The glasses were still clinking when the old count also took the floor: “My dear friend Reichenbach has given the father our little Friederike well-deserved praise, but having children is a matter that involves at least two people, and if we men were alone in the world, the emperor would soon have no soldiers left. So let us not forget the mother of today’s christened child, who sadly cannot be with us today because the stork bit her leg a bit too hard. We wish her a speedy recovery and the return of her strength. But we should also honor another woman to whom we owe a thousand thanks. ‘Honor the women,’ our great Schiller already said, and truly, he was right, for it is women who bring sunshine into our lives and adorn it with the roses of love and loyalty.”
The old count paused and lowered his gaze into his half-raised glass, as if he saw something reflected there that made him pensive.
“Reinhold!” Ottane whispered to her brother. “Pass me a Linzer Kränzerl. No one’s looking.”
Reinhold saw all eyes fixed on the speaker; they were unnoticed, they could risk it. Carefully, his hand crept across the tablecloth to the tempting dish and snatched two of the round, golden-yellow, fragrant cookies—one for Ottane, one for Hermine.
“You’ll have no doubt who I mean,” the old count resumed, his voice thick with emotion, “none other than the good angel of these houses and huts, who has bestowed a thousand blessings and deserves a thousand thanks. There’s likely no family in this valley that hasn’t experienced the kindness and generosity of this woman who hasn’t found her a comforter and benefactor, a helper in misfortune, and a sympathetic friend in good times. This time, too, she has shown our good Ruf that she shares in the joys and sorrows of even humble people. So I believe I speak for all when I say: our hostess, the godmother of little Friederike, our esteemed Frau Director Reichenbach, may she live long—cheers, cheers, cheers!”
The speaker unleashed enthusiasm—who could toast more sincerely than this woman, so different from the stiff, formal, aloof old countess? Everyone knew the dishes sent in her name went on her husband’s account.
But as the old count leaned toward Friederike Luise to clink glasses, she said with quiet reproach, “Why did you put me on the spot like that?”
“Please,” the old count defended, his voice still trembling slightly, “let me at least once say what I think of you. Forgive me.”
Then Frau Paleczek signaled that the children’s great table delights could begin—the Linzer Kränzerln, gingerbread, preserved nuts, candied calamus. The christening cake was cut, the strawberry punch served, and the mood grew ever cozier toward evening.
The first to leave was the doctor: “I must still check on Frau Ruf, and I have a patient at home who needs me.”
The others rose from the table and left. Forester Ruf pressed close to Reichenbach, grasping his hand, his eyes glistening with tears and wine. “Herr Director… Herr Director… forever… forever your grateful… to you and the gracious Frau… an honor till my dying day… I’d let myself be cut to pieces for you…”
His tongue stumbled, reluctant to obey, but his heart was deeply moved. “Alright, Ruf,” Reichenbach soothed, “stay steady, just do your duty well.”
As the guests departed and the children started to leave with Herr Futterknecht, Reichenbach called his eldest back. “Reinhold! What’s the seventh commandment?”
Reinhold stood rigid and paled. Merciful heavens, did Father have eyes everywhere? “Thou shalt… not steal!” he stammered.
Two hefty slaps landed on the boy’s cheeks. “There! One for each Linzer Kränzerl. And you’ll write a hundred times: I shall not be naughty at the table. That’ll be on my desk by noon tomorrow. Good night.”
Frau Friederike Luise took a vase of roses from the table and carried it to the bedroom. “You shouldn’t always be so harsh with the children,” she said as her husband followed.
“Should I just let such nonsense slide? When even Futterknecht doesn’t keep a better watch! Honestly, he deserves a slap too.”
“I saw it too. Reinhold slipped them to Ottane and Hermine.”
“It’s always better one slap too many than too few. Today Reinhold didn’t know a thing about chromite again.”
Next door, Frau Paleczek bustled, barking orders in her rough bass voice to the maids clearing up. Frau Reichenbach removed her hairpins and loosened her hair before the mirror. “Don’t you think love is the best way to raise children? They’re afraid of you.”
“Oh, nonsense. They can’t learn soon enough that life demands you stay sharp and it’s no child’s game.”
With a small sigh, Friederike Luise dropped an object, letting go of a matter they’d never agree on. “Aren’t you going to undress?” she asked, starting to unbutton her blouse.
“I’ve got to head to my study,” Reichenbach said. “Tomorrow, I’m making a new contract with the old count—I need to draft it. We’ll grow sugar beets, big scale, and produce sugar. If it pans out, I’ll buy Reisenberg near Vienna—a proper castle, and you’ll be a castle lady.” He chuckled briefly, placing a hand on her bare shoulder. “By the way, I think the old count’s a bit sweet on you.”
Big eyes stared at him. “Karl, how can you say such a thing?”
“Oh, come now!” he smiled with a sly grin. “Let him have his fancy. I’d believe his heart doesn’t warm to the old countess. And I know you’ve got no eyes for anyone but me.”
With that, he went to his study to draft a solid, profitable contract that would secure him a good share.
On the swing sat little Ottane, with Reinhold keeping it in motion.
“Higher!” Ottane squealed, kicking her thin legs. Her brother strained, stretching himself so that he could just barely touch the swing’s seat at its highest point with his fingertips.
“Now I’m flying!” Ottane crowed. “Now I’m flying into the sky, right through the clouds!”
“What do you see up there?” her brother asked, panting.
“I see lots of sheep on a green meadow. Nothing but—”white sheep. They have blue ribbons around their necks. No, some have red ones too. And they sing…”
“Sheep can’t sing,” Reinhold corrected.
“Oh, yes, the heavenly sheep can sing.” Ottane was indignant that Reinhold wouldn’t believe her sky-sheep could sing.
“If you talk such nonsense, you’ll have to get down,” said her brother, stopping the swing. “It’s Hermine’s turn now. Hermine!”
Hermine was kneeling in the grass by the flowerbed, holding a thick green seedpod in her hand. “Never mind,” she said, “I don’t want to.” She had other things to do; with a sharp little knife, she was already dissecting the elongated pod, carefully studying the arrangement of the snow-white, soft seeds in their tiny cradles.
Ottane obediently climbed off the now-still swing and walked slowly, a bit sadly, to her sister. “Is that why you don’t want to swing?” she asked. “There’s nothing better than flying like that.”
“Look!” Hermine held up the sliced pod to her sister. “See how beautifully the seeds lie side by side.” She pursued the life and growth of the plant world with passionate zeal, dissecting stems, flowers, and roots; her neatly kept herbarium had reached a tally of about five hundred specimens.
“No,” Ottane disagreed, “the whole thing is much nicer.” With a faint pang of regret, Ottane watched for a while as Hermine’s knife continued its work of destruction. Then she put her arm around her sister’s neck: “There’s a huge cake with a seven on it, and Friederike. And whole mountains of gingerbread, sooo high, and candied calamus and preserved nuts—”
“Father’s coming,” Reinhold said, standing by the girls, his voice carrying a note of warning. The children looked up, a ripple of tension and composure running through their bodies.
Reichenbach came through the garden, bringing with him the gravity of life, judicial sternness, responsibility, duty, and a faint unease about the incomprehensible. Only Ottane ran to her father, wrapping her arms around his knees. The other two stood stiff and alert, an unyielding will casting a shadow over them.
“Have you done your lessons?” Reichenbach asked, and the children nodded, Reinhold with a slightly guilty conscience, for two of his six math problems remained unsolved.
“Is Mother back from church yet?” he asked further. No, the christening party hadn’t returned yet; but the old countess had sent a ham and Linzer cookies, Ottane reported, and Frau Paleczek had arrived, putting on a large white apron and a white cap, looking so funny with her dark face, like a fly in buttermilk, Ottane thought.
Reichenbach stroked Ottane’s blond head, listening for a moment to the clatter of plates in the large room on the first floor, where the christening feast was being prepared, and to the booming voice of Frau Paleczek, who had taken command over the maids.
“She sent us out to the garden,” Ottane confessed,— “She doesn’t need us; we’re just in her way.”
Now Reichenbach noticed the sliced seedpod in Hermine’s hands. “Well done!” he praised. “What’s the plant called? Iris germanica. Repeat!”
“Iris germanica,” Hermine recited obediently.
“You’ll write down what you found while dissecting it. The work will be on my desk by noon tomorrow.”
“Father, what’s that?” Ottane asked, tapping the small linen sack Reichenbach held in his hand.
“Well, that’s something special.” Reichenbach lowered the heavy sack to the ground, reached in, and pulled out a black stone. It looked like a dark-brown coal with a host of strange bumps and hollows, as if it were made of a dark, molten glass fused into a lump. At the fracture, it was blue-gray, speckled with iron-gray and yellow flecks.
“What is it?” Reinhold asked eagerly.
“It’s a stone that fell from the sky,” Reichenbach said. When he spoke to the children, his Swabian dialect was scarcely noticeable. “And when it hit the Earth’s air, it shattered. That was a few days ago, at night, but you were all asleep, of course, and didn’t hear a thing. The foolish people say it’s a sign and means trouble. But it was just a stone—granted, a stone from the sky. And we’ve been searching for the pieces, hundreds of them, scattered in an elliptical— pattern, like a strewn field. The smaller pieces fall almost straight down, while the larger ones continue their slanted path. Remember that, Reinhold—you’ll work on a problem about it, and it’ll be on my desk by noon tomorrow. What you see on the outside here is a fusion crust. That comes from the tremendous speed and heat. And what’s inside the stone? I’ve already examined some of the pieces in the laboratory and found various minerals—nickel, labradorite, hornblende, chromite. Reinhold, what is chromite made of?”
Reinhold stared at the stone, a heavy unease sealing his lips. Chromite, my God, chromite—what’s it made of? He stayed silent.
“You don’t know,” said his father, his eyes hardening. “You don’t know. You’ll know it tomorrow and write it out a hundred times on my desk. It’s remarkable that these stones contain iron compounds not found in nature, but which we produce artificially in metallurgy.”
Reichenbach didn’t get a chance to expound further on these curious iron compounds, for now the sound of wheels rolling on the road was heard, and then the decorated carriages came into view, bringing the christening party back from the church.
Frau Paleczek poked her dark face, framed by the white cap, out of the open window and shouted, “Jesus, they’re already here!”
The children felt stones lift from their hearts, far larger and heavier than the ones that fell from the sky. They breathed a sigh of relief and ran to meet the guests. But Hermine still found time to give Reinhold a poke in the ribs. “Write it out a hundred times, ugh!” And Reinhold returned the poke with interest.
Ottane trailed behind slowly, lost in thought. A small tumult had erupted in her mind. Who was throwing these stones from the sky? On her green heavenly meadow with the singing sheep, there were no such black, ugly stones.
The christening feast was loud and merry. That Frau Friederike Luise Reichenbach had taken on the role of godmother for the seventh Ruf child turned the modest forester’s family event into a matter of significance, granting the father honors that dazed and delighted him long before the wine, provided by the old count from his cellar, took effect.
The pastor Mandrial was there, along with Dr. Roskoschny, the chemist Mader, and a dozen other senior officials from the Salm works, and, of course, the old count himself. He sat to the right of the hostess, and to her left, between him and the pastor, the proud father of today’s christened child swelled with a sense of boundless bliss and importance. He was clearly at a pinnacle of his existence, taking great care to match the refined manners and skill of the distinguished company around him. In doing so, he completely forgot the worries about his wife, who had been lying in high fever since the birth of the child, and the ominous head-shaking with which Dr. Roskoschny had stood at the sick woman’s bedside.
Reichenbach had taken his place between the chemist Mader and Dr. Roskoschny, who was Meineke’s successor as the doctor in Lettowitz. They were a welcome audience for his current obsession with meteors—their origins, orbits, and composition—especially since, alongside the already-convinced Mader, the doctor was a skeptic who still needed persuading.
At the lower end of the table sat the children next to their tutor, a poor, peasant-looking philosophy student named Futterknecht, whose name seemed to prophetically chart his life’s course. They were perfectly well-behaved and modest, but their eyes lingered with growing longing on the dish of the old count’s Linzer Kränzerln nearby, waiting for the moment it would be served.
But Frau Paleczek, midwife, corpse-washer, and indispensable fixture at every festive feast far and wide, kept bringing out new platters of roasted and baked poultry from the kitchen. Her quick eyes darted over the table and guests, and her face—blackened since time immemorial by some ailment—gave no hint of when she would finally allow them to move on to the long-prepared pastries.
“That’s how it is,” Reichenbach said, clapping the doctor on the shoulder. “You can believe me, and once I’ve thoroughly studied the material, I’ll write a major treatise on meteors that’ll push science forward a bit.”
The doctor shook his head, unable to accept what Reichenbach was explaining. “Couldn’t it have been an optical illusion?” he asked cautiously, with the tenacity of his old-school training, reluctant to abandon an opinion without proof.
“Optical illusion, please, Doctor,” Reichenbach snapped. “The old count saw it, and I saw it, and we were only on the second bottle of Forster Hofstück—where’s the illusion supposed to come from?”
The doctor stared gravely ahead. “For now, it looks like the common folk with their superstitions might be right.”
“Please, don’t talk like that as a man of science!”
“Haven’t you read about the epidemic in Hamburg?”
“What’s Hamburg got to do with us?”
“And last week it started in Prague. And since yesterday, I’ve had a case in Lettowitz that seems highly suspicious to me.”
Reichenbach paused. “What exactly do you mean?”
The doctor hesitated to say the word, glanced around, and then said very quietly, “Cholera! But please,” he added quickly, “keep it to yourself. The symptoms aren’t entirely clear yet. We don’t want to cause alarm among the people prematurely.”
A gray shadow fell over the table and the guests, a hollow-eyed specter in a blood-flecked shroud grinned palely through the loud, carefree merriment.
But Reichenbach wouldn’t let himself be daunted. “Oh, come off it,” he said brusquely, “with your cholera! In summer, it’s just stomachache season—people gobble cherries and currants and unripe apples, then gulp down raw milk, and there’s your cholera. Besides, if medicine was worth anything, it would’ve found a cure for it by now.”
“The best remedy for cholera is not catching it,” the doctor admitted. “Careful eating, plenty of fresh air, and staying away from the sick.”
“That’s not much wisdom to boast about,” Reichenbach scoffed. “And the best remedy for childbed fever is not having children!” Then he added, “How’s our Frau Ruf doing?”
“I hope we’ll pull her through,” Roskoschny said curtly.
A gesture from the hostess drew Reichenbach away from further attacks on medicine. It reminded him of his duties. With a sharp tap of his knife against his glass, Reichenbach called for attention and stood to toast the christened child and her proud father. After tossing in a few more jocular remarks about Ruf’s remarkable vigor and the blessings of his marriage, he urged those present to raise their glasses to the father and little Friederike.
By Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel
“I know,” Reichenbach replied gruffly, “nothing but trifles and side matters.” To him, all that had been achieved and accomplished were mere trifles and side matters; the great and decisive things always lay a bit further ahead in the dark, brittle, resistant unknown. Failures didn’t paralyze him; they spurred him forward. That thick Swabian skull knew no surrender.
The carriage jolted over the dark, rutted path, then the hooves clattered over small wooden bridges under which the Punkwa roared, the mysterious river of this landscape.
After a while of silence, Reichenbach said: “Sometimes it feels like there’s an evil spirit haunting my life. You know, don’t you, that as a young man I spent two months locked up in the Hohenasperg fortress?”
“Where Schubart was once imprisoned?”
“Yes. And do you know why? Because I wanted to emigrate to Tahiti with a few friends. Back then, Napoleon had made our own homeland unbearable for Germans, and the king was pressing all young men into military service. That’s why we weren’t allowed to emigrate and got locked up—because we didn’t want to fight Napoleon’s wars. And who betrayed our plan? I truly believe it must have been that same evil spirit. Because sometimes I think I’d be better off if I were with the Tahitians in the Pacific Ocean now. It’s always like this: I manage this or that, but when it comes to the real thing, it just doesn’t work out—there the devil puts his tail on it.”
The old count didn’t reply; he likely thought he should let his friend talk out his frustration. They had now reached the spot where the Dry Valley and the Od Valley meet. The waning moon had risen above the forest’s edge, sleepy and mute lay the Skala Mill, its white limestone cliffs glowing in the pale light. The stars had faded before the moon, except for the brightest ones; the Punkwa trickled silver over the stones.
The Salm hunting lodge was a simple wooden structure with a veranda on the upper floor under a jutting roof. They stopped, and the servant carried the bottle basket up the stairs behind them.
There they sat in the moonlight, and the old count Hugo let a greenish wine flow from a narrow bottle neck into bulbous goblets. “Forster Hofstück!” he said. “Your wine, Reichenbach! Cheers!”
A brief, bright clink of glass on glass, then the Punkwa’s rush grew louder again.
“I always think of Karoline von Linsingen when I’m in this lodge,” said the old count into the weave of the night, “the later Frau Doktor Meineke. She loved sitting here too. A remarkable woman.”
“Hm!” Reichenbach cleared his throat and tilted his goblet to catch the moonlight, making the wine sparkle.
“You know, your wife reminds me of Frau Meineke. She’s just as gentle and quiet, and been a bit dreamy. A remarkable woman. She was already dead when you arrived here. But you knew Meineke, and you were quite close with their daughter, Frau Teubner. I don’t know the whole story very well, but Frau Teubner gave you the letters of the deceased, so you know more about it.”
“God, an unhappy love affair,” Reichenbach growled.
It was a soft, gentle, soul-soothing summer night, perfectly suited for reflecting on an unhappy love story. And besides, it was time for Reichenbach to move on from the furnace that nearly blew them all sky-high. “Yes, she was,” the old count continued, “as far as I know, she was morganatically married to the Duke of Clarence, later King William IV of England.”
The Forster Hofstück had slowly begun to lift Reichenbach’s sullen and irritated mood. “They were properly married,” he said. “They were wed in Vermont, by a Scottish priest, all in secret. The queen tolerated the affair at first, as long as it was just an affair, but when it got serious, she raged against it and refused to recognize the marriage.”
“The quintessential mother-in-law,” the old count interjected.
“Karoline loved the prince dearly, but she was too proud and too noble to throw the entire royal family into chaos. She insisted the marriage could stand, but she gave in and agreed to the separation.”
The old count pulled the second bottle from the basket, poured, and asked in between: “And Meineke?”
“Yes, he was a doctor in Hannover back then and was called to Karoline when she was lying in a fever from grief and distress. They say she was out of her mind for a week, and everyone thought she was done for and ready to be buried. Only Meineke recognized that she was still alive and saved her from being put in the grave. And later, out of gratitude, she gave him her hand. But Meineke probably dressed it up romantically after the fact.”
“Why? Why dressed up?” asked the old count. An unhappy woman and a strange story, but that’s just how it was—there were ordinary stories and strange ones, and perhaps the charm of life lay in its peculiarities and mysteries. Why didn’t Reichenbach believe Doktor Meineke’s story? Surely there was some secret principle in people, something magnetic, a fluid or the like, that entered the body and left it again, and perhaps that was what made up life. The Indian fakirs with their tricks, right? They lie down, hold their breath, and stay as if dead for months, then get up, and everything’s as it was before. And the spiritualists with their table-turning and ghostly apparitions? It’s not entirely laughable. Maybe it’s true that they draw life force from their mediums, that magnetism, that certain principle, and then work with it.
“Oh, come now,” said Reichenbach mockingly from above, “don’t rack your brain with such nonsense!”
But the old count couldn’t be stopped when he got to talking about these things. And what about animal magnetism? That couldn’t be denied, could it? There was the case of von Linsingen. And he could tell a story from his own family, dreadful enough, that had happened to one of his own relatives. She had died and was properly laid to rest in the Salm family crypt in Bloup. The next day, the sacristan heard a clattering and rumbling under the church floor at night. The noise came from the crypt, and the sacristan told himself it could only be the countess making a racket—that is, though she had died and been laid in the coffin, her spirit was somehow, understandably, restless. So he locked the church and went home. The next day, the spirit was making a commotion in broad daylight, which, frankly, isn’t proper for a respectable ghost. The priest was called; he heard the uproar too. A Countess Salm finding no rest in her grave? Could a deceased countess Salm even haunt? One only haunts if they’ve left something unresolved in life, and a Countess Salm, even after death, has a duty to the family to keep her conduct above reproach. Besides, a church is a consecrated place, guaranteeing peace in the crypt. And what would people think of a church disturbed by a ghost? So, not a word of it; the priest made the sacristan swear to silence. The noise did indeed grow weaker and weaker, and after a week, it stopped entirely. But years later, when the crypt was opened again to remove a coffin, they found a human skeleton on the stone steps, and the countess’s coffin was open and empty.
Reichenbach shrugged. There could be no doubt about the truth of the account, but what was it supposed to prove?
“The life force,” said the old count eagerly, “that’s the great mystery. Where is the life force when the body lies in a death-like state? Or even when it’s asleep? It wanders around, maybe enters another person. That’s what they call possession. Or a demon. You yourself spoke of an evil spirit haunting your life.”
Reichenbach grew irritated, seeing his own words turned against him: “Oh, come on, sometimes you just spout that kind of nonsense!”
“No, there are still plenty of gaps in our science. They call Africa the dark continent. But I tell you, the human being is a far darker continent than Africa.”
The old count broke off; a glowing sign had suddenly appeared in the night sky. It had burst forth from the cluster of stars, right where a thin cloud was veiling them—a fiery ball, as big as the moon and brighter. It trailed a blazing tail, igniting the cloud with its light so that it flared like a fiery host, growing quickly larger than the moon, twice as large, six times, ten times… Had the heavens opened? Was its fire breaking forth to devour the earth? And now the blaze burst into a sheaf of colored light points; streaks flashed, darted earthward over the hunting lodge. Sparks sprayed as if from an iron block struck between hammer and anvil; three thunderclaps crashed down, followed by a rumbling that rolled away, chased by a whistling and whooshing, as if a monstrous whip were being swung between heaven and earth. Then came a cracking and snapping of branches in the forest and a splash in the water, like a stone hurled.
“Now, what was that?” cried the old count. “Did Saint Peter’s wood-carbonization furnace explode up there or what?”
The lantern, which had been all but extinguished in the onslaught of the heavenly fire, flickered back to life with its faint, earthly glow.
Reichenbach had leapt up, gripping the veranda railing and staring into the night. But nothing stirred anymore; the apparition had vanished, and the Punkwa rushed as before. Reichenbach returned, agitated, enraptured, inspired: “Did you see it too? Where did it come from?”
“From up there,” said the old count hesitantly, pointing with his finger to a spot among the stars, “at least, I think so.”
“Definitely from up there! Do you know what that was? It was a meteor! And we Salm folks saw it fall straight from the sky. Right from the heavens. But the know-it-alls don’t want to believe that stones can fall from the sky. Not until a few years ago near Paris, when stones nearly bashed their heads in. Tomorrow, I’ll go collect those stones—one must be in the Punkwa; you heard it too, didn’t you?”
“Well, Reichenbach,” said the old count, “there you see, there are still plenty of question marks between heaven and earth. But I’m glad that a heavenly boulder didn’t crash into our bottle basket.” And he pulled out the third bottle of Forster Hofstück.
*
As the two friends descended the stairs in the twilight of dawn, they found the old servant distraught and trembling, kneeling on the ground floor. His withered lips mumbled prayers.
“Now, what’s the matter, Johann?” asked the old count, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.
The old man struggled to his feet, standing shakily before his master with eyes full of mortal fear. “A calamity, gracious lord, a great calamity,” he stammered. “The heavens have given a sign.”
“The heavens haven’t given any sign,” Reichenbach snapped irritably, “except that your foolishness is crying out to the skies!”
“No, Johann,” the old count smiled soothingly, “the only calamity here is that those were our last bottles of Forster Hofstück, and we’ll need to order a new cask. You’ll remind the estate manager about it, Johann, understood?”
The carriage first took the old count to the castle, then Johann took the reins and drove Reichenbach home. He arrived in the bright morning; the bedding was already airing out in the open bedroom windows, and from the arbor at the back of the garden, the voices of the children could be heard, sitting with their tutor for morning lessons. At the garden gate stood the forester Wenzel Ruf. As Reichenbach climbed down from the carriage, the man doffed his hat, his face a tangled mix of urgency, shyness, embarrassment, and pride.
“Do you want something from me, Ruf?” asked Reichenbach.
The man twisted his hat, looked at the ground, swallowed, then glanced up again, sheepish but trusting.
“Has something happened?” Reichenbach encouraged the hesitant man.
“Yes, Herr Director—my wife gave birth to a girl last night.”
“Well, then… Johann, you were right after all.” Reichenbach turned, but Johann was already driving off, enveloped in a cloud of white limestone dust down the road. “So the heavens really did give a sign. Only, we don’t know if it’s a misfortune or a blessing. Your wife certainly picked a memorable night. So, how many is that now, Ruf? You’ve got quite a brood already, if I’m not mistaken.”
“It’s the seventh, Herr Director.”
“Thunder and lightning, Ruf, you’re outdoing even your name!” The forester let out a delighted, gurgling laugh.
“And what do you want from me? Besides my hearty congratulations, of course—”
“Well, Herr Director, since it’s the seventh, my wife thought it would be a special honor and mark of respect, and because Frau Director is so kind and has always had a heart for us and my children…”
“If I understand you correctly, Ruf, you want my wife to be the godmother.”
A blissful nod confirmed that Reichenbach had understood correctly.
“Well, alright, I’ll tell my wife, and I’m sure she’ll do it.”
A radiant glow of gratitude spread across the man’s face. He mumbled something muddled about never forgetting and eternal devotion. Then it was clear that, now certain of the outcome, he was eager to rush home with the good news.
“Go on, then,” Reichenbach allowed, “and tell your wife.”
As Wenzel Ruf was already some distance away, Reichenbach called after him: “And send me a few men right afterward—maybe ten—to help search for the shattered stones.”
OD by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel
Chapter 1
Today, great things are underway at the Princely Salm Ironworks in Blansko—decisive, momentous things.
The new gigantic wood carbonization furnace has been burning for the third day now. It is a Leviathan of a furnace; it can devour eighty cords of wood at once, and when it’s really going strong, its voice becomes a prolonged roar that echoes through the valley. It recalls the exodus of the Jews from Egypt; its signs are a gigantic smoke cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. The smoke cloud spirals out of the chimney like a yellow-and-brown mottled Nicene serpent, then gathers itself and rolls as a sluggish monster up the valley slopes, slowly disappearing into the forests amid shivering, tormented treetops. The pillar of fire is so bright that one can still read small print quite well from a thousand paces away.
Now the second machinist, Schnuparek, stands on the threshold of the chemical laboratory. Streams of sweat have carved bright furrows into his blackened face; he looks like a Negro with a skin disease, the whites of his eyes framing a frightened gaze. He twists his cap: “Your Grace… the acid has started to flow… but the gas…!”
The old count, who has been watching a tar distillation with Director Reichenbach and the chemist Mader, turns around: “That’s fine, Schnuparek, we’re coming. Just open both valves in the meantime.”
The old count and Reichenbach leave the chemist Mader alone with the tar distillation; they walk through the carpentry shop and then through the room where the artistic cast-iron pieces are displayed—statues after the antique, all sorts of Christian items, animals and large vases, the she-wolf from the Capitol, the Florentine Molosser hound, all cast in iron, very much to the buyers’ taste and cheap, cheap. The iron comes from the ground, and the wood grows in the immeasurable princely forests.
Between a Christ on the cross and the Capitoline she-wolf, they step out into the courtyard. The ground trembles, the windows of the long building in front of them rattle, the furnace hisses and roars. From the chimney, a hellish torch glows yellow and red into the encroaching twilight.
Black and helpless, people swarm before the wrath-trembling monster; the furnace doors glow, the pungent smell of wood acid forces the breath back and bores into the lungs. At the other end, at the valves of the distillation kettle, stands the first machinist Wostahlo, a small, stout creature of the underworld. In streams, the acid gushes from the pipes into the vats.
“Excellent,” praises the old count, “what’s the matter, then? It’s going splendidly.”
“I don’t know,” hesitates the machinist, “it seems to me it’s getting weaker.”
“Already now?” says Reichenbach. “Why, though?”
The furnace raises its voice to the roar of a prehistoric beast. “Like an old saurian,” laughs the old count.
“Exactly! Because it has to give up acid!” Reichenbach can’t help but say. But he walks around the furnace, places his hand on the wall of the cooling vessel where the pipes are supposed to release their heat. He pulls it back with a cry: “The water’s boiling!”
Schnuparek comes running: “Your Grace, please—the gas…!”
“Open all registers!” Reichenbach bellows back. “Let out the gas and hydrogen!”
It’s too late; a dull bang shakes the furnace. A giant fist lifts the thick walls, supported by heavy pillars—the entire armored vault—and slams it back down onto the ground.
And now there can be no doubt any longer: the stream of acid dries up, becomes thinner, just a thread, a trickle. It must have found another way out, pouring into the interior of the furnace. Boiling steam hisses out from the joints of the cooling system; the explosions follow one another more rapidly, the masonry sways.
