Chapter 23 The City Council of Heliopolis and the Circle of Elders

Tara and Nick were the next to join in the dance. Tara had always been into dance, but this was the first time he had seen Nick get into it. Again Tobal was impressed at how the winter had matured Nick. Then he thought of the changes in his own life. He was not the child that had been dropped off at sanctuary almost a year ago.

He realized he had been here one year and he still had one more newbie to train. He was not going to beat Rafe’s record after all. Looking around the room he spied Mike and Butch talking with some girls and urging them to dance. They were laughing and having fun. He figured that Mike and Butch were also looking for newbies. A murmur rippled through the crowd, pulling Tobal’s attention from the laughter to hushed whispers about Sarah, Anne, Derdre, and Seth still at the village with Crow. Rumors of jailed Elders added a tense edge, though they seemed old news from last month.

Wanting to hear something new, he looked around for Ellen and Rafe. He spied Ellen over in a corner talking with Rafe and made a beeline toward them, trying not to spill his tankard in the jostling crowd. At least it was warm in here, he thought, moving past bodies that smelled of wood smoke.

“We can’t talk in here,” he shouted to Ellen above the drum beat.

She nodded and shouted back, “We are meeting in the brewery in a few minutes.”

Tobal nodded and went off to find Fiona, Becca, and Nikki to tell them about the meeting. Their robes were still wet but warmer, and they put them back on before dashing over to the brewery where they took them back off and found places around the fire to sit. They folded their robes and sat on them on the wooden floor.

Ellen and Rafe welcomed them, and Ellen brought everyone up to date on what had been going on with the Council of Elders.

“We tried everything we could think of to contact the city government through the communications and computer systems we have access to,” she said. “What happened was we were warned not to make contact with the city and just to mind our own business. The city will contact us when we are ready to become citizens. We are not part of the city yet and have no legal rights until we complete our training and become citizens.”

“These messages were prominently displayed on each air sled monitor screen and on the computers at home base. No one even thought to come to us in person to explain or hear our concerns,” she said bitterly.

“This did not sit well with the Council of Elders, especially since the arrest and questioning of the five of us that had been sent to the village. We were released, but the Council of Elders now realized someone thought they had the power to arrest clansmen anytime they wanted and hold them without cause. They believed this same someone was responsible for the rogue attacks. The council wants to know why these things are happening and if they are happening with the approval of the city.”

Ellen looked around the small group. “The final decision was that the same five delegates would journey on air sleds to Sanctuary and then cross the wall into the city. We would find a place with lots of people and set our sleds down and wait for the authorities. We would probably be arrested, but the city itself was populated with clansmen. We were counting on that bond of kinsman to get a fair hearing.”

She grinned, “I was the first to go across the wall and land my air sled in a central area. The others followed me in. Even before we had landed, a crowd of people appeared wondering what was going on. I called out that there was an emergency, and one of the citizens nodded and started talking on her cell phone. Several of the others were also on cell phones. It was a matter of minutes before authorities arrived and put us on some type of air transport. We were not arrested or treated as prisoners, but we certainly were not given any choice about things either.”

“They took us down to the police station where we gave our statements.” She laughed, “It was obvious that the persons involved wanted no part of this and were way over their heads. They passed us on to the mayor who listened and then called an emergency session of the City Council. This was against the strong opposition of someone wearing a Federation military uniform. I gathered this uniformed person was the representative of the mountain complex and the ones that had arrested us.”

“I was elected the spokesperson for our group,” she told them, “and with grim determination I faced the City Council and told our story of being arrested and questioned, about the massacre at the lake and the mass grave, how it was a forbidden area. I told them about the rogue attacks that were centered around the lake itself and the attempt to make it seem the village was responsible for those attacks.

Then I told them that was impossible because the rogues have some way of tracking anyone that has med-alert bracelets and are able to hide in a way that the villagers can’t. I told them of the rumors the city was going to lead an attack on the village. Several members of the City Council looked at each other quickly, and at least a couple had red faces.”

“They weren’t the only ones,” she continued. “I could see the man in uniform getting redder and redder and angrier and angrier. I spoke about Crow who had grown up in the village and now wanted to become a citizen. How his concern for the safety of his village was the reason that led him to make the journey back with four of his friends. The entire group is still within monitor range of our air sleds, and they can visit the village according to our own Council of Elders.”

“I told them how we were suddenly alerted that the village was forbidden and that we needed to keep Crow and his friends from going there. That was not right. I faced the City Council and told them Crow was technically a citizen of the village and had every right to be there. He could also bring friends if he chose to do so. Then I mentioned how the air sleds went back to the base and were severely reprimanded and ordered back out to bring Crow and his friends back by force.”

“The City Council was pretty quiet by then,” Ellen said. “They listened as I told them of the confrontation between Howling Wolf and the other villagers that offered to protect Crow and the others. I told them how I was there and that pressing the issue then could have resulted in injury or death to innocent people.

At the mention of Howling Wolf, I saw several council members glance at each other and take stronger notice in what I was saying.” She chuckled, “I took advantage of that interest and told how the Council of Elders decided to send a delegation to talk with Howling Wolf and find out the truth of things for themselves.”

“I then described the armed strike force I had seen waiting by an air transport back at the mountain complex when we returned. I also told how we five members of the Council of Elders had been immediately arrested and held for an entire week without being told why. The man in uniform was a pasty white by now and struggling for composure. I told them how we tried every possible way to make contact with the city itself. We needed to see if the City was aware of these things and if it supported them. I told how the Council of Elders had tried all ways possible to reach the city but been blocked and told it was forbidden. That is why in a last ditch effort we chose to fly a delegation over the city walls and speak with the city officials directly.”

“They didn’t know what to think or say,” she chuckled. “There was a dead silence as the City Council looked toward the man in uniform and waited for his response. He was clearly uncomfortable and said that he was not prepared to respond to these allegations and needed to consult with his superiors.”

“The Mayor then asked what the Council of Elders would like to have happen. I said the Council of Elders would like to ensure the safety of the villagers and Howling Wolf. They would like communication between the village and the city so they could monitor and address any abuses that were happening.

I mentioned this could be done by opening new communication lines to the city from the base in the mountain where we were stationed. I concluded by saying this was a matter for the Elders of the village, the City Council and our own Council of Elders and there were many things that needed to be discussed and brought out into the open. We also wanted the rogue attacks to stop and whoever was responsible for them to be punished.”

Ellen continued her story, “The Mayor looked pretty grim and told us the City Council would need to do its own research and find out what was going on. They also needed to hear from the Federation, and he looked pointedly at the uncomfortable man in uniform. He suggested they adjourn until next month and set a time to meet again here in the city and asked for a vote from the City Council. All voted in approval.

He then asked if the City Council approved a direct communication line to be opened so the Council of Elders could contact them and keep them informed of developments. Again all voted in approval. At that, the Mayor asked the uniformed person if it would be possible for the Federation to open a communication channel for the Council of Elders or whether the City Council needed to do it. He saluted and said the Federation would provide the link.”

“ I think it’s bugged,” Ellen continued, “but it’s more than we had before.”

She continued, “Then the Mayor adjourned the meeting and escorted us back to our air sleds. He told me we had done a very brave thing coming into the city and they would look into our story and be looking forward to our meeting next month.”

Ellen completed her story and looked at the others.

“So it seems things are happening. Hopefully next month we will know more about what is going on.”

They talked a bit more and asked more questions until they reached the point where they just needed to leave things and process them later. The talk shifted to other subjects.

The big news was Rafe had gotten his sixth chevron and would be leaving with Ellen after the party to get his Master’s initiation. With all that was going on, he was eager to get his own air sled and do some snooping around on his own even though Ellen was warning him not to.

The meeting broke up and most of them went back to the dance. Tobal spent a little more time in his farewells with Becca. After a final kiss and hug, he took his pack and left in the pouring rain.

Tobal was getting impatient. It had been almost one year and he wanted to move on into the Journeyman degree. After Tyrone soloed this month he would have five chevrons. He only needed one more newbie to train. He was no fool. After talking with the others he knew at least eleven of them wanted newbies to train and they would be lucky if five showed up. He left immediately in the rain heading for sanctuary. He had not been the only one with that idea. Kevin and Zee were already there ahead of him when he finally got there a few days later.

April rolled around and spring was in the air. Tyrone was on his solo and Tobal was at sanctuary waiting for a newbie to show up. There had already been three and it was not likely there would be any more this month, but he was determined to hold his place in line and get it over with. Kevin and Zee and some others had already taken their newbies and left. This would be his last trainee and then he would be ready for the 2nd degree. He wondered about his last student and who it would be.

Would it be a boy or a girl, somehow it didn’t matter. The skills they needed were all the same. He thought about his last five newbies. Some like Melanie and Crow he had grown very close to. Others like Nick, he hadn’t hit it off with and didn’t see very often. Sarah and Tyrone were fun to hang around with and he loved doing things with them, but they weren’t really that deep and sometimes he missed the serious side of life.

Still, he wasn’t prepared when Llana walked through the door for the first time and claimed sanctuary. He did a double take as he saw a fierce Native American warrior dressed in soft decorative buckskin with a claw necklace around her neck and tattoos on her face.

She was tall and good looking with straight ebony hair like Zee’s. She was about his age, older than most of the newbies and from the village. She was Crow’s older sister. He remembered Crow had a sister but hadn’t thought he would meet her here. He was shocked at how little he really knew of Crow and his family. She had been training with Howling Wolf since she was a little girl.

“I can’t train you,” he said in dismay.

Tobal’s pulse quickened, the cave’s echo fading as he braced for her reply. She studied him, her gaze steady, before speaking. “Why not?” She looked at him pointedly.

“I already went through this with Crow,” he protested. “You already know more than I do. I can’t teach you anything you don’t already know. It would be wrong to take credit for teaching you when I didn’t.”

She relaxed a little. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

He nodded glumly.

“Let me ask you something,” she said quietly. “Do you have any doubt in your ability to train newbies in survival skills? Any doubt at all? Even the smallest?”

“No I don’t,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Last fall I had to give additional training to three of my newbies so they would be ready for winter. I thought they were trained well enough and then realized they weren’t, so I took extra time and gave them more training.”

She nodded, “Nobody made you do that did they?”

“No.”

“What does the Council of Elders think of your training?”

