The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel
He fell silent, exhausted, breathing heavily. “Not everything he says is a lie,” murmured Repke. “You too?” roared Zulkov, spitting on the ground. “Oh, about you Germans! You misjudge what alone is necessary for the salvation of the German nation, the army and the wise hand to guide it.” “Germans are over here and over there. Have always been a poor, betrayed people,” said Repke. “It’s a pity that I’ve shot my powder outside, Fritze Zulkow,” sneered Wetzlaff. “Otherwise maybe you would like a warm plaster glued to your mouth with all the strength of your body, you foot stinker, you are the miserable archetype and symbol of the subservient subject. Decomposing even in a living body and still singing the praises of the one whose furies flay us and torment us until death. But you just wait until they put me on outposts again. I’ll cross over; I’ll cross over, so help me God… O hell, filth and Satan — it overcomes me again –!” With a staggering leap he was up, and again we heard his blood gurgling outside. “He has a bad fever!” waved Repke at the enraged Zulkov angrily. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about in his pain.” Then Kühlemiek raised his nasally trembling voice and began to sing from his book, so that we all shuddered: “The abomination in the darkness, The stigma in the conscience The hand that is full of blood The eye full of adulteries, The naughty mouth full of curses, The heart of the scoundrel is revealed.” “Oh my God -!” It was I who cried out thus. Then a loud trumpet blared. – “Alarm!” Zulkov shouted, squeezing his sore feet into his frozen shoes. “Alarm!” At the glow of the extinguishing fire, we gathered everything together. Distant shots. The trumpets began to scream all around. Wetzlaff stumbled in. “Up, brothers, up! We want to light up the royal bastard’s home. Vivat Fridericus!” That was Wetzlaff. Bent with body ache, he took up his rifle. Zulkov moaned softly with every step. All around there was noise, horses neighing, clanking. But in all the raving, running, shouting orders and muffled noise of the shooting in front swung mewling and horrible the merciless voice of the pietist, who sang his song to the end. Dreadful fear descended from the tones. The fear of what would happen after death. The drums were beating. Heavy smoke rolled in thick clouds, dissipated, came in new blue-white balls, and dissipated again. Fog and stink lay over everything. Dull roaring thuds, crashes, whipping bang, chirping of bullets. I stood with the others in lines and ranks, bit off the bullet twisted in rancid paper, kept it in my mouth, poured the black powder into the hot barrel, ran my fingers between my teeth and pushed the cobbled lump of lead down with the ramrod until it rested firmly and the iron rod jumped. Just as it had been drilled into me. Then powder on the pan, with the thumb on the cock, aimed it horizontally, and into the wall of fog in front of me, in which shadows were moving. The stone gave off sparks and it flared up before my eyes, and then came the rough recoil against my sore shoulder. The lieutenant on the wing waved the halberd and shouted. “Geg – geg – geg,” was heard, not understanding a word. A big iron ball rolled and danced across the frozen snow, then a second one. A third bounced along beneath us and smashed Kühlemiek’s feet out from under him. “O Jesus Christ!” he cried out, crawling a little on his hands in his own blood. Then he fell with his face in the snow, became silent. “Flü – flü – flüdeldideldi,” lured the pipes. “Plum – plum – plum.” The drummers worked with sweaty faces. The legs lifted and lowered in time with the beat, one was sitting there, with his head between his spread legs. The blister on my heel was burning, the lice were crawling restlessly on my scratched skin, and there was a rumbling in my guts. I looked around… rows, rows of blue coats, skinny faces with small mustaches, white bandoliers, and bare barrels. “Kühlemiek – Kühlemiek – miekeliekeliek”, trilled from the lips of the pipers. In front of us a row of red lights flashed. A cloud of gray smoke rose behind it. Repke roared and grasped with both hands between his thighs. A tall soldier leaped like a carp and drove with his head into a snowdrift, his feet stretched upwards. Next to me, one screamed like a frog. I could still see the blood pouring out of his ear, before he collapsed to his knees. Zulkov suddenly had no head anymore, walked next to me and sprayed me with hot blood. Then he fell down. The squire was knocked backwards as if he had been hit by an axe. Wetzlaff sat down first, screamed, “I can’t,” and then lay down. In front of me crawled a man who was blind-shot, and Ramler had his right hand twisted and hanging out of his sleeve. He looked at it in amazement and stayed behind. His rifle fell to the ground. Large shapes came swaying out of the haze, and quickly became clear. White coats, black cuirasses. Broad blades stabbed at us, horses’ heads snorted, fled to the side startled. A horse stood on its hind legs in front of me. I saw the rider, who was holding the hand with the broadsword hilt in front of his face, with his left hand clasping the saddle horn. I saw the whiteness of his coat under the edge of the dark armor and hastily thrust with the bayonet. It was soft. He fell forward onto the horse’s neck, glared in my face, and cried out. “You-!” It was Phoebus Merentheim… He rattled down. I no longer saw him. But another one came, lifted himself in the stirrups and hit me on the head with lightning speed, so that I staggered around. The edge of the tin hood cut my forehead, warm and thick water flowed into my eyes. My feet went on. My arms pushed the barrel forward with the bayonet. I tore it from the neck of a brown man. The horsemen were gone all at once, vanished. “No rest – no rest – no rest,” the drums murmured. I slept while walking. We were suddenly among houses. A woman cried out in fear; fell on her face with her arms outstretched. A pig ran between us. Then there was a small forest in front of us. People stepped on bodies, on guns. A dog, skinny and with its tail between its legs, crept past. A peasant lay there with his body open – without intestines. The dog came from him. There were bushes, white-ripe, dense, and impenetrable. I crawled into them. Moss lay there on a pile as if someone had gathered it together. A bed, a bed. I burrowed into it. No one saw me. Wonderful, warm, soft moss. Somewhere in the snowy forest lay the rifle with the bayonet, with Phoebus’ blood on it, the tin hood and the bandolier with the sidearm.
I had been wandering about the border for many days. I had found the torn coat in a shot-up house, the pants on a hanged man. The right leg had received a weeping wound from frost and vermin, which bit and hurt me, my nose and lips were etched from the running sniffles. I had slept in barns and haystacks, teeth chattering, and the previous years frozen and woody rotten beets had to fill my stomach. In this inn on the country road it was the first time that the landlady gave for God’s sake a bowl of warm food to me and allowed me to sit at the back by the warm stove. If, however, distinguished guests came, I should generally trot myself out and not be begging for something around the tables, she said. The barmaid also took pity on me and secretly slipped me a large wedge of bread, and just as stealthily she poured my empty glass full of thin beer. I, the baron Melchior von Dronte, had lived the life of the despised and the poor, the outcast and the lawless. And with the most miserable of them, I had sometimes found more Christian charity than among those who were sitting in their own chair in the church. But how hard people had been against me in the last days! Of course, these were the times that no one should open the door to a stranger in bad clothes without necessity. War and terror all around, victory and parley, robbing, plundering, desecrating and burning without end. So it was like a miracle to me that the landlady said: “Come and eat and warm yourself. You look like the death of Basel.” Not far from me at a small table sat a merchant or cattleman in a light, thick fleece, a large Hessian peasant hat next to him on the bench and a satchel over his shoulder, the leather flap of which was inlaid with all kinds of brass figures. The face of this skinny person was the most disgusting, that I had ever encountered in my life. Soon he pulled his wide mouth into a gap that reached from one of his pointed ears to the other, and then he stretched it out like a pig’s trunk to drink from the glass. His vulture nose lowered against the upwardly curved chin, and his yellow wolf’s eyes, in which the black was transverse and elongated like those of a goat, squinted pathetically.
Somehow Tobal didn’t feel that optimistic about the planned expedition but didn’t have any right or authority to stop them. Perhaps Crow was right. Perhaps the village did need some form of protection. He was feeling moody as he walked away from the group. Becca came with him.
“I’m not very good company right now,” he warned.
“I’ll risk it,” she said.
Neither one said much as they watched the preparations for the three newbies that were going to be initiated that evening and got something to eat. It was so cold windbreaks had been set up around the fires to bounce the heat back. Most people seemed to either stay inside or near the fire pits used for cooking. They ate by one of the cooking pits.
“May I ask something?” He finally said.
“Sure,” Becca answered through a mouthful of tasty stew.
“Why last month?” He asked. “Why did you come to me like that?”
“Was it wrong?” She asked wiping her mouth clean with her hand and looking up at him with those green eyes.
“No,” he whispered. “It was exactly right. I just don’t know if I could have ever come to you that way. I was too messed up or afraid or something.”
“I was afraid too,” she said thoughtfully. “Then when we kissed it was so good and later you gave me that present. Look,” she said. “I’m still wearing it. She pulled the carved owl out from where it had been hiding within her parka. It was Anne that really helped. She read my palm that day and told me I would loose the one I loved unless I acted immediately to keep him from leaving.”
“Really?” He asked curiously. “Where would I have gone?”
