The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
Since the candle threatened to go out, I asked Garnitter to come out with his treasures, and soon there was a new light burning in the candlestick. “Hang cloaks or blankets in front of the windows, so that they do not see the light from outside,” I admonished, and immediately they went to carry out the advice. In the meantime I looked at the door. There was probably a strong wooden latch on the outside, but there was no way to secure it from the inside. The hinges, however, seemed quite freshly oiled to me, and I brought it to the attention of the others. “That bastard of an Innkeeper is up to something,” the squire from Sollengau blurted out, “and because there are four of us, since the drunk is not to be counted, we must be hellishly on the watch, because the host can get help from the Spillermaxen Gang or from the blue whistlers.” I said nothing and continued my investigation. The floor was made of tamped earth, the walls had been built up with solid blocks and cement and were ancient, and the ceiling had no visible opening and consisted of heavy, dark beams, such as one can only rarely still find in such length and strength. Then Hoibusch emitted a low whistle and beckoned me hastily. He was standing by the pillar. We trod on the rustling straw and followed his groping hand with the light. And there we saw something that revealed to us the trace of the satanic trickery that was at play here. In its entire length, from top to bottom, the rough stone column was smoothly polished as if something heavy often slid up and down on it and transformed the roughness of the friction points into polished grooves. And seized by the same thought, we looked upward at the ring or the capital of the column, which with its excessive projection and mighty width enclosed the column. It stood out brightly white in its fresh coat of paint, and was separated from the narrow, circular space of the column itself, so that this heavy load, when it was loosened at the top, could fall down. And it was precisely in the area of this ring that our head pillows were arranged around the column. Haymon straightened up halfway in his sleep and stammered with wide-open eyes: “Don’t you want to rest, Montanus? – You can’t get ducats from your Mary, brother – let go, put away the blue hand–” and then he vomited out the wine and food from his stomach, which had long since been ruined, and defiled himself nastily. “Pull him away from this death-trap” I shouted. Then they grabbed him by the legs and pulled him away from the dangerous bed, but he crawled back in his madness, while we continued and once again he was dragged away. Then he seemed to want to keep quiet and remained lying down. “Shh!” whispered Garnitter, who was listening at the door. We quickly extinguished the light and stayed as quiet as a mouse. Light footsteps came along the corridor. “Bärbel, the false hussy -“. “Shh!” She listened at the door, leaned. The wood creaked softly, Haymon chattered in his sleep. “What say you of sulphurous flames, Portugieser? – Great hell, brother, how it stinks from your throat! I won’t give you my hand, you are black all over, you devil- roast -“. Quietly she scurried away from the door, down the corridor. We heard Haymon rustling in the straw, hitting the floor with his foot and stretching with a groan. Footsteps again. The boys quietly drew their long blades; I drew the pistol, my thumb on the hammer, finger on the trigger, without cocking it. It coughed, scrabbled at the door. Then it slunk away again. “They think they’re safe now, the murderous hounds,” said Hoibush. On the ceiling above us something slid. A low rattle arose. A dull unintelligible voice spoke something. A whirring, a grinding, a whooshing fall– Boom! – It struck heavy and pounding, softly muffled. Feet drummed like madly on the clay floor, leathery, clapping…- in our room. “Strike fire, Hoibusch!” cried the squire hoarsely. Pink, pink! The tinder glowed up, the sulfur- twitched blue and sizzled with acrid stench, the candle burned -. “Almighty!” Garnitter wanted to cry out, but Hoibusch quickly put his hand over his mouth. It took our breath away. The wide column ring had crashed down and buried the head cushions and the unfortunate head of poor Haymon, who had crawled back in the dark without our knowledge. His feet were spread apart, his hands were clasped on his chest in the robe and the rest of him lay under the murder stone. Like a thick, dark snake, glistening in the candlelight his blood coagulated in the straw. “Lights out!” commanded the squire. “They’re coming!” Ready to strike, we stood on either side of the door in the darkness. Speaking loudly with echoing footsteps the landlord and his pointy-nosed wife came down the corridor and pushed open the door. There they stood. The innkeeper carried in his left hand a large stable lantern, in his right fist a sharp axe, and the fury behind him was clutching a butcher’s knife. We only saw them for a moment. Hoibusch’s blade went through the guy, and Garnitter slit through the yellow neck of the woman, so that she fell down with the squeal of a stuck pig. The host was dead in an instant, speared through the heart like a starting boar. The woman was still wriggling, and then lay still on her side. “Are you dead, bloodhound?” shouted Garnitter and kicked at the dead man’s belly with his foot. Up in the house the dog howled. “The dog! The wench!” cried Hoibusch. “We have to catch the wench; otherwise she will run away and send the host’s henchmen after us!” He and the squire set off with the lantern to look for the woman. Now Garnitter and I saw the four holes in the ceiling and the ropes hanging, by which the stone could be pulled up again. We set about freeing the dead Haymon. But the stone was too heavy for us to lift, and when we pulled on the feet of the murdered man, the bones of the crushed head crunched so horribly that we had to let go with a shudder. Then we heard a shot, the wailing of the dog, and then a dragging and a whimpering, and immediately Hoibusch and the one from Sollengau came with the woman in shirt and smock, whom they had dragged out of bed, where she had been under the blankets and had fallen asleep. They had tied her hands with a calf rope. “I am innocent,” whined Bärbel when she saw us. “Jesus Maria!” she shrieked out, as she stepped with her naked foot into the pools of blood in which the landlord and the landlady lay. “Confess, whore, or we’ll lay you down next to the two of them! Both!” said Hoibusch calmly. “Did you not set the dog on us? Confess, I say to you!” “O thou bloody savior! What shall I confess?” Howled the strumpet and fell on her knees. “I have done nothing, except that I went to listen at the woman’s command to see if everyone was asleep. I have never known of murder in my life”. “And what is this, you shamed woman?” cried Hoibusch in a strong voice and produced something he had been hiding behind his back. Stones and gold flashed – a necklace with almandines and artfully forged links shone in the light. The girl’s face was white with fear and she looked around with confused glances. “Red!” said Hoibusch quite coldly, and put the point of the blade on her bare breast, so that a small little red drop sprang up. “Ouch! Mercy -” clamored Bärbel as she squirmed to and fro. “From the lady in the cellar -“. Then she fell down in convulsions, and foam poured out of her mouth. It was a pity to look at. But Hoibusch remained unmoved. “You have learned your art of eye-rolling well, you robber whore!” he said. “Stop making foam out of saliva, and get up!” And once more he tickled her with the point of his rapier. Then, in spite of her tied hands, she sprang to her feet like a cat and cried out in despair: “Well, if that’s what it is, I’d rather be dead right now than let the gallows man sound me out with the thumbscrews!” And she made such a swift and violent push against the drawn blade, so that it missed going through her body by a hair. But Hoibusch was on guard, and immediately let go of the handle, so she only slashed her shirt so that her dark breast bulged out. “To the pillar with her!” cried Garnitter, and the three students dragged her there in spite of biting and shrieking, and bound her by body and legs next to the dead Haymon, so that they could remain in silent and terrible company. For we took the lantern with us and left the room with its sweetish haze of blood, leaving only the candle burning as a death light for the deceased. As we stood in the corridor, we heard the shrill screams of the tied up woman. And I must confess it: I took pity on her, because I felt that it was not only her fault that she had to become like this. Surely an evil fate had clawed at her from childhood; an unguarded youth, instincts unleashed at an early age, abuse, which one with her child body already suffered, poverty, misery and lack of love did a terrible work on her. Was I allowed to judge, when I opened the abysses of my own soul? But as clever as the three students were, and as good as the heart of one or the other might be, at this hour and in view of the poor dead they would have looked at me with disgust if my thoughts had become spoken aloud, and I would not have helped anyone. So I kept silent and mourned in silence how wrong people’s customs are, and how thousands and thousands of children grow up without any care. And not only the brood of the poor people –. How had it been with myself?
“You claim to add your light with ours, but you have only led us further into darkness and danger, making our entire community more vulnerable. How will you defend us in our weakness?”
Once more Tobal had no reply, and his guide remained silent. He was led roughly to the center of the circle and held pinned between two hooded guards.
The High Priest continued. “The Apprentice degree is of spiritual protection and growth. In your progress through that degree, you have been magickally protected from evil influences that might have otherwise entered your life. Then, as a member of our sacred circle, you will always have protection from the evil of the outside world, but we can never shield you from the evil within your own nature and within each one of us. You must learn to master this evil—the weakness and fear that prevents you from acting when needed, and that drives blind, destructive choices. This is the work of the Journeyman. You must combat these inner demons with your own Inner Light, or they will become your masters. Only when you have mastered your own inner demons will you have truly earned the right to this degree—a lifetime work we all face. Symbolically, this inner battle is marked by success in defeating six members of this degree in combat. After defeating six members, you will be considered eligible for the 3rd and final degree of Master that leads to citizenship. Are you ready to continue?”
“Yes.”
“Then let the fight begin!”
Six dark hooded figures stepped forth from the circle and stood in menacing silence as the High Priest, High Priestess, and the two guards moved away. His guide took his torch and left him alone within the circle. Tobal stood silently in confusion, pain exploding in his side as a fist connected, the torchlight blurring his vision.
Gradually, he realized he was expected to fight all six figures. He pulled himself into a fighting stance and began circling defensively. None moved. He circled closer to one, feinting with his right—the figure stayed still. Encouraged, Tobal struck lightly on the shoulder and doubled over as a savage punch to his belly knocked him to the cave floor, fighting nausea. Struggling up, he faced the unmoving six, unsure. He lunged at a second, his thrust parried as a hard blow slammed his head, sparking stars. Rising again, rage built, and he grappled a third, only to find it stone-solid. A crushing bear hug bruised his ribs before he was thrown, wind knocked out, refusing to rise, sobbing in frustration.
“He refuses to fight!” a voice cried from the circle’s edge.
“Yes, he refuses to fight!” murmured the hooded figures, moving silently widdershins. After one circle, drums pounded eerily within the cave as black-cloaked figures drew near, striking light, stinging blows. Tobal couldn’t see their faces or recognize them.
The energy felt wrong, building. Fear and panic gripped him at his tailbone, climbing his spine, his energy slipping counterclockwise. What were they doing? The energy grew, strange and dark, not evil but dangerous.
