Anarchistbanjo's World

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

There was a loud calling and it came closer. Two
gravediggers, an old man and a sturdy young fellow, came
running with bludgeons and confronted me. What had
happened here and why had I shot? I talked to them and
described to them the guy with the satchel, who once before
had been suspiciously at an unburied corpse in the past, and
also at the execution of the blacksmith Fessl in a tree and with
his new corpse-desecrating behavior, had now put me in such a
rage that I fired my pistol at him, but apparently did him no
harm, after he had laughed, escaped and flitted away.
They listened to me calmly and seriously, and the old
man nodded his head as if to indicate that the man was well
known to him, and that he, like me hated him to his very soul.
Then he asked me my name, and when I told him, he said:
“The Baron may now do as he pleases. We have the
vested right to punish offenses against the sanctity of the place
on the spot, or to punish the offence if the penalties are not paid
to the court. For shooting on consecrated ground, a man shall
pay only one silver thaler.”
I threw the man two thalers. But he gave one of them
back to me and said:
“I am not allowed to take excess money. It is only a pity
that your shot will never been able to harm him. -“
“What do you mean? Is he frozen?” I asked.
The boy laughed, and the old man shrugged:
“If the gentleman has not buried a cross in his bullet
mold, as it should never be lacking and thus imprints itself on
the leaden birdie, then he has not even hurt him, however
powerful the weapon may otherwise be.”
“I do not carry a cross on the bullets.”
“So it’s a pity about the shot and about the penalty for it.”
The old man cradled the hairless head back and forth.
“But the fact that the Lord can see him is significant.”
“Why?”
“Not everyone can see him, only the blessed.” the
younger man interjected. “Like, for example, father here, who
has often shooed him from fresh graves, and I would give
anything if I could ever catch sight of him. But I am days and
nights in vain and have not seen him. And yet he has been
there.”
“Who is that fellow?” asked I fiercely.
“Fangerle,” said the old man, making a cross.
“Is it a man or is it-?”
But they gave me no more answer and looked toward the
entrance in the quietly falling rain. From there, with singing
and many-voiced prayer came a funeral procession.
“I always thought that he would show himself at the
graves of the miserly,” the old man muttered and climbed into
the pit. They did not pay any further attention to me, and when
I asked again, the boy said gruffly, “It is better for the Lord to
pray!”
Confused and saddened in my soul, I walked away along
the side paths to reach the exit, while the coffin of the miser
was swaying towards the open pit.
Before the post coach left, I noticed the faded and sealed
box that the notary had given me as an inheritance from my
Muhme, Aglaja’s mother. I tore off the lacquer seal and lifted
the lid. On the white, yellowed silk rested a red-gold curl of my
unforgettable, beloved cousin and her silver finger ring, which
I had often seen on her small child’s hand. It was formed with
the finest art from two slants which wound around a round-cut
fire opal. I pressed countless kisses on the mysteriously shining
and iridescent stone, on the silvery, scaly adder’s liver, which
had once held a finger of the sweetest hand, and called out the
name that had been cut into my heart and painfully scarred
there.

