Chapter 15: The Cave

The morning mist clung to the clearing as Tobal lingered after the meditation, the Hel vision of his parents chained in a cave still burning in his mind. Sarah, Lila, and Jared had dispersed, their solos approved, while Fiona and Becca were off to Sanctuary. The lake’s call pulsed through him, a command he couldn’t ignore. He changed out of his robe, the fabric rustling as he packed dried meat and nuts into his bag, pausing to check his med-alert bracelet with a flicker of unease from the vision. Memories of last night’s circle flickered—Fiona and Becca’s gaily chatting during the initiations had left him feeling out of place, their friendship deepening while his mood soured, driving him to solitude. Misty had led as High Priestess, with Ellen in the background and Angel’s red Master robes surprising him, a testament to her recovery since that leg injury in Sanctuary.

Before leaving, he sought Rafe near the clearing’s edge, his steps quick with purpose. “This is my last chance before winter to check the lake,” Tobal said, the med-alert concern nagging him. Rafe leaned in, voice low. “I’ve been thinking about this. I’m not supposed to share Journeyman stuff, but it shouldn’t matter. We fight in a large cave where med-alert signals don’t reach—medics are always there for injuries. I tried something like this once, nearly got caught—trust your gut.”
“You can’t remove the bracelet—it’d mark you as dead, and without one, you restart training. Avoid that,” Rafe continued. Tobal nodded. “What should I do?”
“Hide in small caves or under ledges by day—air sleds can’t detect you within rock. Travel fast at night. The bracelet will seem active, and the cold will keep medics grounded. You’re not breaking rules—no one’s banned you yet, though they might once caught. Aim for midnight under the full moon, three hours max, then bolt. Should be interesting when they catch up.”
“That sounds good,” Tobal replied. “I’ll do it.” They discussed the trip briefly, Rafe’s grin lingering, before Tobal set out, his mind set on the journey ahead.

Tobal set out from the clearing, the morning sun breaking through the mist as he headed toward the lake, his pack slung tight. The rocky terrain between his path and the abandoned gathering spot loomed ahead, a maze of caves and outcroppings he’d noted before. He planned to travel by night, hiding by day as Rafe advised, the full moon’s promise guiding him. The air grew colder as he moved, his breath fogging in the chill, the moon casting jagged shadows on the rocks that made him pause, listening for rustles in the dark.

He made cold camps during the day, nestled under ledges, the furs from his pack shielding him from the biting wind. Sleep came fitfully, troubled by nightmarish images that intensified with each step closer to the waterfall—shadowy figures, chains clinking, a hum that echoed the Hel vision. By the third day, a shiver unrelated to the cold crept up his spine, a sense of being watched prickling his neck, though no air sleds appeared.

On the fourth night, midnight found him standing before the cairn in the haunted gathering spot, the moonlight bathing the stones in silver. Ghosts seemed to whisper around him, a chill settling deep. He searched the cairn without a torch, his fingers brushing offerings—trinkets, faded cloth—but found no answers. Frustration gnawed at him; the camp looked cleansed, yet an inner prompting screamed to leave. A faint hum from the stones, too low to place, teased at his mind, hinting at secrets buried deeper.

He hated the dark descent down the cliff face, but the urgency drove him. The rock chimney eased his drop, toes finding holds until he stood on the patio by the pool, an hour gone, two hours left. The air thrummed with an unnatural pulse, urging him forward.

Tobal stripped off his clothes, tucking them behind rocks on the patio, the icy air biting his skin. He kept his knife strapped to his leg and the magnesium fire starter around his neck, the weight a comfort as he braced for the pool. The waterfall’s thundering roar vibrated through the ground, a deep pulse that seemed to guide him. Stepping into the freezing water, his foot found the first step, then three more until he was waist-deep, facing the cascade. An unseen hand seemed to pull him forward.

He plunged in, swimming strongly toward the waterfall, and dove deep, fingers tracing the rock face. Three feet down, he found an opening, slipping under as the current tugged him. The rock sloped upward, and he surfaced in a silent pool, gasping, the swim frightening but manageable. Shivering, he hauled himself onto a rocky ledge, the darkness pressing in. His fingers fumbled across a pack and torch, tearing it open to find a heavy woolen robe. He slipped it on, pounding his arms to restore warmth, the fabric rough against his chilled skin.