The High Priest placed his hands on Tobal’s head, his voice echoing. “In the name of the Lord and Lady, I draw the dark energy of the earth up into your physical body and soul that you might become master of yourself and Journeyman.”
Tobal felt a weird tingling and warmth as a glowing yellow-green energy pooled at his feet, rising through his body, exiting his head into spiritual light. His father’s spirit entered, looking out. “You have done well,” said his father. “We will wait for you.”
The High Priestess stepped forward, Tobal recognizing Misty. “In the name of the Lord and Lady, I draw the dark energy of the earth into your physical body and soul that you might become a master of yourself and Journeyman.”
A darker, threatening energy carried frightening images—a feminine Goddess force curling around his legs, tendrils choking his throat, filling his mind like a giant tree of life and death reaching for the spiritual sun. A surge of warmth flooded him, easing the pain.
Then his heart ached as his mother’s spirit held him, her aura protecting. She left with a kiss and a whispered “be strong.” He felt his father holding her hand, their love for each other and him, rejoicing as the energy sank into his bones, changing him forever. Their touch echoed the cave’s astral warmth, a bridge between circle and spirit.
The High Priest continued. “Are you ready to receive wisdom and be nourished by life?”
“Yes,” Tobal mumbled through a split lip. He was helped to his feet.
“The first and most important lesson is that there are times in life when you must fight for what you believe and times not to fight. Learn to choose your battles, and if you fight, fight to win, giving all you have. You will be respected even if defeated, as must sometimes happen. There is no shame in losing a battle. There is shame in not giving all you have.”
“The second lesson,” he continued, “is that fighting is hard and thirsty work!”
“Let’s party!”
As the energy settled, the High Priest’s voice softened, shifting the ritual’s tone. A throaty welcome echoed in the cavern as hoods were thrown back, and Tobal was half-dragged, half-carried into another chamber where food and drink awaited. Goodwill filled the air as he was hugged and congratulated by familiar faces he hadn’t seen in ages.
Rafe pounded his back, laughing as Tobal winced. “Thought you would never get here!” he shouted over the crowd.
Ellen gave him a hug and a kiss.
Tobal stayed a few days, exploring caverns and chatting with 2nd-degree peers. He retrieved his parents’ items, feeling better wearing them again, catching up on their news.
After a few days, his trail food dwindled, and restlessness grew. On the third day, he set out alone to process the initiation’s meaning, bidding farewell to his new brothers and sisters, heading to base camp.
His black tunic felt strange after gray, the shift from a year of intense living and training to idleness jarring. Time dragged, and he dreaded his first fight a month away. Worry gnawed at him—his parents might still be wired to a machine on life support. He preferred Crow’s view of them as the Lord and Lady.
The midsummer celebration at circle was a welcome change. Hot, fair weather made him miss newbie training. As a new Journeyman, his first duty was guarding Apprentice initiations, expected and unsurprising. He arrived early, donned black robes, and stayed on duty until the last newbie was initiated late that night—a long day missing Becca and circle.
Though absent, he heard the news: Sarah, Anne, Derdre, Seth, and Crow’s newbies soloed with Elder approval. Tyrone, Zee, Kevin, and Butch initiated newbies, expected after a month’s wait. The surprise was ten initiates—Becca and Fiona not only initiated but soloed theirs, earning fifth chevrons. Nikki earned her fourth but wasn’t there; Tara and Nick likely waited at Sanctuary.
Becca gave him a brief kiss and hug at the guard post, sharing Rafe’s Council of Elders role. Glowing, she promised, “We’ll talk later,” holding him close before seeking Fiona, who’d already dropped her newbie.
Nikki lost out, still waiting at Sanctuary with others. Mike and another Apprentice quit, hitting Butch hard due to their friendship.
After initiations, Tobal entered the circle in black robes. Friends congratulated him but some eyed him differently. “I’m still the same person,” he thought, then realized he wasn’t. Most friends were Apprentices; Masters like Rafe and Ellen were exceptions. Newbies didn’t know him, and black-robed peers kept to themselves. He hoped to stay connected to Apprentices.
Heading for the beer barrel, he met gloomy Wayne and Char, considering quitting. “Why don’t you talk to Crow first?” he suggested. “He’s taking a group to the village. I visited last month—it’s neat.” Char doubted a primitive life but nodded for a vacation. Wayne agreed, hoping the newbie bottleneck eased, frustrated by month-long waits. They hugged, seeing it as a chance to reconnect.
Tobal hoped he hadn’t erred suggesting the village, liking their simplicity. He moved on, finding Becca and Fiona by the drum circle, high-spirited. They partied, planning a month off awaiting official solos and sixth chevrons. Tobal proposed a lake trip for swimming and berries, ready for a break. They agreed, shifting topics. Fiona asked, “What have we missed about the City Council and village? We’ve been busy.”
“Lots to catch up on,” he laughed. “Let’s find out.”
“Where’s Llana?” Becca asked.
“That’s part of it,” he smiled, kissing her. She didn’t press.
They joined Rafe and Ellen. Becca’s presence felt good; he squeezed her hand, she smiled. Crow’s group discussed teleportation—Char and Wayne listened. Tobal stayed with his group, needing their talk.
Ellen started, “We finally met with the City Council. It’s been a rough month; our lives are changed.”
Ellen continued, “The Council cleaned house—new members, none at the last meeting. The mayor apologized again for the assassination attempt, relieved Howling Wolf’s safe. New members knew and respected him, explaining their selection. Once a clansman, always a clansman—all had done Sanctuary, many served the Elders. The mayor assured full support.”
“This time, General Grant was absent. The Council requested a Federation internal affairs probe but heard nothing. Grant denied Howling Wolf’s claims; the Council believed Wolf, deeming Grant a liar, so he wasn’t invited.”
Ellen smiled at Tobal. “Howling Wolf appeared, offering teleport and time travel skills if the city split from the military project. He rejected the machine’s dangers and inhuman wiring, demanding Ron and Rachel Kane’s release for peace after years of torment.”
“Things got interesting,” Ellen said. “Wolf vanished; Adam Gardner appeared with a pack, introducing items—mostly past, some future—confirming his work with Wolf on Kane’s research and ongoing time explorations.”
“We were impressed,” Ellen chuckled. “The Council sought proof of training. Llana appeared, revealing plans for a secret time traveler group.”
“My COM buzzed—medics were evicted from the mountain, losing the ER and supplies. Grant barred us, even from belongings. The Council, shocked, with Wolf’s approval, made the village a temporary base until a new site by the lake.”
“We chose the old gathering spot for a permanent base, requesting supplies and comms. The City Council voted and agreed to provide immediate provisions for uninterrupted medic work, directing serious cases to the city. They’ll build modern facilities for winter use.”
“Most of us hauled supplies that first week,” Rafe grumbled. “No rogue attacks noted. We’re settled, trained now at Heliopolis hospital.”
“I leave for months, and it falls apart,” Becca quipped. “Danger from Grant’s rogues?”
“No way to know,” Ellen said. “We hope the investigation curbs worse.”
The meeting sparked thoughts. Becca’s questions persisted post-bed; kissing silenced her, leading to delays before sleep in each other’s arms.
Being with Becca, free of duties, felt good. With two weeks before Journeyman circle, they maximized it. Mid-June’s perfect weather brought Fiona, and they headed to the lake, first meeting Llana at Tobal’s winter base en route.
Evening, Llana greeted the campfire. Becca and Fiona, updated, joined Tobal’s group—Rafe, Ellen, Tobal, Becca, Fiona, possibly Nikki (unasked). Tobal eyed Tyrone; Fiona suggested Butch. Newbie training clashed with Llana’s lessons, delaying theirs until Journeyman.
“Tobal’s done two months with Crow, one with me,” Llana told them. “He’s ahead, can help you catch up. I’ll teach him, he’ll teach you. Practice daily, support each other.”
“What about Ellen and Rafe?” Tobal asked.
“I’ll teach them individually,” she said.
Tobal nodded, “Rafe wants you to scout forbidden areas on his air sled map. Drop you off, you teleport out. No med-alert, no monitor.”
Llana thought. “Good. Tell him to meet me at my old base, two days post-new moon, noon. See if Ellen joins. I’ll train them, plan further.”
“Have you time traveled?” Becca asked.
“Once,” Llana smiled. “Awesome, frightening, like teleporting once mastered. Grandfather and Adam check areas for safety, gauging Grant’s time meddling.”
“How soon?” Becca pressed.
“A year to two, depending on training intensity and aptitude. We want both groups ready together to collaborate.”
“What’s Crow’s group doing?” Fiona asked.
“They’ll exit Sanctuary, ditch bracelets, train off-grid like us, likely faster since we juggle Journeyman duties. No contact until all teleport.”