But on the evening of the day I arrived in the great city of
Vienna and marveled at the life in the streets, the many
carriages, the many carts, and sedan chairs, adventures of such
a peculiar kind happened to me that I thought of the influence
on my life of dark and sinister powers.
The first thing I encountered was of course of noble
origin and graceful species. When I walked across the square
on which St. Stephen’s Cathedral stretches its stone carving
into the sky, I was caught in a crowd of carriages and sedan
chairs, and was so close to a very distinguished, finely painted
sedan chair with two dark red liveried porters, that I had to
stand close to the lowered side window eye to eye with the
occupant. But who can describe the astonishment I felt when I
recognized in the highly toupeed, nobly dressed lady, Sattler
Höllbrich’s Lorle? She too knew me again immediately, for she
uttered a slight cry and called my name.
With my hat drawn, I remained, enraptured by her
unimaginable, fully blossomed beauty, enhanced by small arts,
and asked in quiet, urgent pleading words for an early reunion.
She pointed with a short, openly fearful movement towards the
dark red carriers and then said very loudly, “Well, Doctor, you
can bring the new ointment for my complexion to my house.
Just ask for Madame Laurette Triquet in Schönlatern Street.”
With that she nodded at me pathetically, in fact
condescendingly, and gave the porters a sign to go on.
After an exquisite dinner, I left my room in the evening
and went to Himmelpfort Street quarter again and thought to
mingle a little with the evening walkers who were glad of the
pleasant breeze after the hot day. Already for some time I
thought I had noticed an extremely graceful and neatly dressed
young lad following after me at every turn. And really, it did
not take long, and then he was beside me and said half aloud:
“If you desire exceptionally good and amusing company
and would like to play a game, I would be prepared to take the
gentleman to a house where you can find such things of the
best quality.”
Gladly willing to spend my evening hours in a pleasant
way, and hoping to increase my money supply I agreed to
follow the man. He modestly went ahead as a guide, only
looking back from time to time to see if I was behind him.
After a long back and forth through dark, poorly lit and bumpy
streets, we finally reached a crooked and very narrow alley. In
front of a large gate, the young man stopped and made four
quick knocks with the knocker, followed by two stronger ones.
We had to wait a while and I noticed how a dark eye looked at
us through a crack in the most precise way. Then, however, in
the large gate, which was covered with heavy iron plates, a
small door was opened, in which an older, cunning looking
woman appeared and looked at us with a burning candle for
quite a long time. Only when my guide quietly whispered
something that seemed to me to be a word of recognition or a
password, the woman stepped back so that we could pass her.
We walked over a large, damp, ivy-covered courtyard, in which
water poured from a triton’s mouth, and then climbed a steep,
barely lit spiral staircase.
On the second floor, my apparently disinterested guide
asked to be let in the same way as downstairs, and when the
servant opened the double doors to let me enter, I stood for a
moment as if dazzled in the brightness, the hundreds of
fragrant wax candles spread. A gold dressed lackey took our
swords, hats and cloaks from us and told us to go on.
I saw at once that the ugly, dilapidated outer appearance
of the isolated house, the unpleasant darkness on the stairs and
in the courtyard were only intended to keep away the curious,
and the lavish furnishings and the abundance of light into
concealment. For here the walls sparkled with gold,
magnificent tapestries partially concealed the scarlet silk
wallpapers, the floor was bare and smooth as glass, hundreds of
candles burned in Venetian prismatic chandeliers and silver
chandeliers. On tables with priceless plates of Malachite, lapis
lazuli and ruin marble stood the most exquisite delicacies and
drinks.
“The Baron of Dronte might like to go to the playroom,”
said my pale guide with a smile.
“How do you know me?” I asked not very friendly.
The young man smiled superiorly.
“We take an interest in all strangers of distinction who
arrive, and are informed by the Stagecoach drivers in good
time. Thus I know that the Baron has taken lodgment with the
widow Schwebs- küchlein, and I made it my business to
introduce the Baron to a certainly agreeable circle, in which
equally chivalrous amusement, as well as something from
Fortuna’s horn of plenty.”
During this speech we stepped into brightly lit,
magnificent adjoining rooms, in which Pharaoh and
Landsknecht were being played at several tables. The players
hardly turned their heads toward me, when my name was
shouted loudly, because at the largest of the tables, where I was
standing at, all eyes were fixed on the Bankholder, who was
putting on his apron. Muffled exclamations rang out from
everywhere like “Va tout!” or “Va banque!” and the soft
clinking and rolling of the louisdors on the green cloth that was
stretched over the stone slabs of the tables.
I reached for the money cat, which I was wearing under
my vest as a precaution against thieves, and approached the
large table. Immediately the young man, who had brought me
here, offered me a comfortable armchair and then disappeared,
when I sat down with a light greeting. Before I began to play, I
looked at the people with whom I was dealing, and found that I
had stumbled into a gathering of distorted images. The
bankholder had a colorless, pinched face, which had been
devastated by a restless and wild life. He wore over the right
sunken eye a black cloth patch, a square piece of cloth on a
ribbon, which crossed the forehead and ran further behind the
right ear. Next to him sat a tremendously obese, heavy-
breathing woman with a white powdered pumpkin head,
fanning her pressed-up bosom. She was tastelessly covered
with pearls and jewels of all kinds and seemed to me to be a
Spanish Jewess, judging by her facial features. Enthroned
beside her, upright and haughty under half-closed lids, a very
skinny woman of standing, whose yellow monkey face had
been plastered with beautiful patches in the form of palms,
butterflies and little birds. Her bloodless fingers rummaged
greedily in a whole pile of gold pieces that lay in front of her.

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Chapter 24 Llana

It was Llana who caught the wolf bitch in her snare and, feeling sorry for the orphaned pups, convinced Tobal they should try raising them as pets. It seemed a crazy idea, but she did it anyway. She had a primitive, animalistic aura and sensuality that was almost overpowering and frightening. Gradually, Tobal felt some of that developing within himself.

The cubs stayed with them and lacked the instinctive fear of fire most wild animals have. They loved Llana and stayed close, barely tolerating Tobal. They spent their days in the wilderness, pushing through extreme physical exertion combined with drawing energy from the earth to recharge. In one day, they accomplished more than Tobal had managed in three. She taught him to lope at a tireless, mile-eating pace, sustaining it for entire days, stopping only to recharge before moving on. They practiced sending physical earth energy out and absorbing it from the earth and living things, giving it back in turn. His body began to live and breathe this energy.

These were the lessons she imparted—feeling the life force and energy within all things and tapping into it. She taught him to purify his own energies, strengthening them, but said she couldn’t teach more until he completed the Journeyman degree. The shift to circle brought a welcome distraction.