“To Fiona,” was her simple reply. “This has been kind of hard on her cause she really likes you too.”
Tobal flushed, “You and Fiona talk about this stuff?”
She put her bowl down and came over to him, pinning him back against a windbreak. She laughed.
“We women talk about everything.”
“Everything?”
“Everything!”
“Well then, I’m going to keep my mouth shut around all of you.”
She set his bowl down and kissed him. “It won’t do any good. We’ll just tell stories then.”
“What kind of stories,” he undid some of the buttons on her parka and reached inside. She gasped in pleasure and their embrace was much longer than the last one. No thought of continuing the conversation. They were lost in the moment and in each other.
“Hey, some of us are trying to eat around here.” Nikki and Fiona had brought their own bowls of stew to eat by the fire.
“Becca, are you saving any for us?” Nikki quipped.
Tobal flushed.
Becca just nuzzled closer, “No, you’ve got to get your own.”
Together all four cleaned the dishes and moved toward the circle where the initiations were about to begin. It was cold and they took up positions next to a windbreak that shielded one of the signal fires. As long as they stayed out of the wind it was all right.
Misty was High Priestess that night and both she and the High Priest wore furs. The circle seemed much smaller than usual. There was a strong wind with drifting snow even in the sheltered valley and no one seemed anxious to dance around the fire clothed or not.
Tobal felt sorry for the new initiates that had to stand blindfolded in such a wind with shortened tunics even if they were right next to the bon fire. To his relief they were wrapped in blankets to prevent over exposure to the bitter cold. In all things safety was the over riding concern of the medics and Masters. Living in harsh conditions made one strong. Being foolish killed you.
They watched together as Nikki’s, Fiona’s, and Becca’s newbies were initiated. Afterward Tobal was introduced to Cheryl, Loki, and Bran, the new initiates.
“If you are not careful we will catch up to you,” Fiona warned. “Cheryl, Loki and Bran make three newbies apiece for each of us. You have only trained one more than us.”
“I know.” Tobal frowned. “Why rub it in?”
The girls laughed and hugged him. “We’re just teasing. Don’t be so serious all the time.”
Tobal had gotten his fourth chevron that morning and was eager to get training. He had tried working on the meditations and exercises Crow had taught him but it had been hard to focus and concentrate alone. His mind drifted to the cave’s glowing altar, where Ron and Rachel’s voices had urged him onward, a stark contrast to the solitude that muddled his focus. Much of the time his thoughts had kept going back to Becca and their growing involvement with each other. Somehow it seemed to push everything else away. He didn’t know what had happened to his self-discipline.
Immediately after circle things were moved inside one of the permanent shelters and continued out of the bad weather. This had happened a few other times during heavy rain but was unusual. Clansmen believed in having circle outside rain or shine, hell or high water. They spent so much time in the elements it didn’t bother them much and they were dressed for it.
They found a warm corner and started to gather. By the time Ellen got there ten people were sitting around waiting to hear what she had learned. Needless to say, Ellen was not happy with everyone knowing about the rogues or about Crow taking an entire group to the village for a visit.
Finally she gave in and sat with them and talked about what she had found out in her research.
“I was able to tap into the city’s data base and look into the historical archives and records.” She began. ” Ron and Rachel Kane were scientists that lived in the city and developed the sanctuary training system.” She looked around the group. “Those are Tobal’s parents, for those of you that don’t already know.”
The look of surprise on a few faces told Tobal that at least a few hadn’t known.
Ellen continued her story. “The sanctuary program was originally a social experiment designed to create a utopian community of specially trained and competent individuals. It was a personality-modifying program to create physically, emotionally and mentally healthy individuals with strong will power and high creative ability. It was highly successful in creating individuals that seemed to be more highly motivated and competent than the norm found within the Federation itself. The graduates showed scores that were mentally, emotionally and physically superior to non-graduates and it was no surprise when the military got involved and the project became classified. Heliopolis became a natural recruiting ground for highly competent leaders and soldiers. It was a city-state devoted to the development of the Ubermench or super human and the main recruiting ground for Federation Special Forces.
As time went on the graduates gained political power within Heliopolis itself and voted for political changes that challenged the values and life styles of the older citizens that had not participated or agreed with the social experiment. The citizenry split along lines that supported the social experiment and those that were against it.”
Here Ellen stopped and said thoughtfully, “There is a saying that old timers never change their minds, they just die off and the younger generation outlives them. That was not the case in Heliopolis. The changes were so fast and radical there was not enough time for mediation. The hostilities and tensions became so great it resulted in a massacre of several students and families living at the main Apprentice gathering spot and the deaths of Ron and Rachel Kane whose bodies were found floating in the lake nearby.”
Ellen broke off from her story to look around at the group. “It seems not only Tobal lost his parents then but Crow lost both parents and Sarah lost her mother. This was not in the official report but in what I have learned personally.”
Sarah was white faced and her fists were tightened. There were murmurs within the group until Crow stopped them.
“Let her finish.”
“These multiple murders created a military emergency and the entire city fell under martial law directed by the Federation and Tobal’s Uncle Harry Kane who was the commander in charge at the time. It was under his command that any of those connected with the murders were eliminated or deported and Heliopolis became a secret classified program controlled by Federation military.”
Tobal started. His uncle had said he was in charge of security, not that he had been Commander in charge of the entire project. There was obviously a lot his uncle had known about and not shared with him.
Ellen continued, “The military created a new program that allowed no children or elderly unless they were physically fit enough to make it through the three degree system. It was simply a system designed to create recruits for the Federation military. The thought was that it created better soldiers.
The city of Heliopolis became a city of the elite ruled by the military, a city of supermen and superwomen if you will. The graduates were still human but something about the training eliminated dysfunctional areas and built strong healthy individuals that could out compete the average person in all areas.
This continued several years until enough data was available to compare the graduates of the sanctuary program with special military forces. It was here that they showed radical differences. The graduates of the sanctuary program did not do well in the normal military. Studies confirmed that military training suppressed the individual and forced conformance to a rigid authoritarian structure that was simply not endurable to the average graduate. The graduates of the sanctuary program were individuals and not team players.
It was at this point the Federation lost much of its interest in the project and turned it back to civilian control. The Federation continued to recruit graduates for field operative positions and kept a mountain complex manned with military personnel for special training. They also agreed to share medical resources with the medics as they needed them.
Ellen stopped and looked around, “That was when the city was granted the right of self government. But only those that had completed the restructured Sanctuary training were considered citizens with the right to vote. They voted to adopt the military’s program in favor of the earlier program run by Ron and Rachel Kane. The earlier program had consisted of the creation of a village with children and old people as an important part of the social research that was going on. There was no more interest in the creation of another ‘village’ in the wilderness. It was felt there were too many ‘Safety’ concerns.
The Citizens of Heliopolis maximized individual qualities under a loose structure of cooperative effort. The city itself gained in political power and influence even as it remained closed to normal trade and commerce. Its citizenry were active in the outer world owning companies and making directives that influenced world politics. They formed an elite pool of superior resources that fought for its own place in world politics. It was whispered that government research continued at the nearby secret mountain complex where Special Ops field agents were trained.”
“The rest was classified and I couldn’t get into it,” Ellen said. She hesitated as if with an internal struggle.
“Our Medic base is part of the secret mountain complex. We are only allowed to use the emergency room and some nearby areas. It is under high security with lots of armed guards. There are field operatives that come and go from the complex all the time. I shouldn’t be telling you this so please keep it to yourselves.”
“Wow,” you’ve certainly given us something to think about,” Rafe shook his head. “This doesn’t sound good to me. There is something wrong, especially if the rogues are really field operatives. Why would field operatives attack us?”
“And attack the Village,” Crow spoke up. “There have been several incidences of villagers being attacked by rogues and we always believed it was clansmen that attacked us. It is beginning to sound like someone wants the clansmen and the villagers to hate each other. Perhaps someone is trying to provoke conflict between us. We need to go to the village and prove we are not attacking them. Too many people have died already.”
“Yeah, and my parents were right in the middle of it,” Tobal said bitterly. “It killed them and it might kill us if we are not careful. He turned to Crow who had been listening intently to Ellen’s story.
“What can you tell us about any of this? It sounds like your grandfather, Howling Wolf was as much in the middle of this as my parents and he is the only one still alive that I know of except Sarah’s father.”
“This is all new to me,” he said. But I will talk with him about it. I will return with any information I feel is important. More than ever I feel there is danger to my village and they need to be warned.”
Tobal was thankful Crow never mentioned the special training on bi-location and the secret meeting place under the waterfall. He was certain that Ellen was too.
“I’m concerned about Apprentices leaving the area and visiting the village.” Ellen told them. “We will be ordered to stop you from going there even though there are no specific guidelines preventing it. Crow seems to have found a loophole in the system only because he is from the village himself and because it is within our area of coverage. Our orders don’t contemplate such unlikely scenarios. You need to travel as fast as you can.”