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
Our entrance attracted noisy attention. Immediately they dragged Görg to the table and quickly brewed a mixture in a mug of beer, wine, spit and pipe juice, which he had to empty immediately as a toast to the well-being of the four senses. But me they mockingly addressed as “Your Honor” and asked if I did not know that one has to make three bows and a scrape of the foot when entering, such an illustrious group or if the fine gentleman felt like a few passes with the rapier. This I could have in a moment. “Are you still acting so wild, Bavarian Haymon?” I asked and had to smile wistfully, when I recognized my old Order brother. He sat there with his mouth open, as if he had been struck by a blow. “I know you well,” I said, stepping close to him. “Even if time has run away!” “Pinch me, Hoibusch, pinch me!” he sputtered and nudged the student next to him. “A ghost stands before me-“ “Ei, what, a ghost!” said I. “its Mahomet and no other!” Something like a pathetic joy was in me, that I saw him again, although degenerated and aged before his time. And on the lapels of his skimpy coat he still wore the letters of our secret slogan, artfully entwined from silver wire: “Vivat circulus fratrum amicitiae!” Long live the brotherly circle of the Order of Friendship. I pointed with my finger and said smilingly: “Vivat, crescat, floreat!” Then he jumped up on both feet and shouted: “Murderous hail of bombs! Stinking foxes, kneel down! An old Amiciste stands before you, Mahomet, who has wiped more blood from his thrusting blade than runs in your sour veins. O brother of heart! What a race has taken our place! Drinking from little cups, crying for their mothers when they run out of veal…and run into the lecture hall with their pens and notebooks. -O the old times! O Amicitial!” He threw his long arms around me, kissed me resoundingly on both cheeks, and the tears trickled from his inflamed eyes. “And now here, by my green side, Herr Brother, and that none open their mouth till Mahomet has told us about the best of his famous life experiences – Hey, Ball Mill Innkeeper, hey, Bärbel, jump and swing and bring as much wine as the table can bear. And the farmer shall join in the drinking!” But he had gone out and was no longer to be seen. The innkeeper now approached the table very politely and asked what we wanted. I looked at him with a certain horror. In his one eye was a false squint, the other lay as a white, blind glass ball between slitted eyelids. A fiery red cut scar, shaped like an ‘S’, ran across the bald skull, eye and the cheek, to the fat double chin. I knew that murderers marked traitors with such a cruel mark. Soon there were large bowls of venison on the table along with flagons of wine on the table, and a wild carousing began, in which I participated with caution. My heart was loaded with feelings that had nothing to do with those of the people at the table, and I had enough to answer Haymon’s questions. The three others were listening quite modestly and the girl looked at us like a cow at a new gate. When the candles had burned down and Haymon’s tongue grew heavier and heavier, I first learned how his life had turned out, how, when all his parents’ property was gone, he had to be glad to be able to crawl under somewhere as a town clerk. And that was also the end since his hand was so shaky from the continued drunkenness that his squiggles were no longer legible. Now he had set out to find one of his former tenants who had become rich, from whom he thought he could still claim something, however little it was, and while wandering he had met the three students today and continued together on the path with them. After a long wandering back and forth in the wild forest they had found the lonely Ball Mill about two hours before I arrived with Görg, and were glad to find a roof for the night, even more so, as a whizzing west wind brought up ever wilder clouds and the earth smelled of rain. Now, however, the many wines had won Bavarian Haymon’s heart completely and utterly, and with many gulps, belches and weeping he could not do enough to remember those wild times full of youthful foolishness and exuberance in the magical false light of memory, keeping the good and the pleasant, but completely forgetting the excess of adversity and bitter worries. And after each sentence he spoke, he let a new cup trickle down his skinny, knitted neck, while the three young students only dared to talk quietly in a whisper so as not to interrupt the dialogue of their mossy superior. I was hurting enough. Friendship and youth were gone. “Strike and heavy death, Herr Brother!” He cried out one more time, “What kind of guys we were! Do you still remember the same night, how tall Heilsbronner gave up the ghost in the road dirt? How the brave Montanus emptied the glass boot into his gullet for the last time? O brother, Finch has also perished, drowned in the Murg, and the Portugieser has rotted alive in the Spittel in Erlangen, so badly did the Dancing Lily, with whom he had lived, make such a mess of him. And Wechler, I don’t know if you would still know him, has become a cathedral lord and no longer acknowledges me. O vanitas, vanitatum vanitas! Gone are all the oaths and brotherly love! Hey, Bärbel! Where is that bitch in heat? Give me some light! Are we to remain in this hellish darkness? The three vixens have enough money to pay for several candles!” Then the innkeeper came out from behind the tiled stove, where he had been lurking without our knowledge and said rudely and hoarsely that it was bedtime, and new candles had to be fetched from afar. Only a stump remained, and that was just enough to find the sleeping room. One of the young boys wanted to say something but another one next to him, a quiet, nice boy who, as I had observed the whole time, had drunk almost nothing and was quite sober quickly nudged him and said softly, but in such a way that I could hear it: “Quiet, Hans! We may yet need your candles!” The lout of a landlord without further ado took the last candle, which was barely enough for a quarter of an hour, from the table and mumbled, “Now whoever wants to sleep, let him follow me. Who does not like it can squat in the dark room. Nothing more will be poured out!” Haymon wanted to stay, but I quickly took him under the arm, and so we went behind the innkeeper and his big dog to find our resting place. We walked through a long corridor with several thick, dusty or boarded-up windows. Haymon’s intoxication came out as we walked, and I heard him say something about a goddamned town piper, who he wanted to wipe out. Meanwhile I remembered that the farmer was not with us. “Where is my driver?” I asked the innkeeper, whose giant shadow slid along the wall. “Rehwang?” he grumbled, half looking around. “He’s long since gone home with his harness.” “Why didn’t you say anything?” I was annoyed. “What shall I do tomorrow?” The hulking fellow stopped in front of a door and shrugged his shoulders. “If the gentleman had drunk less and had paid attention to Rehwang, he could easily have kept him here. It’s not my job to care about such things.” He threw a sidelong glance with his one-eye at me. “And who knows if tomorrow will be so urgent.” I kept silent, and he pushed open a wooden door with his foot, holding his hand in front of the stump in the tin candelabra. We entered and found ourselves in a large, completely empty hall, which had probably once been the pouring floor. In the middle of the room stood, oddly enough, a thick, round column, which supported the main beam of the ceiling on a wide annulus. Star-shaped around this column were five berths, better than we had thought. On clean, fresh straw were coarse, but white sheets laid down, hard against the pillar there was a head cushion for everyone, and five thick red-woolen blankets were spread out for covering. “We don’t have any better than this in the Ball Mill,” said the innkeeper, as if embarrassed. “The gentlemen must make do.” We testified that we were satisfied, and so he, smiling and bending down, put the burning light on a stool, showed us the little luggage that was ours, and under the evil growl of his mutt, wished us a good night. We heard him shuffle away through the hallway and then throw the heavy front door shut, sliding the bar and locking it with the turning of a key. The two who had led Haymon so far now let him slide gently onto one of the beds, and it was not two minutes before he began to snore and mumble meaningless words, which the wine had given him. A frightening restlessness was in me, and some dark foreboding lay warningly and heavy in the pit of my stomach. I took the light and looked around. Sooty cobwebs hung like banners of mourning from the old beams of the ceiling; the three small windows with their blinded, lead-lined bull’s-eye panes could not be opened. A choking musty cellar odor brooded in the wide room with the column. The wide ring it wore at the top had recently been whitewashed, so that it stood out glaringly against the lurid ceiling. When I turned around, I saw that my feelings were shared by the three students. None of them made any preparations to visit the tempting beds or to put their swords away. “It smells like old blood in here,” said the bright-eyed Hoibusch, who had already impressed me with his sobriety and calmness at the table. Also Hans Garnitter, who was lighting the candles said, “This is where the devil is supposed to spend the night!” and the third, a young gentleman of Sollengau, who gradually became free of the wine spirits, nodded apprehensively.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
I jumped up from the table. As if in a bright light, for a small moment I saw the connections of all the mysteries of my life. But quickly enveloping veils descended on an image that was not accessible to my ordinary senses. “May I make a great request?” I asked. “If it is in my power to grant it.” “Lead me to the dying man,” I asked. “So come,” said the priest. We went quickly to the little cottage at the end of the village. A reddish light pressed through the tiny, dim windows. We heard many people murmuring, and when we entered the low room, we saw several men and women kneeling in prayer. In a meager bed lay an old man. His small, shriveled face stood out from a blue pillow and was surrounded by the glow of the dying candle burning at his head. We approached his bed. The heavy eyes were glazed, his mouth was open. I saw at once that this man, in his distress would no longer be able to answer the questions that were burning on my lips. Then something incomprehensible happened. Slowly, the staring eyes turned and looked toward me. In the face already marked by the paralyzing finger of death, there was a faint movement, a joyful smile played around the thin, sunken lips, and before we knew what was going on in the dying man, his upper body rose, his haggard arms stretched out toward me, and almost sobbing, the thin old man’s voice came from out of his mouth: “So you have come after all — at last!” Radiant joy flamed in his eyes, then his head fell back into the pillows, a gray shadow ran over his mouth and nose, his body stretched so that the bedstead creaked. The clergyman stepped in and closed the eyelids with his hand. “Rest now, thou faithful servant,” he said softly. “Let us pray!” We said the Lord’s Prayer, and as we left the parlor, I felt everyone’s eyes on me. The deceased believed he had seen his friend, Ewli, in me. The clergyman did not speak a word. When we were back in his comfortable room, he looked at me with uneasy eyes. “It must have been the scar,” he said to himself. “What scar?” I asked in amazement. “The red scar that is between your eyebrows, Baron Dronte. – No, no!” he cried suddenly. “Further brooding over these things would be called trying God! – If it is convenient for you I will show you your bedroom!” I bowed my thanks and went with him. When we were standing in the room I had been given, he took me by the shoulders with both hands and looked me in the face for a long time. “Forgive me for my rude confusion!” he then said. “But I, an old man, have experienced too many incomprehensible and disturbing things. I myself am not able to solve the terrible riddles of providence. I want to be alone. Please don’t be angry with me. I need to flee from the confusion of these mysterious incidents to a safe haven! In the faith in Him, who directs everything according to His high will, and in the peace of prayer.” “Pray for me, too, Reverend Herr”, I asked with emotion. Then I was alone. And restlessly I groped with the feeling that the mind was not able to bring me any help, to find the little portal within the dark wall that would lead to the truth. But here and there, in the sleepless night, appeared a faint glimmer of foreboding – I could not grasp anything of that, which in the deepest and darkest depths of my soul approached. A farmer, whom I had taken into my service with his team and asked for the most stately building in the entire area, assured me that it was Krottenriede Castle. But the road that led there was a two day journey through a thick forest and a horrible moor and was by no means safe. Not too long ago the Spillermaxe gang had lain in wait in the Damned Quarry and in Klosterholz near the road, and the poachers were not doing too well either, and seldom gathered together, for example, to hunt a more spirited game than a deer or roebuck. Also the priest, whom I clearly saw had kept watch through the night, warned me of the vast forest, where it was not safe. When I had made up my mind to leave, he took his leave visibly moved and commended me to the blessing of God, who would protect me from the false arts and deceitfulness of Satan. For after careful reflection he could not believe that God would want to use a Mohammedan monk or dervish to help a believing Christian, whom he recognized me to be. I thanked him for the night’s lodging and the food and urged the farmer, whose name was Görg Rehwang, to hurry, since I had every reason to fear that the little courage the man had would evaporate before the journey began. After I made sure that the mail coach driver would be able to travel home in the course of the day and was quite well, we drove into the middle of the forest. By the crouched neck and the shy side glances, which Rehwang did to the right and left, I soon realized that his heart was in his pants, and