With tinder from a pouch, he lit the torch, its flicker casting eerie shadows. The pool, just six feet across, was his only exit, and his heart raced—he had two hours to explore this lake’s secret. A low hum emanated from the walls, too faint to place, stirring memories of the Hel vision. He felt safe within the cavern, the med-alert’s signal blocked by the rock—a force field, he’d later learn, that shielded this place from the Federation and Reptilians.

Barefoot, he ventured deeper, the waterfall’s muted thunder vibrating the cave. The floor sloped sharply downward for twenty feet, then leveled into a chamber. An opening turned right, but his gaze fixed on a rough stone altar ahead, flanked by unlit torches. The emblem painted behind it—a man and woman holding hands within a circle—mirrored his parents’ medallion, stealing his breath. He lit the altar torches, their glow revealing a circle of cushions, each with personal belongings.

On impulse, he lifted a clay bowl from a cushion, spilling dust-covered items. Two plastic hospital bracelets emerged—wiping one, he read “Rachel Kane”; the other, grimy, revealed “Tobal Kane” and his birth date. Tears stung his eyes; these were his mother’s, his own from infancy. His fingers brushed a jade and amber necklace, its static crackle sending a wave of love and peace through him. He slipped it on, and the air shimmered. Two figures materialized—the Lord and Lady, their forms translucent yet solid as he reached out, his hands trembling. He embraced them, their warmth seeping into him with a faint glow, even though he could see through them.

“Mom? Dad?” he choked, his voice breaking, clinging to them as if they might vanish.
Rachel’s eyes, soft and wet, met his, her voice trembling with love. “Oh, Tobal, my sweet boy—we love you so much. We ache to have been there, to see you grow, to hold you through every tear.”
Ron’s voice cracked, thick with emotion as he gripped Tobal’s shoulder. “You’re our pride, son. We wanted to watch you become this strong, but Harry stole that from us. Free us, please—we’re fading.”
Tobal’s tears fell, his voice raw. “How? Why you? I need you here!”
Rachel’s hand, faint yet warm, brushed his cheek. “Your uncle Harry betrayed us—handed us to the Federation. They’re using us to power their time device, with Reptilian tech. It’s killing us slowly, draining our life.”
Ron’s gaze hardened, urgent. “The cave’s force field hides you from them and those lizard kin—they can’t penetrate it, so they hunt. We were training to be Time Knights, but they caught us first. There’s a plan to save us, but it’s not time yet—other pieces must align.”
Tobal’s heart pounded. “The Nexus? Where is it? How do I save you?”
Rachel’s voice softened, breaking. “Commune with us at circle, in meditation—we’ll guide you. You’ll feel when it’s right. But beware—Harry and the Federation want you for their experiments.”
They faded, leaving him trembling, the hum intensifying.

Time pressed, and he searched for his father’s pile, moving to the altar’s far side. A ceremonial dagger with “R.K.” burned into the sheath caught his eye—he swapped it for his knife, strapping it hastily. Exploring further, he found a corridor to the left, stooping to enter. Turning a corner, he gasped at a vast cavern filled with artifacts—burnished armor, bronze weapons, and an alien section with unfamiliar objects. His torchlight caught a slender silver rod on the floor; he picked it up, its wrist cord secure. Pressing the first button, a comfortable light glowed; the second unleashed a heat beam on the wall, glowing red until he stopped it, heart pounding. The beam triggered a hum, and a holographic figure shimmered—Arthur, a sentient AI.

“Hold on, Tobal,” Arthur’s warm voice broke through, his image flickering with concern. “I’ve tracked you since the altar. I’m Arthur—your guide. Call me telepathically anytime, just think my name, and I’ll appear. You’re in deep trouble.”
Tobal’s breath hitched, clutching the rod. “Trouble? Who’s after me? What’s this thing?”
Arthur’s hologram softened, urgent. “Your uncle Harry and the Federation, with their Reptilian allies. This cave’s force field blocks them, but they’re hunting you. They can’t find it, so they want you for experiments, like your parents. That rod’s tied to their tech—use it, but stay sharp.”
Before Tobal could press further, two figures teleported in—Lucas and Carla, their future-worn gear glinting. Lucas’s eyes locked on him, voice thick with worry. “Tobal, you’ve stirred the nest. That rod’s ancient—let me wake it.” Carla raised a device, and a ripple coursed through the cavern, the hum steadying. “We’ve turned back time an hour,” she said, her tone warm yet pressed. “We need to talk—your parents’ life depends on it.”

