was little rest for Eroica that night. Repeatedly, the Major had fits of delirium, thrashing and shouting. At one point he yelled "Idiot!" in English, making Eroica wonder if he were the focus of his love's current nightmare.
The Earl's diurnal rhythms told him when it was morning. He rose, aching worse now than when he had lain down, and kept one eye on the sleeping Major as he washed away yesterday's sweat in as cold a part of the pool as he could tolerate. It was Bonham's pack, not his own, that had survived the avalanche. Although the clothes in it were too wide and short for him, he put them on anyway, and clumsily washed out what he had taken off, as well as what he had stripped off Eberbach. Laundering was a skill he had never thought to need!
From somewhere out of his childhood, he remembered something about cold water washing out blood, so he carried his parka, now stiff with the Major's blood, to the edge of the coldest part of the pool. The stains showed black against the red, and gave off a smell that gagged him. It would take forever for the thick material to dry if he soaked it, so he scrubbed at the surface with the Major's white undershirt, knowing the parka was finally clean when the pristine cotton picked up no more taint. Eberbach's own parka was quickly cleaned, for it had only a few drops on it; Eroica had held him so that most of the blood stained his own clothes.
By the time he had hung the clothes outside, the Earl felt faint, but not hungry. He recognized that although he had no appetite, his body needed sustenance. So would the Major's — but how was he to get food into him, and more immediately important, liquids to replace what he had bled and sweated away?
He went back to Eberbach's side, and took an inventory of foods. The Major's pack contained instant Nescafé — perhaps the smell of his favorite coffee would waken him enough to get some of the vile brew into him. There was also more dehydrated stew, dried fruit, beef jerky, trail mix, and two packs of cigarettes. Bonham's pack produced a similar assortment, but he had brought tea instad of coffee, and there were several packets of oatmeal. That was what they needed! Something bland and easy to digest would be good for the Major, and Eroica could not stomach anything else this morning.
Bonham would have no truck with instant oatmeal, of course. Grateful for the instructions on the sealed packets, the Earl added boiling water from the hot spring, then set the pot into the hottest part of the shallows to cook while he made a cup of coffee. Even though he hated instant, he drank a few sips before wafting it under the sleeping Major's nose, waiting for a response.
It wasn't long in coming. The green eyes opened, squinting, and the man swallowed with difficulty.
"Let me help you," Eroica said, carefully lifting Eberbach's head and holding the cup to his lips. The Major drank gratefully, and the Earl breathed a sigh of relief.
Another healthy sign came when Eberbach tried to hold the cup for himself, although his hand shook, and the Earl had to steady it for him. "Danke," he said, and took another swallow of the hot liquid.
"Bitte," Eroica responded, setting the cup aside when the Major showed no sign of wanting more. "How do you feel?"
Eberbach peered at him, frowning, as if he could not see clearly. They had been speaking in Eberbach's native language. Still struggling to focus, the Major whispered,"Wie heißen Sie?"
The Earl's heart began to pound. Oh, blessed gods — had the blow harmed his vision? He was still squinting, peering confusedly at Eroica. "You'll be all right," he tried to reassure him. "You're concussed. It'll get better in a few days."
Eberbach frowned."Wo sind vir? Ach, mein Gott!" he raised his hands to his head as if in pain.
Eroica bit his lip, terrified for his love, not knowing what to do except to grasp the hands that put pressure on the injury."Don't! You'll hurt yourself!"
The Major's eyes opened again, wary, fearful — but focused now, staring straight into Eroica's."Wie heißen Sie?" he demanded again."Und ... wie heiße ich? Gott im Himmel — wie heiße ich?!"
At that, the Earl realized the true source of the Major's fear: amnesia! He was panicked because he didn't even know his own name."Nein, nein," he soothed. "Keine Angst. Du heißt Klaus," he said, the name he always wanted to call his beloved Major and rarely dared. And, because he wanted to hear him say it, if only once or twice before his memory returned, "Ich heiße Dorian."
The names calmed Eberbach. He smiled up at Eroica, and whispered, "Dorian. Danke."
"Do you feel well enough to eat something?" the Earl asked.
"What happened? How was I hurt?"
Not wanting to have to explain neo-Nazis, Eroica replied, "We survived an avalanche. Klaus, you need to eat so you can heal."
"Ja. Ich verstehe." The memory might be cut off, but the military discipline was still there as Eberbach allowed Eroica to prop him up and feed him. After a few bites of the oatmeal, he took the spoon himself.