She continued, “As long as the air sleds continue to monitor your med-alert bracelets you should be alright.” She paused, “That does mean we will need to patrol further to the west then we have in the past,” she looked straight at Crow. “They are going to try to stop you from reaching the village you know.”
“I know,” he said. “It will be alright. Grandfather is expecting us.”
They left things at that and the conversation moved on. The group gradually broke up and began talking about other things. Tobal and Becca stayed together holding hands as they wandered around the group chatting with other clansmen. They slowly made their way to the beer keg where Rafe had rejoined Dirk.
Rafe and Dirk were both still on the beer task force and grumbling because they had twice the beer to brew since the reserves had been consumed at the Yule party last month. Still they were good-natured about it and said they were trying a new recipe that should be quite interesting. It was just as well there was only a small group that month though. They wouldn’t be drinking that much.
Becca hadn’t heard about the special brew Dirk and Rafe were cooking up and didn’t know what to think.
“When will this new beer be ready to drink?” She asked doubtfully.
“Sometime this April probably,” said Dirk chuckling. “Rafe and I both plan on being medics by then. We can administer first aid to anyone that needs it. Pump their stomach or something.”
Tobal snorted and blew beer all over.
“Hey, watch it,” Rafe complained. “It’s not that funny.”
Tobal turned to Dirk, “How did that sure thing match go?”
Dirk turned red, “Not so well.”
“He got his ass kicked.” Rafe chuckled and proudly displayed his own fifth chevron. “Some people actually win once in a while.”
Rafe ducked a playful fist that Dirk threw at him. “Now we get to see who the best man is. We’ve got a bet going on who is going to get their sixth chevron first.”
“You still fighting the girls,” Becca kidded, “or have you gotten to the big boys yet?”
Dirk got a little red but Rafe took it in stride. “I don’t have to worry about it. Everyone is still challenging me. I haven’t gotten to challenge anyone yet.” He grinned at Becca, “I would challenge you if you hurry up and train some more newbies.”
She grinned back. “Perhaps we can always arrange something unofficial.”
This was a side to Becca that Tobal hadn’t really seen before, it interested him and disturbed him at the same time. They filled their mugs and rejoined the crowd. There was a drum circle forming and the sound was deafening in the small building.
Tobal and Becca slept together that night. They cuddled for a long time and shared stories about things that they had done and things they wanted to do. The energy between them was different and when Tobal asked about having sex Becca murmured “not tonight. All I really want to do is just hold you and sleep with you.” Her voice trembled slightly, a hint of vulnerability he hadn’t noticed before, as if the weight of their connection pressed on her too.
With that cryptic answer circling in his brain they kissed, embraced and fell asleep entwined in each other.
The next morning was bright and cold and there were sundogs circling the sun promising even colder weather. They joined their friends for breakfast and soon Becca was on her way to base camp to continue training with Loki, her third newbie and Tobal set out on the trail toward Sanctuary.
As he snow-shoed toward Sanctuary and pulled his sled he wondered at the strangeness of how things had been with him and Becca last night. He had certainly not been prepared for it and didn’t really understand it. It seemed things had been all right, but then again it seemed there had been something wrong.
He hoped she hadn’t changed her mind. Perhaps she was sleeping with Loki, the newbie. He instantly crushed that thought. He knew it was not true, but he just didn’t understand and because he didn’t understand he felt a little hurt. He had been expecting something like last month and it had not happened.
As he neared Sanctuary his thoughts turned to the subject at hand. He now had four chevrons with only two more before he was eligible for the Journeyman degree. As he headed toward sanctuary he felt kind of strange because Sarah had really been the last person he had trained and that had been in September and October.
He didn’t really count Crow since Crow had taught him much more than he had taught Crow. That meant he hadn’t been doing much training in four months and he was determined to get going on it again. He wanted to get this training over with and be partnered with Becca more permanently if she was still interested.
He thought of the ways he had changed in the past years and the things he had done. He had gained a reputation as a very good trainer. None of his students had any trouble soloing and their students didn’t seem to have much trouble either. At gathering and circle people came to him with questions on the best way to do things. His opinion was respected. He was also gaining a reputation as someone that kept to himself and was hard to get to know. His closest friends continued to be Rafe, Crow, Ellen, Sarah, Melanie and now of course Becca. People liked him, his friends liked him, he was companionable but in a quiet sort of way. He didn’t have anything to prove and he didn’t show off. He was just comfortable and at ease with the situation, any situation. People respected that.
Tyrone was Tobal’s fifth trainee and the month of late January and early February went by fairly fast and uneventfully. Tyrone was a tall, wiry farm boy from the Appalachian Mountains of all places, a real honest to God hillbilly complete with a Southern accent and an engaging smile that would drive the girls wild at circle. His drawl carried the scent of pine and coal smoke as he unpacked a worn satchel, a grin breaking through like sunlight on frost. The training came easy to him since he was already an accomplished hunter and trapper.
The nights were long and Tyrone spent many evenings carving a fiddle and later practicing with it. He had learned the skill from his grandfather back home and Tobal watched in fascination at the precision with which the fiddle was created piece by piece and then lashed together and sealed with pitch. He had never seen anything like it and was appalled at the terrible noise it made, at least until he got used to it.
He used to laugh when Tyrone would pull out the fiddle and start to play because the wolves would start howling to keep company. All in all Tyrone was good company and the month went rapidly. Tyrone was a natural storyteller, knew how to make people laugh and Tobal laughed often. Tyrone was like the brother Tobal had always wanted.
Once Tobal asked him how he had heard of “Heliopolis” way in hillbilly country and Tye had thrown back his head and laughed and laughed. He stretched his long legs and shrugged.
“I never heard of it before,” he admitted. “I was trying for a city named Minneapolis and got my ticket wrong. My head never was that good with names. I knew it was cold there and didn’t give it much thought until we had to start hunting our own meat and making our own clothes. It was so much like back home that I figured something was wrong but thought I’d study on it for awhile.”
Tobal had been drinking tea and it exploded from his mouth and nose as he doubled up in laughter.
“Stop, You’re killing me,” he waved weakly at Tyrone who was doubled over laughing too.
There were melancholy times when Tobal thought back over the past year and how much he had changed. He was more resourceful and inclined to do things by himself or on his own. He didn’t care much about what other people thought. He had learned to judge people not by their appearances, but by what they did and even as important by what they didn’t do.
Almost in spite of himself he found his feelings about Becca were deepening. She down played what she did and seemed to have a quiet competence that went un-remarked. She had just a hint of melancholy that matched his own. There was an emotion in his heart that stirred and sang when he was around her. As spring drew closer he found himself thinking about her more and knew he was in love.
Late February came around as Tobal and Tyrone snowshoed their way to the gathering spot. He dropped Tyrone off with the guards to be prepared for his initiation. There were going to be three initiations that night.
Nikki had proclaimed her newbie, Bran, as ready to solo and he, along with Loki and Cheryl had been examined and approved to solo by the elders. Nikki was ecstatic because the winter training had gone pretty well. She was looking forward to training her next newbie.
“Hey Tobal,” she asked, “Think I can get my six trained by mid summer? This winter training isn’t really that bad.”
“That might be cutting it kind of close,” he considered, “but go for it. I’m hoping to get mine done by May if I can.”
“By May?”
“Yeah, when the weather gets warmer I can speed the training up a bit. Or at least I hope I can. Next month will be one year for me. Rafe was finished in one year. I thought I could too, but I don’t think I will be able to.”
“It’s more important to do a good job and teach properly than get done quickly,” she said.
He nodded, “I did need to spend some extra time before winter with Fiona and Sarah. I will just see how the last one goes.”
“See you later at circle?”
“Sure,” I’ll probably be with Becca if I can find her.”
He waved and headed for the food area. A quick lunch seemed in order and then helping out with some of the shelters. There were a lot more people this month and the weather was milder even though the snow was deeper.
There were some minor frostbite cases for the medics to treat but not as many as last month. It seemed people were learning they had to be careful. On the down side one of the clansmen had fallen through the ice on one of the creeks. He had managed to get out but not been able to get a fire going. He had frozen to death before the medics got to him. Angel had found him and been unable to help. It was already too late. Angel’s tear-streaked face lingered in Tobal’s mind, a silent echo of the Wild’s harsh lessons, stirring a quiet resolve to honor the fallen.
The incident served to remind everyone just how fragile and dangerous it really was in the wilderness even with all the safeguards that were in place. The death put a damper on things and people were quiet. Tobal’s thoughts flickered to Ellen’s words about the mountain complex, wondering if the rogues’ shadow stretched even here, a chill beyond the frost.
Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel
Chapter Ten Describes how Wolf Gontram was put into the ground because of Alraune. KARL Mohnen was not the only one around that time that fell under the deceptive wheels of his Excellency’s magnificent machine. The Privy Councilor completely took over the large People’s Mortgage Bank, which had been under his influence for a long time. At the same time he took possession and control over the wide many-branched Silver Frost Association that had their little savings banks in every little village under the flag of the church. That didn’t happen without sharp friction since many of the old employees that had thought their positions permanent were reluctant to cooperate with the new regime. Attorney Manasse, together with Legal Councilor Gontram, legal advisor for these transactions, acted in as many ways as possible to soften the transition without hindering it. His Excellency’s lack of regard made things severe enough and everything that did not appear absolutely necessary to him was thrown away out of hand without further thought. Using right dubious means he pushed to the side other little district associations and banks that opposed him and refused to submit to his control. By now his superior might extended far into the industrial district as well–everything that had to do with the earth–coal, metals, mineral water, water works, real estate, buildings, agriculture, road making, dams, canals–everything in the Rhineland more or less depended on him. Since Alraune had come back into the house he handled things with fewer scruples than ever. From the time he first became aware of her influence on his success he showed no more regard to others, no restraint or consideration. In long pages in the leather volume he explained all of these affairs. Evidently it gave him joy to speak of each new undertaking that was of little value with almost no possibility of success–it was only of these things that he would grab up–and finally attribute their success to the creature that lived in his house. From time to time he would solicit advice from her without entrusting her with the particulars, asking only, “Should I do it?” If she nodded, he did it and would drop it immediately if she shook her head. The law had not appeared to exist anymore to the old man for a long time now. Earlier he had spent long hours talking things over with his attorneys, trying to find a way out, a loophole or twist of phrase that would give him a back door. He had studied all possible gaps in the law books, knew all kinds of tricks and whistles that made outright evil deeds legally acceptable. It had been a long time now since he had troubled himself with such evasions. Trusting only on his power and his luck he broke the law many times knowing full well that no judge would stand up with the plaintiff to balance the scales. His lawsuits multiplied as well as the complaints against him. Most were anonymous, including those the authorities themselves entered against him. But his connections extended as far into the government as they did the church. He was on close terms with them both. His voice in the provincial daily papers was decisive. The policies of the ArchBishop’s palace in Cologne, which he supported, gave him even greater backing. His influence went as far as Berlin where an exceptionally meritorious medal was given to him at an unveiling of a monument dedicated to the Kaiser. The hand of the All Highest himself placed the medal around his neck and was documented publicly. Really, he had steered a good sum of money into the building of the monument–but the city had paid dearly for the real estate on which it stood when they were required to purchase it from him. In addition to these were his title, his venerable age, his acknowledged services to the sciences. What little public prosecutor would want to press charges against him? A few times the Privy Councilor himself pressed charges at some of these accusations. They were seen as gross exaggerations and collapsed like soap bubbles. In this way he nourished the skepticism of the authorities toward his accusers. It went so far that in one case when a young assistant judge was thoroughly convinced, clear as day, against his Excellency and wanted to intervene, the District Attorney without even looking at the records declared: “Stupid stuff! Grumblers screaming–We know that! It would only make us look like fools.” In this case the grumbler was the provisional director of the Wiesbaden Land Museum which had purchased all manner of artifacts from the Privy Councilor. Now he felt defrauded and wanted to publicly declaim him as a forger of antiquities. The authorities didn’t take up the case but they did notify the Privy Councilor who defended himself very well. He wrote his own personal publication that was inserted into a special Sunday edition of the “Cologne News”. The beautiful human-interest story carried the title, “Taking care of our Museums”. He didn’t go on about any of the accusations against him, but he attacked his opponent viciously, destroyed him completely, placing him as a know nothing and cretin. He didn’t stop until the poor scholar lay unmoving on the floor. Then he pulled his strings, let his wheels turn–after less than a month there was a different director in the museum. The head district attorney nodded in satisfaction when he read the notice in the paper. He brought the page over to the assistant judge and said, “Read that, colleague! You can thank God that you asked me about it and avoided such a fatal error.” The assistant judge thanked him, but was not absolutely convinced. In early February on Candlemass all the sleighs and autos traveled to “The Gathering”. It was the great Shrovetide Ball of the community. The Royalty was there and around them circled anyone in the city that wore uniforms or colored fraternity armbands and caps. Professors circled there as well, along with those from the court, the government, city officials, rich people, Councilors to the Chamber of Commerce and wealthy industrialists. Everyone was in costume. Only the declared chaperones were allowed to dress as false Spaniards. The old gentleman himself had to leave his dress suit at home and come in a black hooded robe and cowl. Legal Councilor Gontram presided at his Excellency’s large table. He knew the old wine cellar and understood it, the best vintages and how to procure them. Princess Wolkonski sat there with her daughter Olga, now Countess Figueirea y Abrantes, and with Frieda Gontram. Both were visiting her for the winter. Then there was Attorney Manasse, a couple of private university speakers, professors and even a few officers and of course the Privy Counselor himself who had taken his little daughter out for her first ball. Alraune came dressed as Mademoiselle de Maupin wearing boy’s clothes in the style of Beardsly’s famous illustrations. She had torn through many wardrobes in the house of ten Brinken, stormed through many old chests and trunks. She finally found them in a damp cellar along with piles of beautiful Mechlin lace that an ancient predecessor had placed there. It is certain the poor seamstress who created them would have cried tears to see them treated like that. This lacey women’s clothing that made up Alraune’s cheeky costume netted still more fresh tears–she scolded the dressmaker that could not get just the right fit to the capricious costume, the hair dresser that Alraune beat because she couldn’t understand the exact hair style Alraune wanted and who couldn’t lay the chi-chi’s just right, and the little maid whom she impatiently poked with a large pin while getting dressed. Oh, it was a torture to turn Alraune into this girl of Gautier’s, in the bizarre interpretation of the Englishman, Beardsly. But when it was done, when the moody boy with his high sword- cane strutted with graceful pomp through the hall, there were no eyes that didn’t greedily follow him, no old ones or young ones, of either men or women. The Chevalier de Maupin shared his glory with Rosalinde. Rosalinde, the one in the last scene–was Wolf Gontram, and never did the stage see a more beautiful one. Not in Shakespeare’s time when slender boys played the roles of his women. Not even later since Margaret Hews, the beloved of Prince Rupert, was the first woman to play the part of the beautiful maiden in “As You Like It”. Alraune had the youth dressed and with infinite care had brought him up to this point. She taught him how to walk, how to dance, how to move his fan and even how he should smile. And now, even as she appeared as a boy and yet a girl kissed by Hermes as well as Aphrodite in her Beardsly costume; Wolf Gontram embodied the character of his compatriot, Shakespeare, no less. He was in a red evening gown and train brocaded with gold, a beautiful girl, and yet a boy as well. Perhaps the old Privy Councilor understood all of it, perhaps little Manasse, perhaps even Frieda Gontram did a little as her quick look darted from one to the other. Other than that it was certain that no one else did in that immense hall of the Gathering in which heavy garlands of red roses hung from the ceiling. But everyone felt it, felt that here was something special, of singular worth. Her Royal Highness sent her adjutant to fetch them both and present them to her. She danced the first waltz with him, playing the gentleman to Rosalinde, then as the lady with the Chevalier de Maupin. She clapped her hands loudly during the minuet when Théophile Gautier’s curly headed boy bowed and flirted with Shakespeare’s sweet dream girl directly in front of her. Her Royal Highness was an excellent dancer herself, was first at the tennis courts and the best ice skater in the city. She would have loved to dance through the entire night with only the two of them. But the crowd wanted their share as well. So Mademoiselle de Maupin and Rosalinde flew from one set of arms into another, soon pressing into the muscular arms of young men, soon feeling the hot heaving breasts of beautiful women. Legal Councilor Gontram looked on indifferently. The Treves punch bowl and its brewed contents interested him much more than the success of his son. He attempted to tell Princess Wolkonski a long story about a counterfeiter but her Highness wasn’t listening. She shared the satisfaction and happy pride of his Excellency ten Brinken, felt herself a participant in the creation and bringing into the world of this creature, her Godchild, Alraune. Only little Manasse was bad tempered enough, cursing and muttering under his breath. “You shouldn’t dance so much boy,” he hissed at Wolf. “Be more careful of your lungs!” But young Gontram didn’t hear him. Countess Olga sprang up and flew out to Alraune. “My handsome chevalier,” she whispered. The boy dressed in lace answered, “Come here my little Tosca!” He wheeled her around to the left and circled through the hall, scarcely giving her time to breathe, brought her back to the table breathless and kissed her full on the mouth. Frieda Gontram danced with her brother, looking at him for a long time with her intelligent gray eyes. “It’s a shame that you are my brother,” she said. He didn’t understand her at all. “Why?” he asked. She laughed, “Oh, you stupid boy! By the way, your answer ‘Why?’ is entirely correct. It shouldn’t make any difference at all should it? It is only the last shred of those morals that our stupid education has given us. Like putting lead weights in our virtuous skirts to keep them long, stretched smooth and modest. That’s what it is, my beautiful little brother!”
Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers and translated by Joe E Bandel
Chapter Six Deals with how the child Alraune grew up. THE acquisition of the dice cup is mentioned by the Privy Councilor in the leather bound book. From that point on it was no longer written in the distinct and clear hand of Dr. Petersen but in his own thin, hesitating and barely legible script. But there are several other short entries in the book that are of interest to this story. The first refers to the operation taken to correct the child’s Atresia Vaginalis performed by Dr. Petersen and the cause of his untimely demise. The Privy Councilor mentions that in consideration of the savings he had made through the death of the mother and the good help of his assistant doctor through the entire affair he granted a three month summer trip vacation with all expenses paid and promised a special bonus of a thousand Marks as well. Dr. Petersen was extremely overjoyed about this trip. It was the first big vacation he had ever taken in his life. But he insisted upon performing the simple operation beforehand even though it could have easily been put off for a much longer time without any special concern. He performed the operation a couple days before his scheduled departure with excellent results for the child. Unfortunately he, himself, developed a severe case of blood poisoning–What was so astonishing was that despite his almost exaggerated daily care for cleanliness–it was scarcely forty-eight hours later that he died after very intense suffering. The direct cause of the blood poisoning could not be determined with certainty. There was a small wound on his left upper arm that was barely perceptible with the naked eye. A light scratch from his little patient might have inflicted it. The professor remarked how already twice in this matter he had been spared a great sum of money but did not elaborate any further. It was then reported how the baby was kept for the time being in the clinic under the care of the head nurse. She was an unusually quiet and sensitive child that cried only once and that was at the time of her holy baptism performed in the cathedral by Chaplain Ignaz Schröder. Indeed, she howled so fearfully that the entire little congregation–the nurse that carried her, Princess Wolkonski and Legal Councilor Sebastian Gontram as the godparents, the Priest, the sexton and the Privy Councilor himself–couldn’t even begin to do anything with her. She began crying from the moment she left the clinic and did not stop until she was brought back home again from the church. In the cathedral her screams became so unbearable that his Reverence took every opportunity to rush through the sacred ceremony so he and those present could escape from the ghastly music. Everyone gave a sigh of relief when it was all over and the nurse had climbed into the carriage with the child. It appears that nothing significant happened during the first year in the life of this little girl whom the professor named “Alraune” out of an understandable whim. At least nothing noteworthy was written in the leather bound volume. It was mentioned that the professor remained true to his word and even before the child was born had taken measures to adopt the girl and composed a certified will making her his sole heir to the complete exclusion of all his other relatives. It was also mentioned that the princess, as godmother, gave the child an extraordinarily expensive and equally tasteless necklace composed of gold chain and two strands of beautiful pearls set with diamonds. At the center surrounded by more pearls was a hank of fiery red hair that the Princess had cut from the head of the unconscious mother at the time of her conception. The child stayed in the clinic for over four years up until the time the Privy Councilor gave up the Institute as well as the attached experimental laboratories that he had been neglecting more and more. Then he took her to his estate in Lendenich. There the child got a playmate that was really almost four years older than she was. It was Wölfchen Gontram, the youngest son of the Legal Councilor. Privy Councilor ten Brinken relates very little of the collapse of the Gontram household. In short sentences he describes how death finally grew tired of the game he was playing in the white house on the Rhine and in one year wiped away the mother and three of her sons. The fourth boy, Joseph, at the wish of his mother had been taken by Reverend Chaplain Schröder to become a priest. Frieda, the daughter, lived with her friend, Olga Wolkonski, who in the meantime had married a somewhat dubious Spanish Count and moved to his house in Rome. Following these events was the financial collapse of the Legal Councilor despite the splendid fee he had been paid for winning the divorce settlement for the princess. The Privy Councilor puts down that he took the boy in as an act of charity–but doesn’t forget to mention in the book that Wölfchen inherited some vineyards with small farm houses from an aunt on his mother’s side so his future was secure. He remarks as well that he didn’t want the boy to feel he had been taken into a stranger’s house and brought up out of charity and compassion so he used the income from the vineyards to defray the upkeep of his young foster-child. It is to be understood that the Privy Councilor did not come up short on this arrangement. Taking all of the entries that the Privy Councilor ten Brinken made in the leather bound volume during this time one could conclude that Wölfchen Gontram certainly earned the bread and butter that he ate in Lendenich. He was a good playmate for his foster-sister, was more than that, was her only toy and her nursemaid as well. The love he shared with his wild brothers for living and frantically running around transferred in an instant to the delicate little creature that ran around alone in the wide garden, in the stables, in the green houses and all the out buildings. The great deaths in his parent’s house, the sudden collapse of his entire world made a strong impression on him–in spite of the Gontram indolence. The small handsome lad with his mother’s large black dreamy eyes became quiet and withdrawn. Thousands of boyish thoughts that had been so suddenly extinguished now snaked out like weak tendrils and wrapped themselves solidly like roots around the little creature, Alraune. Whatever he carried in his young breast he gave to his new little sister, gave it with the great unbounded generosity that he had inherited from his sunny good-natured parents. He went to school in the city where he always sat in the last row. At noon when he came back home he ran straight past the kitchen even though he was hungry. He searched around in the garden until he found Alraune. The servants often had to drag him away by force to give him his meals. No one troubled themselves much over the two children but while they always had a strange mistrust of the little girl, they took a liking to Wölfchen. In their own way they bestowed on him the somewhat coarse love of the servants that had once been given to Frank Braun, the Master’s nephew, so many years before when he had spent his school vacations there as a boy. Just like him, the old coachman, Froitsheim, now tolerated Wölfchen around the horses, lifted him up onto them, let him sit on a wool saddle blanket and ride around the courtyard and through the gardens. The gardener showed him the best fruit in the orchards; cut him the most flexible switches and the maids kept his food warm, making sure that he never went without. They thought of him as an equal but the girl, little as she was, had a way of creating a broad chasm between them. She never chatted with any of them and when she did speak it was to express some wish that almost sounded like a command. That was exactly what these people from the Rhine in their deepest souls could not bear–not from the Master–and now most certainly not from this strange child. They never struck her. The Privy Councilor had strongly forbidden that, but in every other way they acted as if the child was not even there. She ran around–fine–they let her run, cared for her food, her little bed, her underwear and her clothes–but just like they cared for the old biting watchdog, brought it food, cleaned its doghouse and unchained it for the night. The Privy Councilor in no way troubled himself over the children and let them completely go their own way. Since the time he had closed the clinic he had also given up his professorship, keeping occupied with various real estate and mortgage affairs and even more with his old love, archeology. He managed things as a clever and intelligent merchant so that museums around the world paid high prices for his skillfully arranged collections. The grounds all around the Brinken estate from the Rhine to the city on one side, extending out to the Eifel promontory on the other were filled with things that first the Romans and then all their followers had brought with them. The Brinkens had been collectors for a long time and for ten miles in all directions any time a farmer struck something with his plowshare they would carefully dig up the treasure and take it to the old house in Lendenich that was consecrated to John of Nepomuck. The professor took everything, entire pots of coins, rusted weapons, yellowed bones, urns, buckles and tear vials. He paid pennies, ten at the most. But the farmer was always certain to get a good schnapps in the kitchen and if needed money for sowing, at a high interest of course–but without the security demanded by the banks. One thing was certain. The earth never spewed forth more than in those years when Alraune lived in the house.
Homo Sapiens: Under Way by Stanislaw Przybyszewski and translated by Joe E Bandel
VIII.
When they both stepped out the door, Falk became a little uneasy.
“He had sent the coachman home. The night was so splendid; he would so like to accompany her home on foot. It would also be good for her to refresh a little from the stupid society in the open air.”
Falk’s voice trembled slightly.
Marit spoke no word; a dark oppression almost took her breath away.
They stepped onto the open field; both thoughtful, silent.
Now the moment had come when one can look into the soul of the being one loves as into one’s own. Falk felt her soul like a roulette ball rolling from one boundary wall of his suggestions to the other:
“Wouldn’t she like to take his arm?
The path was very bad; it had many holes, one could easily sprain one’s foot.”
She took his arm silently. He pressed it very firmly to his chest and felt her tremble.
Falk knew that he couldn’t speak now; his voice would break.
He fought against this excitement; but his unrest grew and grew.
No, he gathered himself. No, not now!
That reminded him of the way peasants clumsily grab with both hands right away.
The moon poured pale streams of light on the meadows; in the distance one saw high-piled black heaps of peat.
Falk tried to master himself. He wanted to postpone the happiness he could now enjoy; he wanted to enjoy it slowly.
They stopped and contemplated the landscape.
Then they walked again, but didn’t look at each other; it was as if they felt a kind of shame before one another.
Now Falk stopped again.
“Strange: every time I see the peat heaps, I always have to think of a peculiar man from my home village.