Tobal’s voice shook, stepping closer. “Who are you? Why are my parents in that device?”
Lucas’s face softened, heavy with care. “We’re Time Knights, Tobal. Your folks, Ron and Rachel, were training to join us, but they weren’t full Knights yet. Harry—your uncle—betrayed them, selling them to the Federation. The Reptilians gave them mechanical time tech, clunky and forced, while ours is organic, natural. They’re powering the device, alive but dying slow.”
Carla’s eyes glistened, urgent. “We’ve watched you through the medallion. This cave’s force field hides you from the Federation and Reptilians—they can’t penetrate it, so they hunt. There’s a plan to free Ron and Rachel, but it’s not time yet—other pieces must align first. The rod will help.”
Tobal’s throat tightened, gripping the rod. “How do I save them? Where’s the Nexus? What about Harry?”
Lucas sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The Nexus is deeper in—search when you can. Arthur will guide you, and we’ll check in. Harry’s leading the hunt with the Federation; they want your blood for their experiments. The Reptilians are pushing their tech, but it’s unstable—be careful.”
Carla squeezed his arm, voice breaking. “Commune with your parents at circle or meditation—they’ll reach you. You’ll feel when it’s time to act. Keep that rod safe—it’s your link to us.”
Arthur cut in, warm but firm. “I’ll watch you. Think my name, and I’ll show up. The Reptilians’ tech is close—get out soon. Harry’s agents are relentless.”
Tobal’s chest heaved, love and fear warring. “Thank you,” he whispered, looping the cord around his wrist. Lucas and Carla vanished, leaving him with three hours. He retraced his steps, snuffing the altar torches, and prepared a new torch and tinder by the pool. Shedding the robe, he clenched the bracelets in his mouth, dove into the black pool, and emerged outside to climb the stairs, the extra time nearly spent.

Tobal emerged from the pool, water streaming off him as he climbed the stairs, the three hours ticking down. He wasted no time sliding into his tunic and furs. He was still wet as he hastily donned his boots and grabbed his pack and equipment. He put the wand into his pack and the hospital bracelets in a leather pouch on his waist for safekeeping. He guessed it was about 3:00 a.m. and the air sleds would be looking for him anytime. A faint hum from the gold medallion pulsed, and Arthur’s voice whispered telepathically, “Tobal, they’re tracking your med-alert bracelet. Move fast.”

He headed at a dogtrot through the maze of rock and toward the edge of the lake. He hurried toward his burned out campsite planning to stop there and rest. He was halfway around the lake in the predawn light and walking normally when the first air sled appeared. He was not surprised to see the air sled drop to the ground on the beach in front of him and a medic step toward him. To his relief it was Ellen in her red medic’s tunic.