“To the devil!” roars Reichenbach. “To the scoop wheel! Do we all want to blow up?”
The men have lost their heads, but Reichenbach’s roar brings them back to their senses. They run, illuminated by a firelight that bursts from the shattered heating system. The explosive gas inside the furnace hurls itself against the walls, hammering with destructive fists against its prison; the demons of fire exult and jeer. God knows what the acid is doing.
“Look,” says the old count, “now the thing’s starting to glow.”
Indeed, the iron plates of the cooling system take on a red glow, slowly from the inside out; the rivets expand with a sigh. The water has evaporated; fresh air comes through the burst furnace doors, fanning the blaze ever more. A mad screeching pierces from the trembling structure.
“Water!” Reichenbach’s voice cuts through the tumult. “Quickly! Fresh water!”
A worker comes running: “Jesus Christ, sir, the scoop wheel’s done for!”
“Done for?” Reichenbach thunders at him.
“Done for! It’s not working! Someone’s messed it up.”
Now we’re really all going to blow up, thinks Reichenbach. And he grabs the old count by the arm, pulling and pushing, trying to tear him away from the hissing, howling demon that has rebelled against human control, slipped from the command of their will—away, just away from here. His mortal fear is not for his own safety but for that of his friend.
But the stocky old count has the muscle of a wrestler and the sturdiness of a bear. At Legnano, he held off the French long enough for his corps, threatened with annihilation, to cross the Etsch.
For he will not budge, and no one can move him from the spot. He braces himself against them; if Reichenbach and he were to flee, everyone would run, and the furnace would burst into pieces.
The scoop wheel is ruined; they rush with water buckets, pouring against the tide. But on the glowing walls, the water hisses into boiling steam, atomizing into scalding clouds that no one can approach. And greedily, the cracked furnace mouth sucks in air, mixing it with the flames and the gas that rattles the structure.
“Pickaxes here!” shouts the old count. “Pickaxes and wet clay!”
The heat singes hair and skin; embers from above add to the blaze. Blue flames flicker over the shingles and the roof’s timber; sticky pitch falls in burning, bubbling clumps that sear into human flesh. The chimney has shattered; tar and pitch have caught fire, setting the roof ablaze.
The old count has thrown off his coat. In shirtsleeves, he grabs a pickaxe and shows his men what he wants. He has, after all, often worked alongside them in shirtsleeves before, with apron and trowel, demonstrating tricks and techniques in molding and casting. The tool thunders heavily against the glowing boiler walls, tearing open gaps; steam surges out, the sharp point bites in all directions, and the red serpents within become visible. From the modeling workshop, they drag in troughs of wet clay. They’ve grasped what the old count intends: through the torn-open walls, shovel after shovel of heavy, damp earth is thrust, clinging to the— coils of the pipes, enveloping them layer by layer. All hands shovel, sealing the cracks and fissures of the furnace, cutting off the air supply, throttling the breath of the fire.
Hours of struggle follow, and then the danger is averted. The flames rage on, devouring wood and coal, intoxicated by gas, but they are tamed within the furnace’s interior; the broken chains are thrown over them once more.
“I think we’ve done it,” says the old count. “Now we just have to wait until the fire burns itself out.”
“It’ll take a good while yet,” says Reichenbach.
The old count washes his face and hands in a wooden tub of water and puts his coat back on. “You believe that, Reichenbach,” he smiles contentedly, “let’s head to cooler territory for a bit. And we’ve earned a glass of wine, too.”
*
They rode in a light carriage to the hunting lodge up in the valley. Midnight hung over the peaks, crowned with gleaming constellations, edged with a pale shimmer of moonlight.
“It’ll be done differently next time,” said Reichenbach after a long silence, as they passed the sawmill. “Now I’ve figured it out. The furnace needs shut-off valves and heating tubes so the fire can’t get to the wood so easily, and the gas duct should be extended thirty cords long and cooled with flowing water. This mustn’t happen again. I was a real fool. The gentlemen are always smarter coming out of a meeting than when they go in.”
“Please, Reichenbach,” replied the old count, encouraging the horse with a click of his tongue, “don’t make such a fuss about it. Everyone makes mistakes; you learn from mistakes, and trying trumps studying. It’ll all work out. The main thing is that no greater misfortune happened. How easily could someone have lost their sight in an explosion—better red-hot than blind.”
Of all the misfortunes in the world, blindness seemed to the old count the cruelest. He had come close to it himself, back when, after returning from French captivity, he was struck by an eye affliction brought on by the hardships and toils of the campaign. He knew what it meant to see a gray veil fall over the world and to have to grope along the nearest objects with a stick.
In Reichenbach’s mind, a defiant thought flared: Now more than ever! “As long as you don’t give up, it’ll be fine. I won’t let go. But it’s still a blunder. And when bad luck piles onto stupidity—”
“What do you want?” comforted the old count. “You’ve got nothing to complain about! Haven’t you built up the entire operation? The ironworks, the rolling mill, the artistic castings, the steam engines we build—the first in Austria—the enameled goods that go as far as Haiti and Singapore, all that bears the name Reichenbach. What—”would it be just a small-time operation without you? And the creosote and paraffin, the picamar, the pittacal, the eupion, and all those things you’ve teased out of the tar. That’s all nothing?”
A medallion pulse lingered as the High Priestess helped Tobal to his feet and showed him a small bowl of oil and a clay goblet of wine sitting on the altar. Moistening a finger in the oil of Svartalfheim, she traced a symbol in the middle of his forehead where his third eye was located. “I mark you with the triple sign.” “I consecrate you with the oil of Svartalfheim.” Dipping her finger in the wine of Vanaheim, she again drew a symbol on his forehead. “I consecrate you with the wine of Vanaheim.” “I consecrate you with the lips of Midgard,” she said lastly and softly kissed him on the lips. Then she handed Tobal a piece of paper. He recognized the Oath of the Apprentice written upon it. “Now you must sign the oath you have just taken.”
Tobal signed the paper as everyone cheered and applause erupted all around the circle. Looking around the circle for the first time, Tobal saw fifty or sixty people cheering and waving cups at him in celebration and congratulation. After the applause died down, the High Priestess first presented a knife, its blade humming with an earthly resonance. She handed it to him separately, and Tobal took it in both hands, feeling the energy it held—a deep, grounding vibration that pulsed with life and death. “This is your true weapon, blessed of Niflheim as a tool of life and death. It symbolizes the mastery of thought and intent over the material world. As you learn the art of survival in the wilderness, you will come to appreciate how important this simple tool can be. It will one day save your life. You will also use this tool in your dreams as your spirit grows stronger and is tested by your personal fears and demons.” She then presented the belt and sheath, which he buckled around his waist, the knife now secured at his side. The High Priestess gave him a decorated wineskin filled with the sacred vital life force of the Lady.
“This is the vessel of the Lady, the Holy Grail of immortality. From this we drink in friendship and in honor of them both. It is the emotional joys and pleasures of human companionship that make life deep and rewarding. It is in sharing our lives with others that we find purpose and reward. Life is an eternal celebration, and it must be celebrated with others lest we find ourselves alone and unloved. These are the tools of the Apprentice. In the second degree, you will learn other mysteries.”
Then, taking her own knife in hand, she said, “Brother Oak, to learn you must suffer and be purified. Are you willing to suffer in order to learn?” “Yes,” Tobal answered. Gripping his right thumb, the High Priestess expertly made a small cut. “You signed the oath with a pencil, but your Higher Self signs with the blood of your life.” She took his bleeding thumb and placed it on top of his signature. Then both she and the High Priest placed a drop of their own blood over his, saying, “I know you as a beloved brother. Our blood is forever mingled. I will defend and help you according to my higher conscience and Higher Self to the best of my ability.”
She gazed intently into his eyes, “Look at this oath that you have signed, witnessed by your Higher Self.” Turning, she stepped and threw it into the bonfire. He started as the paper burst furiously into flames. She continued, “As a symbolic act, this paper is consumed and purified by the flame of the bonfire until nothing is left but your pure intent. So also in reality may all levels of your being find their true place in the transforming fire of the Lord and Lady that are both found within your own heart. Your commitment and oath is between you and the Lord and Lady. It is not a matter for us. This simple act is a token and symbol of your desire to live in the spiritual light and to be purified in mind, body, and spirit.”
“Yet, this is not enough,” she continued. She took his wineskin and drank from it before offering it to him. “Truly the powers of your higher self flow ever into your being, and if you are open to the process, your life will be changed forever. Let the chalice of your soul freely receive the wine of your spirit and experience divine intoxication thereby.” At her gesture, Tobal lifted the wineskin and drank the mead. It seemed to glow in the firelight as if it were full of some vital energy that had a life of its own. He felt the warmth and energy spread through him, warmly bursting with love. As the golden fluid poured down his throat into his stomach, he could feel the warmth grow until he was standing in a large ball of energy and spiritual light, a transcendent Hel surge enhancing the taste.
Then the High Priest and High Priestess both placed their hands on his head, invoking the highest power of the Lord and Lady. The energy poured into him, sealing his initiation forever. The High Priestess said, “I now salute you in the name of the Lord and Lady.” Turning, she led him to each of the four smaller fires at each quarter of the circle and proclaimed loudly at each station. “Brother Oak has been consecrated Apprentice of our ancient craft and is become a Child of the Lord and Lady.” As she finished, the entire circle came forward in a wild celebration and swept over Tobal. The party had begun.
That night, as the party blurred into a haze, Tobal drifted into deep dreams. In one, he saw his parents, their faces etched with resolve, trapped in a rune-lit cell of Niflheim, their voices whispering of a hidden truth. In another, Lucas and Carla appeared, their forms shimmering with Hel’s light, guiding him through a crystalline rift with cryptic words of destiny. Groggily, he raised his head as Rafe shook him, grinning mischievously. “Hey, c’mon. We’ve got a lot to do today. You going to sleep all morning?” Tobal groaned and put his hands to his head. He had a splitting headache and a nasty hangover feeling in his gut. Must have had too much of the mead and home-brewed beer last night, he thought morosely. He rolled over and tried going back to sleep, but Rafe was shaking him again cheerfully. “C’mon, I’m not kidding. It’s a busy day. Let’s go get some breakfast.”
Tobal sat up and looked around, realizing he had been sleeping in one of the teepees he had seen yesterday. He didn’t have any idea how he had gotten there. There were empty blankets where other people must have slept, but they were all gone. He was the only one left. Sitting up, he looked bleary-eyed at Rafe. “What are we doing today?” He tried valiantly to ignore the throbbing in his head and the churning in his gut. Rafe gave him another light-hearted, good-natured poke with an elbow. “How does it feel to be a witch?” he asked cheerfully. “Perhaps I should say an Apprentice witch.” He chuckled. “An Apprentice witch?” Tobal mumbled. “I didn’t know I was going to become an apprentice witch! What the hell are you talking about anyway?”
Rafe hunkered down on his haunches, “I keep forgetting your parents are dead,” he said. “I can’t believe all of this is completely new to you. Most of us have grown up within the system and understand it.” “Well I don’t,” grumped Tobal. “Maybe you can fill me in on what I’m getting myself into here.” “There are three separate degrees in our system,” Rafe told him. “These three degrees correspond to the three degrees of the ancient mystery schools, the three degrees of ancient Freemasonry, and the three degrees of witchcraft. We simply call it the three degrees of the Craft.” “The first degree of Apprentice is concerned with learning the basic survival skills that will keep you alive in the woods during all seasons of the year. We are given gray tunics and trousers…by the way.” He grinned. “How do you like your new trousers?” Tobal flushed and grinned back, “They are pretty nice actually. It was getting kind of drafty after they shortened my robe.” Rafe snickered, “Well anyway, the color gray symbolizes the degree we are in. The second degree is black. You probably noticed your guards last night were wearing black?” Tobal grinned. He was starting to feel much better. “They were pretty rough too, but my guide was nice looking, that dark-haired girl?” Rafe ignored him, “That’s part of the Journeyman degree. The Journeyman degree is where you learn self-defense among other things.” Rafe looked at him quizzically, “Do you remember how you have to train six other people to solo before you can enter the Journeyman degree?” “Yeah.” “Well, to complete the Journeyman degree you need to beat six other people in hand-to-hand combat. That doesn’t mean how many times you get beat yourself,” he grinned ruefully.
He looked a little worried, and Tobal couldn’t help but think Rafe was a bit anxious about becoming a Journeyman. That was probably due to his small size. It was hard to think Rafe could beat anyone in a fair fight. “What about the third degree then? What’s that degree about?” he asked curiously. “Are they the ones dressed in red tunics and robes?” “Yes, they are dressed in red.” They are titled Master of the circle and accorded the highest respect. You never know when your life is going to be in their hands. Their obligation is to serve as emergency medics and to officiate during circle and initiations. They monitor the health and well-being of everyone. You will see them riding around on their air sleds. They monitor our med-alert bracelets and are instantly alerted if our vital signs change through injury.” He held up his silver bracelet to show Tobal. “If something ever goes wrong and we are badly hurt, our wrist alarms go off, and it is the third-degree Masters that give us the medical attention we need. Sometimes they are too late or nothing can be done. Other times they will take us to sanctuary or the hospital for serious injury or illness. Basically, they keep tabs on everyone and make sure we are healthy and doing all right. They serve as medics for three years. After three years of medical service, they are accepted as citizens into Heliopolis.” “Three years!” Tobal blurted. “It will take forever to become a citizen!” Rafe shook him hard and looked seriously into his eyes. “Don’t even think about becoming a citizen,” he warned. “Focus on learning and living right now in the present moment. Get this right, or you will not live to become a citizen.”
Tobal found his pack and carried it silently, thinking about what Rafe had just told him as they went off to find some breakfast. The second day of circle was pleasant. Rafe introduced him to many friendly people he instinctively felt comfortable with. Tobal wondered how many of these new friends Rafe had personally trained and helped solo. He noticed Rafe was well liked by many circle members. Even more interesting was a certain section of the circle that seemed to really dislike Rafe. Tobal wondered why. This small group went out of their way to be disagreeable to Rafe and to him. After one roughly pushed past him, Tobal asked Rafe about it. “What’s with those jerks anyway?” He asked. Rafe regarded him gravely a minute before answering. There are not many people claiming sanctuary in the winter. Some of these people have been Apprentice for three or more years. They might remain Apprentice for the rest of their lives if they don’t grow up and train someone. They either have no interest in training or no one wants to train with them. Some people pick a partner to train, fall in lust, become sex partners, and don’t care about advancing. Then there are others that want to advance and simply not enough people to train. It is highly competitive, and you really have to hustle if you want to advance. I’ve made some enemies. You’re my sixth trainee in a year. No one else has ever done that before. Another thing is that I’m younger than most of the people here. Some of the older people really resent me. They not only resent me. They resent the newbies I’ve trained because I’ve taught them to be competitive too. Some of these old timers are finding it almost impossible to get anyone to train. They don’t want to camp out at sanctuary for weeks at a time waiting for someone to show up like I did waiting for you. They are getting older and blaming the people I’ve trained for taking all of the newbies. There are some hard feelings out there, and some day something is going to happen. That’s why you have to be careful. Not everyone here is friendly. Some people would like to see you or me disappear or come up with a broken leg or something. Watch your back, brother, watch your back.”