Nikki, Fiona, and Becca each had their fourth newbies to solo. But Tobal made heads turn as he proclaimed Llana ready for both initiation and to solo. She faced lengthy questioning from the elders, who then approved her to solo. There was some grumbling, but Tobal didn’t care. Llana was his last newbie, and next month, he would be initiated as a Journeyman. He was happy, and that was that. Tyrone had soloed, earning his fifth chevron.

Green grass peeked through in places, and melting snow formed tiny rivulets running toward the lower foothills. The weather was beautiful, warm in the afternoon. Tobal watched as Angel acted as High Priestess. He was surprised to see Dirk in red robes, training as High Priest for the circle. It felt good and comfortable to see people he knew and trusted advancing.

He found Tyrone and asked about his solo. Tyrone laughed, saying it went well except for wolves howling every time he played the fiddle. He’d grown lonesome for company and looked forward to training his own newbie. The big news at camp was that Sarah, Anne, Derdre, Seth, and Crow had returned from the village and waited at Sanctuary for newbies. With them there for two weeks, it was unlikely enough newbies would arrive. Several members, including Zee, Kevin, Mike, Butch, Tara, Nick, Wayne, and Char with their students, had gone to Sanctuary only to find a large line. They were all pissed, hoping for newbies themselves. Now Becca, Fiona, and Nikki would join the hunt too!

Zee and Kevin had decided to stay at Sanctuary with Crow’s group. The others came to circle steaming mad, needing to vent. They were glad the kids had returned, but it irked them that Crow and his crew spent a cozy winter in the village, then waltzed back for newbies in spring. Tobal’s sympathies lay with Crow and his friends—they’d been at Sanctuary when newbies arrived, which mattered most. He’d camped out waiting for newbies himself.

He hardly saw Becca at all. She proclaimed her newbie ready to solo, then kissed him. “I’m going to Sanctuary,” she said simply. “If I leave now, I can be in line ahead of the others.” He pulled her into his arms, holding her close. “I’m sorry it has to be this way. You’ve only got two more newbies to train. Then we can be together all we want.” Her green eyes flashed as she smiled. “I’m going to hold you to that. You better really mean it.” “I mean it,” he whispered. “Now you’d better go so you’ll beat Nikki and Fiona. You know they’ll be right on your tail.” Becca laughed, “We’re all going together. If we need to, we’ll draw straws to see who goes first.” He gave her a final hug and kiss, then watched as she headed toward Nikki and Fiona waiting at the edge of the gathering spot. He waved, and they waved back. Missing Becca, he kept to himself during circle and the initiations.

Later, only Ellen and Rafe remained to discuss what had transpired between the Circle of Elders, the village, and the City Council. The others were likely en route to Sanctuary for newbies. Tobal felt fortunate to be done with it. The weight of her words lingered as Tobal processed the next step. Ellen shared her account of the past week’s meeting with the City Council.

“This time, we were expected and warmly welcomed. They even had a conference room set up with seating for everyone, not just the City Council. The Mayor welcomed us and introduced a Federation officer named General Grant.”

Ellen glanced at Tobal and Rafe, but neither had heard of him before. She continued, “General Grant addressed the room, reporting classified research within the mountain complex he couldn’t discuss. He said several city members were involved and recruited from the city due to their unique training before citizenship. Several City Council members nodded, showing it wasn’t new to them. The general denied any connection to the lake or rogue attacks, insisting the military complex posed no threat to the village. He was hurt by the unfounded allegations and hoped improved communication would prevent misunderstandings.”

Ellen’s eyes flashed. “I asked why we were ordered to keep Crow and his group from the village and what gave the general the right to order us. He reddened, admitting a mistake—civilians shouldn’t have been ordered, and a military unit should have been sent. When the City Council asked why it was so important, he said it was to preserve the training’s integrity and not compromise citizenship requirements. Open communication with the village would jeopardize Apprentice training and medic duties.”

Ellen paused, her eyes flashing with anger. “The general assured no bad intent existed, and the city’s interests drove these actions. The mayor seemed content, asking the City Council and circle members for additions before adjourning. I was furious at his denial of military involvement and the Council’s acceptance, but I knew I was outclassed. There was nothing more I could do.”

She continued, “The mayor was about to adjourn when Howling Wolf appeared in the room out of nowhere. He materialized and addressed us all. He accused General Grant of lying and offered the true story. He said thirty years ago, Ron and Rachel Kane, citizens of Heliopolis, created the Sanctuary social experiment. Their main Apprentice gathering spot was at the lake by the waterfall, the same as today’s Journeyman and Master locations.”

Ellen paused. “Howling Wolf said the experiment was Federation-funded and monitored from the mountain complex, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Harry Kane, Ron’s brother and Tobal’s father. Whispers filled the room as Council members exchanged looks. He revealed Sanctuary was a front for advanced time travel research. Gasps erupted, and several faces, including the general’s, turned white.”