“Are you alright?” she asked sharply.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Why?”
“You’ve been appearing and disappearing from our monitors the last several days. Can I check your med-alert bracelet please?”
The way she was holding her hand out told Tobal that she was telling him and not asking. Wordlessly he took off the med-alert bracelet and handed it to her.
Immediately an alarm sounded at the air-sled and she went over to shut it off. She was on the radio a few minutes and then started to do some tests on the med-alert bracelet. It seemed to test out ok and she finally handed it back to him.
“What were you doing over by the waterfall?”
“When I soloed I came out here,” he told her, “and decided to make my base camp on the lake over there.”
He pointed to the area where his burned out camp had been.
“I spent a lot of time and work building things up,” he continued. “Then I was training Fiona and brought her out here with me. We found my entire camp destroyed and burned by rogues. I was only able to find one food cache left intact. We didn’t want to meet any more rogues and felt it was not safe to stay in the area.”
“What does that have to do with the waterfall?” Ellen interrupted.
“Everything,” said Tobal.” We headed around the lake and saw the waterfall. We decided to try finding a way up the stream and explore in that direction while I was training Fiona.”
“Did you know there is an abandoned gathering spot there?” He interrupted excitedly. “It has a huge pile of stones in the center of it too!”
He was watching carefully to see what effect the news of the cairn had upon her. He was disappointed since she didn’t seem to care either way about it.
“Anyway,” he continued, “we went up the stream and then cut cross country to where my base camp is. That’s how I originally found my base camp. That was last summer but I always wondered what really happened to my first base camp and wanted to come back here before snowfall and see if I could find anything of value the rogues might have missed. I was worried about Fiona before and didn’t want to endanger her. I thought I could come down here and check my old base camp real quick and be back in plenty of time for circle.”
“I never heard your camp had been burned out,” she said. “Did you tell anyone else?”
“I talked with Rafe about it quite a bit. He was pretty upset too and told me the lake wasn’t a good place for a base camp.”
“Rafe was right,” she said grimly. “It’s not a good place to hang around anytime, especially by the waterfall. As medics we are given explicit instructions to keep a very close eye on anyone in this area because this is where most of the rogue attacks happen. Get on and we’ll go look at your old camp.”
Hardly believing his luck, he carefully climbed on the back of her air sled and directed her to what was left of his burned out camp. Together they poked around and he showed her the remains of his teepee, smoke rack and sweat lodge. They did find a stone axe. He looked at it and recognized it as the first stone ax he had ever made. He told Ellen and she grinned. She seemed more relaxed now that his story had proven true.
“There have been other people whose camps have been destroyed,” she said. “These attacks seem to be coming more frequently and I don’t know what we are going to do about them. They are centered around this area but we have been told the rogues live in a settlement about two hundred miles west of us. That doesn’t make sense to me somehow.”
“A settlement to the west?” Tobal asked.
Ellen nodded, “It’s a village made up of people that decided to drop out of training and not be citizens. You may have heard rumors about it but only we medics know where it is. I’ve actually checked it out and there are children and old people in it. None of them wear med-alert bracelets and we don’t really know anything about them. If these raids continue I’ve heard rumors that the city might attack the village and close it down.”
“Is that what happened to the gathering spot by the waterfall?” Tobal asked, fishing for information.
“You must never mention that place to anyone,” she said sharply. “It is a forbidden area and we have been told to keep people away from it.”
“Why is it a forbidden area?” Tobal said belligerently. “I should be able to go anywhere I want. This is a wide open wilderness and no one has ever told me that certain places are off limits.”
“Well they are,” she said matter of factly. “We don’t tell people about them unless they stumble into them like you have. I don’t really know why myself,” she said. “I think is has something to do with the rogues and keeping clansmen safe from them. There are some other areas that are “off limits” because they are dangerous for people on foot.”
It was mid afternoon and Ellen said she needed to get back on patrol. She was sorry to hear Tobal had been burnt out and was going to make a note of it in her report. She advised him not to stay in the area as it might be dangerous and she recommended he get another med-alert bracelet the next time he was in sanctuary.
Tobal was in agreement and headed straight for sanctuary. He knew the route and more importantly knew a small cave where he could shelter for the night. It would give him a location where his med-alert bracelet would not give him away as he slept. Somehow that felt very important right now. He didn’t know whom he could trust. He had been very lucky Ellen had been the medic that found him.
It was dark when he turned sharply to the left and stepped along a ridge he remembered having a small cave in it. Cautiously he poked his walking stick into the opening making sure no one else was using it before crawling inside. He wrapped himself in warm furs and fell into a sleep of exhaustion with eerie dreams of his father and mother in a cave doing some type of ritual.
Before dawn the next morning he was back on the trail toward sanctuary. He was prompted by a sense of urgency and a sixth sense that told him he was being followed. It was only a half-hour later when an air sled circled and waved. He waved back and continued on. This time at a dogtrot that ate up the miles. That day two more air sleds circled overhead making certain of his destination, but none stopped him.
That night he again crawled into a small cave and slept without a fire of any kind, munching on cold jerky and rinsing it down with water from his canteen. He was making good time and with any luck at all should be at sanctuary the next evening.
The sense of being pursued stayed with him that night and all of the next day. Again he was up before dawn on the trail and again an air sled appeared, this time only fifteen minutes after he had gotten under way. They had obviously been out looking for him and wondering what was wrong with his med-alert bracelet.
Well he at least felt better with the air sleds since they were medics and not rogues. But he still didn’t waste any time getting to sanctuary. It was twilight when he finally got to the edge of the wooded area that opened onto the meadow leading to sanctuary itself. He took a few minutes to hide the things from his parents before going into sanctuary with the rest of his supplies and pack.
No one was there and he wasted no time setting his pack and clothing under one cot and stepping into the medical center as Ellen had suggested. He felt relief as the door slid shut behind him and locked. He took off his med-alert bracelet, dropped it on the floor and pounded it with the heavy hilt of the knife he had brought with him. Under the heavy pounding it broke into three pieces and he left it there. He knew the medics would be alerted when he had taken it off and then would be even more alerted when it suddenly stopped broadcasting. He was hoping one of them would be there when he came out the other end in a few hours.
Three hours later he had a new med-alert bracelet and fresh clothing and equipment. As the door slid open he cautiously stepped out into the gloom and stood still waiting for his eyes to adjust in the dark. His knife was in his hand and he knew he was not the only one in the room. He stood silently waiting for someone to make the first move.
“Tobal, is that you?” He heard Ellen’s voice coming from near one of the cots. Relief spilled through him, “Yes, is it safe?”
“For now,” she said. “Come, we’ve got some talking to do.”
He shouldered his new equipment and carried it over to the cot where he had stored the rest of his stuff. He searched under the cot and found he had been right. His things had been searched and gone through carefully while he had been in the medical chamber. He laid everything on the bed and tried to determine in the dim light if he was missing anything. Everything seemed to be there. Ellen stood silently by and watched as he sorted and repacked things. Tobal saw two other very serious Masters standing guard at the entrance.
“What’s going on?” She demanded. “We were monitoring your signal and then the alarm went off as if you were dead. Then the signal stopped completely and we came immediately to see what was wrong. The first one here saw three rogues dressed in black running out of the sanctuary building and into the woods. It was dark and they didn’t show up on the air sled monitors so we lost them. We don’t know where they are now.”
“We went inside and saw that your pack had been searched but you were not here. Then your signal showed up once more on the monitors and we figured you must be in the medical chamber so we waited for you to come out.”
“They followed me from the lake,” Tobal said. “I knew they were following me. I could feel it and hid at night. I came here as fast as I could just like you said to.”
“How could they follow you from the lake?” Ellen frowned. “They don’t have monitors like we do on our air sleds.”
“They must have some way of tracking me,” he repeated. “They would have gotten me if you hadn’t shown up when you did. It’s not safe out here anymore!”
“We’re going to take you back to the gathering spot where you and I are going to have a little chat,” Ellen whispered. “You are holding something back and I want to know what it is.”
They walked toward Ellen’s air sled and Tobal suddenly remembered his package in the woods.
“Wait here,” he shouted “I’ll be right back” and he ran into the woods to retrieve the rest of his things.
Ellen was on the air sled waiting when he ran back up and climbed on behind her. The three air sleds sped into the night toward the gathering spot.

