A Bolt from the Blue

His expression uncertain, Vittorio paused in his account. “Is what they said about him true, Dino? Did Tito steal the flying machine? Because, if he did, I fear that he also must have murdered Constantin.”

I wondered if Vittorio had somehow suspected his friend of that crime, all along, for him to have so swiftly come to that conclusion. But along with condemnation, I heard the note of hope in his voice that begged me to dispel the tales. For a heartbeat, I was tempted to oblige him. After all, what good would it serve to point further fingers of guilt at Tito, when both he and Constantin were already dead?

With my first burst of energy depleted, I had but strength to nod once and reply, “He confessed all to me, in the end. It was he who stole the Master’s flying machine and kidnapped my father… and it was he who brutally shot down Constantin lest he reveal Tito’s plans.”

Vittorio’s face momentarily crumpled, and I saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. In a rough voice he demanded, “How could he do such a thing? We were his friends, all of us… and Constantin, more than the rest.”

“His need to find favor with his uncle became more important than any of our friendships,” I explained, my own voice shaky. “But, in the end, he realized the evil he’d done and sought to make amends. He could have stopped me there on the roof if he’d truly wished, before I took the flying machine. Instead, he let me try to save the rest of you.”

What I didn’t tell Vittorio was what happened in those last seconds, how Tito had cried out in anger and come running after me. But I was certain he had never meant to catch me, certain that he had deliberately kept running even as he’d reached the castle’s edge.

Neither did I admit to Vittorio what had occurred as I lay in the wreckage of the flying machine, drifting in a painless sea of black.

How long I drifted there, I did not know. After a time, however, the darkness had begun to lift, banished by a light blazing upon some distant horizon. I had been surprised but not truly frightened to find my inner being rising and moving toward it, leaving behind my body still sprawled upon the field.

The light had grown brighter as I neared it, and yet I felt no need to shield my eyes. Vaguely, I realized that I had come upon a place that was welcoming but at the same time forbidden to me beyond a certain point. And so I halted and waited for what might come next.

I had sensed more than seen another figure pass me by, continuing toward that light until it held him fully in its embrace. It was then that I recognized the figure as Tito! He stood silently facing that brilliance, and I sensed an air of expectancy about him that puzzled me. But soon enough the same feeling of anticipation gripped me, as well, though I had no idea for what-or for whom-we waited.

A moment later another figure had appeared, this one stepping out from the very heart of the light to face Tito. Constantin, I had gasped, and I took a reflexive step forward.

Constantin had glanced my way, as if hearing me calling his name. And then he smiled. While he had not lost his familiar expression of kindness, I sensed about his being something richer, deeper… almost as if the pettiest of life’s emotions had been stripped from his being and been replaced with some higher wisdom. While he was still the friend that I had loved, I realized that he was no longer quite who he had been.

He gently shook his head, and I knew he meant that I could move no closer, not even to make my final good-byes. My heart had twisted a little, but I made no protest. Turning from me, he reached out a hand to Tito, who clasped it gladly.

In that moment, I had sensed a change sweep over Tito, as well. It was as if his old cares and emotions suddenly had been burned away by the light, leaving behind the very finest essence of him. He, too, had glanced back in my direction and offered the same wise smile as Constantin had bestowed on me. And then, side by side, the pair had walked off together into the light.

Vittorio’s concerned voice roused me from my thoughts.

“Dino, what is wrong? You’re crying,” he declared, conveniently forgetting that his own eyes held suspicious dampness. “Is the pain growing worse? The Master said I might give you a sip of the herbed wine to help ease it.”

“No, I am better,” I replied with some truth and managed a small smile. The smile twisted into a grimace, however, as I added, “But I probably should take a bit of that wine and rest for a while. I fear that when I finally face my father and the Master to confess my sins, I will need all my strength.”

“Ha, what you will need is swift feet,” he cheerfully corrected me as he produced the wine jug in question and poured a few sips’ worth into a wooden cup.