“I’m one of the better trainers.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the newbies I train are happier and healthier than a lot of the others. They also seem to make good trainers themselves and most are willing to train through the winter.”

She smiled at him. “Your parents created this program to bring people up to a certain skill level in both knowledge and demonstrated ability. Do you believe you have reached that skill level and are ready to move on to the next?”

“Yes I do.”

“But you can’t advance because the program will not allow early advancement even if you are already prepared correct?”

He nodded, “That’s right.”

“Well, I’m in the same situation,” she said. “I already know how to survive, how to defend myself, and I am also a healer. I also know advanced techniques that my grandfather taught your parents and other advanced techniques that your parents in turn taught my grandfather.”

“Can you talk to my parents?” He interrupted.

“Yes,” she nodded biting her lower lip. She paused, letting the weight settle.

“Are they going to be alright? Can we save them?”

“Tobal,” she said slowly, with pain in her eyes. Her voice softened, eyes glistening with shared pain. “Your parents are no longer human, and they are dying. They are asking for our help.”

“What do you mean, no longer human?” he shouted. “I see them and talk with them during circle.”

“What you see and talk with are their spirits,” she whispered. “They have developed their spirit bodies to the point where they are almost physical. In fact, once their spirit bodies were physical and they could go anywhere they wished by changing their physical bodies to energy and teleporting instantly to where they wanted to go. They can’t do that anymore. That’s the problem. The Federation keeps their spirit bodies deliberately corrupted so it can use their vital life force for their own projects.”

She shuddered, “Your uncle captured them and imprisoned them. He wired them like electrical components into the circuitry of their time travel machine and they have been kept alive artificially for over twenty years in special fluid-filled tanks.” Tobal’s breath caught, the image searing his mind.

“Tobal,” she said looking hard into his face with tears in her eyes. “I have traveled in the spirit to where they are kept imprisoned. Their physical bodies have mutated and become grossly deformed. Only their spirits remain human. They wish to be free of their physical bodies and become simply the Lord and Lady. But your uncle won’t let them die.”

“I need to see!” He sobbed in denial and fear. “I need to know for myself. I need to see them and talk with them. I need them to tell me.”

She put her arms around him as his shoulders shook and comforted him till he regained his composure.

Wiping angry tears from his eyes, he asked, “You’ll teach me?”

She held him against her breast. “I’ll teach you, Tobal. I promise.”

The first thing she taught him was the story of his parents and their classified research involving time travel. Ron and Rachel had built a matter transmission machine and tested it. This machine used powerful pulsating magnetic fields at certain resonant frequencies, powered by the earth’s own core energies, to create a gateway into time and space, much like the ones in current use for matter transmission. The problem was that mineral and crystalline objects would work, but organic materials would not.

After several years of research, Ron and Rachel developed the first gateway or portal that allowed living matter to be transported through it to target locations and began using it themselves. Something about their soul relationship allowed them to work together in a very powerful and unknown way. This was an important military breakthrough, or could have been. It allowed troops to be transported instantly from one area to another and was immediately highly classified. But it never worked unless Ron and Rachel were a part of it.

It was purely by accident the time-traveling capability was developed. One of the giant capacitors malfunctioned while transmitting Ron and Rachel to a target location. It threw the entire machine out of phase, and Ron and Rachel ended up in the 16th century.

When they didn’t appear at the target location, retrieval was attempted, and they were brought back successfully. They also brought some artifacts back with them. From that point on, the classified research became about time travel, not troop transmission.

By trial and error, they were able to travel into the past and into the future and achieved access to four historical time periods and four future time periods. Each time period seemed to act as a nexus point in time and space. If the machine wasn’t keyed to a nexus point, nothing happened. There were nine stable points in all, including the world we live in, and they were called: Hel, Niflheim, Svartalfheim, Vanaheim, Midgard, Alfheim, Jotunheim, Muspelheim, and Asgard after Nordic mythology.

Working with the machine gave access to other probable worlds that were not as stable. It was like working random codes until you found one that worked. The process was slow and frustrating but also highly exciting at the same time. That was when the problems arrived. Ron and Rachel were able to go back in time through the machine, but no one else could and live to tell about it. The machine did horrible things to those that tried, drove them insane or deformed their bodies. No one knew why it only worked for his parents. Howling Wolf says that your parents were divine counterparts. He said time travel only worked with special couples whose souls were linked together. The Time Knights called the females spinners, because they were able to weave new timelines with their partners.

“I’ve met some Time Knights,” Tobal interrupted. “Lucas and Carla. They are going to help free my parents, but I haven’t heard from them for a while.”

“Really,” Llana said pensively. “That is very interesting. I would like to meet them.”

They had developed the necessary training programs to prepare other time travelers. But the machine only worked for Ron and Rachel. It was a classified military project, and a team of scientists worked furiously to remodel the machine and make it work with other people.

It was only when both Ron and Rachel were hooked into the circuit with the machine at the same time and used as buffers that others were able to go through it. Tobal’s Uncle Harry was the first one to successfully time travel through the machine when it was hooked up in this fashion. He led a team through the machine several times to many previously unknown time periods in addition to those that your parents had discovered on their own.

There were problems with this because Ron and Rachel were not willing to be wired into the machine for hours at a time waiting for other time travelers to come and go. Trips into the past or future could only take two hours at the most, and the drain on Ron and Rachel was severe. Their health suffered each time they hooked themselves into the machine and others used it.

Ron and Rachel were able to time travel themselves without any of those restrictions and could be away for weeks at a time. They felt it was more important they be allowed to make extended trips and do research than be confined and wired to the machine so others could experience briefly what they could do for extended periods. They altered the machine and designed different programs searching for ways that others could use it.

Still, the machine would only work if Ron and Rachel were wired into it. They tried wiring other time traveler couples into the machine, and it killed them. It almost killed his Uncle Harry when he tried wiring himself and his wife into the machine. It did kill her and left his uncle paralyzed.

That was when his uncle went mad and had the gathering spot attacked and the villagers massacred. Ron and Rachel were seized and forcibly wired permanently into the machine and declared dead. That was when the program was officially closed down.

That was the story the Federation knew and was trying to keep secret. But there was much more to the story than that. There was an even greater part only Howling Wolf had known. Halfway through the project’s developmental stages, Ron and Rachel were beginning to think that the problem was with the people and not with the machine itself. They discovered Howling Wolf and his secret shaman bi-location ability.

His parents thought this additional training was needed and started working in secret with Howling Wolf and a handful of others at the gathering spot on the lake. It was after Howling Wolf’s training on bi-location that they realized they no longer needed the machine to time travel to places they had already visited. They met in a secret place under the waterfall at the lake to do this training. It was where they would travel back in time and return with items to prove they had done it. That was when the Time Knights showed up. They had higher technology and understood time travel a lot more. It was not necessary for the team to be divine counterparts; they could also be soulmates. So members of a team could change partners if they were all trained properly. Not only that, but once a team traveled to a location in time and space, they could revisit it by themselves because the pathway had already been formed. Time Knight teams could also take others through the time rift with them if they were vibrationally pure enough.

Howling Wolf needed help to time travel at first. Ron and Rachel had linked together with him and had made several trips back into different time periods. Later he was able to go to those same locations but he was not able to go to new ones. It seemed the machine opened the gateway the first time and that once it was opened by a spinner and a person properly attuned, they could travel through it at will. Even Ron and Rachel had needed the machine to open the gateway the first time to new locations.

At the lake, the group discovered two people who had already been to a specific time period could take a third person without using the machine. Once that person had been taken and brought back, they could make the journey on their own without help. Still, they were only allowed access to the four future times and four historical times that Ron and Rachel had personally gone to. They were not able to go to the alternate probable realities that had been discovered while Ron and Rachel were wired into the machine.

Llana had completed this training, but her grandfather couldn’t link with her well enough to take her through by himself. He needed one other person to be able to do this. Both Ron and Rachel had linked with him and taken him through. There needed to be one more person to take Llana through without the machine, and there were no others.

Howling Wolf thought they were all gone. All except Ron and Rachel, he and the others had called them the Lord and Lady. They were still there in the mountain complex held prisoner and alive. Things were not right because they were both ill and were both slowly dying.

Llana felt they needed her help, and she needed their help to time travel. She had talked with them in the spirit, and they had told her they would help her.

Then Llana spoke of the massacre at the lake and how the small group of people had been below in the cave time traveling when it had happened. Howling Wolf and the others had emerged from the cave only to find their families murdered. They had buried them in a mass grave and raised the pile of stones over the dead bodies. Afterward, they had left, not knowing whom to trust and knowing their very lives were in danger if they were ever found.

This was all news to Tobal, and he was beginning to think she was crazy until he remembered Fiona had said something about time travel. He thought about the strange shop in Old Spokane with its “replicas” and suddenly he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He hadn’t thought about Heliopolis as having the secret technology of time travel the Federation was willing to kill for. The Federation would kill to keep it and would kill to prevent it from getting into the wrong hands.

Suddenly he thought of Sarah’s father, Adam, and knew Adam and Howling Wolf could teach Llana time travel if they did it together. They were both trained and could take her with them if they went together, at least to the locations his parents had gone to. Lucas and Carla could also teach him more if he were properly prepared. He thought about telling Llana about Adam and decided to wait until he had been trained so he could go with her at the same time. They didn’t need his parents to time travel, but they might need to time travel to rescue his parents.

He thought of circle and the pagan rituals they practiced with the Lord and Lady. They represented much more than the old ways suddenly, and he liked them that way. They were ways to communicate with his father and his mother who were still alive and needing his help. Then he thought about the 3rd degree and the medics flying around in air sleds and the med-alert bracelets they all wore, and suddenly a throbbing headache crept in as he grappled with the med-alert bracelets’ implications, shifting his focus to Crow’s spirit teachings.

Llana’s lessons offered a new path, teaching him to draw energy from the earth’s depths. One evening, she pressed his palms to a gnarled oak, its bark cool under his touch, guiding a surge that left him steady yet awed as a deer approached. She taught him how to use the earth’s energy to make himself stronger, how to stand against a tree and recharge himself after reaching the point of exhaustion. She also taught him how to control that energy and send it out. He shook off the pain, eager to learn her ways, turning to her with renewed focus.