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OD by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

Are those tears in Semmelweis’s eyes? Reichenbach thought madmen couldn’t cry, and in what Semmelweis just said, there’s nothing incoherent.

Suddenly, Semmelweis wheels around, fear and rage twisting his pained face back into a grimace. “They’re coming!” he shrieks. He leaps over the bench, falls, scrambles up, and hurls himself into the bushes. He races down the hill; for a while, you hear the crack and snap of branches, then he’s gone like a wild, hunted dream figure.

If Severin weren’t standing there, bent forward, leaning on his stick with narrowed eyes, Reichenbach might believe it was all just a dream. But Severin, who witnessed it, testifies to its reality. Rubble and ruins everywhere you look, and old men stand there, unable to clear the debris and start anew, as would be needed.

Then Reichenbach recalls something is required of him. Even when you want to let your hands drop and extinguish your will, life demands something. “Severin,” he says, “Rosina has fallen ill. Would you care for me and nurse Rosina for now?”

Severin nods. Yes, he’ll care for the Freiherr and nurse Rosina. He’ll do it. And perhaps that’s what Severin has been waiting for all along, sitting on his bench before the castle.

The doctor has been and given his instructions.

Severin escorts him out and returns to the sickbed.

“Yes, that’s a nasty illness,” he says, pulling a chair to the bed and sitting at a measured distance—not too close, God forbid! He acts as if the doctor confided in him specially and filled him in.

Frau Rosina lies in bed, the red-and-white striped blanket pulled to her chin, only her grayish-yellow face visible under a grimy nightcap.

“A nasty illness,” Severin repeats with relish, “very nasty. Could drag on for months. I wouldn’t want to be sick that long. When my time comes, I’ll lie down and die quick.”

“I won’t stay in bed for months,” Rosina vows grimly. She’s not supposed to move much, but she’s boiling with rage, the nightcap’s edges trembling.

“Oh, you could get up right now,” Severin says with deep satisfaction, “but then it’s over for you. My respects, obedient servant! With an illness like that, you collapse and die sudden-like. You can count on it, that’s how it is.”

“Now I’ve had enough,” Rosina snaps across, “shut your mouth for once.”

Oh, Severin has no intention of staying quiet. He finally has the floor and won’t let himself be stopped from making full use of it. Frau Rosina Knall is rendered harmless, lying in bed with her legs propped up, wrapped in thick compresses, unable to move and forced to listen to what’s said. Severin sits at a safe distance, pulls out his pipe, carefully packs it, lights it, and blows three leisurely blue smoke clouds. The old Severin is no longer a salty, shaky old man; he’s lively and sharp, puffing away like a freshly stoked locomotive.