Eroica ate also, the oatmeal not so bad mixed with some of the dried fruit. He was happy to have the Major alive and coherent. He didn't quite know how to deal with the amnesia, but figured Eberbach's memory would probably return as his wound healed. In the meantime, he had the luxury of holding the man he loved in his arms, and eating from the same pot with him.
The things we find appealing when we are besotted with love!
Eberbach ate only a few spoonfuls, and drank perhaps half the coffee, but it was a beginning. As Eroica drained the cup, the Major suddenly asked, "We're friends, aren't we?"
"Yes, we're friends." At least I consider us so.
Eberbach frowned. "It's as if I ought to know you, and can't recall why."
"Don't worry about it. Just rest. You took a terrible blow to the head — when it heals your memory will come back."
Again the Major felt the bandage on his head, this time gingerly. "Yes. It hurts."
"I should clean the wound and change the dressing," said Eroica. "Can you stand to let me do it?"
"Of course. But before that ... I need to find a toilet."
"I'll help you," said Eroica, only when he turned back the cover remembering that he had left his love naked.
Something was wrong. The Major neither scolded him nor exhibited embarrassment, accepting his help to stagger to his feet. He began to shiver, though.
Eroica grabbed the wool cardigan Eberbach had worn in place of his ubiquitous suit coat for this journey, wrapped him in its warmth, then supported him around the pool to where they had found what was either a natural formation or a hole carved in the rock so long ago that no sign of artificiality remained. In a little alcove over the outlet from the pond, the hole in the floor provided Mother Nature's own oubliette. Eroica had been many places in the world where such were the only toilets available.
Obviously, so had the Major, for when he saw it he said, "Thank you. I can take care of myself now."
Relieved to see his love's natural modesty reassert itself, the Earl said, "Good. But call me when you're ready to come back. I don't want you to risk falling."
He went back to the sleeping bags, shook out the Major's, which they had used as a mattress, and prepared it for him to get back into. Then he zipped his own back into shape to use independently. It was a romantic thought to continue sleeping with the man he loved, but if Eberbach woke up with his memory returned, he might not be the only one of them with a concussion!
"Dorian?"
The Major was still very much himself despite the amnesia. He had left the oubliette and obviously started back to his sleeping bag on his own power — of which he simply didn't have enough right now. By the time Eroica reached him his knees were buckling, and the Earl had to catch him to keep him from falling.
"I told you to call me!" he scolded. "This is no time for your famous bravado!"
"Am I ... famous ... for bravado?" Eberbach gasped. "I don't feel very brave right now."
"You're the bravest man I know," Eroica assured him, helping him to sit down on his sleeping bag. "Did I tell you you got hurt saving my life?"
"You're sure I didn't just fail to duck as fast as you did?"
"I'm sure," the Earl replied, but smiled in delight at his companion's humor. "Can you sit up for a few more minutes while I change the bandage?"
"Of course," the Major replied, but by the time the fumble-fingered Earl was through he was tight-lipped with pain and breathing in shallow gasps.
Eroica tucked him in, and almost immediately he was asleep.
The Earl sat beside him for a time, worrying. He had never seen Eberbach this weak, not even when Misha the Cub had beaten him. Or rather, he hadn't stayed so weak that time. He had been conscious within minutes, and seemed back to his normal strength by the next day.
It wasn't possible to travel in the circles Eroica did without encountering those who loved the so-called sport of prizefighting. The Earl understood the romantic sadism of the boxing ring, but he also knew the dangers to the men who practiced the pugilistic arts. Repeated blows to the head could cause permanent brain damage.
Was the Major's amnesia a cumulative effect of the beating he had taken in Alaska and the bullet that had grazed his skull? And, in his profession, how many other times had he been beaten that Eroica didn't know about? Guilt tore at him as he remembered goading Misha, in revenge for the punch he himself had taken from Eberbach when he had publicly stated that he loved the NATO officer.
Eroica shook off the fit of guilt, and realized that he was hungry again. Chewing on some of the jerky, he tried to estimate how long their supplies would last. No matter how he figured it, there was only enough food for four or five days. He wouldn't dare try to move the Major sooner than that — so what were they to do for the trip down the mountain pass? Besides, he couldn't be sure that massive block formed by the avalanche would melt so soon.
What was he to do? It was early spring here in the southern hemisphere. There were no nuts or berries to gather above the tree line, and even if he had had a gun, Eroica was famous for being unable to — what was that American expression? — hit the broad side of a barn from the inside. Any rabbit that strayed into his sight was perfectly safe.
Perhaps he could snare something. Poaching on neighboring estates had been one of his early adventures into the criminal life, even before he had been introduced to more sophisticated skills.