He was a peat cutter for my father; naturally he drank, like almost all our farmhands, and had a great fixed idea.”
Falk instinctively sought to loosen and scatter the sexual concentration through stories; then he could overwhelm the girl all the more surely afterward.
“You know, from the peat bog at times will-o’-the-wisps rise, which move back and forth with fabulous speed.
The man now got it into his head that the will-o’-the-wisps were souls of deceased Freemasons; at that time the famous papal encyclical also appeared, in which it is written that the Freemasons are possessed by the evil one.
Now the man ran around all night and shot at the will-o’-the-wisps with an old pistol. With somnambulistic certainty he jumped over the widest peat ditches, crawled through the mud and densest undergrowth like a swamp animal, sometimes sank up to his neck in the marsh, worked himself out again and shot incessantly.
There lay a terrible tragedy in it. I saw him once after such a night. His eyes were bulging and bloodshot, the mud sat finger-thick on his clothes, he was completely soaked, the thick swamp water dripped from him; his hair was glued together into strands by the mud, but he was happy.
He swung the pistol back and forth and jumped and cried out with joy. For in this night he had shot a Freemason soul with a twenty-pfennig piece; as he watched, only a little heap of tar remained of the will-o’-the-wisp.
The pistol was his sanctuary from then on. But once he was locked in prison because he didn’t send his son to school. The boy stayed home alone—the mother had long since run away—and tended the goat on the peat meadows, the peat cutter’s only wealth.
Yes; now it occurred to the boy to fetch the pistol to frighten the neighbor’s child, whom he was also supposed to watch. He turned the pistol with the muzzle toward his mouth and held a burning match near the pan.
‘Watch out, now I’m shooting dead!’ He held the match ever closer. The child gets frightened, starts screaming, and in that moment
the pistol discharges: the boy gets the whole charge in his mouth. I had just come from school and was witness to the scene that I will never forget in my life.
The boy ran around in mad fear, blood gushed from his nose and mouth, and with every death scream the foam shot and gurgled forth in dark stream.
The child understood nothing and laughed heartily at the crazy jumps. Only the goat seemed to have understood it. In wild fear it had
torn itself from the stake to which it was tied; it jumped—no, you really can’t imagine it—it jumped over the long, skinny boy, and then over a wide ditch, and back again… it was terrible.
Marit was completely excited.
“That must have been gruesome! Did the boy die?” “Yes, he died.”
Again they walked silently side by side; they were quite, quite close.
“Good God, you looked wonderful today! You had an expression on your face, you know, an expression that I had seen on you only once before; yes, once a year ago. We were as happy as children and so happy; God knows, it was beautiful. And then we stood in the evening on the veranda. In the distance we heard the monastery bells ringing for the Ave Maria, and you stood there and looked ahead with the expression of unspeakable intimacy and bliss; it was like a sea of bright gold around you—and today I saw it again.”
Falk trembled.
“I looked at you the whole evening, I admired you and was happy and felt you quite close to me… to me.”
He pressed her even tighter to himself, his voice almost gasped. “Marit, I love you; I…”
His hand encircled hers. He felt how hot streams flowed into her.
“I came only because of you; I lay there in Paris and longed for you like mad; I had to come. And now you know; now I have a morbid desire to take you in my hands and press you so wild, so wild to my heart and breathe your breast against mine, hear your heart beat against mine.
Look, Marit, my gold, my everything; I will do everything, everything for you; you mustn’t resist; you give me an unnameable happiness; you give me everything by it; look, I have suffered so; my sweet girl, my sun, give me the happiness!”
Around them both, the hot, sexual atmosphere wove tighter and tighter. She could hardly breathe.
“I was so immeasurably unhappy all the time because I love you so endlessly; never have I loved a being as I loved you before.”
She felt above her two abyssal eyes shining like two stars; her head grew confused, she couldn’t think, understood only his hot, gasping words, which fell like hot blood drops into her soul, and above her she saw two abyssal stars that guided and pulled and tore at her.
She felt how he embraced her, how he sought her mouth, and felt his hot, feverish lips as they sucked into her lips.
She no longer resisted; her whole soul threw itself into the one kiss, she embraced him. It was like a jubilation that dances with wild leaps over an abyss. She kissed him.
Falk had not suspected this wild passion in her. A hot gratitude rose in him.
“You will be mine, Marit; you will be… will…”
Yes, that had to be… she felt it, that had to be… the eyes, the terrible eyes above her… and the voice… it sounded like a command.
Just let me—now—let me—to my senses—let…
Again they walked silently side by side, trembling, with bated breath.
By Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel
Chapter 20
Women who excel in certain sciences or one field often fail in the most important feminine science.
But Hermine is an exception in this regard as well. She has written treatises on botany and was well on her way to becoming a recognized figure in her field. Yet she knows how to arrange and manage her home so that it is exceptionally cozy. She has indeed hung up her botany, but no one has noticed her particularly mourning its loss. The treatise on thylli, left unfinished, has been bound between two sturdy cardboard covers resembling tombstone slabs, and Hermine has inscribed on it: “Satis superque satis!”—”Enough and more than enough!” It seems these are the last Latin words Frau Hermine has written.
Hard to believe how happy one can be when there’s no more microscope to deal with, and the day passes with dusting, cooking, embroidery, and other domestic tasks, with nothing left of past glory except perhaps a bit of music in the evening’s quiet hours.
The Schuhs’ apartment in the Alservorstadt is small but comfortable. Schuh is already talking about moving to a larger place; he’s progressing, has truly become a partner in the galvanoplastic institute. The debts to Reichenbach are repaid; Schuh daydreams of three rooms, a kitchen, and perhaps even a study. It might become necessary, Hermine thinks, but for now, two rooms suffice.
They don’t entertain much; the Schuhs lead a rather secluded life, but visitors feel at ease and leave without taking the peace with them. For Reinhold, staying with the Schuhs is a warm haven in his solitary bachelor existence. He’s very quiet and serious, does his work, reads books and chemical journals, and otherwise knows little what to do with himself. Some families had nurtured false hopes of directing his attention to their daughters, but they soon recognized the futility of their efforts. When Reinhold visited his sister for a while, he would leave again; her home was truly just a soul-warming refuge for him.
Ottane also often came over from the hospital. Lately, however, she was no longer a nurse—something must have happened with Semmelweis’s successor, though Ottane didn’t elaborate. Like Reinhold, she declined the suggestion to live with Hermine. No, she preferred to remain unencumbered; if her father paid her the share of the maternal inheritance due to her, she could live carefree. For now, her savings from her nursing days were enough. And perhaps she’d take a trip someday—she was still considering it.
Sometimes Herr Meisenbiegel, Hermine’s former singing teacher, also visited. He had become a frail old man, never removing his winter coat even in a heated room, scattering snuff tobacco on the floor so that Hermine had to sweep up after he left. He always said only, “Who would have thought it?” By this, he meant who could have imagined that Hermine would become such a capable housewife, for he too had found that his best pupils often failed to shine in this area.
Finally, Doctor Promintzer, Schuh’s lawyer handling the lawsuits against Freiherr von Reichenbach, also came by. He had his apartment in the suburbs and his office on Freyung, and whenever he was nearby, he couldn’t resist climbing the two flights to the Schuhs’ apartment.
Doctor Promintzer was no longer a young man, though he hadn’t lost any of his vigor. Over the years, he had gained a small paunch and a bald spot, which glistened with large sweat beads after climbing the stairs. There he sat, wiping his scalp and offering Hermine pleasantries.
He couldn’t hide from himself that he greatly enjoyed seeing Hermine, who went about her domestic tasks undisturbed by him. His own wife—my God, best not to mention her! Hermine, however, was less fond of Doctor Promintzer. Not that she felt threatened by him, but he was too sharp a tool, too keen a weapon in Schuh’s battle against her father. This feud, dragging on endlessly, was Hermine’s secret sorrow.
The father had started it, of course—he was to blame. Why had he spread that unfortunate, shameful, mad letter back then? Hermine understood Schuh’s need to defend himself against the attack. The father was abrupt, self-righteous, stubborn, unpredictable, deeply irritated by his failures, embittered by his children’s defection and his loneliness. Schuh had countered with a counterblow—fair enough—but he might not have needed to defend his position as ruthlessly as the father did his own; he could have considered mitigating circumstances. Hermine had done so herself; she thought calmly and reconciliatory about the past. She remained silent about it but imagined how lovely it would be if it could all be settled, if the father might one day come through that door and say, “You’ve made it cozy here, children!” or perhaps, “One can really rest here with you.”
It was particularly embarrassing that Schuh had chosen Doctor Promintzer as his lawyer—the very Promintzer who had represented the opposing side in the case with Prince Salm. This was something bound to infuriate the father, who would see it as a deliberate malice that this man was set loose on him again. Promintzer believed he served his client by harassing Reichenbach with every legal trick, and it was Promintzer who had persuaded Schuh to start the pitiful squabble over the maternal inheritance.
