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lean hounds； streaked along the mountain paths beyond。
My Master stood in the very center of the hall。 He had taken off his familiar red velvet。 He wore only an open robe of gold tissue； with long bell sleeves down to his wrists； his hem just skirting his bare white feet。
His hair seemed to make for him a halo of yellow brilliance； hanging softly to his shoulders。
I wore a gown of the same sheerness and simplicity。
〃e； Amadeo；〃 he said。
I was weak； thirsting for water； barely able to stand。 He knew this however； and no excuse seemed appropriate。 I took my faltering steps one after another until I reached his outstretched arms。
His hands slid about the back of my head。
He bent his lips。 A sense of dreadful awesome finality swept over me。
〃You will die now to be with me in life eternal；〃 he whispered in my ear。 〃Never for a moment must you really fear。 I will hold your heart safe in my hands。〃
His teeth cut into me； deeply； cruelly with the precision of twin daggers； and I heard my heart thud in my ears。 My very bowels contracted； and my stomach was knotted in pain。 Yet a savage pleasure swept through all my veins； a pleasure which coursed towards the wounds in my neck。 I could feel my blood rush towards my Master； towards his thirst and my inevitable death。
Even my hands were transfixed with vibrant sensation。 Indeed； I seemed suddenly to be but a puppet map of circuitry； all of it aglow； as with a low； obvious and deliberate sound； my Master drank my life's blood。 The sound of his heart； slow； steady； a deep reverberating pounding； filled my ears。
The pain in my intestines was alchemized to a soft sheer rapture； my body lost all weight； all knowledge of itself in space。 The throb of his heart was within me。 My hands felt the long satin locks of his hair； but I did not hold to them。 I floated； supported only by the insistent heartbeat and thrilling current of all my swiftly flowing blood。
〃I die now；〃 I whispered。 This ecstasy could not endure。
Abruptly the world died。
I stood alone on the desolate and windy shore of the sea。
It was the land to which I'd journeyed before； but how different it was now； devoid of its shining sun and abundant flowers。 The priests were there； but their robes were dusty and dark and reeked of the earth。 I knew these priests； I knew them well。 I knew their names。 I knew their narrow bearded faces； their thin greasy hair and the black felt hats that they wore。 I knew the dirt in their fingernails； and I knew the hungry hollow of their sunken gleaming eyes。
They beckoned for me to e。
Ah； yes； back to where I belonged。 We climbed higher and higher until we stood on the bluff of the glass city； and it lay to the far left of us； and how forlorn and empty it was。
All the molten energy which had lighted its multitudinous and translucent towers was now dead and gone； turned off at the source。 Nothing remained of the blazing colors except a deep dull residue of tints beneath the featureless span of hopeless gray sky。 Oh； sad； sad； to see the glass city without its magic fire。
A chorus of sounds rose from it； a tinkling； as of glass dully striking glass。 There was no music in it。 There was only a bleary luminous despair。
〃Walk on； Andrei；〃 said one of the priests to me。 His soiled hand with its thin bits of caked mud touched me and pulled at me； hurting my fingers。 I looked down to see that my fingers were thin and luridly white。 My knuckles shone as though the flesh had already been stripped away； but it had not。
All my skin merely cleaved to me； hungry and loose as their skin。
Before us came the water of the river； filled with ice sloughs and great tangles of blackened driftwood； covering the flatlands with a murky lake。 We had to walk through it； and its coldness hurt us。 Yet on we went； the four of us； the three priest guides and me。 Above loomed the once golden domes of Kiev。 It was our Santa Sofia； standing still after the horrid massacres and conflagrations of the Mongols who had laid waste our city and all her riches and all her wicked and worldly women and men。
〃e； Andrei。〃
I knew this doorway。 It was to the Monastery of the Caves。 Only candles illuminated these catabs； and the smell of the earth overpowered all； even the stench of dried sweat on soiled and diseased flesh。
In my hands； I held the rough wooden handle of a small shovel。 I dug into the heap of earth。 I opened up the soft wall of rubble； until my eyes fell on a man not dead but dreaming as the dirt covered his face。
〃Still alive； Brother？〃 I whispered； to this soul buried up to his neck。
〃Still alive； Brother Andrei； give me only what will sustain me；〃 said the cracked lips。 The white eyelids were never lifted。 〃Give me only that much； so that our Lord and Savior； Christ Himself； will choose the time that I am to e home。〃
〃Oh； Brother； how courageous you are；〃 I said。 I put a jug of water to his lips。 The mud streaked them as he drank。 His head rested back in soft rubble。
〃And you； child；〃 he said with labored breaths； turning ever so slightly from the proffered jug； 〃when will you have the strength to choose your earthen cell among us； your grave； and wait for Christ to e？〃
〃Soon； I pray； Brother；〃 I answered。 I stepped back。 I lifted the shovel。
I dug into the next cell； and soon a dreadful unmistakable stench assailed me。 The priest beside me stayed my hand。
〃Our Good Brother Joseph is finally with the Lord；〃 he said。 〃That's it； uncover his face so that we may see for ourselves that he died at peace。〃
The stench grew thicker。 Only dead human beings reek this strongly。 It's the smell of desolate graves and carts ing from those districts where the plague is at its worst。 I feared I would be sick。 But I continued to dig； until at last we uncovered the dead man's head。 Bald； a skull encased in shrunken skin。
Prayers rose from the brothers behind me。 〃Close it up； Andrei。〃
〃When will you have the courage； Brother？ Only God can tell you when…。〃
〃The courage to what！〃 I know this booming voice； this big…shouldered man who barrels his way down the catab。 No mistaking his auburn hair and beard； his leather jerkin and his weapons hung on his leather belt。
〃This is what you do with my son； the ikon painter！〃
He grabbed me by the shoulder； as he'd done a thousand times； with the same huge paw of a hand that had beaten me senseless。
〃Let go of me； please； you impossible and ignorant ox；〃 I whispered。 〃We're in the house of God。〃
He dragged me so that I fell on my knees。 My robe was tearing； black cloth ripping。
〃Father； stop it and go away；〃 I said。
〃Deep in these pits to bury a boy who can paint with the skill of the angels！〃
〃Brother Ivan； stop your shouting。 It's for God to decide what each of us will do。〃
The priests ran behind me。 I was dragged into the workroom。 Ikons in rows hung from the ceiling； covering all of the far wall。 My Father flung me down in the chair at the large heavy table。 He lifted the iron candlestick with its fluttering； p