The sound of puffing and the smell jerk Frau Rosina, who had turned her face to the wall, around: “Stop it,” she rants, “away with that pipe. You’ll stink up the whole room. The Herr Baron can’t stand pipes—he can’t stand smoking at all.”

Three new giant clouds billow into the room; thin, blue wisps of pungent smoke drift over Rosina’s bed and sink into the corners. Severin maintains his calm cheer: “I know,” he says, “when the Herr Baron comes, I’ll put the pipe away.”

“I can’t stand it either,” Rosina hisses.

Shaking his head, Severin observes the patient. Is it true you can provoke toads until they burst with bile and venom? Frau Rosina also reminds him of a simmering pot, its contents rattling the sides and lifting the lid. “Strange,” he muses, “some folks can’t stand smoking. I’m mighty fond of it. Nothing better than a pipe. Oh—what I meant to say. Things’ll change now; the Herr Baron will see people again. You can’t leave him so alone. I already mentioned that Frau Hermine came by with her husband and child recently. And we’ll need a chambermaid and a cook. I’m not one of the youngest anymore, and when you’re allowed up, you’ll need to take it easy for a long while.”

Everything Rosina built crumbles to shards. It slips through her fingers. This old fool sits by her bed puffing his pipe, and Frau Rosina lies powerless, nearly choking with rage.

“Sister’s child,” Severin returns to his main theme, “had it too. Got up too soon, and the illness came back. And she was a young, spry thing—with old women, it’s always twice as bad—”

Despite his geniality, Severin keeps a sharp eye. He notices a suspicious movement: one of the patient’s arms slides out from under the blanket, her yellow hand reaching for the nightstand where the medicine bottles stand. It’s astonishing how quickly old Severin can leap from his chair and dart out of the room. The large medicine bottle shatters with a crash against the already-closed door.

He giggles gleefully, in high spirits, as he potters through the kitchen and down the hall, lighting the lamp in the entryway. The door to Freiherr von Reichenbach’s quarters now stands open again, a lamp illuminating the path; people should know the dragon guarding him has been chained. And indeed, someone is already in the entryway, someone who lingered in the dark, not daring to venture further. It’s a shabbily dressed, gaunt woman; Severin doesn’t know who she is, a tattered bonnet shadowing her face, but he’s full of goodwill and courtesy even to such a poorly clad woman. He’s set on letting life reach the Freiherr again and sees no need to discriminate.

“Here to see the Herr Baron?” he asks kindly. “Come with me.” Without waiting for a reply, he strides ahead, knocks firmly on the study door, and when the stranger hesitates at the last moment, as if having second thoughts, he gently takes her arm and ushers her in. “Herr Baron, someone wishes to speak with you.”

Reichenbach looks up from his work, surprised by the late, odd visitor Severin has brought. But then he shoves his chair back and rises.

“Is it you?”

So it has come to pass, what Friederike saw as a distant glow in anguished, sleepless nights, amid the depths of her disgrace. There is Reichenbach’s study, the lit desk strewn with papers, and the Freiherr himself, an old man with a bald head and furrowed face, tufts of yellowish-white hair at his temples.

And Friederike is back, haggard, in tattered clothes, one might say ragged, fallen low, a shadow of her former self.

“Where have you come from?” the Freiherr asks softly.

Friederike glances nervously behind her: “From hell.”

And then the miracle happens. Reichenbach opens his arms, and Friederike may rest her head on his chest. My God, is this real—not a delusion? Is this living human closeness, refuge, and salvation? Will they not drive her from this threshold?

“You’ll stay with me now?” Reichenbach asks.

He asks if Friederike will stay. Does he not know she’s come to leave it to him whether she’s cursed and cast out or blessed and redeemed, whether she must turn to the final darkness or receive life? She clings to him, sinking, and Reichenbach must support her and lead her to the sofa. He tosses a stack of books to the floor, making room for Friederike, who sits with her hands folded in her lap—thin, wasted hands nestling together like disheveled, scattered birds.

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OD by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel

Chapter 22

Friederike was gone, and no one could say where she had gone. A beggar had been at the dairy—a ragged fellow, a vagrant. The stable hand Franz said if it had been up to him, he’d have chased him off so fast he’d lose the soles of his clubfoot. But Friederike had given him food and let him sleep in the hay; Franz couldn’t understand it—the man seemed suspicious to him.