She looked at Tobal. “He said Ron and Rachel built a machine for time travel—forward or backward—but only they could use it, and no one knew why. They continued traveling, while scientists sought improvements. Ron and Rachel believed it was a human issue, not mechanical, and secretly worked with a small group, developing bi-location techniques. Howling Wolf appeared using those skills, learned from them and taught to his students since. Gasps and hard looks crossed some Council faces.”

“He said bi-location and time travel didn’t need a machine. A handful, linked with Ron and Rachel, learned to do it independently. He knew others still lived and taught it. The group was time traveling when the gathering spot massacre occurred—his wife and children, and Sarah Gardner’s mother, were murdered. Sarah, now training her second newbie, survived. Two grandchildren, not present, live today in Sanctuary. Stunned, they found everyone dead upon returning.”

“Howling Wolf said Ron and Rachel told them to flee, planning to confront Harry. They agreed to meet at a historical location but Ron and Rachel never arrived. He grew angry, revealing his son and wife were hunted and executed. Later, he learned Harry declared Ron and Rachel dead, taking Tobal to raise.”

Ellen paused, noting Tobal’s grim expression and Rafe’s near-ill look. “Howling Wolf said their group perfected machine-free time travel, but scientists worked separately. Ron and Rachel’s machine located time periods and initially propelled people, as bi-location alone wasn’t enough. The military believed magnetic fields were essential, unaware of the secret research. They solved it temporarily by wiring Ron and Rachel as buffers, letting others time travel. Harry Kane was the first to succeed, leading research trips.”

“Soon, weekly trips occurred. Howling Wolf said the issue was Ron and Rachel being wired the entire time, draining them severely, limiting operative stays. The military wanted longer missions to alter history for power, but Ron and Rachel refused to tamper with events.”

Ellen laughed. “Howling Wolf had the room captivated. Some City Council faces turned white, confirming his truth. He said only Ron and Rachel could be wired into the machine. Harry and his wife tried, with her dying and him paralyzed. Ron and Rachel were devastated, refusing further experiments, believing a safer machine-free method existed. A week later, Harry reported their bodies found in the lake, but Howling Wolf said this was impossible—Harry was hospitalized after his breakdown.”

“Howling Wolf swept the room with his gaze. He revealed Ron and Rachel were prisoners, permanently wired into the machine against their will for longer missions. His face grew ugly and dangerous as he said the drain required artificial life support. Now, after years, they’re dying, and the Federation seeks replacements. They know of the secret research group, hunting meeting places. Rogue attacks are operatives searching and deterring clansmen from the lake. He insisted Tobal, Crow, and Llana be protected from the same fate. As he spoke of the program, he stopped.”

“A gasp filled the room as Howling Wolf grasped weakly at a knife in his chest, then faded. Four City Council members grappled with the knife-thrower, subduing him. The general stared, white-faced, at the blood where Howling Wolf had stood.”

Ellen’s face paled. “We turned to the knife-thrower as blood erupted from his mouth, and he sagged dead. A second knife protruded from his back. The four strugglers stepped back, wide-eyed, realizing one was a murderer. Shocked, we froze.”

“The mayor acted first, ordering everyone to stay and calling police. The general vanished—no one saw him go. Police and medics arrived within minutes, but the Council member was dead. The four were taken away. The mayor, shaken, postponed the meeting to next month, needing investigation. He believed our story given recent events, asking us to ensure Howling Wolf’s survival and treatment.”

“The meeting adjourned, and we flew to the village searching for Howling Wolf but couldn’t locate him. We returned to the mountain base, reporting to the Circle of Elders.”

Ellen continued, “I immediately sought Crow, finding him with his newbie. I explained everything. He sat on his pack near a tree, slipping into a deep trance, then disappeared. The newbie stared, wide-eyed. I set up camp, hoping he’d return. Two hours later, he reappeared, tired and angry.”

“‘He’s all right,’ he said, ‘but someone will pay.’ We discussed the assassin’s murder, darkening his anger. ‘Someone didn’t want him to talk. Have you spoken with Llana?’ ‘Llana?’ I said, puzzled. ‘Why Llana?’ ‘She’s my sister.’”

Ellen concluded, looking at Rafe and Tobal with troubled eyes. “Things are getting dangerous. The Council of Elders is in shock, wishing it would vanish. They distrust the City Council and can’t reach Howling Wolf. I haven’t spoken with Llana.”

“Let me talk with Llana,” Tobal said. “I’m free this month until she solos. Maybe I can visit Howling Wolf and learn more.”

Ellen took Tobal on her air sled, finding Llana heading for her soloing spot. She left him to talk. Llana wasn’t ready to grant access to her grandfather, even for Tobal. She’d heard from Crow that he was safe but was shaken, unwilling to risk further danger. “I need to talk to him, Llana,” he told her. Smoldering anger and resentment filled her gaze. “Why?” she asked quietly.