Tobal thrilled at being called ‘brother,’ but a chill feeling of dread swirled around his tailbone. What had he gotten himself into, he wondered? The events of last night’s party were hazy, and he didn’t remember much. He did remember the initiation though and how powerful it had been. He said as much to Rafe. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to participate in other initiations and experience them more completely.” “In fact,” he grinned, “you can have an active part in every circle and initiation from now on if you choose. It is an important part of your spiritual training. That’s how we do it out here.”
As they walked toward the center of the camp, Tobal was surprised at how big it was and how many permanent log buildings had been built. This was his first real opportunity to see the camp in daylight. There were permanent structures like the sweat lodge nestled near a clear pool of mountain stream water. Others seemed to be just empty sleeping quarters. The larger log building where they were headed was the galley and stood out from the others. Teepees were being taken down and put away. It seemed some of the empty buildings were used for storage. The teepee seemed to be the favorite for those desiring a little more privacy. They were built with long poles lashed together at the top and spread out in a conical shape at the bottom. They were covered with the gray woolen material that seemed to be used for just about everything out here. Many were insulated with heavy furs fastened over the woolen material and tied into place. Tobal wondered in an amused way how many trips through the sanctuary building had been made to get that many of the gray blankets.
They were not the only ones getting ready to leave. Many others were already leaving or saying their final good-byes. Tobal was trying to remember the names of people he had met and failing miserably. He felt good though and found himself looking forward to next month when he would see them again. In the galley, they had a final breakfast of cooked venison, wild onions, and sweet potatoes. With bellies stuffed, packs and canteens full, they picked up their walking sticks and headed out of the camp.
They didn’t go back up the cliff but went down further through the valley and into the foothills. Rafe explained that nobody stayed near Heliopolis. His camp was about 40 miles away from sanctuary, and there were other camps even further out. Most people stayed no further than thirty to sixty miles from the gathering spot though. Everyone was expected to find plenty of food and game in individual areas that were not over-hunted and fairly private. It was mainly a nomadic existence, especially during the training phase. So you followed the food. At various times of the year, animals would migrate and move out of one area entirely and into others. Winters were hard, and people set up permanent camps with stored food caches to help survive when fresh food was hard to find. This time of year, the weather was mild, and the days were warm and beautiful. The snow was rapidly thawing, and new shoots of green vegetation ensured they wouldn’t have to worry about adequate food in a few more weeks. There were small animals and new plant life everywhere they looked, although it was still too early for any insects.
Shortly after leaving the gathering spot, Rafe said, “Give me your map.” Tobal handed Rafe his map, and Rafe marked an “X” on it. “This is my main camp,” he said. “We will be heading there first. That’s where I will show you how I make things and what a permanent camp looks like, especially in the winter. We’ll stay there a week or two while I teach you the basics you will need to know. Then for the last two weeks, we will go out and find you some new territory to solo in. Ok?” Tobal fought a knot of icy fear and managed to nod in agreement. He wasn’t quite certain about how easy this was going to be. Two weeks didn’t seem like very much time at all. “Ok, then,” said Rafe. “You know where my camp is now, so you lead the way!”
Tobal was momentarily confused. Then he understood and took his map back. He studied the spot Rafe had marked and compared it to where the mark for the gathering spot was. He knew they were about ½ mile north of the gathering spot and tried to orient himself on the map. The map showed Rafe’s camp lay about 50 miles in a northeast direction. Damn, he thought, Rafe certainly isn’t one that likes living close to the gathering spot. It would take a hard two days getting to his camp, maybe even longer if the terrain was really rough. He noticed something else. Rafe was making certain his map had sanctuary, the gathering spot, and Rafe’s own permanent camp on it. He felt a warmth of gratitude toward Rafe for that. If anything went wrong, he would be able to find help if he needed it.
Tobal sat down with the map, trying to puzzle out the best way to get to Rafe’s camp. He noticed that it was in some very rough country, which meant it would be at least three days and not two. “I don’t know if we can get to your place by going in a straight line.” Rafe grinned evilly, “It looks like 50 miles in a straight line, but it’s more like 100 miles the way we’ve got to go. It’s going to take us almost four days to get there.” Four days! Tobal suddenly felt very vulnerable and unprotected. How in the world was he supposed to survive in this God-forsaken place? He fought a rising panic and looked at the map again more carefully. Four days meant they were going to need water. He noticed a small stream 25 miles away and decided to make that their first camp. It was a little out of the way, but he felt it was a good idea to stay close to water.
He studied the map some more and decided the second day they could head straight north and set up a dry camp. The third day would be another dry camp, and they would reach Rafe’s camp sometime on the fourth day. They would also reach water on the fourth day before reaching the camp. He explained his plan to Rafe and showed him the map. Rafe studied the map thoughtfully. “Ya, we can try that,” he said. “You did a good job thinking about what you were going to do and made a plan. You also remembered we need water, and that’s very important out here. It looks like a good plan, and I’m willing to try it with you. Lead the way,” he said. As they began, Rafe added, “Yggdrasil guides us through these wilds, Brother Oak—trust its roots to show the path.”
Tobal pulled out his cord and undid all the knots in it. He aligned the red line on his compass for a northeast heading and surveyed the landscape, seeking the best pathway through it. Choosing his route between trees, he set out purposefully with Rafe following cheerfully behind him. It was rough going the next three days. He didn’t need to worry about water because it rained all the way to Rafe’s camp. Tobal was glad for the makeshift woolen poncho that kept him halfway warm even when it was wet. It was miserable traveling. A shadow flickered on day two, hinting at unseen eyes, but the rain masked its source.
He made a hat to keep body heat from escaping out the top of his head. It was welcome protection from both the sun and the rain since Tobal had fair skin that burned easily. Rafe had been insistent he had some type of head covering. One of the quickest ways of losing body heat was not having your head covered. Sunstroke and sunburn could be dangerous killers. In the wilderness, these things were not to be taken lightly. Tobal learned to move carefully and deliberately in the rain and slick mud, his sense of balance sharpening with each step.
Rafe continued his education by pointing out and gathering herbs. The unceasing rain made the snow disappear almost overnight. He explained about tinder and how to find good dry firewood even in the rain. Tobal learned to always have enough dry tinder and kindling to start a fire. He carried it with him in a pouch on his belt. He created the pouch by cutting some of the fabric off the poncho. He used the sewing kit to sew it together. He also used the sewing kit to mend some of his socks.
He made it a habit to gather small pieces of firewood as they went along so he didn’t need to look so hard for it at night. While it was more weight to carry, it was easier than looking in the rain and darkness for dry wood. Each evening, Tobal would select the campsite and start the fire under Rafe’s supervision. Together they would gather the rest of the evening’s wood and take turns preparing the meal. At night, they set snares for small animals. In the morning, they would check the snares and sometimes they would be lucky. Often they would find only an empty snare.
They couldn’t get warm enough in the constant drizzle, but the fire did feel good even if they couldn’t get dry. During the day, they also hunted for small game. Rafe and Tobal each cut a long strip of fabric and made a sling out of it. Together they practiced with small stones at various targets. The first day, Rafe hit a rabbit, and that night they ate rabbit stew. There was always some kind of greens for a salad.
Small animals were not all they would eat. Rafe showed him how to break open rotten logs and find the grubs within them. “They are better cooked in something,” Rafe grinned as Tobal fought off a wave of nausea. “Still, they are better than not eating at all. The large wood ants have a lemony flavor, but you need to make sure you bite them hard before swallowing, or they will try to crawl back up.”
By water, they set traps overnight for fish and set snares for small animals. If they caught anything, it was usually a rabbit or squirrel and went into the stew or was simply roasted. They ate the fish immediately. At noon every day, Tobal triangulated his true position on the map and made small corrections in their course. At times, he rethought the best route to Rafe’s camp from their current position. The wilderness often looked much different than it did on the map, and the differences took some getting used to. Some areas that looked passable on the map certainly did not look inviting in real life, and other times it seemed appropriate to take a shortcut that had not been considered.
In all this, Tobal was the guide, and Rafe simply listened and followed. Once in a while, he would make a comment about some of the changes in the plan that Tobal proposed, but he went along with them. At times, Tobal realized he had made a mistake, and hours were spent retracing the way back to their starting point. Still, with each success and miscalculation, he learned more about both reading the map and moving through rough country.
Late afternoon of the fourth day, they arrived at Rafe’s base camp. The rain had stopped, but they were soaked to the bone. It was in a secluded valley, and Rafe had to show Tobal the hidden entrance, or he would never have found it. The main camp was a large teepee with several small outbuildings made of logs. He had his own sweat lodge built next to a small mountain stream. There was also a rack for smoking meat and making jerky. The first thing they did was get into some warm dry clothes and fix a decent meal.
The rest of the first week passed quickly. They stayed in the area and set traps for fish and snares for smaller animals. Tobal learned the ways of each animal he hunted. Rafe showed him the game trails and what the individual tracks of each animal looked like. They smoked the fish and other meat so it would keep and not spoil.
In the evenings at the campfire, Rafe had him work first on a bow and then on some arrows so he could hunt larger game. He learned how to skin and dress the smaller animals like beaver, muskrat, and mink. He would carefully stretch and dry the pelts for later use as winter clothing. He learned the basics of tanning leather and made his first leather-crafted items. The weather was turning too warm to be wearing furs anymore, and the pelts would soon lose their value as the animals shed their heavy winter fur. He could always use some leather though and concentrated mainly on tanning leather.
Each morning, they explored the area, checking game trails and sneaking up on animals without trying to kill them. They had plenty to eat and practiced stalking larger game animals like deer and mountain goat. During the following week, Tobal learned more about tracking and how fresh an old track might be. He was getting fairly good with the sling and practiced every day with the bow.
Tobal stood on a flat rock at the cliff’s edge, looking down into the valley. The main camp was being set up below—log cabins, teepee-like structures, and a smoking fire pit at its center. The people looked like ants from this distance. He wondered how they’d make it down into that guarded valley, seeing no clear path. His sense of balance steadied him against the height.
Rafe said, “Don’t worry about it. I told you I know the way down. Just follow me.” Tobal re-shouldered his pack and took a last drink from his nearly empty canteen. Turning, he limped after Rafe. His left heel was raw and blistered from loosely tied boots—Rafe had really chewed him out and treated him from the first aid kit, warning that any open wound in the wilderness was very serious and could get infected easily if not cared for immediately. There was limited help available, and he had to take better care of himself.
The trail, a faint two-foot-wide path, sloped steeply downward. Tobal clung nervously to the rock face, his balance tested, as Rafe scampered ahead. The sun’s heat had melted most of the snow off the trail; they carried the snowshoes in their backpacks. Rafe sprinkled sand on some of the slippery spots, and Tobal used his walking stick to pound away the ice from stubborn areas. The ledge widened for comfortable passage with boulders to climb, hairpin turns, and stomach-lurching drops before narrowing again, hugging the cliff face so tightly that Tobal needed to move sideways along it. There were no handholds or supports, and it was slow going, made even slower by his extreme nervousness. He had never liked heights.
He half-slid, half-fell, but managed to stay on his feet. More than once, the sturdy support of his walking stick helped him keep his balance. Rafe had long since disappeared down the trail, and Tobal felt alone and abandoned. He went around a large boulder where the trail widened, and he heard a scraping sound on the rock above him. Looking up, he saw a large gray blanket being thrown over his head as he was roughly grabbed and thrown to the ground.
Tobal was bound and hoodwinked, his hands tied securely behind his back, and then roughly shoved by at least two people who led him further down the path for almost thirty minutes. His foot hurt badly, and he almost tripped and fell several times, but rough hands caught and held him steady as he staggered blindly along.
He was abruptly pulled to a stop and heard a loud knocking three times that echoed and hurt his ears. “Who is there?” a voice challenged. “A prisoner, Master.” “Where is he from?” “Master, he is from Neo-Rome and comes by way of Old Seattle.” “What is he doing here?” “He is claiming sanctuary at Heliopolis, city of the sun.” “What does he want from us?” “He cannot survive in the wilderness without our aid; he wishes for peace and seeks wisdom.” “Let him confirm his intentions with an oath. If your intentions are truly honorable you will be set free and received as a brother into our clan. Is this your wish?”
Tobal nodded his head under the hoodwink. “I can’t hear you,” the voice bellowed harshly. “You need to say ‘yes, you do’ or ‘no, you don’t’.” Tobal stammered in a muffled voice, “Yes, I do wish to become a member of your clan.” “That’s better,” the voice continued. “Repeat your name and say after me: I, Tobal Kane, am a helpless prisoner in your power. I am a native of Neo-Rome and claim sanctuary at Heliopolis, the City of the Sun where I seek citizenship, light and truth. I come in peace. I further demand by right of blood full participation in the mysteries of the Lord and Lady. I swear to hold these mysteries sacred and secret. If I break this oath.”
The hoodwink was roughly lifted, and a large chunk of rough bread covered with rock salt was shoved in his mouth. He started to gag, but a fierce voice whispered in his ear, “Eat it.” As he struggled to swallow, the deep voice continued, “If I betray the bread and salt may my body be mutilated and thrown to the wolves.” Panicking, he stammered his reply and felt the sharp pain of a knifepoint near his groin. Someone was cutting away the fabric of his robe, and the bottom half fell to the ground around his knees. He felt very exposed and vulnerable.
“Release the prisoner!” His arms were unbound, and the hoodwink was taken off. He blinked in the fierce sunlight and shivered in the cold as the wind swirled around his bare legs. He was standing in front of a teepee. The Master was standing in front of him, dressed in a red robe with a welcoming smile. “Tobal Kane,” he said, “welcome to our clan.” The fiery figure stepped forward and embraced him in a crushing bear hug. “Come in, sit down! We greet you as a brother and a seeker after the hidden wisdom of Heliopolis.” They entered the warm teepee, and Tobal sat on some warm furs next to the cheerful fire in the center of the circular structure.
