by S. A. Swann
He reached the edge of the woods, in sight of the castle where the Germans had retreated. He stood on all fours, panting, tongue lolling. He had run so fast, so intently, that his body had reacted, reducing his hands to forepaws. Right now, should anyone from the fortress walls see him here, they would see only the outline of a wolf. Albeit, a wolf that stood chest-high to a tall man.
He stared up at the hillside and thought of the men inside.
Should I pursue her to the exclusion of my purpose here?
It was the Germans that had brought him here, not Maria. But would revenge have the same meaning if he wasn’t alone? He sucked in the night air and could still smell the burnt flesh of his family.
No, the meaning had changed. Vengeance could no longer be the soul of his purpose. Now there was another; there was someone for him to protect.
It was no longer a game. He couldn’t plan how to toy with them, how to hurt them, how to lead them though unfamiliar territory where they could feel the fear he had once known.
His plans had to change.
Maria panicked when she woke and her cross wasn’t around her neck. She sat up in the predawn darkness, remembering her reflections of the night before. She had fallen asleep with it in her hand, but at some point during the night, she had let go of it. After several moments of panicked searching, she finally spotted it, between the bed and the wall.
Her breath caught: the chain had hung up on a peg projecting from the bed frame, and that had kept it from sliding down a crack between the floor of the loft and the wall. It would have been so easy to dislodge it and send it into the hole, where she would never be able to extract it.
She reached for it carefully, thanking God that it hadn’t been lost in the crevice. Her fingers brushed the chain, and it came free of the peg instantly. She didn’t expect it, and her hand snapped shut.
She caught it before it fell.
She pulled it free and replaced it around her neck. Her meeting with Darien had the hazy aspect of a half-remembered dream, and she wondered why she had been so driven to tempt fate. Even Josef had told her to keep wearing this …
And even if the Devil wasn’t literally going to pounce on her the moment she removed it, that didn’t mean it was wise to lose it. Not to mention the disrespect it would show to her father’s spirit.
She sucked in a breath and told herself it was over. She had chores to do.
By the time she was performing her duties at Gród Narew, the wound on her palm ached badly enough that she had to tie a dressing around it.
It was a constant reminder of a night she was trying to forget. Her frustration must have shown on her face. It seemed every time she caught someone’s attention, they looked at her strangely. The first few times, she wiped her face, expecting to find a streak of grease or dirt.
It wasn’t until she brought Josef his morning meal that she understood what everyone seemed to be noticing. When she set the bowl down by his bed, he sat up with more vigor than she would have given him credit for. “Maria, your face.”
She sighed and pulled a cleaning rag from where she stuffed them inside her surcote. She wiped her face with it and asked, “Have I gotten it now?”
His face had gone pale and, for the briefest moment, she thought she saw an echo of her father’s fear in his eyes. “Your bruise.”
She froze as she realized that, again, she had unwittingly done something bad. Her hand stopped moving as she felt the fear infecting her. Then, with the rag pressed into her face, she realized something.
Her cheek didn’t ache. She didn’t feel the tight swelling of flesh under her eye. Her fingers didn’t touch the rough pepper of dried blood dusting the wound on her cheek. She lowered the rag and said, as calmly as she could manage, “My bruise?”
“It’s gone.”
That was what everyone had been staring at. They didn’t care to mention it when it suddenly appeared, but if it disappears …
Maria shook her head. “It has been days since I fell. It’s just been healing.”
“You had a shadow as dark as pitch beneath that eye—”
“You exaggerate.”
“—and now it is completely gone.”
She tried to hide her fear and confusion. “It just healed, that’s all. It wasn’t as bad as you remember it.”
He stared into her face, as if looking for any sign of her injury. His expression frightened her, almost as if he was looking past her, to something else. She was afraid he was looking at the same thing her father had been the night he died.
She couldn’t keep her hand from reaching for her face again.
“What happened to your hand?” he asked.
She shook her head and held up her bandaged palm. “I cut it last night, by accident. It isn’t worrisome.”
His eyes narrowed with a hint of unaccountable suspicion. “May I look at it?”
“It’s nothing.”
“I allow you to see my scar on a daily basis.”
Maria sighed and held out her hand. “The battles I fight are not nearly as epic as yours. I do not think I am in danger from this.”
He unwrapped the dressing and looked down into her palm. The two points where the cross had dug in were barely scabbed over. One small wound cut painfully into one of the creases in her palm, and wept watery blood when she forced her hand flat.
He stared at it for a long time. And, strangely, the tension seemed to leak out of him.
“Might I have my hand back?”
“Yes.” As he wrapped the dressing back around it, he whispered, “Forgive me,” as if apologizing for something much more grave than holding her hand for a moment too long.
When he returned her hand, he asked, “You have lived here, next to this fortress, all your life?”
Even though his character had returned to normal, Maria thought that his question resonated with Darien’s speech from last night. Not in its sense, perhaps, but in its tone. As if Josef, as well as Darien, knew something about her past that she did not. She took her bandaged hand away and said, “You know I have. I told you all there is to know about me.”