He saw her one time walk up to a deer and pet it. Birds would come to her when she called them. Llana said the spirits of the plants and animals talked to her and told her what they wanted or how to make use of them. As the sap started running in the trees, they collected maple sap to boil down for maple syrup and collected other newly sprouting plants and herbs for medicinal uses. Tobal vowed to master these skills, a step toward freeing his parents from their wired prison.

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The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel

“Silentium!” he shouted.
All was silent.
“As a mule you came from your mother’s apron, and as
foxes and the future night terrors of the Philistines, you have
entered the sacred halls of the Amicist Order, immature and
foul-smelling, but partaking of our grace. We do not want to
leave you to the pathetic institutions of the compatriot societies,
which will be in the next hostel lurking on chaises and mail
coaches, and we do you the honor of not even asking you about
your obscure origin. Do you want to be alone and without a
distinguished comitat, as a mockery of all right lads, or shall
the high Order solemnly escort you in as members?”
Finch and I looked at each other. Already on the trip we
had decided to join one of the student unions because we knew
very well that the lonely and defenseless could not be happy
because of being stepped on, being pushed off the sidewalk and
otherwise jostled. After all, it did not matter to us which
brotherhood took us in, and since it happened that way, the
Amicist order was all right for us.
So we nodded and said that we would like to be counted
among the high Order.
A violent trampling with the feet took place. This is how
the applause for our decision was expressed.
“Omnes ad loca!” cried the tall one. “And you Foxes, just
stand still!”
All sat down and one of them, about our age, ran to the
door and roared with all his lung power:
“Cerevisiam!”
Immediately a bumping and rumbling started. Two
bartenders rolled in a stately barrel, placed it on the collar and
tapped it. The girl with the messy hair carried such a number of
mugs in each hand, that one would have thought she had
twenty…fingers. They were filled and overflowing with foam,
and placed in front of everyone.
“Out, profane pack!” shouted the tall one again and hit
the tabletop with his club.
The servants and the maid hurriedly trudged away from
there.
“Come to me, foxes!” he commanded.
They grabbed us, roughly enough, and brought us in
front of him at the other end of the table.
“Put your hands on this death’s head and the crossed
blades and swear!”
We obeyed and willingly recited an oath to him, in which
we pledged our allegiance to the enlightened and high Amicist
Order until death and unbreakable loyalty to its members,
brotherly love and help of all kinds, and to other people the
deepest secrecy. If we broke our oath, our chest would be
pierced by sharp steel and our faces would become like that of
the skull on whose boney dome our fingers lay for the oath.
“I am the Bavarian Haymon,” said the tall one. Profanely,
I am called the Baron Johann Treidlsperg from Landshut. But
what are your names?”
We gave our names, and one wrote them in a booklet,
which was bound in crimson, yellow and blue.
“Bend your heads,” Hans ordered.
We did so.
In the next moment, each of us had beer running down
our faces, necks and shoulders from overturned jugs. When we
looked up coughing and spitting, under the thunderous laughter
of about fifteen lads who were in the room, we were given our
Order names. They called me “Mahomet” and Finch
“Nebuchadnezzar”. Then we had to sit astride the chairs. The
others lined up in a long row behind us, and in front of us rode
the Bavarian Haymon around the table, helping us with his
spurred legs, while everyone sang a song:
“The fox wants to go out of the hole,
There stands a green hunter outside of it.
Where from, where to, you young fox.
Today you do the last jump.
And I’ll do my last dance,
Kiss me, hunter, under the tail.
The hunter did not do it
And had to let the little fox run.
Yee-haw, yee-haw, yee-haw!
Optima est cerevisia!”
Then it was on to hugging and kissing.
On our hats, which were too new for the Amicists
were therefore bent and pierced many times,
Then they put the tricolored hats on us.
Again, the one they called “Portugieser” had to go to the
door and shout, “Coenam!”
And with great speed came a large wooden platter with
roasted chicken, rice with raisins and hot wine sauce, baked
fish with green salad and ducat noodles with sugared brandy.
Then the scrawny thing was allowed to stay in the room and
had enough to do with dodging ankles and pouring beer mugs.
“This epicurean feast is provided to Mahomet and
Nebuchadnezzar by the illustrious Order”, announced Haymon
and ordered us, moreover, to drink a full measure for the good
of the entire brotherhood, without stopping.
“And lest I forget,” he shouted in the commotion. “to the
brave postman who brought you here so beautifully to the
‘Beer sack’ with his coach, each will dedicate a hard thaler!”
Over the daily life of the carouser and wild parties I
forgot everything in a few months. Our favorite place was the
“Kind Prince”, where they served heavy brown beer and good
Mosel. The Bavarian Haymon had already returned from the
first intoxication to sobriety and had spread his spurred boots
on the table where the stars of the spurs tore holes in the dirty
tablecloth. The shirt stood open over his hairy chest, and his
sleeves were rolled up, but he did not take off his hat with the
feather trim from his head.
The Portuguese lay with his head on the tabletop and
snored. Finch or Nebukadnezar sat bent over on a chair in the
corner and puked back the wine he had drunk so that it stank
sourly and foully in the whole room. Hercules, a weak little
man from Meissen, had caught a louse, let it crawl around on a
plate and laughed beyond all measure.
Montanus knuckled with me. He had the terrible pig.
Again he knocked the leather mug on the table and gaped with
watery eyes at the throw: Five-three-one.
“Pregnant fleece – tripod – polyphemus”, he bellowed
with joy. “Gimme that mammon!”
I had only thrown five in the whole. With his hand, he
raked in my last ten silver pennies and clapped his hands on the
sweaty shirt of his fat belly with joy.
“Venus! Where is the old sow?” he then shouted toward
the door.
The old waitress came. She wore a wooden nose on her
face by two ribbons that ran across her forehead, and was
grizzled all over. We called her Venus. What she was called by
her real name, she probably no longer knew herself.
“Bring the boot, the big one, with Mosel wine, Dearest of
hearts!” ordered Montanus.
Finch came to the table. He was white in the face from
puking so much and smelled from the throat.
“You have to eat sometimes, Nebuchadnezzar. -” puffed
Montanus. “You only drink all the time and eat nothing. That
makes ulcers in your stomach, brother, like happened to
Gideon of blessed memory. All his blood jumped out of his
mouth and that was the end of him.”
Finch burped and pointed to the table.
“Ei, brother, say, why are you so tenderly concerned and
yet you have stolen from poor Mahomet his aunt’s money?
Spend some of it!”
Venus came and placed the large glass-boot before the fat
man. It held three full measures of wine. Montanus caressed
the vessel, let a sound that came from under the table, and
laughed muffledly:
“What I buy – I will also drink! Alone, most estimable!”
“Drink alone?” Finch’s eyes grew round. “That’s what the
stupid devil from the cathedral at Cologne believes.”
“If you bet your sword with the gold-inlaid Toledo blade,
then I’ll swallow the boot in one go!” bellowed the fat man.
Finch wiggled toward the sleeping Portugieser and gave
Hercules a rib-bump. The Bavarian Haymon came closer and
helped to wake up the snoring Portuguese.
“Wake up, open your little eyes, brother pants- full – you
shall be a booze judge!”
The Portuguese raised his head, grunted, and ran all ten
fingers into his frizzy hair.
“I got lice – damn!” he yawned.
Hercules burst into a silent laugh.
He knew where the vermin that had crawled into the
sleeping man’s hair came from.
The Bavarian Haymon was appointed judge.
“Here we go!” he slurred.
“Huh – brr!” Finch waved his hands between them. “The
mastiff has bet nothing against his boozing. What are you
putting on the table, your belly?”
Then Montanus pulled a thick silver watch out of his
pocket; a short chain hung from it, and on the chain hung a
polished ball of carnelian stone.
“This here!” he said.
“Go, go!” everyone now shouted. “Drink up!.”
Montanus stood up instantly in spite of his heaviness.
The soft, monstrous belly hung over the waistband of his
bulging pants.
“Until the nail test!” resisted Finch, who was in fear for
his beautiful blade.
“Will suck yellow ox milk to my end, if a drop remains
in the glass,” the fat man boasted, raising the boot glass with
both hands.

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Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