The Master clapped his hands together loudly. “Proclaim the arrival of Tobal Kane to our entire camp!” “Yes Master,” a black-robed guard replied. Bowing stiffly, he backed three steps before turning and leaving the teepee. Tobal heard the guard shouting loudly, “Welcome Tobal Kane, the newest member of our clan!” Then he heard sounds of scattered applause, whoops, and yells of welcome.
The Master turned toward Tobal. “You will need the sign and password of our clan to enter our camp in the future. The password for the present month is…” and he whistled a tune that Rafe had been whistling from time to time. “Before you leave, I will give you the first of our teachings. Remember this and dwell upon it in the days to come. Those that wish to be free must submit to some form of discipline and organization. Tonight you will be initiated as an Apprentice and expected to complete the duties of an Apprentice. If you do not have the self-discipline, you will find your time among us very hard. Our goal is the development of self-discipline and personal freedom. If you learn your skills well, you will discover personal freedom and self-empowerment that you have never dreamed of. The rules of our clan are as strict as the rules of nature. A ‘Circle of Elders’ guides us in all things. Respect them and go to them for advice and counsel when you need to. Don’t worry about the apparent restrictions your obligations will place upon you. They are designed to free you and assist in the personal discovery of your own ‘True will’. In finding your own internal authority, you will no longer need our external authority. That is when you can follow your true destiny in life. It is our wish you find your own internal Master and allow him to guide you in all things. We have no way of knowing what your true destiny might be. You have the right to discover and follow your true path, and none of us shall ever stop you. We will place power and knowledge in your hands. Remember you have made a solemn oath to us of your good will and intention.”
“Now,” the Master clapped his hands and smiled, “You need to be prepared for your Apprentice initiation.” The Master and four black-robed guards led him to another teepee that had a fire burning within it. Tobal was introduced to five others who were also going to be initiated that night. He was left there to share a light meal with his new comrades. Several hours later, the Master and guards reappeared and addressed each of them. “Do you wish to take the Apprentice Initiation?” “It is my wish,” said Tobal solemnly along with the others. “Then you need to be properly prepared. Guard!” The Master indicated toward Tobal and the others. The guard silently took the small group to a sweat lodge and told them to purify themselves first by the steam and then by diving into the pool of icy spring water that was close by. Tobal dropped his clothing with the others and walked naked into the sweat lodge. There were three girls and three boys, but no one seemed to notice anything unusual about it.
Tobal sat in silence and meditation with the others for thirty minutes in the steam until the sweat was pouring off him. He had been instructed to choose a magickal name for himself. During this time, he had also been instructed to think about why he wanted to become an Apprentice. His thoughts naturally turned toward his parents and how they had somehow wanted this for him. The sweat poured off as his stiff muscles slowly loosened and relaxed. He felt clean and refreshed. He was also getting excited about the coming initiation. Two of the others had already left the sweat lodge, but he still hadn’t decided upon a proper magickal name for himself. Suddenly, it seemed his mother was whispering to him, “Brother Oak, you will be strong like an oak tree and help your brothers and sisters.” After another five minutes in the steam, he ran out and dived into the shallow pool of icy water, gasping as the shock took his breath away. He staggered gasping out of the pool and ran into the main teepee where he grabbed a blanket and began rubbing his body furiously, trying to bring the circulation back. He felt a bit strange and silly as he picked up his mutilated robe and put it back on. It was no longer a robe but more like a tunic that came down just barely below his waist. The cool air and a slight draft made him keenly aware of his lack of underwear. He made a mental note to make some as soon as possible. The unaccustomed draft made him feel vulnerable and uncomfortable.
He laughed and moved nearer to the fire, joining those already there. They joked about the coldness of the icy water and the draftiness of the shortened robes as they made room for him at the fire. That broke the ice, and they chatted as one by one they were taken to their initiations. Finally, Tobal was left alone in the teepee. He was warm by then and even opened the door flap and sat in the opening, looking out as he waited.
No one came for him as he sat meditating and watching the moonrise. He guessed it must be around midnight, and the moon was full and bright. The sky was very clear, and the stars were brilliant. Then he saw a black robe coming toward him in the moonlight with a torch. As the figure neared, Tobal saw it was a dark-haired girl. Feeling a little self-conscious, he scrambled to his feet and steadied himself.
She stopped in front of him, holding the burning torch in his face. “You are a lost and lonely soul wandering in the darkness and searching for light. Without wisdom, you are wandering blindly and doing harm to yourself. If you wish, I will act as your guide. Do you seek the light and wisdom of our clan?” Tobal answered, “Yes, I do.” “There are two passwords you must remember, or you will not be allowed into our sacred circle.” She slowly whispered, “Perfect Love” and “Perfect Trust” into his ear. “Can you remember these two passwords?” Tobal nodded in silence. “You must speak, Yes or No,” she demanded, shoving the torch at him fiercely. “Yes, I can remember them,” he stammered, backing away from the fire. “Come with me, but first I must blindfold you.” She took a strip of gray cloth and bound it tightly across his eyes so he couldn’t see anything.
She led him stumbling in the darkness toward the central fire he had seen in the distance. As they neared, he could feel its heat and hear the flames crackle. He could also hear the muffled stirrings of other people as they hushed to watch and listen. Another female voice spoke loudly from the center of the circle. “In the presence of Yggdrasil, the Great Tree of Life and the Lord and Lady, listen to our words. Whenever you need something, call upon us, the guiding spirits of the human race, male and female. We shall answer you and assist you in all things. You are meant to be free, to dance, to sing, to feast and to make love. Do these things all with our blessings, for the ‘Blessings’ of physical life and the ‘Blessings’ of spiritual life are as one within each human heart. Embrace your dreams and desires as you strive to make them real. Let nothing stop you or turn you aside. Accept our blessings and help because life is meant to be a joy of the heart. We, male and female, can be found within the dust of the earth and the light of the stars. Our awareness encircles the universe and binds it to our wills. In our union is the beauty of the green earth and the white moon among the stars, the mystery of the waters and the desires of the heart of man. We call upon your soul to join us in the creation of nature and the expansion of the life force into the universe. From the union of male and female, all things must come, and all things must return. Rejoice therefore in the duality of life and let your worship be acts of love and pleasure, beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence. Know that we are within you, male and female, and if you cannot find our union within yourself, you will never find it within another person. We will be with you at your death even as we were with you at the moment of your birth.” In the pause that followed, Tobal’s guide stepped forward and said loudly, “A seeker is among us. Tobal Kane has claimed sanctuary. He wishes to join with us and follow the ways of the ancient craft.”
The High Priestess called out, “This is not a matter to be taken lightly. Your immortal soul will be deeply committed to the path of the Lord and Lady if you continue. Do you wish to join the path of the Lord and Lady?” Tobal spoke out firmly, “I do.” The High Priestess came up to him and placed her hands on his shoulders, “Know well that love and trust must be freely given so they may be freely received. Consider carefully your own words because your life’s blood may someday be required. Do you still desire this?” “Yes, I do.” “Very well, in following the way that stretches beyond life and death, will you serve the Lady and reverence the Lord? Will you keep secret from the untrustworthy those things we will show you?” “Yes, I will.” “Have you chosen a name by which you will be known within the circle?” “I have chosen ‘Brother Oak’ as my magickal name.” “So be it, Brother Oak, enter the path of light.”
Tobal was pulled forward into the circle, but his guide sharply pulled him back. “Brother Oak, you can’t enter our sacred circle unpurified.” Tobal waited, wondering what was going on. He felt water being sprinkled over him. “I purify you with water.” He suddenly smelled incense very strongly. “I purify you with fire.” The High Priestess continued, “Know this, you will not be asked to go against the inner voice of your conscience or against your higher soul by taking the oath of our sacred circle.” He felt the sharp point of a knife blade pressing painfully into his chest. “Better to rush upon this blade than continue with fear in your heart. What are the passwords?” Tobal whispered, “Perfect Love” and “Perfect Trust.” The High Priestess smiled, “These are most welcome within our circle. I give you another.” She embraced Tobal and kissed him, her body pressed tightly against his. With her body, she turned him around and pushed him into the circle. Then she led him stumbling clockwise around the fire, coming to a sudden stop.
“Powers of the East. Brother Oak is properly prepared for initiation as Apprentice into our ancient craft.” He was led further and stopped again at another point. “Powers of the South. Brother Oak is properly prepared for initiation as Apprentice into our ancient craft.” This was repeated two more times, once at the West and once at the North. Then she led him back near the center of the circle, where he felt the heat from the bonfire against the front of his body. “You are about to be recognized as an Apprentice of our clan and circle. As an Apprentice, you are expected to gain the skills to survive on your own in the wilderness. You are expected to take care of your own belongings and eventually set up your own household. You are expected to solo for one month to prove your mastery of survival skills. Following that,” she continued, “you are expected to train six others even as you will be trained. You must do these things before you are allowed to progress into the 2nd degree of our ancient and holy craft. Do you understand this? Do you agree to do these things to the best of your ability?” “I do,” said Tobal. “In agreeing to these obligations, you have passed the test required and may now take the Oath of our circle. Are you ready to continue?” “Yes, I am.” “Will you always help, defend, and protect brothers and sisters of our clan from harm?” “I will.” “Then repeat after me, I, Brother Oak, in the presence of Yggdrasil, the Great Tree of Life and the Lord and Lady, most solemnly swear I will keep the secrets of our clan. I will never refuse to share these secrets with a brother or sister if they have been initiated as I was. I further swear I will not lose control of my thoughts, words, or actions. I will not use my powers for evil purposes, and I will proceed with firmness and courage to the conclusion of this initiation. I will let my inner conscience and higher self guide me in all ways. I further swear by my hopes of a future life, mindful that my measure will be taken. May my weapons be turned against me if I break this solemn oath. So help me, Lord and Lady, and my own Higher Soul.”
“Now we are going to take your measure.” Tobal felt the High Priestess and someone else stretch a cord from the top of his head to the ground and heard them cut it. Then the string was placed around his forehead, and a knot was tied as the measure was taken. Next, he was asked to raise his arms, and the string was placed around his heart, where another measurement was taken, and another knot was tied in the cord. Lastly, he felt the cord around his hips and genital area, where a final measurement was taken.
The High Priestess wound up the string and placed it on an altar that stood near the fire. “Before you are sworn, are you willing to pass the ordeal?” “I am willing,” Tobal answered. A drum began to sound, and he could hear the outer circle come alive as members began to dance and move around the circle. They gently pushed and nudged Tobal as they passed, turning him until he was giddy and completely disoriented. This seemed to go on forever as a feeling of stuffiness, energy, and heat within the circle became overpowering until the cone of power was raised. Tobal felt like he was about to faint. Abruptly, the High Priestess called a halt and turned Tobal back to face the bonfire. “If you seek the light, you shall find it!” she shouted, snatching the blindfold from his eyes. He was momentarily blinded and couldn’t see. “This bonfire is the symbol of the triumph of truth and wisdom. The light it gives is symbolic of the greater spiritual light you now seek.” Placing her hand on his head, she intoned, “In the name of the Lord and Lady, I transmit this blessing of love and light to stir your higher self and bring you into the light.” A tingling and pouring of light and energy flowed through Tobal. It was so powerful that he felt dizzy and happy at the same time. The High Priest came up next, placing his hand on Tobal’s head. “In the name of the Lord and Lady, I transmit this blessing of love and light to stir your higher self and bring you into the light.” Again, Tobal felt the tingling as a wave of energy swept through him. It was a different type of energy but just as powerful as the first. They felt different but somehow also felt like they belonged together. He felt himself being torn from his body and pulled into a vortex of energy that swirled him upward to be embraced in the arms of a man and woman of radiant light. An Alfheim glow sharpened his sight, a transcendent Hel surge warmed his inner warmth, and Tobal sensed an etheric warmth that reminded him of his parents’ presence. This must be the Lord and Lady, he remembered thinking before he collapsed.
As Tobal adjusted the medallion around his neck, its faint pulse from the exam lingering, he followed Rafe toward Old Baldy. The terrain was tougher than he’d thought—broken and uneven, making it impossible to walk a straight line. The snowshoes were awkward, and his legs ached from the unaccustomed effort. He didn’t need the compass but headed as straight as he could toward Old Baldy, trying to keep track of his paces.
Most of the time he could keep the mountain in sight, but sometimes deep brush and thick trees obscured it. That’s when he pulled out the compass and used it as a guide to keep going in the right direction. Rafe made them both snow goggles from gray fabric with narrow slits to protect their eyes from the fierce, blinding glare of the snow. Without them, they could have suffered snow blindness.
It wasn’t long before Tobal completely lost track of how many paces they had gone. Rafe told him when they reached the first half-mile. Tobal kept better count after that, and by the second mile, his count was close to Rafe’s. He was in the lead, using the compass to set the pace. The terrain changed the further they traveled—from meadow around the city-state to more forested and rocky ground near the mountain. Rafe cut a walking stick for Tobal and showed him how to use it to save his balance and navigate rough spots.
“Uneven ground like this is really dangerous,” Rafe said seriously. “You could break a leg or worse. A walking stick can help keep your balance and test for weak spots in the snow and ice before you step into them. With a heavy pack, you’re top-heavy, and the stick gives you something to lean against.”
They stopped a few times to rest and drink water from the canteens. The water tasted terrible, but Rafe made him drink it anyway. “It’s easy to get dehydrated out here. You should drink about two gallons of water a day when living outdoors like we are.” Later, Tobal realized he was so thirsty he didn’t mind the weird taste—it just felt good to have something wet. The afternoon wore on, nearing sunset. He had just finished tying his eighth knot and looked around uneasily. Theoretically, he should be close to where they were going to camp. He said as much to Rafe.
“Hey, shouldn’t we be close to the creek? I have my eight knots. I think we’ve come four miles. Where is the creek?”
“You do, do you?” Rafe said, grinning widely. “Do you see any place that looks like it would make a good campsite?”
Tobal looked around more closely. There was a clearing ahead, a small open area off to the left sloping down toward a line of thick brush. Then he saw it. “There’s a creek!” he pointed excitedly toward the brush, hearing water in the distance. A faint drone hum drifted from the north, catching his attention. He frowned, glancing at Rafe. “What kind of drone is that? Are there many around here?”
Rafe squinted, listening. “Drones? They’ve been popping up for about a month now—odd for these parts. Could be Federation scouts.” Tobal hesitated, wary after Adam’s warnings. “My uncle was recalled to active duty at a Federation outpost here. He might be trying to keep an eye on me.” He clamped his mouth shut, unsure if he could trust Rafe yet. Rafe nodded thoughtfully but didn’t press.