“Did your father ever warn you of anything to beware of, in the woods here?”
Is that the fear you shared with my father?
“In the woods?” she responded, thinking of Darien. Who was he? What was it he presumed to know about her? “He lived here all his life as a woodsman and a farmer. Of course he warned me about all kinds of things—wild animals, deadfalls, toxic plants, berries, mushrooms—. Is there something you’re concerned about?” She paused, then asked, “Someone?”
Josef looked uncomfortable and said, “I am concerned for your safety, Maria. You shouldn’t be traveling in the darkness.”
“What is it that frightens you? Is it what attacked you?”
“Forgive me. I’m not permitted to speak of it.”
“Why?”
“I’ve told you, I’m sworn to obey my superiors in the Order.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Maria said. “I meant, if there is some danger out there, why would your Order command you to keep it secret?”
Josef shook his head. For some reason, Maria thought of her father, and how he had never explained the significance of the cross he’d made her wear. Why would Josef’s masters explain such things to him if he was already pledged to obey them?
“Forgive me,” Maria said. “That was an impertinent question. I should go to my other duties. I will see you this evening.”
As she walked though the doorway, Josef said, “Maria?”
She turned around. “Yes?”
“If I haven’t told you before, thank you.”
She felt her cheeks become warm, which made her uncomfortably aware of the missing wound. “You’re welcome,” she said and left quickly, without finding out exactly what Josef was thankful for.
As Josef watched her leave, he felt the clash of his own emotions. Knowing what he did of the demons the Wolfjägers hunted, the quick
healing of her face had filled him with wild, panicked speculations, despite the silver cross she wore. But the mundane cuts in her hand gave the lie to his unfair suspicion, as did the fact that she had borne the marks on her face for days. No, his brief mistrust was wrong, and unfair to her. Maria was a good woman, and these things were evil.
What troubled him nearly as much was the fact that he had almost broken his silence. What he had told Maria came close to disobedience in spirit, if not in specifics. And her final question had fired a doubt in him that burned worse than the wound in his belly.
He didn’t eat his breakfast. Instead, he got slowly out of bed and began to dress himself. Some servant of Gród Narew had washed and repaired his surcote with the partial black cross of the Order, the lower arm now scarred by stitched repairs and some stains that had faded against the white. They had taken his mail, but there were hose and a shirt for him to wear, along with his belt, complete with empty scabbard and a few tooth marks.
He had to take several breaks as he dressed himself. It wasn’t pain. His wound was a constant ache squeezing his stomach, and the level of discomfort didn’t vary enough to be noticeable.
No, what occupied his time was the exhaustion. Every movement was tiring, every piece of clothing felt too heavy, and every small task seemed Herculean. But, after a long, laborious effort, he was able to finally go abroad in Gród Narew.
He found Komtur Heinrich leading a service for his more able-bodied brothers in a small chapel lent by their Polish hosts. He joined the service at the back of the room, feeling comfort in the communal devotion. He had felt too alone lately. It helped him remember that there were others taking this path with him.
It also made him reconsider his doubts. If Heinrich hadn’t caught his eye at the end of the service, he might have left with Maria’s impertinent questions unasked.
But Heinrich did see him, and called out, “Josef,” as his brothers filed out of the room.
Josef walked slowly to the front of the room. Heinrich was not particularly generous with his expressions of emotion, but his lips turned up slightly in as much of a smile as Josef had ever seen the Komtur wear. “Yes, sir?”
“You are walking. I didn’t expect a recovery so fast.”
“In truth, I am still burdened by this wound. But I wished to talk to you.”
“What of?”
“Things best spoken of in private.”
“I see. Come with me then.” Heinrich led him out of the chapel, then outside, walking slowly to accommodate Josef’s sluggish movements. “You’ve been confined so long that the open air should do you some good.”
They walked through the open courtyards under a blue summer sky that was marred by only a few gray wisps of rain clouds to the west. The sun was warm on Josef’s skin, and the air was like a cool drink of water after the confined stench of his sickroom. When Heinrich reached a spot close to the wall and empty of people, he turned and asked, “What is it that troubled you enough to make you leave your bed?”
“The creatures we hunt: are they native solely to the Prussian wilds?”
“What prompts you to ask that question?”
“A servant here, one who lives beyond the walls, in a farm past these woods. Her father gave her a silver cross, in her words, ‘to protect her.’”
“You think it means that such beasts reside in these woods.”
“It made me consider that.”
“I am glad you brought this concern to me. These wolfbreed we fight, you will find legends of their existence as common as wolves themselves. But I caution you not to draw conclusions in haste. The reality is much rarer than the legend. Do not hunt for new paths until our current journey is completed. The beast that wounded you is still abroad.”
“That is the other question I wished to ask of you.”
“Yes?”
“The beast we hunt could be devastating another village while we remain here, impotent. Right now it may be feasting on innocent flesh.”
“That is the nature of fighting evil. No man or group of men can confront it all, everywhere, at once. God only gives us the power to act when and where we can.”