He didn’t move. Again she stood up, ran to the table and came
back. She blew quickly on his left breast, then once more and waited,
listening to his breathing. Then he felt something cold and sharp slice
through his skin and realized it was a knife.
“Now she will thrust it,” he thought.
But that didn’t seem painful to him. It seemed sweet and even
good. He didn’t move and waited quietly for the quick thrust that
would open his heart. She cut slowly and lightly. Not very deep–but
deep enough that his hot blood welled up. He heard her quick breath,
opened his eyelids a little and looked up at her. Her lips were half-
open, the tip of her little tongue greedily pushed itself out between her
even teeth. Her small white breasts raised themselves quickly and an
insane fire shone out of her staring green eyes.
Then suddenly she threw herself over him, pressed her mouth to
the open wound, drank–drank. He lay there quietly, felt how the blood
flowed from his heart. It seemed to him as if she was drinking him
dry, sucking all of his blood, not leaving him a single drop.
And she drank–drank–through an eternity she drank–
Finally she raised her head. He saw how she glowed, her cheeks
shone red in the moonlight, and little drops of sweat pearled on her
forehead. With caressing fingers she once more tasted the red
refreshment from the exhausted well, then lightly pressed a few light
kisses on it, turned and looked with staring eyes into the moon–
There was something that pulled her. She stood up, went with
heavy steps to the window, climbed onto a chair, and set one foot on
the windowsill–awash with silvery moonlight.
Then, as if with sudden resolve, she climbed down again, didn’t
look to the right or to the left, glided straight through the room.
“I’m coming,” she whispered. “I’m coming.”
She opened the door and went out.
He lay there quietly for awhile listening to the steps of the
sleepwalker until they lost themselves somewhere in some distant
room. Then he stood up, put on his socks and shoes and grabbed his
robe. He was happy that she was gone. Now he could get a little sleep.
He had to leave, leave now – before she came back.
He crossed the hall and headed toward his room, then heard her
footsteps and pressed himself tightly into a doorway. But it was a
black figure, Frieda Gontram in her garb of mourning. She carried a
lit candle in her hand as she always did on her nightly strolls despite
the light of the full moon.
He saw her pale, distorted features, the hard lines that crossed
her nose, her thin pinched mouth, and her frightened, averted eyes.
“She was possessed,” he thought, “possessed just like he was.”
For a moment he considered speaking to her, to find out if–if
perhaps–But he shook his head, no, no. It wouldn’t help. She blocked
the way to his room, so he decided to go across to the library and lay
down there on the divan. He sneaked down the stairs, came to the
house door, slid back the bolt and unhooked the chain. Then he
quietly slipped outside and went out across the courtyard.
The Iron Gate stood wide open as if it were day. That surprised
him and he went through it out onto the street. The niche of the Saint
lay in deep shadows but the white stone statue shown brighter than
usual. Many flowers lay at his feet. Four, five little lanterns burned
between them and it seemed to him as if those little flames the people
brought, which they called eternal lamps, wanted to do battle against
the light of the moon.
“Paltry little lanterns,” he murmured.
But they helped him, were like a protection against the cruel,
unfathomable forces of nature. He felt safe in the shadows near the
Saint where the moon’s own light didn’t penetrate, where the Saint’s
own fires burned. He looked up at the hard features of the statue and it
seemed to him as if they lived in the flickering light of the lanterns. It
seemed as if the Saint extended himself, grew taller, and looked
proudly out to where the moon was shining. Then he sang, lightly
humming as he had many years ago, but this time ardently, almost
fervently.
John of Nepomuk
Protector against floods
Protect me from love!
Let it strike another.
Leave me in earthly peace
John of Nepomuk
Protect me from love.
Then he went back through the gate and across the courtyard.
The old coachman sat on the stone bench in front of the stables. He
saw him raise his arm and wave to him and he hurried across the
flagstones.
“What is it old man?” he whispered.
Froitsheim didn’t answer, just raised his hand, pointing upward
with his short pipe.
“What?” he asked. “Where?”
But then he saw. On the high roof of the mansion a slender,
naked boy was walking, quietly and confidently. It was Alraune. Her
eyes were wide open, looking upward, high above at the full moon.
He saw her lips move, saw how she reached her arms up into the
starry night. It was like a request, like a burning desire.
She kept moving, first on the ridge of the roof, then walking
along the eaves, step by step. She would fall, was going to fall! A
sudden fear seized him, his lips opened to warn her, to call out to her.
“Alr–”
But he stifled the cry. To warn her, to call her name–that would
mean her death! She was asleep, was safe–as long as she slept and
wandered in her sleep. But if he cried out to her, if she woke up–then,
then she would fall down!
Something inside him demanded, “Call out! Then you will be
saved. Just one little word, just her name–Alraune! You carry her life
on the tip of your tongue and your own as well! Call out! Call out!”
His teeth clenched together, his eyes closed; he clasped his hands
tightly together. But he sensed that it had to happen now, right now.
There was no going back; he had to do it! All his thoughts fused
together forming themselves into one long, sharp, murderous dagger,
“Alraune–”
Then a clear, shrill, wild and despairing cry sounded out through
the night–“Alraune–Alraune!”
He tore his eyes open, stared upward. He saw how she let her
raised arms drop, how a sudden shudder went through her limbs, how
she turned and looked back terrified at the large black figure that crept
out of the dormer window. He saw how Frieda Gontram opened her
arms wide and stumbled forward–heard once more her frightened cry,
“Alraune”.
Then he saw nothing more. A whirling fog covered his eyes; he
only heard a hollow thud and then a second one right after it. Then he
heard a weak, clear cry, only one. The old coachman grabbed his arm
and pulled him up. He swayed, almost fell–then sprang up and ran
with quick steps across the courtyard, toward the house.
He knelt at her side, cradled her sweet body in his arms. Blood,
so much blood covered the short curls. He laid his ear to her heart and
heard a faint beating.
“She still lives,” he whispered. “Oh, she still lives.”
He kissed her pale forehead. He looked over to the side where
the old coachman was examining Frieda Gontram. He saw him shake
his head and stand up with difficulty.
“Her neck is broken,” he said.
What was that to him? Alraune still lived–she lived.
“Come old man,” he cried. “We will carry her inside.”
He raised her shoulders a little–then she opened her eyes, but she
didn’t recognize him.
“I’m coming,” she whispered. “I’m coming–”
Then her head fell back–
He sprang up. His sudden, raging and wild scream echoed from
the houses and flowed with many voices across the garden.
“Alraune, Alraune! It was me–I did it!”
The old coachman laid a gnarled hand on his shoulder and shook
his head.
“No, young Master,” he said. “Fräulein Gontram called out to
her.”
He laughed shrilly, “But I wanted to.”
The old face became dark, his voice rang harshly, “I wanted to.”
The servants came out of their houses, came with lights and with
noise, screaming and talking until they filled the entire courtyard.
Staggering like a drunk he swayed toward the house, supporting
himself on the old man’s arm.
“I want to go home,” he whispered. “Mother is waiting.”

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Chapter 22

He saw Ben and hurried over to greet him.

“Hey, congrats on the solo,” he said. “How did it go?”

“It went well actually,” Ben replied. “I was really surprised. I got lucky and found some deer herded up on the way to my camp area. I shot a nice buck with the bow and towed it on my sled to camp. Then later since I already knew where they were herded up I went there and got another. No real problems.”

“How about wood,” Tobal asked with a grin.

“Wood sucks,” Ben admitted. “Getting firewood without a decent axe or saw is frustrating and difficult. Just about all you can use are branches unless you take the trouble of splitting the logs with wedges. Plus you need bigger logs to hold the fire. I ended up cutting some logs, splitting them and then cutting them again for length. I about wore out my stone axe.”

“Did Sarah make it back yet from the village?” Tobal asked.

“Haven’t seen her,” Ben replied. “I was really hoping to ask her about some things.”

“I know she really wanted to be here when you came back. If you have any questions ask me ok?”

“I would appreciate that,” Ben replied sincerely. “I’m thinking about setting up my new base camp this month and was hoping for some ideas.”

They talked about that for awhile and when Tobal left Ben was feeling pretty good. Ben was a good quiet kid that was growing to be quite a man. Nothing really flashy but there was a lot of substance and Tobal instinctively liked him and trusted him. He had been the perfect choice for Sarah to train as her first newbie. Too bad she wasn’t here.

He saw Zee and Kevin setting up a Teepee and went over to help them.

“I see you guys are still together,” he joked.

Zee spoke up first. “We want to start training again next month but need to fix up Kevin’s base camp first. He’s been staying at mine these past few months so now we are going to stay at his and see if it is still there. You never know with all this rogue stuff that people are talking about.”

“I heard you had a base camp destroyed,” Kevin said curiously.

“That was back last summer,” Tobal said. “I found a real hard to find place for my second base camp. Haven’t had any troubles with that one. It seems like they bother people around the lake the most.”

“Oh, then my camp should be fine,” Kevin said relieved. “I’m to the north east of here. That’s not anywhere close to the lake. Where’s Becca?” He asked, “I hear you guys are together now.”

“Haven’t seen her yet,” Tobal said. “We won’t really be together till we are both Journeymen. Have to get through this newbie training stuff first. Don’t want to be stuck here forever like Wayne and Char.”

“I saw Wayne and Char talking together just a bit ago,” Zee said. “I think they are going to get back together again.”

“Well, I hope they train some newbies this year,” Tobal said. “Char really wants to move on and live a more normal life and have a family.”

“Char and Wayne are talking and hanging out but they are both going to keep training newbies. At least that’s what Char tells me,” Zee added.

They were still talking about Wayne and Char when Tara and Nick showed up. Tara ran off looking for some friends leaving Nick to set up their shelter. Tobal, Kevin and Zee walked over and offered to help. Together they set the teepee up and worked in silence. No one seemed to have much to share but it felt good anyway, almost like old times. Tobal hadn’t spent much time with Nick since he had trained him.

“You going to start training newbies soon?” He asked.

“Been thinking about it,” Nick replied. “I just realized I could be stuck out here a really long time unless I start training people.”

“That’s funny,” Zee replied. “We were just talking about that. How are you and Tara getting along?”

Nick mumbled something about “women” and the rest of them laughed.

“The winter gets pretty long sometimes,” Kevin grinned and then kissed Zee hurriedly.

Zee just grinned and patted him on the butt. “Nick and Tara have had two more months of each other than we have. Maybe we should spend two more months together?”

“Goddess forbid,” Kevin said feelingly and they both chuckled.

Tobal looked at the pair. They enjoyed each other’s company in a quiet way and enjoyed being away from each other too. He hoped it would work something like that for him and Becca.

Mike and Butch showed up about that time grumbling about girls. Tobal at last felt like he understood Mike and Butch. They were like brothers and his past month training and living with Tyrone had given him a taste of what that must be like. In a way he envied them for the fun they seemed to be having.

Still, he had spent too much time alone and had learned to like it. Some company was good. Too much drove him crazy. It seemed just about right to teach a newbie and then socialize at circle a bit. He remembered what Nick had said. He wasn’t planning on spending the rest of his life in the woods either and neither was Becca.

There were three initiations, Tyrone’s and two other newbies. They would all continue training next month.

At circle he sat next to Fiona and Becca after giving them each a hug and a kiss. To his surprise they moved apart and made room for him between them. They seemed glad to see him but were both moody and a bit irritable. He tried some light banter but it didn’t work at all.

For the first time he wondered if they were both getting their periods. The more he thought about it and the monthly circles made him so curious he finally had to ask.

“I’ve heard that women living in nature tend to have their periods around the full moon. Is that true?” He asked curiously.

Both girls broke out laughing.

“ Yes, it is common knowledge just about all the women in camp are having their periods at circle time,” Becca told him. “The good news is they rarely last over three days and while uncomfortable they are not debilitating.”

“Poor Butch and Mike,” he shook his head mournfully.

That was too much and both girls burst out laughing. The ice was broken and everyone was laughing and in high spirits again. They continued watching the initiations and laughed as Tobal told Tyrone’s story about thinking he was going to Minneapolis and ending up at Sanctuary instead. They were looking forward to seeing him later after the circle.

Angel was training for the initiations as Misty watched and prompted her. Tobal thought she had done a pretty good job and intended to tell her so later at the party.

After circle Ellen sat with Rafe, Fiona, Nikki, Becca and him. Everyone wanted to hear about Crow and the trip to the village. No one had heard anything and they had not come back like they said they were planning to.