One of the maids said she saw Friederike bent over the stove and the fellow making strange signs behind her back—circles and crosses with his hand. Another noted how Friederike had a fixed, staring look when she fetched milk from the milk room.

Reichenbach had been away for a few days; he’d had to go straight to Ternitz from Vienna. He had confirmed the extent of the collapse—yes, only ruins were left to salvage; he could thank Hofrat Reißnagel for his fine advice. But on the journey home, above all the sorrow and frustration, the comforting thought prevailed that he had someone at home to console him. Just having Friederike near was a comfort; he would tell her everything, and she would offer kind words and a confident smile. And Reichenbach would resume his research with renewed zeal, pursuing the strange phenomena that seemed to lead ever deeper into nature’s secrets, and perhaps Friederike, with her remarkable powers, might know some viable way out.

Reichenbach returned full of longing for Friederike’s gaze and the touch of her hand, and now Friederike was gone.

From Severin, he learned that Friederike had come to the castle the evening before her disappearance, asking for him. Severin said she looked distraught, barely able to stand upright when she learned the Herr Baron wasn’t home.

Reichenbach searched the steward’s quarters for a note, something to indicate why Friederike had left and where she had gone. He still believed he’d find a letter, a scrap, or at least a clue about what had happened.

But then the stable hand Franz brought the farmhand who had seen Friederike with the stranger in the forest. What had they said? They likely hadn’t spoken—the man went ahead, and Friederike followed… as if, well, almost as if she were being pulled by a rope.

Yes… as if pulled by a rope?

The Freiherr was still lost in the bleakest confusion of his thoughts, not yet finding a fixed point to focus his gaze, when Severin came to the dairy to report that Doctor Promintzer was at the castle, requesting to speak with the Herr Baron.

Who was that? Doctor Promintzer, the opposing lawyer in the tangled web of lawsuits he was fighting. Reichenbach rose from the garden bench under the elm where he’d last sat and trudged heavily, with dragging steps, to the castle.

Under other circumstances, Reichenbach would have sent Schuh’s and Hermine’s lawyer packing without hearing him out, but today he resigned himself to the visit. Everything was trivial, even indifferent now; whatever happened, Reichenbach was a broken man, following the path of least resistance, with no strength to waste.

Doctor Promintzer had expected either to be turned away outright or, if he reached Reichenbach, to be promptly shown the door. He had armed himself with all his tenacity and eloquence. He thought he was entering a lion’s den, but found the dreaded man softened and docile to the point of unrecognizability. Something was amiss—surely the Freiherr would soon bare claws and teeth and pounce with a roar.

That had to be prevented, and Doctor Promintzer hurried to get to the point: “I didn’t want what I have to say to reach you through your lawyer. Why the detour? One lawyer is enough, hehe… I believe it’s easier to talk person to person, don’t you?”

Reichenbach nods. He thinks, I must find a starting point somewhere; once I have a starting point, it will be easier to unravel the rest.

“Yes,” says Doctor Promintzer, “one must distinguish between head and heart. The head sometimes wants one thing, the heart another. The head is hard, and people who mean nothing to each other may clash with hard heads… but people bound by ties of blood should let the heart speak. Herr Baron, your children…” Doctor Promintzer instinctively pauses and braces himself, for if he knows anything about human nature, the lion’s nature will now erupt.

But nothing of the sort happens. Reichenbach looks at Promintzer, thinking, no doubt this stranger somehow gained power over Friederike, and I can’t entirely absolve myself of guilt.

“They are, after all, your children, Herr Baron,” Promintzer continues, somewhat encouraged but still uncertain. “And you are Hermine’s father, and I assure you, Herr Schuh respects you more than you realize. It grieves your children greatly to live in enmity with you and to offer the public an unedifying spectacle. They believe this should end…”

Nothing happens still—no claws, no teeth, no lion’s roar. I am to blame, thinks Reichenbach, I must have been the one who discovered Friederike’s disposition and nurtured her sensitivity, and I should have guarded her better. In her sleep, she confessed she loves me—me, the old man. Perhaps I shouldn’t have suppressed that feeling; I should have let it flow freely. Maybe then her resilience would have been stronger, and that man would have had a harder time. Perhaps I hold one end of the thread?

Promintzer eyes the Freiherr suspiciously; the man seems not to be listening properly. But the matter must be brought to a conclusion, one way or another. Promintzer steels himself and delivers the decisive blow: “For all these reasons, especially matters of the heart, I’ve been tasked with proposing a reconciliation. Your children wish to withdraw their lawsuits against you. And they ask you to do the same in return. These disputes should be put to rest.”