Together they hiked over to the creek. It was a small creek with clear, icy water runoff from Old Baldy, tasting fresh. Tobal asked why it wasn’t frozen. “It was frozen earlier,” Rafe said. “Now it gets above freezing during the day and just below at night. Because the water moves fast, it doesn’t freeze anymore. It’ll flow until next winter.” They emptied the old water and refilled their canteens. The air near the creek was fresh with the tang of spring thaw, but Tobal knew it would be a cold night. He felt elated yet tired and exhausted from the day’s journey. He was hungry and asked Rafe when they’d eat.
“First thing is to set up camp,” Rafe told him. “Then you can eat. Set up a shelter, get your fire going, and then cook food if you have it. First, we’ve got to find a good campsite. I’m taking it easy on you tonight. It’s not going to rain, so we can sleep under the stars. Our sleeping bags will keep us warm if we set up near a boulder to reflect heat. We’ll need to keep the fire going—it’ll get cold.”
“This will make a good spot,” Rafe said, walking to a rock outcropping on a level area clear of brush. “We build the fire here. First, dig a trench in the snow to get out of the wind. Use your snowshoes to shovel.” Together they scooped an area clear and set their packs down. As Tobal arranged wood, the medallion pulsed, and a Wild whisper murmured, “Their prison nears.” He stumbled, shaken, but Rafe steadied him. That night, as he drifted to sleep, vivid dreams haunted him—his parents in a cold fortress, Lucas and Carla guiding him through a crystalline rift, and Howling Wolf chanting under a starry sky. Two hours later, during a rest from testing a plant, a vision flashed—his parents in a fortress, connected to a crystalline device—then snapped back, leaving him breathless.
“Now we’ve got to find firewood before dark,” Rafe said. “Look for old, dead branches not on the ground—small enough to cut or break by hand.” They gathered wood, including pieces from a splintered log, dry and breakable, to sustain the fire overnight.
“Next, the fire,” Rafe said, crouching near a small wood pile. “We need tinder to get it going.” He pulled tinder from his pack, shaving magnesium with his knife into the pile, striking sparks with the blade. The sparks caught, and Rafe blew them into a flame, adding twigs until it roared. “We’ll let that burn awhile,” he said with satisfaction. “Now, get your beds made. Got your knife? Cut pine branches for a mattress, about a foot deep. It creates an air cushion so you won’t get so cold. If done right, it’s like a bed.”
Tobal, dubious, followed Rafe, cutting boughs and lacing them into a mound smelling of fresh pine. “Take your blanket as a poncho—lay it over the boughs to keep pitch off your clothes and sleeping bag. Put your bag on top, use the last blanket if needed.” Tobal did so, sat down, and stretched out, an incredulous smile crossing his face. “Hey, this is great!” He bounced. “Just like a bed.”
Rafe chuckled and started the evening meal, filling canteen cups with water, adding jerky, wild onions, potatoes, and herbs. The stew’s smell drove Tobal wild with hunger. It was one of the best meals he’d eaten, filling and satisfying. He thanked Rafe for sharing rations.
“Tomorrow, you’ll find your own food. The next meal’s on you, but we did enough today. Get some sleep,” Rafe said. Tobal crawled into his bed against the rock, heat reflecting back, warming him. His eyes closed, and he fell into a deep, dream-haunted sleep.
The smell of baking fish woke him. Rafe had set traps overnight, catching a batch. Tobal laughed, “How’d you catch fish?” Rafe grinned, “Luck today—enjoy it.” “Teach me?” Tobal asked. Rafe sobered, “Only so much per day. Relax; it’ll come. A month to learn, then you solo. First week’s tough—building strength. I’ll ease you in.” The fish, wrapped in herbs and baked, tasted amazing. The crisp morning air felt alive.
“What’s next?” Tobal asked. “It’s almost full moon—Osteria time, a big get-together,” Rafe said. “How many of us?” “150–200, varies. We meet, share stories, gossip, initiate newbies like you.” “Initiation?” “Official clan welcome.” “Our clan?” “Forget it for now. Let’s move.” Rafe mapped their route—30 miles north, adjusting for a cliff, using knots. A telepathic reptilian hiss echoed in Tobal’s mind from a shadow in the trees, leaving no tracks in the snow.
Chapter 19: The Soul – A Spark’s Journey Through Astral Cords
Have you ever woken from a dream feeling like you’d visited distant places or glimpsed hidden truths, only to return to your body with a jolt? That’s the soul in motion—a divine spark navigating pathways beyond the physical. In your essay “THE SOUL,” you extend the atom metaphor to describe the soul as an evolved electron, pulsing through magnetic tubes like astral cords. This chapter explores the soul as awareness’s core, evolving from simple photon to complex plasma, traveling auras and Earth’s magnetic fields. Rooted in your OAK Matrix and chaos theory, it blends science and metaphysics to show the soul as a resonant circuit, bridging body and cosmos, like an oak’s sap flowing through unseen veins to nourish visible growth.
We’ll trace the soul’s evolution, its duality of containment and expansion, and how developing astral bodies frees it to roam. The oak, its aura a web of flux lines, symbolizes this: rooted in matter yet channeling boundless light.
The Soul as Evolving Awareness: From Photon to Plasma
Your essay portrays the soul as a spark—like an electron, once a simple photon pulsing outward (light) and inward (electricity). Through eons, it gained complexity, encompassing more: first vibration, then rotation, forming magnetic flux lines—astral cords or tubes guiding its path.
Think of the atom: its nucleus (physical core) surrounded by an electron cloud (aura of flux lines). Electrons race through these tubes at light speed, defining the atom’s boundary. Similarly, our soul—a complex electron evolved into plasma-like energy—travels tubes around our body, creating sensory awareness. We’re “stars,” sparks of divine light, navigating personal auras during wakefulness and Earth’s during dreams.
This evolution follows chaos theory: awareness builds chaotically, leaping to new forms when stressed. From photon (simple pulse) to soul (plasma encompassing molecules, cells, emotions), it absorbs experiences, like an oak drawing nutrients to expand. Nightly dreams are astral travels: the soul escapes, depleting energy, explaining morning fatigue. Developing astral bodies—evolving your “star”—extends this, enabling conscious journeys for insight or magick.
Duality in the Soul: Containment and Expansion
The soul embodies duality: outward expansion (male, exploratory) and inward containment (female, protective). Your essay notes the soul starts body-bound, aware only of physical sensations, but escapes in sleep through Earth’s tubes—astral planes as global flux lines.
These planes aren’t flat; they’re layered cords, like an oak’s vascular network, carrying awareness worldwide. In dreams, we traverse them, interacting with others’ auras for energy exchanges. The soul’s plasma nature lets it detach and reattach, mirroring cellular intelligence from earlier chapters—shadow (survival, body-tied) and collective (balance, expansive).
Chaos drives this: stress (e.g., rituals) pushes the soul outward, creating new cords for freedom. Without astral bodies, awareness clings to the body; development integrates shadow and collective, allowing roam. Like an oak’s roots (female, containing nutrients) and branches (male, expanding skyward), the soul balances to thrive.
Integration: Soul as Resonant Circuit
The soul forms a resonant circuit: physical body (capacitance, storing energy) and aura (inductance, magnetic field). Bio-electric “tank current” loops endlessly, sustaining awareness—outward as light (expansion), inward as electricity (containment). Earth’s astral planes, its aura, stabilize all life, like an oak grove sharing underground networks.
In magick, boost stored energy (meditation, exercises) to propel the soul outward, contacting distant auras for healing or knowledge. Your OAK Matrix frames this as chaos-driven: souls evolve through tension, leaping to higher awareness when boundaries push.
Practical Applications: Awakening Your Soul’s Travel
To engage the soul’s journey:
Soul Journal: Reflect on a dream escape (expansion) or body sensation (containment). Journal its duality. Meditate under an oak, visualizing your aura as flux tubes pulsing light.
Partner Pulse: Share a “spark” moment with a partner. Men: Describe an expansive vision; women: A grounding insight. Hold hands, breathe, sensing souls link via cords. If alone, balance both within.
Oak Soul Ritual: Touch an oak’s bark, ask: “Where does my soul travel?” Visualize it as plasma through tubes, echoing Golden Dawn’s soul projection.
These tools awaken soul exploration.
Conclusion: Soul as Cosmic Traveler
The soul, an evolved spark navigating astral cords, bridges body and cosmos, like an oak uniting earth and ether. In The OAK Magus, it’s awareness’s eternal pulse. This deepens our unified science; future explorations await your guidance.
Adam Gardner was very effective in making travel arrangements, and as Tobal recalled the old man’s warm hug and the Time Knights’ promise of his parents’ survival, he found himself a few hours later with a full stomach, refreshed, and once more on an airbus heading toward what he fervently hoped was his final destination. A Wild whisper brushed his mind—“The medallion’s echo calls”—as he fingered the weight around his neck, its calm power steadying him.
It was mid-April, and the sun shone brightly as the airbus flew east toward the Cascade Mountains. Patches of snow grew the farther they flew until it covered everything in an unbroken blanket. From the air, he could see deer sheltered in valleys, herded together for protection against natural predators such as the timber wolf and mountain lion. Hardwood trees looked like skeletal ghosts as they raised leafless arms to the heavens. There were patches scattered like occasional cemeteries hidden within the deep pine forests. The airbus flew low enough that Tobal could make out an occasional fox or wolf. Flying over the wilderness made him realize how far from civilization and the Federation he was going. The pines were dark green, and the boughs weighed heavily with snow, blocking all efforts to see the ground beneath.
It was almost an hour before he caught his first glimpse of Heliopolis. From the air, the city-state looked huge and modern. He saw one huge complex that must be the living quarters, a large open agricultural area, and a wooded park. They were all within tall, imposing walls that encircled the city itself. To Tobal, it didn’t look much different from any other modern city-state he had visited. As the airbus descended, he was surprised the pilot was not taking him into the city but dropping him outside it into a snow-covered courtyard.
“There you go, son,” the airbus driver told him cheerfully. “Take care of yourself; they’re a bit strange here. Don’t really see much of anybody. Haven’t been here that much, and I don’t want to either.” The driver opened the door, and Tobal stepped outside into the cold winter landscape. It was one o’clock in the afternoon on April 13. The airbus took off, leaving Tobal standing in a cloud of snow just outside the high walls. A shadow flitted near the wall, gone before he could focus, stirring a flicker of unease.
Tobal began looking for some way into the city. Not finding any, he spied a small building near the edge of the woods about 100 yards away from the wall. He waded through knee-high snow toward the windowless, dome-like structure. There was an arched doorway with a faded, snow-covered sign. The snow was so bright it hurt his eyes, and he had to squint against it. As he came nearer, he made out the word “Sanctuary”. He recalled the letter from his parents had mentioned claiming sanctuary. Somewhat reassured, he entered the portal that opened silently at his approach and stepped inside. It was dim, and his eyes took time adjusting to the faint light. He kicked the snow off his boots onto the gleaming tiled floor. To the left, he saw a computer terminal. A light on the console was flashing urgently.
He walked over to examine the terminal more closely. As he neared it, a disembodied voice came from somewhere near the terminal base. “Welcome, Welcome.” “Do you seek Sanctuary in Heliopolis, the city of the sun?” The same words scrolled across the screen. “Do you seek Sanctuary in Heliopolis, the city of the sun?” A prompt flashed on the screen, “Say Yes or No.” “Yes,” Tobal said. “I claim sanctuary.” “Then enter here,” an oval door slid open to reveal a small interior lighted room. The door slid closed behind him as soon as he stepped completely into the room.
“What is your name?” The voice intoned, now coming from somewhere ahead of him. What followed was a grueling 70-minute question-and-answer session in which the computer questioned Tobal about every area of his past and present. There was no place to sit, and it was uncomfortable, but he was committed at this point. There were questions he could not answer, but that did not bother the computer. Finally, the computer turned silent as it processed the information. After a short time, it spoke again. “You must go through processing before you can enter sanctuary. Processing will include detailed medical and psychological examinations. These will be automated. The purpose of these examinations is to ensure the current state of your health. In addition, the information will allow us to better understand your needs and abilities. This will aid us in determining how you will best fit into our society. These examinations will take place within this building and last approximately two days.”
One wall of the small room slid open, and a voice prompted him to enter and begin the medical examination. The wall slid closed behind him, and he found himself in a small hallway. Another wall section slid open to the right, and he stepped into another small room. A drawer slid out from the wall as the voice continued. “Please place your clothing and personal items into the drawer. You cannot take any items into the examinations. Place your items here for safekeeping. They will be returned to you after you have entered Heliopolis.” Tobal stripped and began placing his clothing and boots into the drawer. He hesitated with the medallion in hand, but an intuitive flash of warning—his parents’ voices urging him to hold fast—stopped him. Clutching it tightly, he pushed the drawer shut, a faint pulse from the medallion reassuring him.
“You may proceed with the medical examination now. We will be starting with a shower.” A small shower nozzle emerged from the ceiling and began spraying him with tepid soapy water that left his eyes stinging and his lungs gasping for breath. This was followed by a rinse of cold water as distinctly unpleasant as the jets of air that dried him off.
Realizing the futility of further resistance and wiping back an angry tear, Tobal finally gave up and concentrated on what lay ahead. He moved from cubicle to cubicle and was given an exhaustive physical exam that lasted several hours. As he shifted between cubicles, a vision flashed—himself alone under a snow-capped peak, the medallion glowing as he built a shelter—then faded, leaving him shaken. Then he was given a small silver bracelet and instructed to wear it at all times. It was a med-alert bracelet that monitored his physical health and acted as a locating device so he could be found in an emergency.
After the physical examination, he began a series of mental and psychological tests that seemed to last forever. Small breaks were given with food and water appearing out of the wall just like the drawer had. Twice he slept on a cot that slid out of the wall. The first things he learned were the controls to activate the food and water. The bathroom and shower were the next. He lost all sense of time, and for two days, he was moved from one cubicle to another, problem-solving, analyzing, and doing test questions on a computer screen or taking objects apart and putting them back together again in demonstrations of physical dexterity.
After two days of wearing nothing but a silver bracelet, Tobal was relieved when a drawer opened containing clothing. There was a gray woolen robe that reached to the floor, folded gray blankets of the same material, a pack, a sleeping bag, and a pair of hiking boots with several pairs of socks. He was busy tying his new boots when a final door opened with a cold draft, and the computer voice said, “Welcome to Sanctuary.” As the door closed behind him, Tobal found himself in dim light standing between rows of sleeping cots. It was a dormitory of some sort. His legs started trembling, and he sat down on one of the cots. It was hard and uncomfortable like molded plastic or ceramic. Still shaken by his experience of the past two days, he wondered what he should do now. Sanctuary was not what he had expected, and he had not seen another living soul. He was nervous but relieved the medallion still hung against his chest.
His eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, and he heard a noise in the corner to his right. Moving closer, he saw two of the cots were occupied by sleeping figures. Against the wall, he saw another food and water dispenser. To the right was the restroom and shower area. He walked around, exploring each area in the dim light. He didn’t see any exits, and it smelled like a locker room.
Moving over to the food and water dispenser, he tried some of the food and nearly gagged. The machine dispensed soft chewy bars, the consistency of glued-together oatmeal. It was cold and distinctly unpleasant with a wicked aftertaste that stayed long after the food was gone. He grabbed a paper cup filled with water, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. The water had a strong plastic taste and odor that made it just as unpleasant as the food bar. While it was wet, it was not at all satisfying. Again, he sat down on the nearest cot and tried to think. So this was sanctuary. Just what was Sanctuary? What had he gotten himself into?
There had to be a way out. He walked slowly around the room, brushing his hand against the wall, and in the darkest corner noticed something he had missed before. He entered the darkness and turned a corner that was barely visible. A light was glowing weakly, and he moved cautiously toward it in the gloom. The light seemed to be flashing and oddly familiar. As he came closer, he recognized it as the terminal he had first encountered on entering the building. At his approach, it sprang to life and asked, “Do you seek sanctuary in Heliopolis, the city of the sun?” “Hey, what’s the matter?” “Everything ok?” Tobal heard someone come up behind him and start shaking him on the shoulder. He looked up, and there was a smaller, tow-haired boy with a shock of yellow hair grinning impishly. His face was full of mischief.
“What’s wrong?” Tobal replied, his voice steadying. “I almost lost my medallion—my parents’ gift—but kept it.” Rafe’s eyes sparkled. “Smart move. That medallion’s got old tales—might guide you yet. You’ll get your other stuff back after citizenship.” “Become a citizen?” Tobal asked. “Yeah, first you claim sanctuary, then after training, you’re granted citizenship.” “You mean I can’t get into the city right away?” Tobal asked anxiously. Rafe laughed, “Hey, that’s a good one! Didn’t your parents tell you anything?” “My parents are dead.” “Oh,” the smile vanished a minute from Rafe’s face, then returned. “There’s preliminary training before citizenship. Claiming sanctuary means applying; you prove yourself with three degrees of training.” “What are they?” Tobal asked. “The Apprentice degree is basic survival training,” Rafe said, “You survive in the woods alone for one month.” “I can’t survive in the woods for a month!” Tobal exclaimed helplessly. “How do I learn? How do I live with no food or shelter? I’ll die!” “That’s right,” Rafe grinned. “That’s why I’m here. You need a teacher. The solo comes after training—I’ll teach you survival skills. I’m Rafe,” he said, extending his hand in welcome. Tobal shook hands.
He pointed at the chevrons sewn on his jacket. “Each chevron’s for someone I’ve trained who soloed. You’re my sixth and last. After you solo, I move to Journeyman.” “Then I have to train people?” Tobal muttered. “Yes, that’s how you prove mastery and leadership.” “That will take forever!” “No, it depends on your effort,” Rafe said cheerfully. “I’ve done this in a year with six. Some take six years.” He winked, “I was sleeping—waiting for you.” “Waiting for me?” “Well, someone. My food’s nearly gone; I can’t eat that brown crap.” He grinned, “Tried it?” Tobal nodded, grinning back, “Couldn’t either.” Rafe chuckled, “That’s the point—uncomfortable beds and bad food push you to the woods.” “What about her?” Tobal pointed at the other cot. “Oh, Angel, a journeyman injured in the mountains. Medics reset her leg; she’s grumpy, so let her sleep,” Rafe warned, finger to lips. The figure stirred and groaned.
“Now, check your pack,” Rafe said. Tobal’s things lay on a cot. Rafe spread them out: eleven sock pairs, hiking boots, compass, canteens, sheath knife, belt, fire starter, map, first aid kit, sewing kit, toothbrush, comb, pencils, and paper. Rafe pointed to the silver bracelet. “That’s a med-alert—wear it always. It tracks health and location for emergencies.” He handed Tobal the knife and belt. “This keeps your robe shut—drafty otherwise.” Tobal noted, “Good boots.” Rafe snorted, “Worn out in two months—rugged out here.”
The robe reminded Tobal of monks—scratchy, woolen, hooded. “No underwear?” Rafe laughed, “Make your own. I did.” Rafe wore a tailored tunic and trousers, Ren Fair-style. “Winter gear here,” Rafe added, fetching a fur robe, boots, hat, mittens, and snowshoes, helping Tobal don them. “Fill canteens first,” Rafe said. They filled them and stepped outside. Tobal practiced snowshoes, improving quickly.
“See that peak?” Rafe pointed east to Old Baldy. “We’re heading that way, using it as a landmark. Don’t get lost—use maps and landmarks.” “Check your compass, turn north, align with Old Baldy—east-northeast,” Rafe instructed, showing Tobal the lensatic compass. He handed him a cord. “Tie this around your neck, leave ends free. A mile’s 5280 feet, or 1760 yards. Take three-foot steps, count, tie a knot every 880 paces—half a mile. Get your map.”
Tobal pulled out the map. “Lay it north-up, use the compass,” Rafe said. Tobal did, weighting it with stones. “Find landmarks—mountains, lakes. Spot Old Baldy.” “How do I know which?” “Look for unique traits—isolated, tall. Find Hermit’s Peak south, alone, low.” Tobal struggled, then pointed. Rafe laid a string north-south across it. “We’re north of it. Now find Old Baldy, east-northeast.” Tobal traced contours, spotting it. Rafe crossed with another string. Heliopolis marked their intersection. “Easy,” Tobal said. Rafe smiled, “Sometimes. We’re going four miles toward Old Baldy. One inch equals one mile—measure four inches.” Tobal marked it—a creek nearby. “Our camp,” Rafe said. “How do we know four miles?” “Eight knots,” Tobal answered. “Great! Let’s go,” Rafe laughed.
The smell of burning incense and the glow of burning candles was completely unexpected. A dark shag carpet muffled his steps and he sneezed involuntarily as he stirred up some dust. “Antiquities and Curiosities” was not a normal shop in any sense of the term. He gazed around in awe. It was like being in a museum. The shop was large and divided into several sections, each section set up and displayed according to a historical time period.
He had been expecting to see odds and ends of junk that cluttered so many antique shops. Instead each section was divided not by year but by century. There were complete room like displays of furniture, clothing, weaponry, art, games, toys, reading materials and more. Entering into a section was like stepping into a different world.
He stepped into a display about prehistoric cavemen. There was a replica of a cave painting on a rock. The painting and rock looked like they had been hewn out of the back of a cave somewhere. There was a clay bowl and goblet, three flint knives looked sharp and fairly unused. A hand axe had been used to cut chips out of a log lying in the middle of the display. Admiring it, he picked the axe up, hefted it and gave a couple practice swings. There was a primitive energy and vitality about each item that made him instinctively want to pick it up and start using it. He just knew these items had been made to be used. As he moved through the displays, a clock on the wall began ticking erratically, its hands blurring between moments. The air thickened with a temporal tug, and the hand axe flickered, as if caught between eras. Nearby, a small etched crystal in the display pulsed faintly, its glow hinting at something ancient and alive. He felt a shiver—could this shop hold secrets of time itself?
A female figure was dressed attractively in furs and armed with a bow and quiver of hand made arrows. There was a small pack on her back and a blanket robe of rabbit fur lying on the ground beside her. She had a necklace of brightly colored bird feathers around her neck and there were price tags on each item. His jaw dropped in disbelief as he looked at a few of the price tags. There was a small fortune in this one display alone.
He realized this shop must deal in specialty replicas. Perhaps theater props. Each item was extremely well made and looked real and functional. The clothing, furniture, weapons and even the leather shoes were all obviously handcrafted. Moving to other displays he could see each item of clothing was crudely woven in the old manner, hand stitched and buttons were hand made. He would have believed he was in some type of museum but no museum carried items in such a perfect state of repair and like new condition.
He wandered for an hour looking at various displays and getting an increasingly troubled feeling that something wasn’t right. He could believe one or two displays of meticulous craftsmanship and diversity. There were re-constructionists that studied the old ways of ancient civilizations and tried duplicating them. But this was different. It was as if someone had stepped back into time and brought back these items for sale in this curious shop. Touching a flint knife, he saw a flash—a warrior wielding it in a shadowed battle, his parents’ faces flickering beside a crystalline portal. The vision faded, leaving a hum in the air, the Wild whispering of past lives.
That was absurd of course but the feeling of unease was growing more uncomfortable inside him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that these items were real and that was not possible. He felt a chill go up his spine. These items shouldn’t exist and this store shouldn’t exist. The knowledge and ability to create these things had vanished long ago. No people living today had the knowledge to make these things that were so exquisitely crafted.
This was not an ordinary shop. Dealing in replicas of this quality had to be very expensive and these items very hard to come by. Why would any person in today’s world want to use these old fashioned things or buy them? The only reason Tobal could think of was for theatrical props. In a flash of insight he wondered if Tavistock Educational had purchased theatrical costumes from this place to use at the Halloween dance. He winced and rapidly brought his mind back to the present.
He sneezed again and a blond girl about two years younger than Tobal came around the corner with a smile, wearing a spring colored dress. She was five feet four inches tall and pretty in a plain sort of way. Her eyes were a warm bright blue and danced with humor.
“Bless you!” She said brightly with a smile. “I thought I heard someone. May I help you, oh!” Her hand went to her face and covered her mouth in a startled manner. She was blushing furiously in embarrassment and backing away.
“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, I was just startled.”
He touched his face, relaxed and tried to grin.
“That’s all right,” the awkward moment passed.
“How can I help you?” She asked again this time a little nervously.
Tobal eyed her. She was too young to know about the medallion and the faded letter. She was younger than he was. Still his instructions had been to take them to this shop. Slowly and uncertainly he took the medallion off over his head and handed it to the girl.
“I would like to know what you can tell me about this medallion and how old it is,” he said.
She looked at it, her eyes widened and her face turned pale. She looked sharply and asked in a snappy voice.
“Are you trying to sell this?”
“No, I’m not. I’m trying to find information about it. It belonged to my parents.”
“I have to get father. I can’t talk to you about this,” she said quickly. “Make yourself at home and look around the shop a little bit more. I’ll be right back with father in a few minutes.”
Tobal watched as she stepped through a curtain behind the main counter. He heard her running up stairs into the living quarters. Suddenly he wished he had taken the medallion back before she had left. He fought down a rising panic. She seemed honest enough and it would be all right. Still he knew he should have never let it out of his hands. He didn’t know her or anyone else in this town. If anything happened it would be her word against his and unlikely that anyone would believe him.
Trying to take his mind off the medallion, Tobal wandered around other areas of the shop looking with renewed amazement at finely crafted armor, ornate weapons, muskets and pistols. Some of the metal still had hammer marks from when it was forged and beaten into shape. Leather boots and woven tapestries competed with rich clothing hand sewn from the finest silks. Oil lamps lit ornate desks covered with hand written books and crude scientific instruments whose purpose he couldn’t even begin to fathom.
Close examination of some items showed that not all of them were new. Some of the items were not only real and functional but had also been used. Some of the armor and weapons were sweat stained and scarred or repaired. He studied a Roman helmet and noticed the leather lining was soft and pliable with sweat stains on it as if it had been used recently. The bronze buckles were highly polished.
When he touched these used items he felt memories enter into his mind. Perhaps he was reminded of past lives when he had known, worn and used items such as these. Perhaps that was why they stirred such deep and powerful emotions within him and why they felt so comfortable in his hands.
He heard someone coming slowly down the stairs and headed back to the counter. The tread sounded slower and heavier and he knew it was not the girl returning. Whoever it was walked with a pronounced limp. The curtains parted and a very tall, distinguished looking gentleman with old-fashioned spectacles and long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail entered the room. Tobal stared at the spectacles. They were the kind of thing no one wore any more. Corrective surgery had long made any type of eyeglasses a thing of the past.
He wondered at the odd affectation and suppressed a smile. Anyone that owned a shop like this would have to be unusual. The man was holding Tobal’s medallion and staring at it with a peculiar look in his eye. Almost lovingly the old man’s fingers traced the outer circle and the two figures.
Tobal blurted out, his voice unsteady, “Last night—Lucas and Carla appeared. Time Knights. They said my parents built a Gaia time portal, that they’re alive, imprisoned. Harry says they drowned.” Adam listened silently, his expression unreadable, fingers pausing on the medallion.
He looked at Tobal and said softly, “Do you have anything else?”
Tobal pulled the faded letter out of his pocket and handed it over. The old man’s face paled as he looked at the broken wax seal. He carefully took the letter out of the envelope and began to read. When he was done he looked at Tobal with a new expression on his face. There was steely determination and something that looked suspiciously like newly forming tears.
The old man asked solemnly, “Do you claim the right of blood?”
Not knowing what to say, Tobal just nodded.
“Yes, I do.”
The old man smiled widely and stepping around the corner embraced Tobal in a warm hug.
“Then welcome son, welcome! You’ve come home at last!”
The old man’s name was Adam Gardner and his daughter was named Sarah. She was an only child. Her mother had died when she was an infant. She was only one year younger than Tobal. The way she pinned her hair into twin ponytails made her look younger.
Adam called Sarah down to mind the shop while the two of them went upstairs to talk. Tobal related what he knew while the old man sat quietly and listened. He was particularly interested that Tobal’s Uncle Harry had been reactivated and there was new interest in his parent’s research. He was not surprised uncle Harry had discouraged Tobal from coming to Old Seattle.
“He was right,” Adam told him. “Most of the people that knew your father and mother are dead. I think your uncle and I might be the only ones left and I never met your uncle. Your parents spoke well of him though and that was always good enough for me. It was a foolish idea coming here but I’m glad you did.”
“I owe your mother and father a lot,” he continued. “There are not many around any more that still remember what really happened. Hell,” he sighed, “I don’t know what really happened and I was there.”
“It was during the failure of phase II that I started working with Ron and Rachel. They were brilliant scientists and very much in love.” He glanced at Tobal and his eyes softened, “I’m sorry you never got to know them. I remember how excited they were when you were born. They brought you straight to the village from the hospital and showed you off. They took you everywhere they could. When they went on missions my wife, Linda, or I would baby sit you and some of the other children.”