Ellen took up the story. “No one really noticed or suspected that the five people were heading toward the village until they were about half way there which was about one hundred miles out. Its not uncommon to be that far from the gathering spot,” she said. “But it is a bit unusual for five people in a group to be headed that way.”

“The other medics were speculating about it over the radio and while all the medics knew about the village no one had ever been there or known of anyone to go there. No one even guessed that was where they were heading. The next day a message came down to the medics that the village was a forbidden area and the medics needed to prevent the party from reaching it.” Ellen got a little embarrassed, “I pretended ignorance and let some of the other medics deal with it,” she said. “I kept away from the area and patrolled down by the lake like I normally do.”

“When I came back the other medics were in an uproar. It seemed the leader of the group, Crow, had grown up in the village and knew all the people that lived there. He was a citizen of the village and had every right to be there and to bring friends there if he chose. One of the medics did a hasty check of his medical records and they did indeed prove he had grown up in the village and had a right to go there. Not knowing what else to do and fearing a mass confrontation the medics had allowed the group to continue on toward the village.”

Ellen suddenly was more serious, “Back at the base the medics really got in trouble for refusing to follow orders and an immediate search went out to locate the group and subdue them by force if needed. I went along with them.” She said grimly, “To make sure I would be a witness to anything that happened. By then it was nightfall and we arrived at the group’s camp only to find ten villagers there that had come out to meet Crow and his group. Somehow they had known Crow was coming. We were taken by surprise because none of the villages wore med-alert bracelets so we were not expecting them.”

“The leader of the villagers was Howling Wolf, Crow’s grandfather. When we insisted that Crow and the others return with us by force if necessary Howling Wolf and his followers made it plain that Crow’s group were honored guests in the village and that he would take personal responsibility for their safety. He also said that he and his men would fight to protect them if needed.”

“Things were pretty serious at that point,” Ellen continued. “None of us were prepared for that kind of confrontation and we were forced to return back to base without them. When I was bringing my air sled back I noticed a formation of around fifty black uniformed soldiers with weapons standing near an air transport at the landing strip. I stayed to watch and after a half hour the soldiers went back inside the mountain and the air transport left without them.”

She paused and looked around the group. “I believe the soldiers were going to attack the village on the pretext of bringing the group back. It was only the involvement of so many of us medics that prevented the attack from happening.”

There was a chill silence in the group as her words sunk in. Then she continued. “Right now we are monitoring the group and everyone is fine. I do hope someone comes back soon to prove they are not prisoners there. If no one comes back this month I will go there myself even though it is against orders,” she declared. “Our current orders are to monitor the five clansmen but to stay away from the village itself. It is a tense situation at the base and we are all under severe reprimand for failing to carry out orders.”

“This is causing resentment and revolt among us because we are supposed to be self governing with our Circle of Elders. We don’t take orders from anyone else. The Council of Elders is not used to being told what it must do and what it must not do. Whoever was giving those orders gave them directly through our air sled terminals and the Council of Elders didn’t know about it until it was too late.”

Ellen continued, “The Council of Elders started asking questions and it was then that I, as a member of the circle of Elders came forward. I told the rest of the Elders what I had learned about Tobal’s father and mother being responsible for the Sanctuary Program and also about the former military involvement. I told about the deaths of Ron and Rachel Kane and the massacre at the gathering spot with the mass grave.”

She paused and cleared her throat. “I also mentioned Crow’s parents had been buried there and possibly Sarah’s mother. Then I told them Crow’s grandfather, Howling Wolf and others, had built the cairn and knew the story behind it if they had more questions.”

“I went on to tell about the increasing raids by rogues and how they were being blamed on the village. I explained how that was not possible because the rogue attacks were centered around the lake and not anywhere near the village itself. Then I told them about my patrols these past three months and how the rogues seem to know if anyone with a med-alert bracelet is around, even on an air sled. They always know far enough in advance that they are able to hide out of sight before I could get there. Even in the winter they left tracks in the snow but there were hardly any sitings by any of us and that was strange given so many tracks. Then I mentioned that whenever I tried for a closer look at some of those tracks the dispatcher always radioed me with new orders.”

“The entire Council of Elders was really listening to me by then,” she said, “ I really had their attention. I expressed my conviction that the rogues couldn’t be villagers because the villagers didn’t have any technology. Then I reminded them of the rumors that the city was planning to take military action against the village because of these same rogue attacks. Something was not right.

I told how Crow had found out about it and gone back to his village to warn them of a possible attack and massacre like what had happened at the lake. The Elders looked sharply at each other and there was electricity in the chamber. The Council of Elders was silent for a long time after I stopped speaking. Then it seemed everyone was trying to talk at once.”

“That was the day after Crow reached the village,” she said. “After many questions and long deliberations the Council of Elders decided to send its own delegation to the village and determine for itself the true nature of the situation. I went along because of what I knew and four others were selected. We left immediately before anyone could stop us.”

“We made our way to the village and were surprised that they were expecting us. We were given a royal welcome and had the opportunity to question all five of the group members who were in fine health and planning to stay for at least another month. I tried to talk with Howling Wolf privately but he brushed me aside saying it was not time yet for us to talk. He would contact us later at a better time.

We stayed for two days asking questions about the rogues. The villagers told us they also suffered from rogue attacks that were getting more frequent and violent. They told us there was a rumor the Clansmen were responsible. Because of this there was a growing resentment toward the Clansmen. The villagers were relieved when Crow told them we were innocent.

Still the question remained, who was responsible for the growing rogue attacks? It was that dark thought we took back with us the next day to our base camp. We just got home when we were arrested and interrogated. We were held an entire week before we were released.”

A murmur of disbelief went around the room and she continued bitterly. “We don’t even know who we were held by except that they held us captives in our own base in the mountain. Who ever runs the mountain complex is really angry with us. The good news,” she smiled. “Is that the village is probably going to be safe for the time being. Too many of us know the truth about it and they can’t be blamed any more for the rogue attacks.”

“When we were finally released we made our report to the Council of Elders. To say that the Council of Elders was pretty shook up was an understatement.”

She laughed, “I’ve never seen them so furious. Masters or medics serve no longer than three years before becoming citizens so the Elders are actually pretty young and none of us had ever heard of such blatant interference into our own affairs. We are going to make a formal complaint to the city itself as soon as we figure out how to get in contact. It appears there are no known channels to contact the city or the city government. Inquiries of the medical staff at the emergency room in the hospital produced no solutions.”

“The Council of Elders established a committee to research the issue and report back next month with available options. That was how it was left. It seems a very big can of worms has been opened and there is no ready solution.”

Ellen looked around at the group and shrugged. “That’s about it for now until next month.”

Tobal was thinking heavily about the meeting later that night. Finally shrugging it aside he and Becca made their way to the beer barrel. Dirk and Rafe were no longer there and had been assigned hunting duty providing meat for the gathering. Dirk was hanging out there talking with the two Journeymen that now had the duty. He saw them and came over, gave Becca a kiss and a hug and lifted his tankard toward Tobal.

“Guess what?” He beamed. “I’ve got my sixth chevron and get my Master initiation in two weeks.”

“That’s great!” Tobal pounded him on the back and joked. “You’ve certainly taken enough beatings for it.”

“Maybe you can give me a ride on your air sled,” Becca teased moving over and hugging him instead of Tobal.

Dirk laughed, “See how to get the girls?” He turned to Becca, “You just wait, I’ll give you a ride.”

“Promise,” she chirped.

“Hey, I forgot to ask Rafe how he did this month,” Tobal said.

Dirk shook his head sadly. “Nope, he didn’t make it yet. He’s bound to one of these days though. He’s grown six inches in the last year and gained twenty pounds. It’s got to be hard when you start so young like he is. He’s smarter than all of us but he’s still a kid.”

Tobal and Becca excused themselves, did some dancing at the drum circle and chatted with some more friends before heading off to sleep in one of the teepees. As he was falling asleep Tobal reflected how right it felt to lie with his arms around Becca. He turned and kissed her one last time.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” she whispered back and they both fell asleep.

The next morning it was hard to say goodbye to Becca and head out into the wilderness with Tyrone. His feelings were still a mix of confused emotions he needed to sort out. Tye sensed his mood and tried cheering him up as they trekked through the snow. Mostly they talked about women.

The second month with Tyrone went fast and the last of February had the warm promise of spring making everyone restless. The first part of March had them snowed in with what they hoped was the last winter storm of the season. It was a big storm making drifts well over their heads in some areas. In camp they had to break out of their shelter and dig their way up to the surface. The weather continued to be mild after that with some melting during the day and freezing during the nights.

Tyrone was a natural in the mountains and finished his training with no real problems. He spent time in the evenings showing Tobal how to make a fiddle for himself and gave him basic instructions on how to play on the one he had made during the last month. It was Tyrone’s time to laugh as the wolves howled when Tobal began his practice with the borrowed fiddle and bow.

It was the last day of training and they were heading back toward the gathering spot. Tobal was trying to work on his own fiddle and not getting it right. That was when Tryone handed him the fiddle he had made.

“Here,” he said. “Keep this one. It’s yours. You’ll never be able to make a good enough one to play and I can always finish this one you are making.”

Tobal was touched. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Tyrone said. “You’ve been good to me and it’s the least I can do. Keep playing and you’ll get better.”

Tobal proclaimed Tyrone ready to solo at circle and the elders approved. Fiona, Nikki and Becca brought newbies to be initiated.

It was raining and miserable outside. The good news was the snow was disappearing really fast. The gathering spot was a mess of slush and mud puddles. Sheets of the gray material were placed as canopies over the smaller fires so they didn’t go out. The bonfire appeared to be holding its own as the circle and initiations were held but didn’t seem to put out as much heat as usual.

Most clan members sat under rain shedding canopies that kept most of the rain off. Even wet the robes retained body heat as long as it wasn’t continually washed away by fresh water. It was not comfortable but it was bearable and did put one in touch with the elements in a very direct way. Most of the clansmen were so accustomed to being out in the weather that being wet was a minor discomfort to them.

Tobal almost felt sorry for Angel and the High Priest as they dropped their robes and stood in the chill rain invoking the Lord and Lady. Angel and the High Priest gave no indication they were even aware of the bone chilling rain and proceeded normally through the ritual. Tobal did notice they put their robes back on after invoking the Lord and Lady and both remained close to the fire for a while. It helped reassure him that they were human like he was.

