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

I looked around the distinguished room in which I was kept
waiting, and looked closely at the only picture, a man with
olive-brown, finely chiseled features, dark, sad eyes, of rather
unattractive facial formation, wearing a canary yellow uniform
with red lapels and under the coat, which was open, a black
breastplate. Then the maid reappeared, lifted the curtain and
asked me to enter with a curtsy.
I entered a boudoir entirely in gleaming gold with
precious furniture and a brocade-covered resting bed, on which
Laurette half sat, half lay. She smilingly held her hand out to
me from a cloud of lace and thin silk, smiling, and I was again
struck anew by the unusual charm that her pretty, rosy face
radiated under the artful coiffure. But while I stared at her, not
at all to her displeasure, enraptured, that disgusting, shrill
laughter sounded close to us, and only then I noticed a chubby,
bald-headed parrot of gray color, from whose crooked beak
came the laughter.
If my whole mind had not been filled with the image of
that sweet child’s face and the reddish-gold hair, I would hardly
have felt at ease in the presence of this blossomed woman, who
had stirred my first emotions of love. I felt that I could not have
restrained myself for long, and all the more so because Laurette,
with consummate art, soon showed me a part of her perfectly
beautiful breast, soon the noble shape of a leg or the curve of
her classic arm. Nevertheless, I could not resist the desire to
remind the distinguished lady of those days, when she was still
called Lorle and had kissed me in the honeysuckle arbor behind
her father’s house. But she slipped away from me in a playful
mastery of the conversation, and thus forced me to respect the
boundaries she wished to keep. Yes, when I, fired by my
blissful memories, dared to touch her bare arm with my hand,
she struck me on my fingers and pointed with peculiar, even
serious, significance at the parrot, who was entertaining
himself by wiping his beak on the silver perch.
“Take care, my all too friendly cavalier, beware of this
bird,” she said softly, as if she were afraid that the ruffled beast
might be listening. “Apollonius does not like it when one
caresses me in his presence. Besides, my little finger tells me,
dear Baron, that you have not come to court me, but that you
have called on my willingness to serve you in some other way.”
“I cannot deny it,” I replied, somewhat affected, although
it seems unclear to me from where you, my dear Laurette, have
received such wisdom.”
“Ei!” she laughed, “Don’t I have my soothsayer and at
the same time protector and guardian next to me?” and less
loudly she added:
“It can be called a true good fortune, that the good
Apollonius is becoming somewhat hard of hearing and is no
longer able to overhear all that is spoken.”
The fact that she lowered her voice seemed indeed to
disgust the bird. He rolled his ball-eyes, stepped from one foot
to the other, and struck the cage bar with his beak, so that it
rang.
“Louder!” he cried.
“You see?” said Laurette, glancing shyly at him. “He’s in
a bad mood today.”
“He looks like an old Hebrew, your Apollonius,” I said
aloud. “It is believed that animals of his species live to be over
a hundred years old.”
“Hihihi! Hehehe! I’m an animal?” cried the bird. “A
hundred years! Imbecile!”
“What do you mean, he speaks French?” I turned to the
beautiful one.
“He speaks all languages,” whispered Laurette.
“Take care! He guards me, tells everything to the Spanish
envoy – whose mistress I am,” she added hesitantly, her cheeks
flushing slightly. “But Apollonius also bears witness to events
and is able to see into the future.”
Now I knew who the pimp was to whom she owed her
well-being, and so naturally a faint feeling of jealousy would
have arisen at this discovery. Not being of a jealous nature, I
felt nothing of the kind. Nevertheless, I felt sadness and
remorse that this once pure and benign child through my fault
had been taken from the peaceful and safe shelter of her
parents’ home to the glittering and uncertain splendor of a life
based only on lust.
At the same time, however, I clearly recognized that her
restraint towards me was not due to gratitude towards a present
friend and lover, but rather the fear of the treacherous gossip of
the feathered fowl to which she obviously attributed intellect
and human-like malice.
That through such thoughts the extremely ugly, bald-
headed animal became even more repugnant and hated by me
than already at the first sight, is understandable. I was tempted
to interact with the chattering bird. Or at least to check in every
way, to what extent Laurette’s description about his intelligence
was justified. How could this small, round bird’s head, behind
these rigid, rolling eyes be anything different from that of other