Tobal’s head was spinning and he felt completely lost. “Wait please,” he interrupted. “What do you mean phase II, I thought there was only one project and why were there other children around if it was dangerous?”
Adam sighed heavily and shifted in his chair, “There were at least three different programs I knew about and more that I didn’t. Most of them were heavily classified Federation research. The overall focus of your parent’s research involved matter transmission from one point to another, harnessing crystals that tap into Gaia’s magnetic fields to produce free energy.”
“But that was done years ago,” Tobal said. “At least I think it was.”
“It has been done with solid crystalline objects but never with organic tissue or living things. Impurities within the cellular structure cause the collapse of the cell tissue under the stress of intense magnetic field energies. Your parents were trying to find ways to purify the human body enough so it would transform into pure energy and the back into flesh again.”
“Is that possible?” Tobal asked.
“Yes,” Adam replied quietly. “Your parents did this many times. I’ve done it as well. The entire sanctuary project was designed as the first round of purification needed to produce this effect in humans and was known as phase I. Its objective was to produce general spiritual, mental, emotional, physical health, self-esteem and competence by naturally strengthening the magnetic fields within the human body. It was very successful in producing sweeping changes physically, mentally and emotionally in a positive manner.
It was so successful the city-state of Heliopolis was forced to assume a ‘closed’ or ‘forbidden’ status under Federation supervision. Graduates of phase I were vastly superior to their peers in normal Federation society. Given a chance they would out perform or out compete others while remaining healthy and highly individualized. The main draw back from the Federation’s view was that graduates were too independent. They didn’t like taking orders from people they didn’t know or respect. Phase II tried to further purify the human body through mechanical means using high strength pulsating magnetic fields similar to how solid objects have been treated and transported in the past. This is the project that failed. Scientists exposed to these raw magnetic field energies began to experience bizarre side effects and deformities as their human genetic structure mutated. Your parents alone seemed immune to these hazards that were killing others.
That was when I became involved. I was going through phase I. A handful of us met secretly with your parents and studied natural shamanistic ways of purifying and energizing the human body. Your mother was pregnant with you and didn’t want to do anything that might cause harm to her unborn infant. She was already afraid she might have exposed you to harmful influences and genetic mutations.”
He peered at Tobal with keen interest through his spectacles.
“You seem to be healthy and normal though.”
He continued. “Howling Wolf was a local Native American shaman that had mastered the practice of bi-location, being in two places at once. He developed this ability through natural means. He was never a part of the official program and the Federation never knew about him.
Your parents met him accidentally one day in the mountains. He gave your mother herbs he said would help her pregnancy. Later they learned he was able to instantly teleport himself from one place to another. This was what your parents were interested in and didn’t involve sophisticated technology. They became his students. Training started out as a form of mental projection like remote viewing but deepened into the transport of the entire physical body. Howling Wolf was a strong influence and convinced your parents that you would be born healthy and that learning this bi-location ability would not be harmful to you. Your parents convinced Howling Wolf to teach a small group of us and we met in secret.
As our shamanism training progressed it became clear that spirit travel and bi-location could be achieved naturally and safely without the mutagenic hazards of high strength magnetic fields and super conductors.
We didn’t need the money or the machines the Federation supplied. Even more important we didn’t need the strict military supervision and control. Your parents researched the effect of Howling Wolf’s training on the human body and found ways to measure scientifically what was really happening.
They were able to duplicate his training and developed other methods that combined science and shamanism. They created a teleportation device capable of transporting Phase I graduates from one transmitter to another and back. That project was called Phase III.
Phase I graduates had no problems going through the matter transmitter even though non-graduates could not. My theory is Phase I training integrated body, mind and spirit in a way that ‘unified’ the entire personality.
Howling Wolf taught that these mysteries and natural techniques have always been known to a small group of individuals throughout history. These secrets have been taught in secret mystery schools and handed down individually through oral traditions.
This training involved the development of the non-physical body, aura or soul as it is some times called. It was the development of this non-physical body that ‘energized’ and harmonized with the physical body in a way that allowed the physical body to transform into pure energy and back again without damage to the individual cells.”
Adam glanced at Tobal before continuing, “Howling Wolf told us in ancient times this was called ‘becoming immortal or God like’. Each culture had it’s own name for it. The Taoists called it ‘developing the immortal physical body’. Jesus used this technique or something similar when he appeared in a closed room full of disciples after his supposed death. Thomas, the doubter, did not believe until he felt the holes of the nails in Jesus’ hands and feet. The ancient Greeks spoke of heroes and heroines that became immortal.”
He paused and took a sip of brandy before continuing. “ The holy men and women of the earth’s religions knew these techniques and passed them on in secret to a select few. The Gods and Goddesses of all religions were once human. After they learned these techniques they became ‘divine’ and transcended normal human life. Later they were worshipped as Gods and Goddesses.
Can you imagine the military application of such super human abilities? Imagine spies and assassins that can’t be stopped or caught. Do you understand what I am saying? Phase III was insignificant compared to Howling Wolf’s bi-location process. Your parents refused to cooperate any longer with the harmful studies because of the mutagenic effect it had on the human DNA. Several volunteers had already died horrible deaths. The Federation found out about our secret group and panicked. They sent in Special Forces and massacred our entire village hoping to kill every one of us.”
Adam’s throat caught and his voice faltered. “Many innocent lives were lost. Not just those in the sanctuary program. My wife was murdered and my two older children. Howling Wolf’s entire family was living in the village and they were murdered too. Only two of his grandchildren survived and that was because they were with us. We were at a secret meeting and had taken you, Sarah, and Howling Wolf’s two grandchildren with us. I was taking care of the four of you. The rest were in a meeting when it happened.”
“When we came back,” his voice faltered and there were tears in his eyes, “When we came back they were all dead. Your father and mother went to find your uncle. He was the Federation officer in charge of Phase III. They never came back. They took you with them. Howling Wolf’s son and daughter-in-law were hunted down and executed. The rest of us vanished. Howling Wolf took his remaining grandchildren and I took Sarah. She doesn’t know she had two older brothers.
“We went back in secret and buried our loved ones. Several times they almost caught us but we slipped through them like ghosts,” he laughed hollowly and without humor, “That’s what we were, ghosts burying ghosts.”
His fist clenched, “That’s what they were too, if we ever caught them. We wanted to stay but the children were not safe and needed protection. We waited for word from your parents but no word ever came. Howling Wolf was going to keep an eye on things and keep our secret meeting place from being discovered. We knew how to contact each other in an emergency. I was going to get money for the supplies to rescue your parents if they were still alive.”
“That’s all I know,” he said wearily sitting back in his chair. “Howling Wolf never contacted me. They must have hunted him down and killed him too. I don’t see how he could have survived.”
Adam peered at Tobal over his spectacles. “Now you tell me there is renewed interest in your parent’s research. I’ve thought about this for a long time. I’ve always wanted Sarah to go through the sanctuary program. I’m getting too old to train her myself. Knowing that you will be there makes me feel better about Sarah going. I will send her next fall after the tourist season.”
“Can you bi-locate?” Tobal asked in awe.
The old man nodded gruffly, “Howling Wolf and your parents taught me.”
“Can Sarah?”
Adam sighed and took another sip of brandy. “No she can’t. She needs to go through the sanctuary program first for the preliminary training. After that I can train her.”
“Will you train me?” Tobal asked hopefully.
Adam took a long time before answering. He bent forward and his steely eyes looked straight into Tobal’s soul. “Get through the sanctuary program first and then ask me. If it is still what you want, then I will train you. I owe your parents that much. Make sure Sarah gets through her training too.”
Tobal was overwhelmed by the information and needed some time to think. He believed the old man, but he also felt the old man was not telling the entire story. He excused himself and said he needed to go for a walk down by the park and clear his head. As he stepped outside, he noticed a shadow flitting near the shop, echoing the figure from that snowy night, stirring a flicker of unease.
The sun was high and it was almost noon when Sarah came to get him for lunch. She was shy and awkward in social situations. Tobal guessed she didn’t get around much and was surprised she was being home schooled. To be home schooled in today’s high tech society was unheard of. As they walked back to the shop for lunch he wondered how good her education really was.
Sarah and Tobal spent a lot of time together and became good friends. She was interesting to talk with and certainly knew far more about history than he did. The days crept by and early March brought heavy snows that made a mess in Old Seattle where traffic was foot traffic. Sidewalks were kept shoveled clear but the streets were left to melt on their own. Getting around on foot made travel hazardous. They spent most of the time inside the store or visiting other shops.
One day they went to New Seattle. It was like any modern city-state he had ever visited. It was lacking in personality and created to satisfy its population with passive pleasures like virtual gaming tournaments and interactive learning terminals linking people from all across the globe. Like many city-states if followed the European pattern of stacking people like sardines in limited living quarters. That was balanced with large parks, recreational areas and gardens where a person could spend time alone in nature without ever leaving the city itself.
It was Old Seattle that was a breath of fresh air to Tobal with its strange shops and residents. The entire area was filled with people that dared to be different and creative. Each person was living their own self-created reality and prospered or reduced to poverty on the merits of their vision and efforts. Old Seattle survived on the seasonal tourist trade. Still, it was surprising how much business it drew even in the slower months of winter and late spring.
There was a darker side to the city as well and they tried to steer clear of it. Drugs and prostitution had found a home in the old city along with other illegal activities not allowed within New Seattle. There were dangers that beckoned with shadowy fingers. This was an area of human predators and there was little protection from the law. Tobal realized why there were iron bars and heavy reinforced doors on most of the homes and shops.
The freedom of the old city came at a heavy price. That price was no medical or police service. It simply was not available even though one could go through the gate into New Seattle and have instant service. New Seattle did not want people living in Old Seattle and did not support its occupants. The local community united together to provide emergency service and transportation when needed. They looked out for each other through a neighborhood watch program.
Sarah and Adam lived in a fairly safe and respectable neighborhood but even she was concerned when they were followed home one snowy night by a shadowy figure they couldn’t quite make out. They never did know if it was a friend making sure they got home safely or a predator. The mysterious figure vanished into the snowy night when they reached the shop entrance.
Tobal spent a lot of time talking with Adam. One afternoon he was helping set up a new display in the shop.
“Where does all this stuff come from?” he asked. “How do you find things like this?”
The old man answered evasively. “They are just hand crafted items here on consignment. I know the people that make them and have an exclusive trade agreement with them. While I get a commission on each sale, I don’t really know the history of each piece.”
He eyed Tobal speculatively and continued, “Several times a year I take some time off to restock my supply. When I’m gone Sarah takes care of the shop for me. That’s why I’m going to miss her so much when she leaves.”
“Have you ever heard of Tavistock Educational?”
“Hmm, yes I think I have. Why?” Adam asked.
“That’s my old school. I graduated from there.” He paused and corrected himself. “I mean this spring is my graduation but I graduated early.” “Anyway”, he flushed, “last Halloween we had a costume ball and I was wondering if our theatrical department got its costumes from you. This shop reminds me of the costumes we were wearing.”
Adam Gardner eyed him shrewdly. “Your uncle must do pretty well to send you to an exclusive school like Tavistock Educational. It’s a very hard school to get into and I’ve never heard of anyone graduating early from it. I’ve heard it’s real high society, not like your parents at all.”
Tobal persisted, “Did the school get the costumes from you?”
Adam relented and said mysteriously, “Yes, they have an account with me and are one of my good customers. There are not many places that can afford high quality reproductions. I move in some pretty elite circles myself.” Then he changed the subject.
Adam also proved evasive about the medallion, especially when Tobal told him that he had seen the same image as a tattoo on Uncle Harry’s chest. Adam said there were some things he couldn’t talk about. Maybe later after Tobal completed the sanctuary program they could sit down and talk. It was just not the right time. There were some things that could only be told after he received the proper training.
“There are some things just too dangerous to talk about right now,” he told Tobal. “I haven’t been to Heliopolis in over fifteen years and they think I’m dead. I want them to keep thinking I’m dead. I don’t know if things have changed and I don’t want to endanger Sarah when she is taking the Phase I training this fall.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “ You come back here with Sarah after you’ve completed the sanctuary program and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” He looked hard at Tobal, “Will you trust me on that?”
Tobal didn’t have much choice. “I guess I will have to,” he muttered dryly.
Soon after that the old man made arrangements for transportation to the closed city-state of Heliopolis. It was about 80 miles from the coast into the Cascades. Heliopolis lay in a sheltered valley between mountains and was hidden by hardwood trees, ringed with dense pine forests and shaded by Snowcapped Mountains.
Tobal and Adam had one last talk in private before he left. Adam told him more about Heliopolis. It did not follow the accepted rules of the Federation. Tobal was reminded he would not have the same civil rights he enjoyed now. Heliopolis was a separate sovereign nation. He needed to be very careful.
Tobal was getting a little worried until Adam reminded him that Sarah would be coming next fall and she would need his friendship and help. It was a high honor to apply for sanctuary. No one was turned away but it was so secret few people knew they could apply. It was limited to word of mouth and generations of family members that had already gone through the training themselves.
Adam had been a citizen of Heliopolis before Tobal’s parents changed everything with their research. He remembered how Heliopolis had been before it became a closed city-state. His wife and two sons were buried back there and some day he wanted to go back and visit their graves. He was bitter about it because under the current political conditions he would never be able to go back.
His older citizenship was no longer recognized and his life would be in danger if he tried. Sarah’s life would be in danger if they knew who she really was. She would come under a false identity. He hoped Sarah would be able to visit her mother’s grave. She didn’t know about her two older brothers and he needed to talk to her about them before she left. His voice faltered as he was telling Tobal these things. Tobal knew it would be very hard for Adam to share these things with Sarah.
There was not much else to say and Tobal silently gave the old man a hug. Then they went downstairs to find Sarah. As he descended, the medallion’s pulse seemed to align with a faint hum from Gaia’s crystal energy, a whisper of the journey ahead. It was almost time to go.
Later that evening, as they sat by the shop’s hearth, Tobal turned to Adam. “About Lucas and Carla—what do you know of them? The Time Knights? They mentioned a time hub, something my parents worked on. Is that tied to this place?” Adam’s gaze darkened, sipping his brandy. “I’ve heard whispers of Time Knights, guardians of temporal rifts. Your parents spoke of a hub, a portal they built with Howling Wolf’s guidance—here, in Old Seattle, hidden in the artifacts. A friend of mine, a Knight, vanished during the massacre. I helped shield it, but the Federation’s attack disrupted it. I thought it lost. If they’re alive, it might still pulse beneath us. Tread carefully—Harry’s recall could mean they’re hunting it again.”
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