But neither pack yielded the wire he needed to make a proper snare. There was fishing cord, though. He hadn't noticed any fish in their pool, but perhaps there were other streams nearby. He had to do something, and now that Eberbach was coherent it seemed safe to leave him alone for an hour or two. At least he could go out and scout around.
As he walked through the chapel, though, he felt the urge to stop and pray. "Gods of this place," he said, "you don't know me ... but one of you looks like me, so there must be some kind of kinship. You answered my prayer for Major Eberbach's life. It looks as if he's going to live ... but is it only to starve to death? You know this mountain, and I don't. Please — lead me to a source of food, so I can take care of Klaus properly, and he can regain his strength before we have to try to climb down."
"Dorian."
The voice was female.
He turned, stunned, to see a woman standing in the dim light. She was not conventionally beautiful, at least would not be considered so in the world he came from, but something about her made his heart leap with joy as it had only ever done before when as a small child he had won his mother's favor. He put out of his mind how she had turned from him when he reached puberty, finally abandoning him to Lord Price's pederasty.
Yes ... motherly described the woman before him, although she was not particularly old. She looked nothing like Eroica's mother, from whom he had inherited his blue eyes and blond hair. This woman had brown hair and eyes, and was stocky, not willowy. Nevertheless, he somehow knew to address her as "Mother."
She smiled. "Yes, Dorian, I am the Mother. This is my temple. These," she waved to the mosaics, "are my brothers who are also my husbands. The sun warms and nurtures me and my children, while the moon is the taskmaster, regulating everything from the tides and seasons to the cycles of every woman's body."
"No wonder he looks like Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach!"
"You are troubled for your friend," Mother Earth said. "Do not be. He will be well."
"His mind - "
" - is unharmed. His memories will return."
"But we'll run out of food before he's strong enough to climb down to the village we started from. And, unless you can talk the Sun God into melting that snow and ice pretty quickly, we could be stranded here even longer than that."
"You will stay as long as you need to stay," the woman told him. "My children come here every autumn, bringing the fruits of their labors in thanksgiving for the plentiful harvest. So it has been since my temple was built here, centuries ago. In the winter and spring, the stores serve any who become lost in the storms, or who, like you, are trapped here by ice and snow. Come with me."
Unquestioning, Eroica followed her into the darkness behind the mosaic of the Moon God, a place none of them had explored, not realizing there was anything there except stone walls.
There was an opening into a storeroom stocked with sacks of flour and corn meal, slabs of cured meat, wheels of cheese, clay pots full of dried berries, beans, honey, smoked fish, dried herbs, oil —
Relief swept over Eroica. While there were many empty containers, attesting to other travelers who had used the supplies, two people could live for months on what was left. It was cold in this cavern, a natural refrigerator that kept such supplies fresh indefinitely.
He turned back to Mother. "Thank you! But how can I repay you?"
"Finish the task you and the one you love set yourselves when you entered my sanctuary. See that it is not desecrated, the portraits of the ones I love not torn down and taken to adorn some place where they are not understood."
"You know we will."
"Then, go back to Klaus. It is not often that he needs your care."
"I love caring for him, but it disturbs me to see him like this. He's always the strong one, so sure of himself. Now he doesn't even know who he is."
"Do not try to tell him," she said.
"What?"
"He will ask you many questions as he heals. You will only confuse him if you give him your impressions of who he is, what he has experienced. He needs to remember his own impressions."
"Then ... what should I tell him?"
"The truth. But speak to him as you would to a child who is not ready for complex truths. Do not lie to him, but give him simple answers until he can fill in the complexities for himself."
"Thank you, Mother."
"And Dorian - "
"Yes, Mother?"
"You know that you and Klaus share a destiny."
His heart swelled as he agreed, "I have felt it from the moment we met."
She smiled her enigmatic smile again and said, "That is only the most recent time. It may be that in this lifetime you will finally achieve your destiny. This time out of time is your cusp, Dorian. If you can come through it selflessly, you will bind your love to you for all eternity. But if you fail, if you act in your own interest instead of his ... then that unity will take many more years to achieve. It may not occur in this lifetime."
Although he absorbed every word, the only thing Eroica cared about was the confirmation that he and Eberbach shared a destiny ... and that if he only acted in the Major's best interest now, his love would finally be his. How could he possibly act in any other way? "Oh, thank you blessed Mother!" he murmured, eyes closed in ecstasy ... and when he opened them, she was gone.
If he had not been standing in the storeroom she had shown him, surrounded by the supplies he needed to take care of the one he loved, he might have thought he had imagined her.
Murmuring a prayer of gratitude, he chose some of the supplies, and returned to the side of his sleeping love.
Forward to Part Six
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