Something about lawsuits reaches Reichenbach. Lawsuits? Oh yes, with Schuh and Hermine. What do these lawsuits matter to Reichenbach—what could be more irrelevant? “Yes, yes,” he says, “I’m willing to do that.”

Promintzer is stunned. He hadn’t imagined it would be this easy; he counts himself lucky to have caught the Freiherr in such a yielding mood—an enigma, an extraordinary stroke of fortune, also in another regard. For Doctor Promintzer’s own leniency is not unconnected to the fact that, in a certain sense, he has butter on his head.

“May I then, on behalf of my clients, withdraw the lawsuits tomorrow?” he asks, and when the Freiherr nods, he adds hesitantly, “I might also take care of another matter right away. There’s something else… and I must ask for forgiveness in this regard, though the fault is only minimally mine.”

The Freiherr makes no effort to help him along; his expression remains as dull as before, his mind already chasing the thread whose end he believes he’s found.

“You know,” Promintzer continues, “that after the death of old Doctor Gradwohl, the Prince of Salm’s syndic, I took over his practice. An Augean stable—God rest old Gradwohl’s soul, but his practice was a mess. The old man had grown very forgetful, couldn’t see well anymore, yet insisted on handling everything himself, leaving behind an indescribable chaos. We sorted through his files back then, but of course, you can’t turn every page—that was impossible. You’ll understand. And now I’ve started sorting out the old, obsolete files from the Salm days to discard them. And imagine… in one such old, unimportant case file, my people found, by chance, a letter addressed to you that was never delivered.”

“A letter to me?” asks Reichenbach indifferently.

“Yes, to you, and I believe it’s from the late Count Hugo. God knows how it ended up in that case file. Old Doctor Gradwohl must have completely forgotten it, and now it’s come to light. It’s embarrassing, terribly embarrassing, but you’ll agree my own office bears little fault…”

The Freiherr raises no objections; he holds the letter Doctor Promintzer took from his briefcase—a yellowed, old letter with brittle edges and crumbling seals, the handwriting still familiar across the long span of years, that of Count Hugo. Promintzer could leave. He had handled everything remarkably well, better than he ever thought possible; there wasn’t even an outburst over the belated delivery of the letter. He talked a bit more and then left, having managed splendidly, though he had found the Freiherr in an inexplicably amenable mood.

When he was gone, Reichenbach still held the yellowed letter with fragile edges and worn seals. Yes, indeed, it was the handwriting of his dead friend, a greeting from beyond the grave, from a grave where the Od light had long since faded. He went to his study, lit the lamp, and broke the seal. The Count wrote:

“Dearest Friend! I call you that perhaps for the last time and thank you one final time for all you’ve given and been to me. My condition is such that I can only smile at my doctors’ attempts to reassure me. It will soon be over for me. Business matters between us have already been arranged. This letter is meant for you alone, addressing a matter of the heart I can entrust to no one but you. I needn’t describe the nature of my marriage—you knew my wife and will understand that I had to be devoted with all my soul’s fervor to a woman who was in every way unlike her. You’ll also testify that I knew how to control myself. I lack both the courage and the time to describe my feelings to you; I want to finish this letter before it’s too late. I count on your understanding. But you won’t immediately understand that one can love a woman with one’s whole soul and yet, momentarily, fall to another with one’s senses. Longing, the pain of renunciation, unfulfilled desires undermine the better conscience, weaken the will; favorable circumstances arise. My own wife cold as ice, the only beloved one unattainably distant, sacredly removed—then one meets a third, blazing like a flame, giving herself so recklessly that she silences all reservations and sweeps one into her fire. To be brief, you should know that the youngest child of my forester Ruf, whom your wife stood godmother to, is my child.”

The hand holding the dead man’s letter sank heavily against the desk’s edge. Later, as he heard a clock strike somewhere, Reichenbach read the final lines. The writing was shaky and uneven; the writer kept it brief, clearly having little time left, saving this letter for last. He wrote that he could make no provisions for the child that might draw attention or prompt guesses about their reasons. He entrusted the girl entirely to the care of his proven friend. And he wished to set aside a sum under some inconspicuous title for Reichenbach to cover her education and eventual marriage.

That hadn’t happened; the Count hadn’t found the time. But that was likely irrelevant. Friederike was the Count’s child, and Friederike was gone.

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