“I haven’t told you everything,” he confessed. “There are things he needs to know, and you do too.”

“What things, Tobal?” she asked softly.

“Adam Gardner is Sarah’s father and can time travel too!”

Her quick intake of breath showed her excitement. “You’re sure of this?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Your grandfather and Adam Gardner could train us all to time travel if they teamed up. But the military might target Adam now, since your father mentioned others teaching it. He thought he was the last, but he isn’t.”

She fell silent, thinking, then stood. “You’re right. Adam’s in danger and must be warned. They need to meet. Tell me where to find Adam, and I’ll tell my grandfather.”

“No,” he said stubbornly. “I want to talk with him.”

She reasoned, “Tobal, I can be there instantly. I know bi-location. We’re wasting time—every minute counts. They could be after Adam now.”

Reluctantly, Tobal agreed and told her Adam’s address in Old Seattle. She prepared to go. “Wait,” he shouted. She opened her eyes. “What?” “Take this,” he whispered, pulling out the wand and handing it to her. She studied it silently, then met his gaze with dark eyes and nodded. “Thanks,” she said, and vanished.

Tobal was stranded in the woods without supplies, worried about his friends, especially Adam Gardner, whom he’d grown to like. He feared for Sarah too. Relief came hours later when Ellen returned, bringing him back to the gathering spot.

The next morning, he set out for the village at the mile-eating trot Llana had taught him. Arriving, he was surprised to find it a full-time village, not just a monthly gathering spot. Guards maintained it, skilled elders ran shops, and mothers with young children rotated care while others worked on projects and meals. No threat to the city existed here, he reflected, walking among shelters and admiring the craftsmen’s handiwork.

He spent days talking to old-timers, piecing together history from their stories. After his parents’ death, Heliopolis became a closed, military-controlled city. General Grant, then Lt. Col. Grant, took over after Harry Kane’s accident and forced retirement. Unexplained deaths in the city and the lake massacre followed. Howling Wolf noticed these targeted time travel opponents, suspecting others died wired into the machine. The military hunted Ron and Rachel’s secret research group, but Howling Wolf warned some to escape. None of the original group lived in the village now.

Other citizens, opposing the occupation, formed the village to continue the social experiment with elderly and children, advancing the utopian vision. The military used it as a pretext for presence, later returning Heliopolis to civilian control with Federation oversight—or so the official story went. Howling Wolf, the unofficial spokesman, shaman, and healer, trained his grandchildren as successors. No one had seen him for days, but they weren’t worried, given his habit of appearing and disappearing.

Tobal returned for circle in time. A light drizzle of rain pattered on damp robes, heightening the irritation. It was late morning, and he looked for Becca, Fiona, or Nikki but didn’t see them, wondering if they still waited at Sanctuary. He asked Zee and Kevin, who were nearby.

Zee answered sourly, “They dumped their newbies off this morning to be initiated and proclaimed them ready to solo. Then all three left for Sanctuary again. They didn’t even stay for the initiations.”

“It’s not right,” Kevin added. “People care more about Journeyman status than proper newbie training. Rushing through and skipping initiations is wrong.”

“I’ve thought a lot about this myself,” Tobal said, looking at both. “I’ve attended every initiation since arriving, not just for my newbies. I believe it’s vital to support and encourage each other. Still, I’m unsure how much training is truly needed. I spent an extra month preparing Nick, Fiona, and Sarah for winter, yet Tyrone, Crow, and Llana needed less—Llana barely a month.”