it was not long before he half turned around and asked with a cheese-white face: “”Didn’t you hear something, Herr?” “Nothing,” I said. “To the right hand someone has made a whistle or I shall not be blessed!” he whispered, scratching his furry hair. But nothing happened. It might have been a wild bird. Then, however, when we reached a marshy area of heath he began to talk about the inn, in which we were to find accommodation for one night and which was called “The Ball Mill”. “Supposedly there were many a man there with heavy stones on their feet, without clothes and possessions, in the depths of the black moor waters, to the delight of crayfish, water beetles and eels.” he babbled, his teeth chattering. “Lord, how about we turn the foreheads of our nags to where we came from?” I gave him no answer, and so he drove on with a deep sigh. The area was gloomy and sad. Between shimmering pools stood ancient and gnarled trees, covered with warts and goiters. Dead trunks and those peeled by lightning desperately spread their twisted serpentine arms. On water covered with a skin of thick green slime, lurked crippled willows, on which hungry crows squatted. Trunks and branches were whitewashed with the droppings of the resting birds. Sometimes a duck would rise out of the reeds with a whistle and beating wings. Very distant, mournful notes from a flute purred in the wind, and gray misty women dragged their dripping gowns through the treetops. “Here it’s called the Damned Quarry”, the farmer began again. “And the path there, between the young birches, leads to the Ball Mill, where we can spend the night.” But it went on for a long time, until we arrived in front of the dark gray and unfriendly building. Large, stone balls, green with moss, eaten by rain and snow lay next to the door, and a moldy soft spot still showed where the dammed waters of the moor brook had driven the mill, which had long since become an inn. The farmer got off the wagon with a crooked back and shouted a few times: “Hey there, the inn!” But nothing moved, yet we thought we heard wild singing coming through the greenish windows behind the strong square bars. After long shouting the host finally appeared with a huge black and white spotted dog, whose dull, raw face was not unlike that of a man. The broad-shouldered man, who had an excessively long knife sticking out of his fat leather pants, looked at us unkindly enough and grunted: “Hoho, Rehwang, what do you bring us there for a distinguished gentlemen?” “The gentleman has a long way to go,” the farmer apologized. “And so goes inquiry on account of the night’s lodging.” “Still don’t know the household custom, you living cow patty?” the rude host dug at poor Görg Rehwang. “And if the emperor and the pope and all the electors and as far as I’m concerned, also the empress and the archbishop’s bed warmer come riding and driven, there is nothing else in the Ball Mill but a bundle of straw in the large room. – The Herr can do with it as he pleases!” he said with a treacherous look at me. Behind him, pointy-nosed, shabby and rattle-thin like the forest crows on the garbage heap by the building, suddenly stood, as if grown from the earth, the landlady who smiled wryly and said: “If it is convenient for the Herr he is welcome! While there is nothing but a poor man’s bed, we have good wine and a company in the house, where there is a great deal of fun.” “There is no lack of wine,” the innkeeper in the woollen doublet interjected much more friendly. “I just wanted to warn the gentleman that he does not expect anything fine from us and does not beat the wheel in disgust at the burping and farting of the sleeping companions around him.” I did not reply to the coarse lout’s rude speeches and entered the house. Roaring laughter and shouting rang out to me from the tavern when I opened the door, and stinging pipe smoke billowed out in clouds. At the long table, above which was an elaborately carved in wood, six-horse carriage with all the accessories hung in toy size, also burned six or seven candles in tin lanterns. Three students sat at it, their long swords strapped around them, their sleeves pinned up, drinking Runda. With them was a tree-tall, gaunt fellow with a bald skull and a fiery red vulture nose, dressed in a scuffed black robe, who held a cheeky brown- skinned woman on his lap, with his hand waving a yellow neck cloth in the air. The black-eyed woman laughed in such a way that her exposed breasts trembled, and she pinched the old beau in his drunkard’s nose, so that he cried out loudly and let her go.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
I assured the spiritual gentleman most eagerly that I had seen the aforementioned man from afar several times in my life, but that I had never spoken a word to him. The priest looked at me and shook his head. “So the experience is now again a miracle and in need of some explanation. Namely, when the old woman and the tailor went their way with the brushwood and I was alone with the stranger in the brown robe and eye to eye with him, I felt the natural desire to learn from him something about his origin and the destination of his journey. Moreover, there was in his look and in the truly noble features of his face such a strong attraction that it was impossible for me to keep my eyes off him. That he was from the Orient, I recognized easily by his appearance. And since I had once learned the Arabic language years ago, I dared to use this language and the solemn greeting ‘Salem aleikum!’, that is: Peace be with you!” And in this tongue the stranger exceedingly kindly and sweetly gave this beautiful blessing back to me and added: “When the sun sets for the third time, a man will appear in this place who is looking for me. Call him your guest!” And when I agreed to this, moved by a peculiar emotion, and added the question of where I should direct the newcomer, he only answered: “To the big house at the end of the forest.” With that he bowed his head with a beautiful gesture and went to the forest, from which Nenin had fetched her brushwood. But no sooner had the first bushes covered him, when it occurred to me that there could be many of them, especially if locks are also included. And then I ran after him, in order to get more details out of him. But no matter how I searched and called, I could find no trace of him. Certainly he had gone his way with quicker steps than I had suspected, and disappeared from my sight. I also confess that this experience had upset me so much that I can no longer say today how long I stood in thought while he walked away from me. This makes it easy to explain his disappearance without the assumption of a supernatural event. After these words, silence descended upon us, and we sat for a long time, each occupied with his own thoughts. That which I would have liked to say, I had to keep to myself. Nothing could have moved me to reveal to another, even if he might be as worthy and as trustworthy as this priest, the dark and hidden ways of my life. And that is what I would have had to explain to him, even casually, my inexplicable connection to Ewli. But was there an explanation at all? Was it not rather that by the last appearance of the miracle man everything had only become more confused and unclear? Unless, and this thought seized me with penetrating force, that the friend of my childhood, now that old age had taken me in its weary arms, considered that the time had come to reveal himself to me. Then, of course the appearance at the baker’s, the broken wagon wheel, the Arabic-speaking priest were clear, even if unusual signposts to that place, to the “great house”, where at last the inexplicable and incomprehensible things in my life would find an explanation of some kind. “Well – in any case, it is good not to forget the arts practiced in younger years,” my host interrupted my thoughts. “And so I am glad that for once in this life I have unexpectedly and strangely used my knowledge of Arabic! “I wish, reverend Herr, that I had been in your place, and skilled in the same language, to be able to speak with Ewli.” Hastily, the clergyman put the pipe down on the table and looked me in the face with an almost frightened look and repeated: “Ewli? How do you come up with that word?” I saw that now, after all, I had to share somewhat of the role that the man from the East had played in my life, and I told him in short words about the incident in my earliest childhood, with the little wax man under the glass and the collapsing ceiling above my shell bed, and how the figurine disappeared in this accident and was never found and how he was always called “The Oriental or Ewli” without my knowing what this last word meant. The priest drummed his fingers on the table, shook his head several times as if to deny a thought that was trying to emerge, and at last he only managed to utter only one word: “Mysterium!” “Whether the word Ewli implies a name or a characteristic I do not know. It comes from my grandfather, who brought the rarity back from the lakeside city of Venice and held it in high esteem. When I was a child, there was –“ With great, hitherto unseen vivacity, my host interrupted me: “So listen then, Baron Dronte, how divine providence often intervenes in human life and how, according to the will of the Most High, people must find each other and have to communicate with each other, that no coincidence, as it is called, could ever bring to light. Today, when I made the necessary arrangements for your reception, I was called to a dying man, named Milan Bogdan, a very elderly cottager, who had been an Austrian soldier and who had been given his severance pay and had come here many years ago with this and a few guilders he had saved. He stayed, got married and had a small sprite which he had obtained, perhaps from the eternal gardens of God. This old Croatian imperial soldier was a good and righteous man and, moreover, a good Catholic Christian, in whom it was my pleasure to visit not only for the sake of his faith, but also for his diligence and his peaceableness. He has been lying for a long time, and as often as the barber has drained the water from him, it rises to his heart again and brings danger of death. That’s why Bogdan had already received the last sacraments two days ago with much devotion. And so I was surprised that he hurriedly asked for me today. But I went to him without hesitation, and when I saw that he had sent his old wife and his two sons out of the room I said that this was not necessary, since he had a clean account with the good Lord and that a new confession was certainly not necessary. But he fiercely insisted on his will, and so they left him alone with me, and I sat down at his bedside. “What else is troubling you, dear son?” I asked. “Nothing is distressing me – nothing, reverend,” he said with a heavy heart. “My sins are forgiven. And yet I cannot sleep quietly in God’s bosom until a pious and learned man explains to me an event that happened to me when I was a soldier and which I think about now more than ever.” So I challenged him to talk unabashedly, and then he explained something to me, which I share with you, Baron Dronte, as something that is not under the seal of confession and, above all, a strange fact, especially for you. Bogdan was thus abducted as a young infantryman in a battalion on the Turkish border during a skirmish on the Sow, as the river flowing into the Danube is called, by wild Bashibozuks. In Turkish captivity he had to do hard work in a treadmill that irrigated the fields of a mountain. Apart from the work, he was not badly off, and was allowed to move freely in the small town of his imprisonment. Thus he met a young Turk of great beauty, but with a mark between his eyebrows, who took very kindly care of the poor prisoner and did him a lot of good without any reward. But as it often happens in the unsanitary regions there, Bogdan came down with the heavy misery or blood dysentery so that he became more miserable and weaker and could no longer eat any food. The young Turk cared for him faithfully and showed a lot of sorrow, often asking Bogdan whether he could be allowed to grant him a wish. And when it came to the last and Bogdan could hardly speak any more for weakness, he smiled and said to the Turk: “As bad as I am, brother, I could be helped if I could drink from the colored glass that stands on my mother’s table, from the plum brandy which is in our cellar in Zagreb.” Then the Turk went out the door. Bogdan became weaker and weaker, and he gave his soul to God. When not an hour had passed, the Turk entered the door again and carried in his hand the glass painted with colorful flowers which Bogdan’s mother had filled with strong plum brandy and held it to the lips of the sick man. He drank and fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he asked for his savior. But no one seemed to know anything about him. In his dilemma he called Hodja, the Mohammedan priest, and told him what had happened to him and how strange it was that the Turk had traveled so many miles there and back in an hour. Then Hodja said: “Know that your friend was an Ewli. One who has died and came back. Good to you, that you have a guide through the kingdom of Death!” Bogdan recovered and in an exchange of prisoners came back to his homeland. And there his mother told him that on the day of his recovery, a stranger knocked on her door and asked for the colored glass and brandy. And without understanding she gave him both, and after a short time there was another knock at the window, the stranger stood and pushed the empty glass back to her and spoke: “Rejoice, mother, your son returns!” And so it happened. – This, Baron Dronte, is what the dying soldier told me this afternoon and asked me if it was a sin that in the hour of his death he had thought so much on Ewli, his face and the red mark between his eyebrows. I replied that he should rather turn his thoughts to the Lord Jesus. He was doing this with all his might, was Bogdan’s answer, but the face of the Lord Jesus in his thoughts without his intervention took on the features of Ewli. I saw that the poor man was in agony of conscience, and yet he could not master this image. I comforted him and said that it was up to the Lord and Savior alone to decide in which form he would show himself to him. Then Bogdan smiled and said that it was now easy for him to go and that nothing could rob him of the hope of a further life.