He also noticed the Lord and Lady seemed more real and tangible to him although they remained in their stations above the central fire. A faint echo of the cave’s altar lingered, where their voices had guided him, sharpening his sense of their presence. He still thought of them as his father and mother. But the contact seemed limited to circles, the meditation group and astral visits to the cave. Other times he suffered from dark premonitions and troubled dreams. He knew that something was wrong and about to get worse. How that could be he had no idea. He only knew it was the truth. He felt it deep within his core.

This was not the God and Goddess appearing at circle during rituals and initiations but the spirits of his parents still alive, well, and aware of him even though they did not seem to have anything to say to him. He did feel their love and support and wished he could talk with them or reach out and hold them.

Their images had become sharper and he could see his father carried the same dagger that was sheathed and strapped above his own ankle and his mother had the same necklace of amber and jet he wore around his neck. This realization brought tears to his eyes and he wondered how such things could be. It was always at circle that he could feel their presence the most strongly when the group energy of the circle was at it’s strongest.

It was the celebration for the Spring Equinox and there were plenty of high spirits in spite of the poor weather. In fact, there was a lot of excitement about the rain taking the snow away. The main topic people were talking about was getting started training again as soon as the weather broke.

After circle the party was taken inside and wet robes exchanged for dry tunics or furs or simply let to dry in front of the fire, as their owners casually remained nude by the fire drinking beer and joking. It seemed the big thing that night was to share tattoos and stories about tattoos. It was warm in the building and there was no wind to cause discomfort.

Tobal and Becca had both draped their wet robes for drying in front of the fire along with the others and were trying to thaw out a bit. The blazing fire felt warm and neither one had a burning desire to put on a wet robe and run out into the rain to the shelter where the rest of their dry clothing was waiting.

Tobal had even less desire to run out there naked. He didn’t think Becca would either. In the end he resolved to simply do what many of the others had also decided, not worry about it. With that in mind he pushed through the crowd to the bar for a tankard of beer for both of them. Getting two foaming tankards of beer he shouldered his way through the crowd of naked and semi naked bodies back to where Becca was waiting.

Zee and Kevin saw them and called them over. They were in good spirits and wanting to talk. Kevin had his arm around Zee. He lifted his tankard as they approached.

“To newbies,” he said.

“To newbies,” Becca, Tobal and Zee laughed and all four touched their tankards together.

“I take it that you guys are heading for Sanctuary?” Becca chuckled.

“As soon as this weather breaks,” Zee told her.

“How are you guys getting along this winter?” Becca asked.

“Thank Goddess for the monthly circles,” Zee giggled. “We’ve been driving each other nuts.” She gave Kevin a kiss and said, “But it’s good practice for next winter.”

“You’re going to partner together next winter!” Becca was delighted and jumped up and down. “I’m so happy for both of you!”

“You’re not doing so bad yourself,” Kevin teased her.

“But Tobal’s never around when I need him. I might need to sleep with you guys tonight.”

“What!”

“I’m leaving tonight,” Tobal said suddenly. “Not even my love for Becca can keep me from my sixth newbie.”

Becca pouted and they all laughed.

“You’re going to get plenty wet,” Kevin told him.

“He’s always a wet blanket anyway. Doesn’t know how to have any fun,” Becca quipped and grinned giving him a kiss. “I’m just lucky I’ve got someone to train this month yet. Other wise I’d get lonely. It sounds like there are a lot of people heading for Sanctuary as soon as the weather clears.”

Zee and Kevin looked at each other speculatively. “We might have to rethink our strategy,” Kevin said.

He and Zee moved off to talk and Tobal knew they were seriously considering what he had said.

The drums started and a place was cleared in the center of the room for the dancers. The first out were Wayne and Char dancing together. It seemed they might be getting back together again. Tobal hoped they would take time to train some newbies so they could advance and move on but that was entirely up to them.

It was good to see them back together again though and his thoughts flashed to Becca. She had left with Fiona. They had tried getting him to dance but he didn’t really feel like it tonight, knowing how long it was going to be.

The girls were dancing together in the middle of the floor having a good time. It was good to see them having fun together again. Fiona made him laugh and feel good but Becca made something quiver deep in his belly that made him feel self-conscious and awkward. He caught Fiona’s glance across the dance floor, a flicker of her old spark, making Becca’s pull feel even more tangled. It was a vulnerable feeling and he didn’t really care to feel so vulnerable. He sipped his beer, letting the warmth steady him, a small shield against the storm within.

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Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

The coachman watched for a long time as Frank Braun went into
the garden, spit, thoughtfully shook his head, then crossed himself.
One evening Frieda Gontram sat on the stone bench under the
copper beeches. He stepped up to her and offered his hand.
“Back already Frieda?”
“The two months are gone,” she said.
He put his hand to his forehead.
“Gone,” he murmured. “It scarcely seems like a week to me.
How goes it with your brother?” he continued.
“He is dead,” she replied, “for a long time now. Vicar Schrőder
and I buried him up there, in Davos.”
“Dead,” he responded.
Then as if to chase the thought away he quickly asked, “What
else is new out there? We live like hermits, never go out of the
garden.”
“The princess died of a stroke,” she began. “Countess Olga– ”
But he didn’t let her continue.
“No, no,” he cried. “Say nothing. I don’t want to hear. Death,
death and more death–Be quiet Frieda, be quiet!”
Now he was happy that she was there. They spoke very little to
each other, but they sat together quietly, secretly, when the Fräulein
was in the house. Alraune resented that Frieda Gontram was back.
“Why did she come? I won’t have it! I want no one here except
you.”
“Let her be,” he said. “She is not in the way, hides herself
whenever she can.”
Alraune said, “She is together with you when I’m not there. I
know it. She better be careful!”
“What will you do?” he asked.
She answered, “Do? Nothing! Have you forgotten that I don’t
need to do anything? It all happens by itself.”
Once again resistance awoke in him.
“You are dangerous,” he said. “Like a poisonous berry.”
She raised her lips, “Why does she nibble then? I ordered her to
stay away forever!–But you changed it to two months. It is your
fault.”
“No,” he cried. “That is not true. She would have drown herself–
”
“So much the better!” laughed Alraune.
He bit his teeth together, grabbed her arms and shook her.
“You are a witch!” he hissed. “Someone should kill you.”
She didn’t defend herself, even when his fingers pressed deeply
into her flesh.
“Who?” she laughed. “You?”
“Yes me!” he screamed. “Me! I planted the seed of this
poisonous tree–so I am the one to find an axe and chop it down–to
free the world of you!”
“Do it,” she piped gently. “Do it, Frank Braun!”
Her mockery flowed like oil on the fire that burned in him. Haze
rose hot and red in front of his eyes, pressed stuffily into his mouth.
His features became distorted. He quickly let go of her and raised his
clenched fists.
“Hit me,” she cried. “Hit me! I want you to!”
At that his arms sank, his poor will drowned in the flood of her
caresses.
That night he awoke. A flickering light fell on him coming from
the large silver candlestick that stood on the fireplace. He lay on his
great-grandmother’s mighty bed. Over him, directly over him, the
little wooden man was suspended.
“If it falls, it will kill me,” he thought half-asleep. “I must take it
down.”
Then his gaze fell to the foot of the bed. There crouched Alraune,
soft words sounded from her mouth, something rattled lightly in her
hands. He turned his head a little and peered over at her. She held the
dice cup–her mother’s skull, threw the dice–her father’s bones.
“Nine,” she muttered, “and seven–sixteen!”
Again she put the bone dice in the skull dice cup, shook it noisily
back and forth.
“Eleven,” she cried.
“What are you doing?” he interrupted.
She turned around, “I’m playing. I couldn’t go to sleep–so I’m
playing.”
“What are you playing?” he asked.
She glided over to him, quickly, like a smooth little snake.
“I’m playing ‘How it will be’, How it will be–with you and with
Frieda Gontram!”
“Well–and how will it be?” he asked again.
She drummed with her fingers on his chest.
“She will die,” she twittered. “Frieda Gontram will die.”
“When,” he pressed.
“I don’t know,” she spoke. “Soon, very soon!”
He tightened his fingers together, “Well – and how about me?”
She said, “I don’t know. You interrupted me. Should I continue
to play?”
“No,” he cried. “No! I don’t want to know!”
He fell silent, brooding heavily, then startled suddenly, sat up
and stared at the door. Light steps shuffled past. Very distinctly he
heard the floorboards creak. He sprang out of bed, took a couple steps
to the door and listened intently. Now they were gliding up the stairs.
Then he heard her clear laughter behind him.
“Let her be!” she tinkled. “What do you want from her?”
“Why should I leave it alone?” he asked. “Who is it?”
She laughed even more, “Who? Frieda Gontram! Your fear is too
early, my knight! She still lives!”
He came back, sat on the edge of the bed.
“Bring me some wine!” he cried. “I want something to drink!”
She sprang up, ran into the next room, brought the crystal carafe,
let the burgundy bleed into the polished goblets.
“She always runs around,” Alraune explained, “day and night.
She says she can’t sleep, so she climbs through the entire house.”
He didn’t hear what she was saying, gulped the wine down and
reached the goblet out to her again.
“More,” he demanded. “Give me more!”
“No,” she said. “Not like that! Lay back down. You will drink
from me if you are thirsty.”
She pressed his head down onto the pillows, kneeled in front of
him on the floor, took a sip of wine and gave it to him in her mouth.
He became drunk from the wine, even more drunk from the lips that
reached out to him.
The sun burned at noon. They sat on the marble edge of the pool
and splashed in the water with their feet.
“Go into my room,” she said. “On my dresser is a hook, on the
left hand side. Bring it to me.”
“No,” he replied. “You shouldn’t fish. What would you do with
the little goldfish?”
“Do it!” she spoke.
He stood up and went into the mansion. He went into her room,
picked up the hook and examined it critically. Then he smiled in
satisfaction.
“Well, she won’t catch many with this thing here!” But then he
interrupted himself.
Heavy lines creased his forehead, “Not catch many? She would
catch goldfish even if she threw in a meat hook!”
His glance fell on the bed, then up to the little root man. He
threw the hook into the corner and grabbed a chair in sudden resolve.
He placed it by the bed, climbed up and with a quick pull tore the
little alraune down. He gathered some paper together, threw it into the
fireplace, lit it and laid the little man on top.
He sat down on the floor watching the flames. But they only
devoured the paper, didn’t even singe the alraune, only blackened it.
And it seemed to him that it laughed, as if its ugly face pulled into a
grimace–yes, into Uncle Jakob’s grin! And then–then the phlemy
laugh sounded again–echoed from the corners.
He sprang up, took his knife from the table, opened the sharp
blade and grabbed the little man from out of the fire. The wooden root
was hard and infinitely tough. He was only able to remove little
splinters, but he didn’t give up. He cut and cut, one little piece after
the other. Bright beads of sweat pearled on his forehead and his
fingers hurt from the unaccustomed work. He paused, took some fresh
paper, stacks of never read newspapers, threw the splinters on them,
sprinkled them with rose oil and Eau de Cologne.
Ah, now it burned, blazed, and the flames doubled his strength.
Faster and stronger, he removed more slivers from the wood, always
giving new nourishment to the fire. The little man became smaller,
lost its arms and both legs. Yet it never gave up, defended itself, the
point of a splinter stuck deeply into his finger. But he smeared the
ugly head with his blood, grinned, laughed and cut new slivers from
its body.
Then her voice rang, hoarse, almost broken.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
He sprang up, threw the last piece into the devouring flames. He
turned around and a wild, insane gleam showed in his green eyes.
“I’ve killed it!” he screamed.
“Me,” she moaned, “Me!”
She grabbed at her breast with both hands.
“It hurts,” she whispered. “It hurts.”
He walked past her, slammed the door shut–Yet an hour later he
lay again in her arms, greedily drinking her poisonous kisses.
It was true–He had been her teacher. By his hand they had
wandered through the park of love, deep onto the hidden path far from
broad avenues of the masses. But where the path ended in thick
underbrush he turned around, turned back from the steep abyss. There
she walked on laughing, untroubled and free of all fear or shyness.
She skipped in light easy dance steps. There was no red poisonous
fruit that grew in the park of love that her fingers did not pluck, her
smiling lips did not taste–
She learned from him how sweet the intoxication was when the
tongue sipped little drops of blood from the flesh of the lover. But her
desire was insatiable and her burning thirst unquenchable.
He was exhausted from her kisses that night, slowly untangled
himself from her limbs, closed his eyes and lay like a dead man, rigid
and unmoving. But he didn’t sleep. His senses remained clear and
awake despite his weariness. He lay like that for long hours.
The bright light of the full moon fell through the open window
onto the white bed. He heard how she stirred at his side, softly
moaned and whispered senseless words like she always did on such
full moon nights.
He heard her stand up, go singing to the window, then slowly
come back, felt how she bent over him and stared at him for a long
time. He didn’t move.