And now Promintzer sat there, saying, “Do you know… no, you couldn’t know yet… well, the government has suddenly slashed import duties on iron to speed up railway expansion.”
“Hm!” said Schuh, perking up.
Promintzer sat there, having removed his glasses, wiping them with a handkerchief and squinting nearsightedly at Hermine. “Do you understand what that means? Pay attention! So, the price of iron domestically will take a steep dive. And all those who switched to producing railway tracks will have to wipe their noses. Do you get it now? Freiherr von Reichenbach miscalculated. He was led astray by that Hofrat Reißnagel… and now he’ll have to sell. We must ensure we get our money.”
He had thought this would be welcome news for the Schuhs—yes, now the Freiherr would be humbled and forced off his high horse, and the young couple would have the satisfaction of seeing their adversary crushed by a divine judgment in the form of new tariff rates.
But Schuh only said, “Hm!” again and offered no opinion. And Hermine said nothing at all. She sat with her sewing by the window, her heart tightening.
Doctor Promintzer continued for a while, talking about the economic impacts of the new tariff and such, then had to leave, greatly puzzled that he hadn’t achieved the expected effect. He couldn’t comprehend a state of mind that didn’t rejoice in the downfall of an enemy—even if it was one’s own father.
He might have been on the street when Ottane, who was visiting, said, “You should put an end to this ugly business. As for me, I renounce my share of the maternal inheritance… I don’t want it to come to the worst.”
Hermine looked up from her sewing, her gaze seeking Schuh. He sat with his back to the room at his desk, rummaging through papers. She said, “That fellow Ruf seems to have run off with a lot of money too. The father is so alone now.”
“There’s Friederike,” Schuh grunted without turning around, “she’s a decent woman. She’ll take care of him.”
“As for me,” Ottane began again after a pause, “I’m happy to renounce it. I’ll manage anyway.” Then she added hesitantly, “By the way, I’ll finally start my trip next week.”
“You’re really going to travel?” asked Hermine, surprised, for Ottane had talked about this trip for so long that no one believed it would actually happen.
Schuh gave his chair a spin and turned his face to Ottane: “Really? And where are you going?”
“I’d like to go to Italy,” Ottane’s delicate nose quivered as if already scenting the fragrances of the promised southland, and her eyes gleamed with a steadfast gaze into the distance. “I’ve put it off long enough… but now it must be.”
“Well, Italy,” said Schuh, turning back to his desk on his chair. “I’d like to go there someday too.”
Hermine smiled and gave Ottane a nod. As Ottane stood by the window seat, Hermine lifted the item she was working on with the same smile and showed it to her sister. It was a tiny crocheted bonnet, and Hermine was just sewing blue silk ribbons onto it.
She nodded in response to Ottane’s silent question: “Yes!”
OD by Karl Hans Strobl and translated by Joe E Bandel
Chapter 7
The carriage stopped, and Reichenbach ordered the coachman to drive up the road to Kobenzl; he himself took to the forest paths.
He had been with Liebig at the naturalists’ convention in Graz, had accompanied the famous friend to Munich, had been able to convince himself everywhere that his reputation held not only among specialist colleagues but had also penetrated into the consciousness of the other contemporaries, insofar as they concerned themselves with science at all. One could have spoken of a height of life; the sum of what had been achieved was great. One was a Freiherr, people looked up to one, intellectual Vienna streamed to Reichenbach’s evenings, everyone considered himself fortunate to be invited, one had really become something like the successor to Baron Jacquin, that ambitious wish too had been fulfilled; one had one’s hands in a dozen enterprises, one scattered inspirations in abundance, the working power was equal to the unheard-of demands on capacity, resistances were crushed with unrelenting force.
The Freiherr climbed the forest path upward, the foot sank into autumn leaves, the October day rejoiced in colorfulness; gold-gilded, the unfolded landscape stretched out to the one looking back.
He had made the journey from Linz by steamboat, the carriage had waited in Nussdorf, and now Reichenbach walked through his forest, after which he had longed and which now denied him the longed-for.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, one could be satisfied; one ruled fate, people were subjects, and another might have been content to know his barns were full. But Reichenbach was incapable of stopping, of basking, of resting; an insatiable urge drove him forward; it all lay so plainly, on the plain of ordinariness; emptiness yawned at him. He feared this feeling of desolation and loneliness amid the tumult of work. A friend was lacking, as the late Altgraf had been one. A woman might still have been found, not a Friederike Luise to be sure, but something living, something sparkling with mood, that would have brought a different movement into the monotony of his existence, other than the rise and fall of burden and relief.
Blows resounded through the forest, then came the cracking of branches and a crash that shook the ground. Somewhere trees were being felled; Reichenbach followed the sound, broke through a thicket, and came to a clearing. Trunks lay crisscross; the woodcutters were at work, and on a beech sat the steward Ruf, smoking his pipe. It was a new, silver-mounted pipe; Ruf went to great expense with pipes—he might have about fifty, by rough estimate, which Friederike had to clean and maintain.
He had soon after Reichenbach’s departure given up his position in the Salm service and followed Reichenbach to his estate Reisenberg. Moved by his devotion, Reichenbach had made him steward. That was a different sphere of influence than in Blansko, where the The young prince counted the trees and went after the old women if they gathered kindling in the forest. Here one could act with great liberality and had a free hand in everything. They had done Reichenbach a favor; he made no secret of his pleasure at being able to employ a deserter from the enemy’s camp. He would gladly have taken the old Johann too, but he was probably long since driving some heavenly cloud chariot.
When the steward Ruf saw the Freiherr climbing over the tree trunks, he tucked the pipe into his pocket, stood up, and took a few steps toward him: “The Herr Baron…” he said, “the Herr Baron is back already?”
His eyes glittered moistly in somewhat swollen lids; a faint, sweetish smell hung about the man. And on top of that, he smelled of pipe, and Reichenbach detested the dirty and vulgar habit of smoking.
“You yourself sent the carriage to Nussdorf, Ruf! I came on foot through the forest.”
“Certainly, Herr Baron!” said Ruf, showing an uncertain smile.
“Are the trees here already ripe for felling?” The Freiherr did not recall having heard that felling was to take place here. He gave his steward free rein, but he wanted to know what was going on in his forest.
“Ripe for felling,” said the steward, striking one of the trunks with his stick; indeed, they were ripe for felling—not all, but most of them; the forest was, in this spot, namely too dense, much too dense; it was necessary to thin it.
“And who buys the wood then?”
Well, the wood is bought by Morris Hirschel, a timber merchant; the Herr Baron had surely heard of him—he had trees felled all over the Vienna Woods, even in the state forests, but he paid decent prices.
Reichenbach walked on. This position had clearly gone to Ruf’s head; he perhaps led a somewhat too lively life, he had little friends with whom he played cards through the nights; recently, Reichenbach had seen him down in Grinzing, a woman on the left, a woman on the right, and in an advanced tipsy mood. This Vienna—how had that always grumpy Grillparzer called it! Capua of the spirits. The best principles wavered, and if one didn’t keep a firm hand on the purse, the money slipped away. Was it really for this reason that the girl, Friederike, sometimes had tearful eyes? But apart from that, Ruf was still a capable fellow and knew his business.
On the terrace, Ottane and Hermine were waiting and greeted their father, and then Ottane said that the father should go straight to his study, where Doctor Semmelweis was sitting. She had told him that the father wouldn’t be long.
“The Semmelweis? What does he want?”
Ottane didn’t know, but he had been there twice already, and she hadn’t wanted to send him away again today.
Doctor Semmelweis had taken a book from the cupboard and was leafing through it. When Reichenbach entered, he pushed it back and said: “Your treatise in the last Yearbook for Chemistry and Physics is excellent! If only I could write like that!”
Reichenbach acknowledged the praise with a dismissive hand gesture; oh, such things were really of no importance, one wrote them down in a few hours when the material was ready in one’s head. And wouldn’t the doctor like to have a cup of coffee with him? Perhaps over there with the children.
“Forgive me… I forgot, you’re coming from a journey. No, not over there… rather here, if it suits you. I’m troubling you… but it’s an urgent matter.”
Reichenbach pulled the embroidered cord of the bell and ordered coffee from Severin.
Semmelweis had thrown himself into a chair so forcefully that it rolled back a piece and bumped against a table, on which a rack of reagent vials teetered with a clinking sway. He noticed none of it; his gaze went out the window, his fingers drumming a stormy general march on the armrest.
“The scoundrels won’t let me get ahead,” he muttered to himself.
At the time when Reichenbach had met Doctor Semmelweis in the salon of Baron Jacquin, the young physician had been a self-satisfied, balanced man. Now he was consumed by bitterness and sorrow, like by a malignant ulcer; his soul was filled with .the leprosy of bitterness had struck, and the wrinkles of misanthropy were etched into his face.