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
“Never again -,” he groaned, leaning on his brother. “Terrible — I had – already crossed the – threshold.” “What’s the matter with you, Eusebius?” “The hunchback -” he cried out. “Two heads – two children’s heads -.” And without consciousness he collapsed, saved from a heavy fall by his brother’s arm. He looked at me helplessly, spat bloody sputum and stammered: “Enough, Lord – enough! Have mercy!” I pressed a large gift into his hand. His poor, gaunt face beamed with joy for a moment, and then he held out the gold to the fainting man and shouted: “Look here, Eusebius – look here!” He let go of the body of the brother, who twitched softly, gently let it slide to the ground and pointed to the gap in the wall of the tent. “It took a lot out of him this time,” he whispered. “The day is already coming up. – Was the Lord pleased?” Full of compassion for these poor people, inwardly stirred in my innermost being, and yet with a bright glow of supersensible hope in my chest, I walked through the gray, rain-soaked morning towards the awakening city. For a long time I lived quietly and absorbed only in the memory of happy days in a small, secluded place and thought to end my life there. One morning, however, in front of the baker’s shop, a casserole appeared which became of great importance for me. A foreign artisan, who had wanted to buy bread, was accused by the baker of trying to cheat him with fake money, amidst a large crowd of curious people. The poor fellow, well acquainted with the cruel punishments that were set for such misdemeanors, fought back with all his might, when he saw me coming, cried out with a loud voice: “Lord, help me! Protect me!” The people, all of whom knew me and had come to me for the insignificant good deeds I had done to one person and another, but especially to the children, held affection for me, made room for me, and some of them said: “That’s right! The Lord Baron shall decide whether it is a gold piece or merely a bad penny, which the lad has put on the baker’s table.” I looked at the gold piece. It was a Turkish Zechine like the five I had kept from the treasure in the ruin. The curly writing on the coin appeared not only to the baker, but also to the other people as so nonsensical that they ignored the weight of the gold, but took it as a false ducat and the fellow for a bag cutter. When the people were enlightened and we weighed the piece on the baker’s gold scales, and for greater certainty tested it against a stone the poor wandering cloth shearer still had a number of silver and copper coins change in addition for his bread. I asked him how he had come into possession of the coins, which were certainly an extremely rare type of coin. And then I received an answer, which completely and forever destroyed my hitherto quiet life like a fiery bolt of lightning. A nearby stranger had given him the money, said the lad, and told him to go to this place, where he would learn more. Half-starved, he was trudging along the street, when a handsome man with a black cloth around his forehead, had come towards him. He denied trying to cheat anyone and had gotten the money from him. Breathlessly I asked whether he had been dressed like some kind of monk. But the lad remembered only a black headscarf and the beautiful, dark eyes of the mild benevolent man. He had turned around and looked after the stranger, but he had completely disappeared from the long, straight road. This information, together with the certainty that the mysterious man from the Orient was not even three days journey from here and had shown himself in the flesh, excited me to such an extent that I ordered a special mail coach for the next day, to possibly follow his trail, until I would be face to face with him and find answers to all the questions that had occupied me for many years, indeed all my life. When I gathered together money for the journey, I also got hold of the Turkish zechins. I was amazed and frightened. There were only four left. A strange feeling came over me, a search for a memory. But it sank again, and a new mystery remained. The next day I was already riding merrily along in the coach and with changed horses had reached the large forest, late in the afternoon, through which the road led to the village, not far from the place where the honest cloth shearer had come to his golden zechine. But just as we passed the village and the coach driver was merrily singing the “Jäger aus Kurpfalz” on his horn, the wheel broke and the poor musician was torn off the seat by the reins wrapped around his left hand by the falling horse to such an extent that he could only rise with a groan and with a pained face explained that he needed to put cold compresses on his sore shoulder before he could hold the reins again. Also the fallen bay, who had skinned his knee, needed rest and treatment. If the coach didn’t want to become a wreck between the village and the town both people and animals needed to be treated. Indecisively, I stood in the midst of the astounded village youth by the badly battered coach, when an old woman came up to me and said: “Your quarters are ready, as we were told, and also the postman can get a bed and a bite to eat. There is room for the nags in the reverend gentleman’s stable!” I was very surprised at this reception and asked who had announced me and whether the whole thing wasn’t a misunderstanding? There was certainly an inn in the village where one could stay if necessary. “No, Herr,” the woman continued and went ahead of me as a guide without further ado. “We have no inn here, and strangers of repute whom chance brings here, are accustomed to stay in the parsonage, which is in the vicarage, which is built on a large scale and contains enough furnished rooms. The preparations for the lord, however, have been ordered by the Reverend. Nothing else is known to me, other than that the parish priest, who is currently with a dying man, instructed me to keep a watchful eye on the road and not to miss the announced guest.” In the meantime we had arrived at the stately house next to the church, and I stepped through the door, above which hung, on iron chains, the bones of extinct animals on iron chains, into a hallway paved with gray bricks, and from there into a vaulted, white-painted room, in the middle of which stood a large table with leather chairs. On the wall was a rack with many books, among which I noticed the works of Paracelsus. On top of them were stuffed birds of a rare kind, as the storm sometimes brings them here from foreign zones, and all kinds of minerals and fossilized ammonium horns. On the simple desk by the window was enthroned the figure of a woman holding a child in her arms, and in my opinion was as much the mother of our Lord and Savior as a pagan goddess. Above a black painted prayer stool hung with arms outstretched, the face of a silent suffering person, the Savior on the cross. After a while the old woman put a brass lamp on the table and the room was filled with a friendly yellow light, the priest entered almost at the same time. He was a tall man with gray hair and a face, from which smart and thoughtful eyes peered out. Friendly, he offered me his hand, looked at me attentively and asked me to be his guest at the table. After the meal he wanted to solve for me the riddle that the knowledge of my arrival had thrown me into. Also the mail coach driver had already been accommodated and the carriage was at the blacksmith’s, and the horses, were safe in the stable. Immediately, the table was set and the food was served, which consisted of a larded pike in cream. We drank a light currant wine with it. When we were finished with the meal the priest asked if he might be allowed to smoke tobacco, and lit a pipe. I must confess that, in spite of the inner calm I had learned to regard everything that happened as an unchangeable providence, and a great curiosity seized me, in which way the clergyman could have been informed of my imminent arrival, and I requested him to enlighten me about this strange matter, after my name and state had been pronounced. “It is indeed, as you say, strange- worthy enough,” he replied and blew blue smoke in great clouds away from himself. “Three days ago I went down the village street according to my habit to pray my breviary. A couple of people who came toward me astonished me so much at the sight of them, that I stopped and let them approach. I knew the woman. It was eighty year old Nenin, who, in spite of her old age and her weakness at this time of the day, gathered together a large bundle of brushwood. It had always been a sight, to see the weak old woman, who was still active in such a way, swaying under her load. And not infrequently, I had unceremoniously asked some loitering, partying lad to take the burden from the poor woman and carry it home. This time, however, she came without the usual piggyback and seemed to me upright, almost as if rejuvenated next to her companion, who, as she said, had voluntarily taken the burden from her and loaded it effortlessly on his shoulders. The man, however, with whom she went, had in any case an appearance that would astonish anyone in this country. Namely he wore-“ “A brown robe and a black headscarf or a turban of such color and amber beads around his neck –“, I finished, quivering with expectation. The priest looked at me without astonishment and said: “So then the following miracle partially dissolves into nothing. I say partially, for it remains wonderful that neither the old woman nor the tailor who happened to come from the field, who loaded the bundle of brushwood onto his handcart and drove Nenin home with it, seemed to see anything special or conspicuous in the man dressed so strangely. Through later questions I became convinced that the two people had not even been aware of the unusual costume. But the other thing, namely that this man informed me of your arrival and predicted it for today is now explained by the fact that you obviously know him and have certainly spoken to him of your journey.”