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

Nevertheless no one seemed to pay any attention
to the ugly one but I. And sometimes it seemed to me, as if a
chirping and whistling sound as of mice came out from his
bulging satchel. Not infrequently he rolled his squinty eyes
toward me and laughed impudently at me, as if we were old
acquaintances. I racked my brains, in fact, to find out where I
might have seen this mask before, but as hard as I tried, I could
not think of it.
After a while, a beautiful carriage stopped in front of the
inn, and several handsome merchants entered the drinking
room, and were very courteously welcomed by the innkeeper’s
wife and the barmaid.
Then I thought that it was now time for me to go, and
crept out of the door.
But when I found myself on the wet street in the roaring
dew wind, I held my fluttering rags with my hands to cover the
worst of the bare spots, there was such a shrill laugh right next
to me, that I collapsed. The man with the hunter’s hat walked
next to me, as if he had been my companion all his life, and
looked at me piercingly from the side.
“Well, your Baronial Grace,” he grumbled, “what
peculiar garb I must find you in again. The new, lavender-gray
little coat suited you better that day, when you were watching
with your strict father, as the magistrate cracked Heiner’s rough
bones.”
I looked up, now I knew where I had seen him. It was at
Zotenbock, where he had been hanging around in the linden
trees, eavesdropping at the market place.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Me? I’m just Fangerle,” he replied, suddenly quite
humble. “I’m glad when, with much toil and trouble I fill my
blue satchel so that my master, who is called the Highest-
Lowest, can be content. I now have an extremely annoying job
and would be really happy if someone wants to take some of
the work off my hands. It is nice money to be earned. Don’t
you feel like it, your Baronial Grace?”
“Listen,” I said, raising my ash stick. “I am in great
distress, but if you have come with your gallows face to mock
me, then I will show you that even in rags I can still be a
gentleman, if need be.”
He ducked his head as if he were afraid, and asked me
not to be rude. He was a joker by trade, he said, and as such
earned a lot of money at peasant weddings and funeral
banquets. And whether I got angry if he said it now – it is a
disgrace that one of the house of Dronte is in such an outfit,
when it would have been no trouble to earn a bare hundred
thalers in a few moments. And before I could reply he reached
into his satchel with his crooked fingers and pulled out a
handsome canvas pouch, in which it clinked.
“A full hundred,” he whispered in my ear. “Hihi – hoho!”
he laughed, and it was as if an echo came down from the skies.
But it was only a great train of crows and Jackdaws,
which moved with Krah and Kjak in the sky, and when I
looked up, a crow detached itself from the flock, swooped
down and fluttered very low above our heads, so that I saw
how it moved its cunning, black ball eyes. At that the thin man
straightened up and called out to it:
“Black Dove, go and tell the Highest – Lowest, that
Fangerle is on the way and to take the quiet one his
consolation!”
“Krah – Krag!” cried the bird and shot after the others.
“What are you chattering about?”
I prevailed over my uninvited companion, who was
jingling his money bag.
“What are you talking about?”
“This?” he gave in reply. “One of my jokes, nothing else.
Remember: If you’re riding in a wagon and there is a barking
mutt, like your master father’s black Diana, following behind,
you need only turn and tell the animal where to go. Then it will
leave you immediately. This and nothing else I have done with
the raven. Otherwise Master Hämmerlein’s songbird would fly
with us.”
My eyes were glued to the clinking money bag, and I
thought of how I could equip myself with a hundred thalers and
become a human being again.
There was another strange squeaking in his satchel.
“What do you have in it?” I asked, pointing with my
finger, “that it squeaks like that?”
“There in the blue satchel?” The merchant made a face.
“It’s little animals that I’ve caught and bring them to their
place.”
“What kind of little animals?” I pressed him.
“Soul mice, tiny soul mice that I’ve been gathering
around there.”
“Soul mice?”
“It’s just a word,” he laughed, reaching into the sack and
quickly pulled out a small, shadowy-gray thing that wriggled
and screamed. Quickly he hid it again, and although I had not
been able to see what it had actually been, a violent shudder
ran through my body.
Then came a howling gust of wind and almost pulled me
down. The money bag fell out of the old man’s hand. Flashing,
brand-new thaler pieces rolled out. He quickly picked them up
from the ground and threw them back in with the others, and
once again my desire for all that money awoke.
“What must I do to make the money mine?”
He stopped, rolled his eyes, and muzzled his mouth.
“In a moment, my boy, my brave boy, just be patient until
we reach the two Ka- Ka -“
A fit of coughing almost tore his throat.
I followed the direction of his outstretched hand and saw
a chapel by the road, not far from the village I was walking
toward. I hurriedly strode and the merchant, who suddenly
seemed to get sour from walking, only followed with difficulty.
When we came to the little church, he stopped, bent over
and scratched himself with his nails behind his pointed ears,
with his mouth hanging down.
“Now you will tell me,” I said angrily, “or do you think
you can continue to mock me?”
Then he became completely submissive, bowed to me
and said softly and almost shyly:
“Baron Dronte, I am a coward, and I am afraid of many
things that a brave soldier does not fear. There is one lying in
there, and he’s dead, so he can’t bite. In his hands are two
wooden sticks, one long and a shorter one, which I must take
from him for all the world. It is only a handle and a hitch, so he
must leave them.”
“That would be robbing a corpse,” I stammered, startled.
“That would be the gallows.”
“Many names exist for the businesses in which there is
much to earn. And there are many gallows, but most stand
empty.”
Under his broad hat, his eyes glistened like St. John’s
beetles.
“I’d love to,” he croaked hoarsely, “but I can’t touch such
sticks. Everyone has their own characteristics. Like, for
example, many a man would rather die than touch a toad with
his bare hand. “
“What kind of sticks are they, for which you have such a
great desire?”
“Don’t need them,” he hissed crossly. “Only that the one
in there shall be free of them.”
Again there was a clang and a sound. My wound hurt.
The water stood in my pierced shoes and bit open my frostbite.
“I’ll do it,” I said, and reached for the door handle. He
looked at me like a hawk. It dawned heavily. The wind rumbled
over the steep roof of the chapel. The trees rustled.
I entered.
In the middle of the whitewashed room, in the corners of
which the darkness was already eerily stretching, there was a
coffin in front of the altar on the collar. A single light flickered
at its head end. A guard sat on the floor and slept. Next to him
glittered an empty bottle.
In the open coffin, however, lay an old, distinguished
man with a face in which life had drawn furrows and wrinkles.
He was dressed in a new coat made of black, watered silk; also
the vest, the leggings and the stockings were black. A white,
well coiffed state wig framed the wax-yellow, smartly pinched
face. In his folded hands he held a small wooden cross.
I had seen many dead people and even had to help bury
them. I didn’t feel much at the sight of lifeless bodies that were
left to decay. But this old man with his wise and so unmoving
face, in which countless joys and sufferings had been marked,
this defenseless man, whose guardian lay there in deep
drunkenness and left him defenseless and exposed to
everything that might befall the lonely church. I took pity on
him. And what was I supposed to steal from him?
Then I recognized it: It was the death cross, which his
hands were holding tightly. I was supposed to snatch it from
him.
This should not be difficult. I took hold of the cross. Who
sighed there? I almost fell to the ground from fright. But then I
got hold of myself, remembered that the dead are dead forever,
and reached out my hand again.
But I lowered it. What did it matter to the merchant with
his disgusting eyes of a bitch, whether this deceased was
brought under the lawn with or without his cross? And now he
would give me a talking to, the barnacle-eyed fellow with his
thalers.
I went toward the door. It was only two steps, but I
looked back at the dead man. He was lying quietly and
peacefully, and as if in great fear, the pale fingers closed
around the cross.
I had to think of the despicable guy who had hired me.
How could this madman or villain think that I would take the
cross of a lifeless man away from him?
What had he been chattering about, how the ravens
flew over us?
“To take the silent man’s comfort -?”