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Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

Chapter Sixteen
Proclaims how Alraune came to an end.
HE slowly went up to his room, washed his wound,
bandaged it and laughed at the girl’s shooting ability.
“She will learn soon enough,” he thought. “We just
need a little target practice.”
Then he remembered her look as she ran away. She was all
broken up, full of wild despair, as if she had committed a crime. And
it had only been an unlucky coincidence–which fortunately had turned
out all right–He hesitated–A coincidence? Ah, that was it. She didn’t
take it as a coincidence–took it as–fate.
He considered–
That was certainly it. That was why she was frightened–that was
why she ran away–When she looked into his eyes she saw her own
image there. That’s what she was afraid of–death, who scattered his
flowers where ever her feet trod–
The little attorney had warned him, “Now it is your turn.” Hadn’t
Alraune herself told him the same thing when she asked him to leave?
Wasn’t the old magick working on him just like it had on all the
others? His uncle had left him worthless paper–Now they were
digging gold out of the rocks! Alraune brought riches–and she
brought death.
Suddenly he was frightened–now for the first time. He bared his
wound once again–Oh yes, there it was. His heart beat right under the
tear. It had only been the little movement of his body as he turned, as
he pointed to the squirrel with his arm that had saved him. Otherwise–
otherwise–
No, he didn’t want to die, especially right now because of his
mother, he thought. Yes, because of her–but even if she wasn’t there,
he wanted to live for himself as well. It had taken many long years to
learn how to live, but now he had mastered that great art, which now
gave him more than many thousands of others. He lived fully and
strongly, stood on the summit and really enjoyed the world and all of
its delights.
“Fate loves me,” he thought. “It’s pointing with its finger–much
more clearly than the words of the attorney. There is still time.”
He pulled out his suitcase, tore the lid open and began to pack–
How had Uncle Jakob ended his leather bound volume?
“Try your luck! It’s too bad that I won’t be there when your turn
comes. I would have dearly loved to see it.”
He shook his head.
“No, Uncle Jakob,” he murmured. “You will get no satisfaction
out of me this time, not this time.”
He threw his boots together, grabbed a pair of stockings, and laid
out a shirt and suit that he wanted to wear. His glance fell on the deep
blue kimono that hung over the back of a chair. He picked it up,
contemplated the scorched hole that the bullet had made.
“I should leave it here,” he said. “A momento for Alraune. She
can put it with the other momentos.”
A deep sigh sounded behind him. He turned around–She stood in
the middle of the room, in a thin silk negligee, looking at him with
large open eyes.
“You are packing?” she whispered. “You are leaving–I thought
so.”
A lump rose in his throat but he choked it back down and pulled
himself together.
“Yes, Alraune, I’m going on a journey,” he said.
She threw herself down onto a chair, didn’t answer, just looked
at him quietly. He went to the wash basin, took up one thing after
another, comb, brush, soap and sponge. Finally he threw the lid shut
and locked the suitcase.
“Well,” he said forcefully. “Now I’m ready.”
He stepped up to her, reached out his hand. She didn’t move,
didn’t raise her arm and her pale lips remained shut. Only her eyes
spoke.
“Don’t go,” they pleaded. “Don’t leave me. Stay with me.”
“Alraune,” he murmured and it sounded like a reproach, like a
plea even, to let him go.
But she didn’t let him go, held him solidly with her eyes, “Don’t
leave me.”
It felt like his will was melting and he forcefully turned his eyes
away from her. But then her lips moved.
“Don’t go,” she insisted. “Stay with me.”
“No,” he screamed. “I don’t want to. You will put me in the
ground like all the others!”
He turned his back on her, went to the table, and tore a couple
pieces of cotton from the bandage wadding that he had brought for his
wound. He moistened them with oil and plugged them solidly into his
ears.
“Now you can talk,” he cried. “If you like. I can’t hear you. I
can’t see you–I must go and you know it. Let me go.”
She softly said, “Then you will feel me.”
She stepped up to him, lightly laid her hand on his arm and her
fingers trembled and spoke – “Stay with me!–Don’t abandon me.”
The light kiss of her little hands was so sweet, so sweet.
“I will tear myself loose,” he thought, “soon, just one second
longer.”
He closed his eyes, and with a deep breath savored the caressing
touch of her fingers. Then she raised her hands and his cheeks
trembled under their gentle touch. She slowly brought her arms
around his neck, bent his head down, raised herself up and brought
her moist lips to his mouth.
“How strange it is,” he thought. “Her nerves speak and mine
understand their language.”
She pulled him one step to the side, pressed him down onto the
bed, sat on his knees and wrapped him in a cloak of tender caresses.
With slender fingers she pulled the cotton out of his ears and
whispered sultry, loving words to him. He didn’t understand because
she spoke so softly, but he sensed the meaning, felt that she was no
longer saying, “Stay!”–That now she was saying, “I’m so glad that
you are staying.”
He kept his eyelids tightly shut over his eyes, yet now he only
heard her lips whisper sweet nothings, only felt the tips of her little
fingers as they ran across his breast and his face. She didn’t pull him,
didn’t urge him–and yet he felt the streaming of her nerves pulling
him down onto the bed. Slowly, slowly, he let himself sink.
Then suddenly she sprang up. He opened his eyes, saw her run to
the door and shut it, then to the window and tightly close the heavy
curtains. A dim twilight still flowed through the room. He wanted to
rise, to stand up, but she was back before he could move a single
limb. She threw off the black negligee and came to him, shut his
eyelids again with gentle fingers and pressed her lips on his.
He felt her little breast in his hand, felt her toe nails play against
the flesh of his legs, felt her hair falling over his cheeks–and he didn’t
resist, gave himself to her, just as she wanted–
“Are you staying?” she asked.
But he sensed it wasn’t a question any more, she only wanted to
hear it from his own lips.
“Yes,” he said softly.
Her kisses fell like the rain in May. Her caresses dropped like a
shower of almond blossoms in the evening wind and her loving words
sprang like the shimmering pearls of the cascade in the park pool.
“You taught me!” she breathed. “You–you showed me what love
is–Now you must stay for my love, which you created!”
She lightly traced her fingers over his wound, kissed it with her
tongue, raised her head and looked at him with crazy, confused eyes.
“I hurt you–”she whispered. “I struck you–right over your heart–
Do you want to beat me? Should I get the whip? Do what you want!–
Tear wounds in me with your teeth–take a knife even. Drink my
blood–Do whatever you want–Anything, anything–I am your slave.”
He closed his eyes again and sighed deeply.
“You are the Mistress,” he thought. “The winner!”

Sometimes when he entered the library it seemed as if a laugh
came from out of the corners somewhere. The first time he heard it he
thought it was Alraune, even though it didn’t sound like her voice. He
searched around and found nothing. When he heard it again he
became frightened.
“That’s Uncle Jakob’s hoarse voice,” he thought. “He is laughing
at me.”
Then he took hold of himself, pulled himself together.
“A hallucination,” he muttered. “And no wonder–my nerves are
over stimulated.”
He moved about as if in a dream, slouching and staggering, with
hanging, drooping movements and listless eyes. But every nerve was
taut and overloaded when he was with her–Then his blood raced,
where before it had been sickly and barely crawled.
He had been her teacher, that was true. He had opened her eyes,
taught her every Persian mystery from the land of the morning, every
game of the ancients that had made love into a fine art. But it was as if
he said nothing strange to her at all, only reawakened her long lost
memories from some other time. Often her swift desire flamed and
broke out like a forest fire in the summer time before he could even
speak. He threw the torch and yet shuddered at the rutting fire that
scorched his flesh, engulfed him in feverish passion, left him withered
and curdled the blood in his veins.
Once as he slunk over the courtyard he met Froitsheim.
“You don’t ride any more, young Master?” asked the old
coachman.
He quickly said, “No, not any more.”
Then his gaze met the old man’s and he saw how the dry lips
opened.
“Don’t speak, old man!” he said quickly. “I know what you want
to say to me! But I can’t–I can’t.”