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
Only one thing stood firm in my heart: the certainty that I would see Zephyrine again. She and Aglaja, because they were one and the same creature of God, destined for me and taken from me again and again for the unknown purposes of eternal powers. During the day I had stayed in my inn room and had answered every disturbance with the indication of indisposition and the need for rest. In the course of the night, as the hand approached the eleventh hour, I left the house and took the long way to the pleasure grove. The weather was damp and mild, and the spring wind rattled under the roof tiles and made the weather vanes creak. The path was dry. A long train of dark clouds chased across the bright moon, like strange, stretched out running animal shapes. Once or twice I was stopped by roundabouts or police check points and was forced to show my papers and to arrange my answers to the questions in such a way that it could be inferred that I was on a secret love affair, which would be unthinkable for a gentleman. In such a way, which caused me enough displeasure, it was possible for me to get through and even in the Egyptian darkness under the lanterns blown out by the storm, ask for further directions from the public. For it was not at all easy for me in such great darkness, which was illuminated only at times by the crescent moon, to find the way to the Lustwäldchen. There I went astray a few times between the shapeless tents and booths, which in the powerful darkness looked completely different than in broad daylight. But the Magus and his brother seemed to have attentively been on the lookout for me, because when I, after looking around in vain tried to go in another direction, a man suddenly stepped up to me, whom I recognized as the harlequin, grabbed my wrist and said softly and quickly: “Come, Baron – we have been waiting for a long time.” He led me between the darkened wagons and the canvas tents to a large booth, from the crevices of which a very dim, bluish light penetrated, opened a slit somewhere on the wall and gently pushed me in front of him. The next moment I was standing on the small stage behind the lowered curtain. In the background still hung the cemetery scene with the crosses and tombstones from the performance. The sides of the stage were closed with dark curtains, so that I found myself in a square of moving walls. A few oil lamps made of blue glass gave a weak but immensely pleasant and cold light, in which one saw quite well after some habituation. I sat down at the invitation of the brother in a reasonably comfortable chair that had been placed for me. A copper basin with weakly glowing coals stood before me. The brother approached me and whispered: “Don’t speak to him when he comes. -Have you brought the property of the person you wish to see?” After some persuasion, I took the silver ring with the fire opal out of my vest pocket and put it into his hand, and he went to one of the side curtains, in the folds of which he disappeared. Immediately he placed a bowl with grains in it next to the coal fire and a small three-legged stool. Then the curtain opposite me moved violently, and the magus appeared. He was clothed in a dark, wide robe and wore around his head a white cloth, as I had already seen in old pictures. His face was pale gray and decayed, his eyes half closed. He did not seem to see me and walked with his hands stretched out in front of him like a blind man towards the ember pan. His brother came quickly behind him, guided him with his hands and pushed him down on the stool. Motionless the magician remained seated. The brother took one of his hands hanging down, opened, as it seemed to me, the closed fingers, and put the ring in his hand, which immediately closed again. Then he pushed up a similar stool for himself and scattered grains from the copper bowl over the crackling and smoldering coals. Immediately a blue, pleasantly fragrant smoke rose up with a similar fragrance as that precious incense, used by the Catholic Church on high feast days. Immobile and without any sign of attention, the magus sat in front of me and slightly behind him the brother, on whose haggard and hollow-cheeked face the traces of progressed pulmonary addiction were easily recognizable as the seal of an early death. I turned my attention to the other again and now saw that his eyes were directed at me with a fixed, lusterless look. At the same time a swelling, melodic humming and ringing began and I discovered that the brother had a Jew’s harp between his teeth and was playing it with the index finger of the right hand keeping the tongue of the instrument in a constant buzz. The Magus sat there for the time being in unchanged posture. Slowly, however, his head sank crookedly against his right shoulder, and his mouth opened. The hand that held the ring began to twitch softly. Thus we sat for some time in the blue light, and the hum and whisper of the music rose and fell. Suddenly, however, I noticed between the open lips of the motionless magus something that looked like the end of a bluish-white, luminous cloth, which gradually began to emerge. Moreover, it began to throb and knock behind my chair, and this sound momentarily continued with even greater force into the wooden floor, to then rise again into the chair, so that I had to listen several times to the short, sharp blows with the greatest clarity at my back and involuntarily looked around. But there was no one behind or beside me, although the knocking continued with undiminished strength. The white tissue came out of the mouth of the sleeper almost to his chest and then disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and the knocking ceased with a crashing blow in the left armrest of my armchair. In the deep silence the brother reached past the magus once again into the incense bowl on the floor and sprinkled grains on the coals. Something cold touched my cheek unexpectedly and stroked my forehead. I reached out quickly, but grabbed the empty air. But on the Magus’s shoulder a large snow-white hand appeared, with its flat fingers shaped almost like a glove. But then it stretched in an excessively long, arm-like gesture over his head, sank down, and lay quietly for a while like a third arm on his knee, until everything faded away in a few moments and became invisible. However, the sleeper now began to become restless, swayed back and forth with his upper body and let a quiet, wailing singsong be heard, whose words I could not understand. It began to knock again very strongly against the floor and then against my chair, and an empty stool, which stood at the curtain and which I had overlooked so far, did four or five frog-like leaps towards me, then turned around, stayed for a while with its three legs stretched out in the air, and then began to turn slowly in circles on the seat board. I suspected that strong magnetic fluids were now active, which had been obviously lying in deep slumber at the beginning. But at the same time the trembling melody of the player strengthened and accelerated, and the so far rocking motions of the magus changed into violent and convulsive twitching, which seemed very uncanny, all the more so because the newly nourished fragrant smoke intensified and the two persons opposite me appeared quite shadowy and unreal. Then it seemed to me as if a folded, shimmering piece of white cloth was lying there next to the charcoal basin, which had not been there before. It moved in its center in an incomprehensible way, as if a very small child or an animal were covered by the linen and caused it to rise. But quickly the strange cloth or the luminous mist grew in height, became taller and narrower and seemed to want to take on the shape of a human being. I looked in the utmost expectation straining to see and believed to perceive the folds of a garment and limbs. It was a human figure that arose before me. And all at once, as if paralyzed by joyful fright, I saw the completely pale and almost transparent beloved face of Zephyrine, her eyes were fixed on me – but then something grew out of the delicate head, from fine threads – glittering and shining – Aglajas’ crown of the dead – I wanted to jump up, to wrap my arms around the woman that I so ardently longed for – But before my eyes veils were laid, my feet were stuck in leaden shoes, my heart stood still. Everything had disappeared. I saw only the raw stage floor, the smoky, sweet smoke, the magus, who had fallen from the stool with his eyeballs twisted and lay in convulsions. The music fell silent. Feet thumped on the flooring. The brother hurriedly pulled the magus up, ran his cloth-wrapped hand into his mouth and pulled out his tongue. With a wild gasp the magician opened his eyes, looked around him and heaved a sigh. “Wake up, Eusebius!” cried the brother, shaking him gently. “Wake up! Wake up!” The magus looked first at him, then at me, and then let his gaze go in circles, as if he first had to think about where he was. He shuddered violently, grabbed his forehead with his hand, stared at me and gurgled: “Two–two there were–two–“ The other hurriedly fetched a tin cup and a bottle, poured a dark, strong-smelling wine into the vessel and held it to the brother’s lips. He drank in greedy gulps, put it down, and drank again. I discovered that my cheeks were wet with tears. After a long effort, aided by his assistant, the necromancer stood up and walked swaying toward me. His face was slack and covered with sweat. “The ring –” he stammered. I took the silver jewel and kept it with me. “Why two?” He stretched out his hand toward me. It was trembling violently. “Why two, Herr?” I nodded and said softly, “There were two, and yet there is only one.”
The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
The performance, which began with a few rough slaps for the harlequin, was as I had much expected with the magician, dressed as on the figurehead. With his beard hung around his neck he performed a series of quite artful sleight-of- hand and card tricks, baked an omelet in a hat, which a fat citizen hesitantly offered, fetched endless ribbons, white barnyard rabbits and a glass jar with floating little fishes from it and finally crushed a golden watch in a mortar, only to find it unharmed in the purse of an embarrassed giggling girl. Then he moved on to the more difficult arts and tore off the heads of a white dove and a black dove and healed them in the twinkling of an eye, so that the black bird had a white head, and the white bird now had a black head. But this showpiece produced such a violent nausea in me that I wanted to get up and leave the room. But since I would have had to fight my way through the crowded rows of people sitting and would have had to make everyone get up, I closed my eyes for a while until I felt that the discomfort was subsiding. When I looked up again, through murmurs of applause and the admiration of the spectators, I saw the well-done picture of a moonlit cemetery on the stage. A slender, beardless man, wrapped in a black cloak, walked up and down between the grave crosses and told in his soliloquy, that a ghost often appeared here, and that he wanted to find out who the evil doer was that was certainly behind the appearance of such spirits. Behind the stage the midnight hour was signaled by twelve tinkling bells, and after the fading of the last stroke, which was followed by an artificially generated whirring of the wind, a being wrapped in white shrouds floated between the crosses and approached the man. This man seemed to be frightened at first, but then he swiftly drew his sword and stabbed the ghost. One saw clearly, how the flashing blade went through the body of the ghost, without doing him any harm. But now the boastful one threw the sword away and fled, whereupon the white creature performed a triumphant dance and the curtain rushed down. The performance was over, and the audience departed highly satisfied. I also stood up and approached the stage. My guess was correct. The invulnerable apparition was a mirror image, through a slanting glass plate, in front of which, lying on a kind of platform, an actor made the ghost, whose image was thrown onto the stage. The glass plate was made of three equal pieces, set together, and the two dark, vertical stripes of shadow, which had been visible on the stage during the performance, had immediately led me to this assumption. I now thought of leaving and noticed that there was no one left in the audience but me. But nevertheless I was not alone. Inaudibly a person had crept up to me, probably unaware of my intentions, and even though I faced him so unexpectedly, I recognized in him the sleight of hand magician in a robe as well as the cemetery fencer. I apologized and told him that I only had a scientific interest in how it was done and was fully satisfied with it. In no case was it my intention, to retell what I had discovered, which by the way had been known to me for a long time, to impair his success. “The gentleman is obviously a connoisseur,” the man said very politely and bowed. “Perhaps I have the honor of seeing a master of white magic before me?” “Not this one,” I replied. “I only wanted to know whether the excellent effect produced by the phantom was created with the help of large concave mirrors or with the sloping glass plate. Glass plates of such size are, as far as I know very precious and, as I understand it, are made only in Venice” “I see that the gentleman is excellently instructed,” replied the magician. “The three plates are our most valuable possessions and require a great deal of caution when traveling.” I thanked him with a few words and went toward the curtain, in front of which the harlequin was once again making noise and shouting. “If, however, the gentleman wished to make use of my actual art,” said the other, falteringly, and made a gesture with his hand toward the ground on which we were standing. A foreboding seized me. “What you see here,” said the other, “serves only the curiosity of the uneducated people and the acquisition of the bare necessities of life. For the deeply initiated, I