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

He was a tall, very young boy with sunken cheeks. Apart
from his pants and shoes, he was wearing only a dress shirt.
He was shivering from frost and fear. Kregel was his
name.
All the sticks stood steeply in the air. Two sergeants
walked at our backs to see who would be casual about the
beating.
The drums started pounding and the man was pushed into
the alley. He ran. The sticks whistled, clapped down on him,
the tatters flew off his shirt and skin. He shouted something
that you couldn’t understand. I hit him on the neck, and saw
raw flesh splattering. But he was through, and outside he fell
down on all fours. They grabbed him and pulled him up. He
groaned.
“Forward!” shouted the provost.
The deserter’s eyes protruded out of their sockets, saliva
ran from his open mouth. His lips were torn. He was running
again. The sticks struck smacking, blood ran, and chunks flew.
The man jumped, bent down while running, whined like a dog,
stretched out his beaten and swollen hands, pulled them back
screaming when a blow hit the knuckles, fell to the ground and
collapsed like a sack at the end of the double row. He lay
motionless, gray in the face. One could see his heart beating
furiously under the bleeding skin; under the back, on which he
was lying, a dark pool formed.
The army doctor came, took a breath and laid his hand on
the ribs of the prone man, then beckoned two soldiers and told
them to turn the unconscious man over. Then he pulled out a
bottle of wine spirit from his bag and poured it on the torn back.
With a piercing cry of pain, the runner came to.
“He’s beeping again!” said the man next to me, Wetzlaff.
“They always recover their strength with the palm leaf!”
They picked up the senselessly slurring man and pushed
him into the alley for the third and last time.
But this time he did not get far. After a third of the way
he fell down, and as much as his comrades tried, even from
behind by beating him with a stick urging him on, he did not
move any longer.
“Now he is done for!” said one of them, and the sticks
lowered.
But all of a sudden the fallen man jumped up and shot
like an arrow through the alley. A few blows hit, the others
missed. Furious, the corporals beat those who had allowed
themselves to be fooled.
“Such a false dog – such a cunning scoundrel!” they
scolded.
Outside the alley, the runner stood still and smiled in
spite of his pain.
From above came a peculiar giggling sound. We looked
up. At the windows of the officers’ quarters stood a number of
preened ladies, holding handkerchiefs in front of their mouths
and laughing their heads off.
“Plum – plum – berum!” Warned the drums, urging us to
move in.