animals?
The repeating and coincidentally making sense of learned
words and randomly putting together learned words might be
suitable to cause strange, astonishing effects. But I could not
and did not believe in a human-like thinking ability. The only
thing I understood was Laurette’s caution to speak softly, so
that the hard-of-hearing bird would not parrot them back at
inopportune times. I myself had heard a story, in which a
starling, also a talking animal, had betrayed his mistress by
singing in front of her husband in the most melting tones the
first name of a young gentleman, who had been suspected for a
long time of being the favored lover of the housewife. Without
waiting for Laurette’s warm gesture, I turned to the parrot,
looked at him and said:
“Well, Apollonius, if you are really so clever as you are,
tell me who won the most money the day before yesterday at
the Pharaoh’s?”
The bird ruffled its feathers, twisted its eyeballs in a
ghastly way, chuckled a few times, and then cackled:
“Defunctus” – the dead one. I looked at him, unable to
speak a word.
“I beg you, Melchior, let him go,” said Laurette quickly
and quietly, and in her gaze there was fear. Then she said loudly,
“Baron, don’t tease Apollonius, or he’ll tell me the nastiest
things that deprive me of sleep at night.
“It was I who won, infernal beast!” I cried, and pulled
myself together.
The gray one laughed and said with his head bent
forward, eyeing me maliciously:
“Donum grati defunctil”-a gift from the grateful dead.
“Why don’t you turn the collar on such vicious vermin?”
I angrily prodded. “Give him some peach pits and get some
peace with it.”
She shook her head.
“He eats no poison, fair Herr! Little killer! Little
murderer!” chuckled Apollonius and flapped his wings.
“Perhaps you have murdered yourself, chewy, disgraceful
beast!” I screamed and shook my fist at him. “Perhaps you are
a soul damned by God and must now repent in the form of an
animal!”
There came a heavy, almost human sigh from the bar, a
groan from a tortured chest. The parrot looked at me with a
fearful and horribly desolate look, and hung its head. Slowly he
pulled the nictitating skin over his eyes, and with an inner
tremor I looked – by God in heaven! -, I saw two tears dripped
from the eyes of the animal. But this lasted only a moment,
because immediately after that he stared at me with such
appalling insolence that I became hot and cold and my rising of
pity quickly disappeared. But when I saw the troubled face of
the beautiful Laurette, I thought how naughty and disturbing
for her peace my behavior must have seemed to her, and to
rectify my mistake, I decided to turn the matter into a joke. I
bowed therefore with ironic politeness before the animal and
said in a cheerful tone:
“Do not be angry with me, venerable Apollonius, I did
not mean to offend your wisdom. I am now converted and no
longer doubt in your wonderful gift to see the past and the
future. Would it not be possible to make friends with you, king
of all parrots?”
The feathered one shook with laughter, clucked his beak
and whistled. Then he moved his head quite distinctly, after
human style, violently denying, back and forth.
“So we can’t be friends?” I continued and winked at
Laurette. “I would have liked to ask a question – about a
hunchback I’m looking for -.”
My question was for Laurette, of course, and I was about
to explain myself further, when it came buzzing from the bar:
“Dottore Postremo.”
“What do you want with him?” said Laurette, in
astonishment.
“Do you know him?” I asked, unable to conceal my
excitement. A deep blush passed over her face.
“As it happens –” she replied sheepishly.
“What is it about him?”
“He’s an Italian doctor — a lot of women go to see him
who wish to remove the unpleasant consequences of a few
pleasant hours. He has a reputation, and the courts have often
dealt with him. But nothing could ever be proved. – But you
must not think, Baron, that I might -“
I laughed politely, “How could I, beautiful Laurette?”
“He is said, by the way, to have a very beautiful foster-
daughter or niece,” she went on, looking at me lurkingly. “A
girl who has hardly blossomed. He lives in the house called
Zum Fassel.”
She lowered her eyes and looked at me from under her
lids.
“Be careful! The man is capable of anything!”
“You are mistaken, Laurette,” I lied. “It’s not a question
of adventures.”

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

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

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

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Chapter 24 Llana

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What things, Tobal?” she asked softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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