am the necromancer Magister Eusebius Wohlgast from Ödenburg, and I have indeed already been honored with the name of the Hungarian Dr. Faust. I would have to be very wrong, if the wishes of the gentleman, whose outward appearance already announces the deepest and unhealed sorrow, not to offer the most glowing reunion with a beloved person who had been torn from him by cruel death.” I laughed bitterly. “You think I am more simple-minded than I am, Herr Magus Wohlgast,” I returned. “With the smoke of poisonous herbs, which completely cloud the clear mind, and with a hidden laterna magica, one can show gullible people what they wish to see.” The man shook his head with a smile and replied gently and modestly: “People of my standing, who live in moving wagons, must put up with being counted among the great crowd of wandering jugglers and swindlers. To dispel this suspicion, I expressly declare to you that I do not claim any salary if you want to accept my services in this respect. It is entirely up to you whether or not you want to give me a reward after the work is done, or under the impression of having been duped, to refrain from such. I also know very well in whose service I put my art, and remain unconcerned about profit, as much as I have to reckon with a net income. Incidentally, I recently enjoyed the extremely high honor of receiving such a request from His Imperial Roman Majesty in the rooms of the Masonic Lodge “To the Three Fires”. Although His Majesty, as a result of a very gripping apparition which moved him to the other world, was frightened and had to spend a few days in bed until his insulted mind had calmed down again. I was granted a very handsome reward. It may serve as a testimony to you that neither His Majesty nor the noble gentlemen present regarded me as an impostor, but rather left the temple of the Freemasons very moved and in silence. Yes, it was even said to protect me from the persecution that Her Majesty the Empress ordered to be instituted against me, when she discovered through an informant gentleman the cause of the illness of her husband.” Contradictory feelings stirred in me. The man seemed to me to be honest and sure of his rare abilities. But my distrust could not be eliminated so quickly. “Whom or whose spirit did you make appear before His Majesty?” I asked. “To speak of that to anyone, even a trustworthy cavalier, I am neither permitted, nor is it in my habits,” he declined. “I would also decline to communicate with third persons about apparitions which might come to the Lord if my most humble services were to be called upon.” My desire to experience this man’s art grew at his words and I spoke: “If it would be possible for you to call back a person, who has departed from this life and is very dear to me, I would be more than grateful to you.” He made a dismissive movement. “That is left to the discretion of the Lord, who is, in spite of all the negligence of his exterior caused by his grief, is a distinguished nobleman.” “So how should I behave, and when should this summoning go ahead?” I asked quickly, because two people had already entered the tent and forced us to speak quietly. “I ask the Lord to be here in three days, half an hour before midnight. On the day when the work is to take place, the Lord must abstain absolutely from all food and drink, with the exception of pure water. Then a purification of the body and fresh, clean clothes are needed. In addition, an object should be brought that was the property of the deceased person, if possible, something that was worn on the body. Strictest secrecy against anyone, whoever it may be, is a commandment, the non-observance of which makes all in vain.” “I have understood and will observe all this,” I said. “Nothing else is required?” “Nothing more for the gentleman.” “And you?” “I, my lord, must fast from today, a full three days, fast. My brother and our assistant will hold the performance here. I must prepare myself in solitude until the hour of the invocation.” I looked at him doubtfully, but the place was so filled to such an extent that further conversation was not possible. The Hungarian Magus did not pay any further attention to me, but walked right away toward the curtain. I saw him speaking some hasty words with the colorfully dressed harlequin, who nodded seriously. “So in three days -” I said in passing. “Around midnight,” he replied, and disappeared into the crowd in front of the booth. When I deliberately passed by after a while, the harlequin had disappeared, and the man, who until then had attracted the public with his multicolored costume, was now standing in the robe in front of the entrance and invited the audience to enter. In deep thought, I started on my way home to my inn. God himself had annealed my soul in the furnace of pain. I felt it deeply in the loneliness of the day, on which I prepared myself fasting for the evening with the Magus. How different my whole being had become since that hour, when my beloved had slipped away into the realm of shadows. The old irascibility which had still sometimes flashed up in me, the arrogance, of which I often enough made myself guilty, the addiction to the pleasures of the table and diversions of various kinds, the tendency to lust – all this had fallen away from me and seemed to me void and stale. The glamour, with which life presents itself to a man, was extinguished for me under the gray dust of transience.
“If I had to say where I thought the problem was, I’d say it was in having us train six newbies before moving on. We could probably get by with training four or five instead.”
Then Tobal grinned at Zee and Kevin. “Still, that’s because we are good trainers. There are some people out here that still struggle to survive after two years. I would hate to train with them. I guess the bottom line is if you can survive out here for a year you must know what you are doing.”
“You have always done a good job training newbies,” Zee told him. “No one has ever complained about your training.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever complained about Becca, Fiona or Nikki either,” he reminded her. “I guess the best thing is to trust the Council of Elders to make these decisions for us.” He looked at Zee, “I have heard you are the most thorough trainer out here. You teach things many of us don’t even think about.”
She blushed and looked pleased. “Thank you Tobal. That was a very nice thing to say.”
Kevin nodded and gave her a squeeze. “We’d better get going. I want to get out of this rain.”
They laughed and with a final wave headed toward one of the shelters. Sarah’s, Anne’s, Derdre’s, Seth’s and Crow’s newbies were all going to be initiated along with Zee’s, Kevin’s, Fiona’s, Becca’s and Nikki’s. That was ten initiations and it was going to be a long night Tobal thought as he watched and listened to the Council of Elders.
Crow had proclaimed his newbie ready to solo but the Elders had not approved demanding one more month of training. Crow was pretty upset at this and it took quite a while before he was calmed down. He felt he was being picked on because he was so young and from the village. Tobal felt Crow had gotten a bad break and sympathized with him. Still it was true. No one else really knew him yet.
At circle Llana made quite an impression with her wolf cubs. She strolled in with the two cubs trailing at her heels. Tobal had not even been sure she would show up or that he would get his chevron. He hadn’t seen her since she had left to give her grandfather the message. The cubs were nervous and kept very close to her. He was glad to see her for several different reasons.
Tobal was officially recognized and given his 6th chevron along with the secret location where he was to be initiated into the 2nd degree in two weeks during the new moon. As soon as he could he moved over to where Llana was tying the cubs to a tree and kneeled down to scratch one of the pups behind the ears and smiled as it recognized him.
“Is your grandfather ok?” He asked.
She smiled, “Hi Tobal” and gave him a kiss and a hug. “Grandfather is doing fine. He was very excited to hear about Adam Gardener, Sarah’s father, and agreed that Adam was in serious danger so he left right away to talk with him.”
Then her face got very serious. “Someone broke into the store while they were talking and they needed to teleport out to escape. Neither one of them has been back to the store since. That was how close it was. They didn’t see who it was but they are assuming it was some of General Grant’s men. They also believe it is too dangerous to go back.”
She looked at him. “I gave your wand to grandfather since I thought he might need it. I hope that is ok?”
Tobal nodded, “I couldn’t take it with me to the Journeyman place anyway. It would not be safe there. Someone might discover it.”
“Tobal,” she said. “There has been a change in my plans. Grandfather and Adam have agreed to train both Crow and me in time travel to the locations that are open to us. We feel it is better to have four of us able to time travel than just two in case something happens to one of us.”
He swallowed a bitter lump in his throat. “That means you are going to quit the program?”
She nodded quietly. “We’re counting on you to stay in the program. I can meet you once or twice a month and continue your training so you will be ready to time travel as soon as possible. Without med-alert bracelets we will have much more freedom to come and go and meet with people.”
“How soon will that be,” he said in despair. “How soon will I be able to time travel?”
She sensed his disappointment and put her right hand gently on his shoulder. “You have learned a lot,” she told him quietly. “But there is still a lot to learn. Perhaps by the time you are a medic you will be ready. The ability to teleport is the key to the entire process. When you have learned how to do that you will be ready. In the meantime you will continue within the program itself. As Ron and Rachel’s son they will be watching you in the hopes that you will have the same abilities that your parents did. They will allow you to have as much training as possible before they attempt to use you. It is almost certain you will be chosen to be trained for Federation time travel.”
“Do I need to join those people?”
“We need to know exactly where your parents are kept if we are going to help them,” she reminded him. “We will also need someone on the inside that knows their way around. Crow is going to start training a group to teleport and time travel at the village. I am going to be working with you and your group.”
“Your group?” He asked puzzled.
“Yes, your group,” she smiled. “You didn’t think you were going to be doing this alone did you?”
“Well, kind of,” he admitted.
“As you continue through the training you will meet people you trust and become friends with,” she told him. “ Some of them will be chosen to continue on within the time travel program. If you and I also teach them the teleportation process in secret they will test well enough to be chosen. Your group can then infiltrate the organization.”
“How long will all of this take,” he said in despair. “My parents are dying!”
“Your parents have been dying for twenty years,” she said softly. “ They will stay alive as long as they know we are coming. They have told me that. We will need between one and two years to get your group trained and ready. That means you will all be medics by then.”
“When will I be able to talk with my parents like you and Crow do? I mean when I’m not at circle or astral projecting to the cave I can’t reach them.”
“That should start happening soon,” she told him. “Your coming initiation should assist in that process. In the meantime keep practicing your meditations and astral projection exercises. And remember, you can talk to your parents and learn from them already. Ask them what you should do.”
“You said we will continue meeting each month,” Tobal said. “When and where will we meet next?”
“Let’s meet in the morning three days after every circle at your base camp,” she decided. “That will work for starters. Later we can find a better location if we want to.”
They left it at that and he noticed Llana and the wolf cubs were gone shortly after that. She didn’t stay for circle or to talk with any of the others. He realized she had come just to talk with him and to make sure he got his sixth chevron.
Even with ten initiations there was a shortage of newbies and Tobal noticed that several clansmen including Tyrone, Mike and Butch were not at circle. They were presumably waiting at sanctuary for more newbies and had been waiting the entire month. Tempers were flaring around the newbie situation.
Mike was angry and so were Tara and Nick who decided to just stay together for the month. Wayne and Char didn’t really care and were back together. There were five other clansmen really angry about the newbie situation. It had reached the point where four Apprentices simply left for the coast. That was more than the monthly one or two that normally elected to drop out of the program.
Tobal had been doing some heavy thinking about the newbie situation and realized that most of the problems were because Nikki, Fiona, Becca and himself had all trained newbies within a month and created a bottleneck situation with the newbies. They were getting their training too fast. There had been a problem when Rafe was training newbies one a month but this was far worse since Rafe was just one person. Now there were several people training that fast. Tobal decided to talk to Ellen about it after circle that evening.
Angel was High Priestess for the circle and Tobal noticed Dirk was acting High Priest for the first time. He was closely monitored by the old High Priest but went through the entire ritual himself. Tobal thought he had done a good job. He could feel the Lord and Lady during each of the initiations but was not able to contact them. It seemed they were focused entirely on the initiates for some reason.
The ten initiations took a long time and he missed chatting with Becca and the others. He did sit beside Ellen though and asked her about making all the training two months long for everyone.