In the guardroom, an oil sparkle was burning. The wall
was thickly stained with squashed bugs. The bottles of brandy
were empty, and the tobacco smoke drifted in blue clouds
under the sooty ceiling. It had been a retreat for a long time,
but no one stretched out on the cot.
“If only she comes, Kinner!” said Private Hahnfuss, “but
such prizes are smarter than clever!”
But he had not yet finished speaking when the door
opened and Wetzlaff entered with the girl.
The sergeant nodded, looked at the thing with a half a
glance, and then, as if by chance, walked quickly out of the
guardroom. Behind him the door was immediately locked and
barred.
The soldier-Catherine now stood alone among the many
men in the middle of the room and looked from one to the other.
Her cheeky smile became anxious and shy. Her hood was
crumpled, the striped skirt was stained, and the heels on her
shoes were badly worn. She scratched her hip. But when
everyone remained silent, she became afraid and made a
movement as if she wanted to run away. She threw a stray
glance at the closed door and then she said with a gulp in her
throat:
“Well, you won’t let me out, boys?”
“That’s the way it is, girl,” said the corporal, putting the
burning sponge to his pipe.
“You lied to us. Didn’t you?”
“I keep my mouth shut,” she said, “what’s this all about?
What am I supposed to have lied about?”
“We asked you once how it was with your internal health,
girl – didn’t we? Because otherwise – we would not touch you!
And now look at Beverov! – Come here to me, Beverov!”
One of the guards stepped forward. The corporal opened
his coat, vest and shirt.
The man’s chest was covered with nasty red spots.
“Do you know what that is, little Cathrine?” the corporal
asked treacherously. “They are – real Frenchmen aren’t they!”
In the girl’s face shock alternated with fear and anger.
“From me? From me?” she shrieked and put her hands on
her hips. “You pack of louses, you tripe eaters – I’m still with
the sergeant – let’s see if -“
“It’s the same!” the corporal interrupted her and at the
same time hit her so hard on the mouth that she cried out.
But then she was silent. A drop of blood stood on her
lower lip.
“Down with the skirt!”
She screamed, squealed like a rat, kicked her feet and bit.
But it did her no good against the fists that were angrily
attacking her from all sides. In a few moments she was
standing in the pathetic nakedness of her spent body, writhing
under the hard hands that held her wrists and arms.
“Bring the lamp!”
The corporal shone the oil sparkler all around her. A hot
drop fell on her skin, making her cry out.
“Don’t worry – you’re not going to be roasted!” he
reassured her. “Look, comrades there -!”
And he pointed with his finger to many white spots,
which clearly stood out from the brownish skin of the neck and
the shoulders.
“Do you still want to deny that you have the French, are
contaminated and infectious, you lout, you?”
She did not answer. But then she raised her head and spat
her reddish saliva right into the corporal’s face.
“Well wait, you human!” He said calmly and wiped his
face with his sleeve.
“What do you think comrades? I’m for some horseplay.”
“Do it!” everyone shouted. “Horseplay!”
“You are a fungus from birth,” continued the corporal,
blowing the stinging smoke of his smoldering pipe into her
face. “What do you want to be? A fox – or what?”
“Damned pig,” she hissed and cringed, snatching at the
restraining hands and snapping.
“I want out! Let me out! Let me out!”
“Black is my favorite color!” the private shouted into the
hubbub. “Give me the boot polish -!”
Amidst roaring laughter, in which the voice of the
desperate creature was drowned, they spat into the jerk-off
boxes, dipped the coarse brushes into them and went to it.
So far I had sat on a cot as in half anesthesia and watched
the incomprehensible to me happenings. But now I was seized
with horror and agonizing pity for the miserable, broken and
destroyed creature. I saw how they reached for her, heard the
insane shrieks and screams of the martyred woman, as they
dragged her by the hair and stepped on her bare feet with their
clumsy shoes. She squirmed like an eel, screamed with a squeal
when one of them approached with a whip in his hand,
whimpered for mercy and in one breath uttered the most vile
curses.
“What do you want with the wench?!”
I shouted at Wetzlaff and held him by the sleeve.
“Well first she must be scrubbed shiny,” he grinned in my
ear. “And then she must run at the long leash until she can no
longer. That’s our horseplay, boy!”
A shrill scream went up. The corporal had grabbed her
from behind and held her tightly, however much she resisted.
“Go for it, comrades!” he encouraged the others.
Then I jumped over, tore his hands from her trembling
body and stood wide in front of her.
“Let her go!” I shouted loudly. “Let her go!”
“Oho!” he roared back at me. “Look! Dronte!”
With his fists clenched and his face contorted in anger
Wetzlaff stepped toward me.
I looked at him firmly and calmly.
His angry eye strayed from mine, his clenched fists
opened.
The others fell silent, looking at me as if amazed.
“Comrades,” I said, “have mercy. She is not guilty. And
she is as poor and abandoned as the rest of us!”
No one answered.
I went to the door, without anyone trying to hinder me
and opened it. Then I bent down, picked up the prostitute’s rags
and gave them to her.
“Go, Cathrine!” I heard myself speak, in the surrounding
silence.
She stared at me with wide eyes, bent down as if to kiss
my hand, then laughed hoarsely and was out in one leap. We
heard her walk on bare soles along the stone-paved courtyard.
Nobody said anything.
Slowly, people put boxes and brushes to their designated
places. One of them yawned loudly.
Then Wetzlaff laughed strangely, stood in front of me,
swayed his head back and forth and looked at me penetratingly.
“It is so,” he growled. “Dronte has it in the gaze- He has
the power in his eye.”
No one remarked anything to it.
Silently they stretched out on the hard cots to get some
more sleep before Ronde arrived.

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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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