“Tell me yourself,” Semmelweis continued, “aren’t those criminals who resist saving people? Doctors who would rather let thousands of women die than admit that Doctor Semmelweis is right. Blockheads, fools who refuse to see the proof that lies plain before them!”
Reichenbach knew something of the battle that Doctor Semmelweis was waging, but not enough to take any definite stance on it. It was some kind of feud among the doctors at the university and the clinics; this German-Hungarian Semmelweis had caused an uproar, and Hebra had hinted at something about it.
Cautiously probing, Reichenbach said: “One always has the closed majority against oneself when one dares something new. I know that well—they came down on me when I dealt with the meteorite fall in Hungary—”
Flushing red with anger up to his thinning hair, Semmelweis interrupted the Freiherr: “Oh, come off it. Meteorites… that squabbling could go on for ten years; here it’s about living people, about putting an end to a crime against poor women!”
Reichenbach grew somewhat stiff and aloof; after all, the cosmic origin of meteorites was not such a completely trivial matter. Somewhat coolly, he watched as his agitated visitor sprang from the chair and paced between the tables and apparatus. There wasn’t much space for it, and there was a danger that he might knock something over.
“There the women,” Semmelweis continued, “are being carried off like flies by childbed fever on our obstetric clinics. Sometimes the mortality is terrifying; entire rows of beds next to each other empty out within a few days. And do you know what the cause of childbed fever is?”
Now Reichenbach recalled that this was the discovery about which Hebra had spoken as a great matter. It suddenly occurred to him that the poor Frau Ruf had also lost her life to this disease back then. He gave no answer, but he looked at Semmelweis intently; yes, if he had really figured out how to protect the young mothers from it!
Semmelweis stopped in front of Reichenbach and fixed his gaze on him threateningly. “Do you know what the cause is? Corpse poison! The cadaver particles sticking to the hands of the doctors. But also filth from living organisms. Why is the mortality so high at the first obstetric clinic and so low at the second? Because at the first, the women are examined by young doctors who come from the dissection rooms and other patients, and at the second only by midwife trainees who have nothing to do with corpses. And why do even the women who are surprised by labor on the street or in house entrances come through happily? They come through happily if they are taken home, and they die on us at the clinic.”
“Yes, if it is so,” Reichenbach said hesitantly. “It is so, you can rely on it. It’s as clear as day. I had a friend, a professor of state medicine; a doctor cut him with a scalpel during a dissection, and my friend died of corpse poisoning. And it’s the same finding as with childbed fever. Why? Because the cause is the same.
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.”
Life’s a sacred jolt—newborn’s cry, mother’s might—stirring joy deep in your bones. It’s yours to wield, not waste. The OAK Matrix fuels it: opposites (death/life) grind, awareness (your fierce pulse) wakes, kinship (loved ones’ strength) binds. Crack an orb with a gym grind or gut roar? Hell yes—claim it. This is survivalism’s blood—here’s how to fight for it and win.
What’s This About?
Birth’s a gift—death’s its shadow—both holy, both yours. Fear’s a thief—don’t freeze—embrace the ride, sweet and sharp. Life’s dual—physical shell, astral soul—resonating, eternal, no endgame escape. You’re here to build heaven—waste it on rot or ruin, and you’ve failed. Loved ones—your shield—need you fierce, not frail.
No cop saves you—parking lot mugging, knife out—act or die, honor’s your call. Fight’s in you—teeth, nails—life’s friend, not foe. Deny it, and you’re half—embrace it, and your kin thrive, safe in your fire. Death’s yours to shape—dignity, not doom—leave a mark, not a void.
Why It Matters
It’s your warrior’s vow. Opposites clash—fear kills, fight frees—and awareness wakes: you’re not prey, you’re protector. Kinship hums—your stand guards them, your life lifts all. I’ve felt it: gym grind, breath deep—second wind cracked an orb, saw her safe—lived prouder. Life’s fleeting—your grit’s its steel, if you seize it.
That second wind—lifting, defending—splits the astral. That’s your gift’s forge.
How to Forge It
No drift—here’s your steel:
Flood the Fight: Gym—lift ‘til second wind cracks—breathe deep, flood sexual/bio-electric energy—charge your grit. Act fast—spot danger, strike first—stack life. If an orb cracks—a surge—ride it; you’re forging honor.
Crack the Freeze: Fear hits? Move—teeth, nails—defend kin, die proud. Gym grind or threat shove—same forge, violence turns friend—safety holds. Space shrinks? Fight—blow lands hard.
Track the Spark: Log dreams—weak turns fierce, you shield. Flat or scared? Up the grind—your spark’s low. Life dreams mean you’re live—kin hums.
Radiate Guard: Live it—stand firm, love fierce. Your charm’s a steel roar—others feel it, they rest. Fight for them—you lead.
Cycle Tie: Lunar full moon? Flood it—life peaks. Solar summer? Forge high—win big. Daily noon? Grind fierce—own the gift.
My Take
I’ve froze—fear stole—‘til I hit the gym, fought back—cracked orbs, saved her—lived bold, kin safe. Death’s coming—I’ll burn bright ‘til then. You’ve got this—flood it, fight it, rule it. This ain’t soft—it’s fierce life, survival’s vow. Stand bold, warrior-gifted.
Day 6: The Wild’s Bloom Dusk softened over Radon, an emerald haze weaving through a radiant sky—fairy lights blazed overhead, their hum swelling bright as the lush earth pulsed beneath the Knights’ boots, moss and petals thrumming like a living song. A sweet breeze swirled through, nectar and light threading lush from below—deep forests stretched wide, vines blooming vibrant across ancient trees, their glow threading vivid through lush valleys, rivers sparkling, and lakes mirroring the sky, the landscape alive with sprites, gnomes, and wildlife. Tobal lounged in a verdant glade, his tunic—red, frayed—draping loose, wild hair brushing his shoulders—scars ached faintly, medallion glowing, gold humming bold against his chest, yang’s awareness threading his grip as he grinned at Fiona—her warmth pressed close, a spiced spark threading his ease. Fiona nestled into him, her tunic—rough, stitched—swaying free, red hair spilling wild, green eyes glinting tender—her staff rested beside her, wood gnarled, yin’s wild pulsing through her veins, vines weaving gently around his waist—her hand traced his chest, a tender heat flaring bold, lips brushing his with a soft, lingering burn.
The dark core was dust—Radon’s wild surged triumphant—Lumens stood radiant, her silver luminescent skin glowing warm in a black dress, green hair flowing like vines, eyes flaring with earth’s core—shimmering wisps danced outward, weaving Radon’s strength through the air. Kael reclined with Becca, wiry frame relaxed, scarred face softened, tattered cloak swaying—his blade rested—“Peace holds.” Becca pressed into him, her tunic—dark, torn—stretched taut over broad shoulders, shaved head gleaming—blue eyes flared warm, axe aside, yin’s wild humming low—her breath eased soft. Rafe sprawled with Mara, his tunic—coarse, patched—draping loose, hazel eyes glinting mischief—his knife lay still, steel glinting, yang’s playful spark threading his wiry frame—a grin flashed sly. Mara, lean and steady, cracked staff pulsing faint, leaned into him—“Love mends.” Cal sat steady with Lila, his tunic—soft, faded—hanging loose, tangled brown hair brushing his brow—gray eyes steadied warm, spear beside him, yang’s quiet strength pulsing—his stance rooted firm. Lila, slight and quick, patched hood framing her face, arched into him—“Duality blooms.” Valentine sprawled near, his coat—thick, matted—bristling soft, yellow eyes glinting calm—claws tapped moss, yang’s instinct rumbling low, Ember curled beside him, fiery fur glowing.
The enchanted hum sang—Radon’s wild bloomed, vines threading warm through the forest—silence replaced dark’s hiss, life surging—Sylra hovered above, lithe wings shimmering—her chime rang—“Wild’s free—light nurtures.” Thorn stood firm, stout frame steady—his growl softened—“Earth thrives—grow it.” Breeze darted near, blue hair whirling—her laugh danced—“Wind lifts—bloom it.” Ember’s growl eased, fiery fur pulsing—“Wild shines!” Fiona’s vines pulsed—“Web’s alive—love thrives”—her voice sang warm, green eyes locking on Tobal as vines brushed his neck, a spiced warmth threading her lean—her body pressed closer, a bold heat weaving through—“With you”—her lips grazed his ear, flaring tender. Tobal’s pulse thrummed—“Dark’s gone—magic heals”—his voice rasped low, brown eyes glinting as his whip coiled loose—yang’s spark steadied her vines, a tender heat threading through—his arm pulled her tight, lips meeting hers, flaring bold.
The glade glowed—vines surged—dark’s echo faded—wild’s hum roared, Radon’s cry weaving—the crew stood firm with Lumens, Kael, Mara, Lila, Sylra, Thorn, Breeze, and Ember in the enchanted hub, love and magic flaring fierce as Radon’s wild bloomed anew.
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