She turned an amused eye toward him, “The Council of Elders has already discussed that in depth. We decided if a newbie is properly trained and ready to solo we have no right to prevent them. If some people can do the training within a month they have the right to do so. If some trainers are motivated to move through the ranks more quickly than others they should be allowed to do that also.”
“But what about all the bad feelings among the clansmen?” He asked. “What about the shortage of newbies?”
Ellen sighed, “Fiona, Becca and Nikki are the only ones left that are training newbies that quickly. They are trying to get their last newbies right now. No one else is trying to train that fast and the problem will go away when they become Journeymen. It is not right to punish them for being good trainers. We did not punish you or Rafe.”
“All in all,” she continued. “It is an effective system and we are inclined to keep things the way they are.”
Tobal nodded and changed the subject as Rafe sat down and joined them at one of the pauses between initiations.
“So what has been happening with the City Council this past month?”
“Not much,” Ellen replied. “Last month’s meeting was cancelled. The mayor contacted us and said they were not ready for a meeting yet. The mayor had dark circles under his eyes and looked a lot older than I remembered. This must be pretty hard on him.”
Tobal changed the subject. “Rafe, you have an air sled now?”
Rafe was wearing his red Master’s robe for the first time to circle. “It’s over there.” He pointed to a location slightly outside of the gathering spot. “I’m still not sure how fast it will go.” He chuckled and glanced at Ellen.
She looked at Rafe with a concerned look. “It’s not a toy Rafe. There have been several air sled deaths.”
He pouted, “I’m just kidding. Don’t take me so serious. Besides,” he continued glumly, “They watch us like a hawk. I can’t get away with anything.”
He brightened a bit. “But I am going to check out some of those forbidden areas that are marked on this map though. Maybe I will have something interesting to add by next month.”
Tobal had almost forgotten the map of forbidden locations Rafe had gotten from Ellen several months ago. Without an air sled Rafe had not been able to check any of them out.
Ellen protested, “Rafe, I don’t really think you should be doing things like that right now. Things are getting dangerous and we don’t really know what we are up against.”
“Checking out these forbidden locations is one way of finding out what we are up against,” was Rafe’s stubborn reply.
“I’ve got an idea,” Tobal said suddenly.
Then he explained the situation with Crow and Llana and how Crow was going to take one group and start training them to teleport and be time travelers while Llana’s group would remain within the system but receive the same training.
“Count me in,” Rafe said.
“Me too,” was Ellen’s reply.
“Good,” said Tobal. “I will tell Llana to start meeting with each of you and training you in what you need to know. She won’t be wearing a med-alert bracelet anymore and can meet you just about anywhere you decide. She won’t show up on any of the monitors.”
He looked at Rafe. “You could even take her by air sled and drop her off at some of those forbidden locations and let her check them out. Then she could teleport out with the information about the area. I think she can only teleport to a place she has been before but once she knows where it is she would be able to go back when ever she wanted.”
Ellen and Rafe looked at Tobal and at each other and nodded. It seemed like a fairly good plan. They would be waiting for Llana to contact them. In the meantime Tobal would set things up with Llana and get his Journeyman initiation.
Both Ellen and Rafe said they were going to be at his Journeyman initiation. He had almost forgotten about it. The secret location turned out to be a cave. Tobal hadn’t realized there were so many caves in the area. He scouted the area ahead of time looking for trails that led into it. He found a safe hiding spot for the things that belonged to his parents and left them in a bundle to pick up later after his initiation.
Finally satisfied that he knew where he was supposed to go he went into the camp itself. No one had said anything about coming early and the late spring weather made travelling a bit uncertain. He felt it was better to show up early than to show up late. It was only a few hours early and they would be expecting him.
He decided the best course of action was to stay on the path and make no sudden moves remembering what had happened with Fiona. It turned out he didn’t need to be so cautious. Turning a corner in the path were two guards standing in the middle of the path as a roadblock. They had a small fire going and there was a lived in occupied look that made Tobal suspect this camp was always guarded.
They greeted him warmly and one guard remained on the trail while he was escorted to a chamber and told to wait. After about an hour of silence someone came for him and again his guide was female. This time it was a girl Tobal knew as Lea dressed in a black robe and hood that covered her honey colored hair.
“Do you seek the Light and Wisdom of our secret circle,” she asked as she approached him in the darkness.
“Yes, I do.”
“There is no Light for you here. In the Apprentice degree you have received all of our light. What you need now is more darkness so the Light within you can shine forth more brightly. That is how you will attain the wisdom of our circle. Will you permit me to be your guide into the darkness?” She asked.
Tobal was surprised and a little shaken by this and wondered what he was getting himself into but he remembered Rafe and knew it couldn’t be too bad.
“I will permit you to be my guide,” he told her.
“You must leave everything behind if you are to enter this degree,” she told him. Then she told him to strip completely. She fastened a large blindfold around his eyes so he couldn’t see anything and taking his left hand led him further into the cave. In the other hand she carried a burning torch. Tobal sensed the light from the torch but couldn’t see anything through the fabric of the blindfold. His guide led him for some way and then stopped. A bundle of clothing was pressed into his hands and he was told to dress himself.
“Are you willing to receive the darkness,” she asked him?
“Yes.”
“What are the two passwords into our sacred circle, she asked.
“Perfect love and perfect trust,” he replied.
“No, in this degree these are reversed. In this degree you must have perfect trust to find perfect love. In this degree we study the duality of opposites inherent in all of nature. Think upon these things as you wait on my return.”
She told him to sit down where he was and took his blind fold off. As his eyes adjusted to the glare of the torch she told him it was very important he stay where he was because the cave was large and he could get lost or killed if he wandered away in the darkness without knowing where he was going. She was going to go and see if things were ready for the initiation. In the meantime he was to quietly meditate and prepare himself.
She turned and left him sitting in the darkness. As he watched the torch grew smaller in the distance and then disappeared altogether as she turned a corner. He had never experienced such total darkness and it was unnerving. For a moment he fought the impulse to get up and run after her remembering what had happened with Fiona. In the darkness the rock and earthy feeling of the cave seemed to close in on him and press against his ribs making it hard to breathe.
There was a sound in the darkness behind him and a bolt of panic and fear tried to tear itself loose and gain control over him. It took a massive effort of will to fight the feelings back. He began concentrating on his breathing and centering as Crow had taught him. He deliberately pulled the earth energy up from the ground and from all around him and encircled himself with it and called on the Lord and Lady to be there with him.
In the blackness of the cave he began to see glowing lights and couldn’t tell if he was seeing them with his physical eyes or in his mind’s eye. There simply was not any way of knowing if they were figments of his imagination or if they were real. He wanted to believe they were real but whenever he tried to focus and look at them directly they would disappear. This continued for some time.
He could feel his heart beating and pulsing in his throat and arms and in his heart itself. It was a slow steady rhythm that seemed to comfort and protect him. It seemed like hours had passed and he wondered if he had been forgotten but was not particularly worried. He had found his center and surrounded himself with protection. Then he heard someone coming and saw the faint gleams of light from the torch.
The light blinded his eyes as Lea came up to him and told him they were ready. She handed a second torch to him and lit it.
“You carry your own light into our circle.” She told him. “In the Apprentice degree there were two passwords. What were they?”
“Perfect love and perfect trust.” He replied.
“And what are the passwords into the Journeyman degree?”
“Perfect trust and perfect love.” He replied.
“Remember these passwords.” She said. “You will need them to gain entry into our sacred circle.”
As Tobal was led deeper into the cave it opened into an enormous cavern. Torches had been placed around at various points for lighting and there was no large fire in the center of the cave. The smoke from the torches rose and lost itself high in the vaulted ceiling finding escape through some hidden airway. Four small fires marked the four quarters of the circle at a smooth and level spot in the cavern floor.
A circle had been formed by dark hooded figures standing silently waiting for him. The High Priest and High Priestess were dressed in red robes with large hoods that hid their faces. Looking at them, Tobal couldn’t make out who they were. The hooded figures around the circle looked eerie in the flickering torchlight. He was halted at the edge of the circle.
Lea pulled him forward. “An Apprentice is among us proven by the elements of nature and of the earth. He wishes to join his light with our own so our community might be more illumined and our wisdom grow. He further wishes to follow the ancient craft and learn the ways of our sacred circle.”
The High Priest came over and stood in front of Tobal staring intently into his eyes.
“I must remind you that this is not a matter to be lightly taken. Your immortal soul will be deeply committed to the path of the Lord and Lady. Do you desire to have your destiny joined with theirs?”
“I do.”
“Do you seek the way that reaches beyond life and death? Will you serve the Lord and reverence the Lady? Will you keep secret from the unworthy that which we show you?”
Tobal replied affirmatively to each of these questions in turn.
“So be it. Child of Earth enter the path of darkness.” Stepping back he motioned for Tobal to walk in front of him into the circle. But his guide quickly restrained him.
“You can’t enter our sacred circle unpurified.” She said. Then taking a bowl of water from the High Priest she sprinkled him with it.
“I purify you with water.”
She waved the torch over him, in front of him and behind him.
“I purify you with fire.”
Then the High Priest stepped forward once more.
“There are two passwords that will allow you to enter our sacred circle. What are they?”
Tobal replied, “Perfect trust and perfect love.”
“Then lead us with your light into the greater darkness.” Said the High Priest. “Show us the way.”
Tobal’s guide tugged him widdershins toward the North quarter and Tobal led the silent party to the small fire signifying the North quarter. He stood silently before the fire wondering what to do for several minutes as they bowed respectfully and waited. The cave’s chill seeped into his bones, stirring echoes of the altar’s glow from his astral visits, a faint reassurance in the void. Then he felt his guide nudging him toward the west and he led the party to the quarter of the circle representing west and water. As before they remained standing silent before the watchtower with bowed heads. Again his guide nudged him forward toward the south.
After paying homage to the watchtower of the south Tobal led them to the Watchtower of the East where the process was repeated. Then Tobal was nudged by his guide to continue widdershins until they arrived at the entrance path into the circle itself. The High Priest roared out in anger.
“Seize Him!”
Taking his knife the High Priest pressed it against Tobal’s chest and cried out in anger.
“We trusted you and you have only led us in a large circle. We have arrived back at the beginning. Why have you done this to us?”
Tobal had no answer to give and his guide remained silent.
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