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Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel

They swam around–Then he went into the house, brought her a
cloak. And when they turned to go back, hand in hand, under the
copper beeches she said:
“I thank you, my love!”
They lay naked in the red afterglow. Their bodies, that had been
one through the hot afternoon hours, fell apart–Broken and crushed by
their caresses, their fondling and sweet words, like the flowers, like
the tender grass, over which their love storm had broken. The
firebrand lay dead, had devoured itself with greedy teeth. Out of the
ashes grew a cruel, steel hard hatred.
They looked at each other–now they knew that they were mortal
enemies. The long red lines on her thighs now seemed disgusting and
unseemly to him, the spittle ran in his mouth as if he had sucked a
bitter poison out of her lips. The little wounds that her teeth and her
nails had torn hurt and burned, swelling up–
“She has poisoned me,” he thought. “Like she once did Dr.
Petersen.”
Her green gaze smiled over at him, provoking, mocking and
impudent. He closed his eyes, bit his lips together, and curled his
fingers into fists. Then she stood up, turned around and kicked him
with her foot, carelessly and contemptuously.
He sprang up at that, stood in front of her, their glances crossed–
Not one word came out of her mouth, but she pouted her lips, raised
her arm, spit at him, slapped him in the face with her hand.
Then he threw himself at her, shook her body, whirled her
around by her hair, flung her to the ground, kicked her, beat her,
choked her tightly by the neck. She defended herself well. Her nails
shredded his face, her teeth bit into his arm and his chest. And with
blood foaming at their mouths, their lips searched and found each
other, took each other in a rutting frenzy of burning desire and pain–
Then he seized her, flung her several meters away, so that she
fainted, sinking down onto the lawn. He staggered a few steps further,
sank down and stared up into the blue heavens, without desire,
without will–listening to his temples pound–until his eyelids sank–
When he awoke, she was kneeling at his feet, drying the blood
out of his wounds with her hair, ripping her shift into long strips,
bandaging him skillfully–
“Let’s go, my love,” she said. “Evening falls.”
Little blue eggshells lay on the path. He searched in the bushes,
found the plundered nest of a crossbill.
“Those pesky squirrels,” he cried. “There are far too many in the
park. They will drive out all of our song birds.”
“What should we do?” she asked.
He said, “Shoot a few.”
She clapped her hands.
“Yes, yes,” she laughed. “We will go on a hunt!”
“Do you have some kind of a gun?” he asked.
She considered, “No, –I believe there are none, at least none that
we can use–We must buy one–But wait,” she interrupted herself,
“The old coachman has one. Sometimes he shoots the stray cats when
they poach.”
He went to the stables.
“Hello Froitsheim,” he cried. “Do you have a gun?”
“Yes,” replied the old man. “Should I go get it?”
He nodded, then he asked, “Tell me old man. Do you still want
to let your great-grandchildren ride on Bianca? They were here last
Sunday–but I didn’t see you setting them on the donkey.”
The old man growled, went into his room, took a rifle down from
the wall, came back, sat down quietly, cleaning it and getting it ready.
“Well?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to answer me?”
Froitsheim chewed with dry lips.
“I don’t want to,” he grumbled.
Frank Braun laid a hand on his shoulder, “Be reasonable old
man, say what is on your heart. I think you can speak freely with me!”
Then the coachman said, “I will accept nothing from the
Fräulein–don’t want any gifts from her. I receive my bread and
wages–for that I work. I don’t want any more than that.”
Frank Braun felt that no persuasion would help getting through
his hard skull. Then he hit upon an idea, threw in a little bait that the
old man could chew on–
“If the Fräulein asked something special of you, would you do
it?”
“No,” said the stubborn old man. “No more than my duty.”
“But if she paid you extra,” he continued. “Then would you do
it?”
The coachman still didn’t want to agree.
“That would depend–” he chewed.
“Don’t be pig headed, Froitsheim!” laughed Frank Braun. “The
Fräulein–not I–wants to borrow your gun to shoot squirrels–That has
absolutely nothing to do with your duty, and because of that–do you
understand, in return–she will allow you to let the children ride on the
donkey–It is a trade. Will you do it?”
“Yes,” said the old man grinning. “I will.”
He handed the rifle over to him, took a box of cartridges out of a
drawer.
“I will throw these in as well!” he spoke. “That way I’ve paid
well and am not in her debt–Are you going out riding this afternoon,
young Master?” he continued.
“Good, the horses will be ready around five-o’clock.”–Then he
called the stable boy, sent him running out to the cobbler’s wife, his
granddaughter, to let her know that she should send the children up
that evening–
Early the next morning Frank Braun stood under the acacia that
kissed the Fräulein’s window, gave his short whistle. She opened,
called down that she would be right there. Her light steps rang clearly
on the flagstones, with a leap she was down from the terrace, over the
steps, into the garden and standing in front of him.
“Look at you!” she cried. “In a kimono? Do people go hunting
like that?”
He laughed, “Well, it will do just fine for squirrels– But look at
you!”
She was dressed as a Wallenstein hunter.
“Holk Regiment!” she cried. “Do you like it?”
She wore high yellow riding boots, a green jerkin and an
enormous grayish green hat with waving plumes. An old pistol was
stuck into her belt and a long sabre beat against her leg.
“Take that off,” he said. “The game will be terrified of you if you
go hunting like that.”
She pouted her lips.
“Aren’t I pretty,” she asked.
He took her into his arms, quickly kissed her lips.“You are
charming, you vain little monkey,” he laughed. “And your Holk
hunting outfit will do just as well as my kimono for squirrels.”
He unbuckled the sabre and the long spurs, laid her flintlock
pistol aside and took up the coachman’s rifle.
“Now come, comrade,” he cried. “Tally ho!”
They went through the garden walking softly, peering through
the bushes and into the tops of the trees. He pushed a cartridge into
the rifle and cocked it.
“Have you ever shot a gun before?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” she nodded. “Wőlfchen and I went together to the big
church fair in Pützchen. We practiced there in the shooting gallery.”
“Good,” he said. “Then you know how you must hold it and aim
it.”
There was a rustling over them in the branches.
“Shoot,” she whispered. “Shoot! There is one above us!”
He raised the rifle and looked up, but then let it down again.
“No, not that one,” he declared. “That is a young one, scarcely a
year old. We will let it live for a while longer.”
They followed the brook until it came out of the birch trees into
the meadow. Fat June bugs buzzed in the sun, yellow butterflies
swung over the daisies. Whispering sounds were everywhere, crickets
chirping, bees buzzing, grasshoppers jumped at their feet in giant
leaps. Frogs croaked in the water and above–a little lark rejoiced.
They walked across the meadow to the copper beeches. There, right
on the border, they heard a frightened chirping, saw a little hen flutter
out of the bushes.
Frank Braun crept quietly ahead, looking sharply.
“There is the robber,” he murmured.
“Where?” she asked. “Where?”
But his shot already cracked–a heavy squirrel fell down from the
tree trunk. He raised it up by the tail, showed her where the bullet had
hit.
“It won’t plunder any more nests!” he said.
They hunted further through the large park. He shot a second
squirrel in the honeysuckle leaves and a third gray squirrel in the top
of a pear tree.
“You always shoot!” she cried. “Let me have the gun once!”
He gave it to her, showed her how to carry it, let her shoot into a
tree trunk a few times.
“Now come!” he cried. “Let’s see what you can do!”
He pushed the gun barrel down.
“Like this,” he instructed. “The muzzle always points toward the
ground and not into the air.”
Near the pool he saw a young animal playing in the path. She
wanted to shoot right away, but he called for her to sneak up a few
more steps.
“Now you’re close enough, let him have it.”
She shot–the squirrel looked around in astonishment, then
quickly sprang up a tree trunk and disappeared into the thick
branches. A second time didn’t go much better–She was much too far
away. But when she tried to get closer, the animals fled before she
could get a shot off.
“The stupid beasts,” she complained. “Why do they stand still for
you?”
She appeared charming to him in her childish anger.
“Apparently because they think I am their friend,” he laughed.
“You make too much noise in your leather riding boots, that’s what it
is! Just wait, we will get closer.”
Right by the mansion, where the hazel bushes pressed against the
acacias, he saw another squirrel.
“Stay here,” he whispered. “I will drive it out to you. Only look
there into those bushes and when you see it, whistle so I will know. It
will turn when you whistle–then shoot!”
He went around in a wide arc, sneaking through the bushes.
Finally he discovered the animal on a low acacia, drove it down, and
chased it into a hazel thicket. He saw that it was going in the right
direction toward Alraune so he backed up a little and waited for her
whistle. But he didn’t hear it. Then he went back in the same arc and
came out on the wide path behind her. There she stood, gun in hand,
staring intently into the bushes and a little off to her left–scarcely
three meters away, the squirrel merrily played in the hazel thicket.
“It’s over there,” he called out softly. “Over there, up a little and
to the left!”
She heard his voice, turned quickly around toward him. He saw
how her lips opened to speak, heard a shot at the same time and felt a
light pain in his side. Then he heard her shrill despairing scream, saw
how she threw the gun away and rushed toward him. She tore open
his kimono, grabbed at the wound with both hands.
He bowed his head, looked down. It was a long, but very light
surface wound that was scarcely bleeding. The skin was only burned,
showing a broad black line.
“Get the hangman!” he laughed. “That was close!–Right over the
heart.”
She stood in front of him, trembling, all of her limbs shaking,
scarcely able to stand up. He supported her, talked to her.
“It’s nothing, child. Nothing at all! We will wash it out with
something, then moisten it with oil–Think nothing of it!”
He pulled the kimono still further back, showed her his naked
chest. With straying fingers she felt the surface wound.
“Right over the heart,” she murmured. “Right over the heart!”
Then suddenly she grabbed her head with both hands. A sudden
fear seized her, she looked at him with a horrified gaze, tore herself
out of his arms, ran to the house, sprang up the stairs–

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