“Then why not warn the people? We might not be there, but if the farmer in the village had as much as a silver-clad dagger rather than a scythe—”
Heinrich laid a hand upon Josef’s shoulder and said, “It troubles you, our secrecy. It is a fact that the demands of the Order’s vows are not easy. Not mentally, not physically, and not spiritually. I find it difficult myself. But there is a reason that might make the burden easer to bear.” Heinrich let go of his shoulder and took a few steps away from him to face the outer wall. “Do you know what happened in Strasbourg four years ago?”
“Yes, I do.”
“When the pestilence first made itself known, the pope saw what might happen. God saw fit to send the angel of death abroad in the land, and the masses, like the pharaoh’s people in Egypt, failed to see it as the hand of God. When Pope Clement spoke and said that those who blamed the Jew were seduced by the lies of the Devil, who listened? The mob in Strasbourg burned thousands, in direct opposition to the Church and the will of God. I heard tell that even some priests and bishops were caught up in the madness.” Heinrich turned to look at Josef. “You have a charitable heart, and you believe these are good people, innocent people. But you must remember that there are some truths that are too stark. We are all tainted by sin, and when something truly fearsome is presented to a mob weak in faith and spirit, they will not consider. They will act.”
“Do you imagine that these beasts are as fearful as the pestilence?”
“Random death without warning that can walk among men unseen? Perhaps the Poles here do not have enough Jews around to blame, but unquestionably, if we warned the mass of common people of the threat, we would have dozens of ‘wolfbreed’ corpses. The man who doesn’t shave well, the leper, the man who lives alone on the hill and goes out too often at night, the man who attends Mass less often than his neighbor, the man who once spooked a groom’s horse …”
“I see.”
“Remember, we are to protect men’s souls from this beast, as well as their lives.”
“Then when do we return to doing so?”
Heinrich glanced over Josef’s shoulder. “Go back to your bed and regain your strength. I suspect the man approaching us will lead me to an answer.”
XIII
After nearly an hour of searching, Telek found Brother Heinrich talking to one of the members of his Order in a courtyard by the outer wall. He had just arrived with the Duke, the bishop, and their combined entourage, which was probably still sorting itself out in front of the main fortress. The Duke had a score of men with him, and the bishop had ten of his own. Between the two they had brought three wagons of supplies, chests, and clothing.
It would probably be late evening before every horse was stabled and every man quartered.
However, his uncle had made a point of saying that Brother Heinrich needed to be present the moment the bishop was ready to receive him, and the Duke had been no less adamant. As soon as he found Heinrich, he took him back to the great hall, where Siemowit III was to hold court. The crowd was already assembling, and Telek left his charge with a trio of the bishop’s men.
With Heinrich in their care, he went off to find his uncle. Instead, his uncle found him, grabbing his arm as he left the great hall and pulling him into a corridor that led toward the kitchens.
“Uncle?”
“I pray your travels were uneventful?” Bolesław said as he led Telek down the corridor, away from the mass of people gathering to greet the Duke and begin the business of the court.
“Yes,” he said. “But why are you heading toward the kitchens?”
“Because, nephew, stealth and subtlety are not your strong suits.”
“Pardon me?” They passed by the arch leading to the kitchens, from which came the smells of cookfires, roasting meat, and baking bread as a dozen servants worke
d at long tables preparing the grand feast that would be the Duke’s welcoming meal.
“I have a task for you, and it would be best that our German guests not see you do it.” He stopped Telek in front of a narrow spiral staircase. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I probably should ask your willingness.”
“Whatever you wish of me. You know that, Uncle.”
Bolesław slapped him on the back. “No harm in the asking.” He pointed up the stairs. “If you go up here, the third door opens across from the first guest chamber. Do try to avoid being seen entering and leaving.”
“And what do you want me to do in Brother Heinrich’s chambers?”
“Take advantage of your schooling. There is a book there, not a missal or Bible, I think, and I would care to have some idea of its contents.”
“You wish me to take it?”
Bolesław shook his head. “Remember, I said subtlety. What use is going in without being seen if he knows you were there the moment he looks for his missing tome? No, go in, disturb his rooms as little as possible, and read as much of the book as you can. Court and feast will occupy the Germans for the remainder of the day, should they wish it or not. You should have time to make good sense of the book’s contents, if not read the whole of it.”
“And if I cannot find this book, or if it is not in a language I understand?”
Bolesław shrugged. “Then slip out and return to the court. If I see you, I’ll know what happened, and we shan’t speak of it again.” He left Telek by the stairs. “I must return before business begins, so get to work.”
Telek watched his uncle disappear down the servants’ corridor, leaving him alone. He sighed and looked up the stairway. He wondered what suspicion had taken hold of his uncle’s fancy this time, or if in the absence of plot and intrigue, his uncle felt the need to provide some. But Telek served at the pleasure of the Wojewoda Bolesław, and should his lord ask him to rifle a monk’s library, so be it.
He climbed the stairway and eased open the door across from the German’s guest apartments. No one was in evidence along the corridor.
