Book of the Night by Oliver Pötzsch
Standing up above between the bells, the friends looked out on a devastated landscape, with fields trampled underfoot, trees felled and taken away as firewood, and columns of smoke above places where towns used to be. There was no life here anymore; not even a bird was chirping.
“This . . . is horrible,” Lukas gasped.
“It’s war,” replied Jerome. “It eats its way through the land like an insatiable beast.”
“Can you make out the flags over there?” Giovanni was pointing toward the marching soldiers that could be seen clearly from up here. He squinted, then cursed softly. “They’re Swedes, damn it!”
“That means our way to the east is blocked now, as well,” Paulus said. “We should have stayed in Augsburg.”
“But it’s not too late to do that,” Giovanni replied. “Let’s turn around and warn the others.” He started down the stairs, where they had tethered their horses alongside the village church.
“Quickly!” he called to his friends. “It’s going to take us much longer to get back to Augsburg with the wagons than if we only had the horses, and if we want to be there before nightfall, we’ve got to hurry.”
Though their horses were already weary, they leaped on them and rode southward at breakneck speed. Still it was a while until they saw before them the destroyed village where they had left their companions.
Lukas felt right away that something wasn’t right. A dark foreboding seized him, and he spurred his horse on.
What awaited them exceeded his worst fears.
XII
A new column of smoke curled upward from the same road in the village where the group had set up camp.
As the boys drew closer, they recognized both of the actors’ wagons fully ablaze. Lukas saw two of the Jannsen Brothers bending down over a motionless figure in the middle of the road. It seemed to be Yorrick, the youngest of the brothers. Someone was sobbing loudly, and a shrill cry came from one of the wagons.
“My God, we’ve arrived too late,” Paulus gasped. “The Swedes have already been here.”
They quickly jumped down from their horses and ran toward the burning wagons. The first thing Lukas saw was the dead bear, Balthasar, riddled with bullets from a musket and bolts from a crossbow. Ivan lay on his side, his hand stretched out as if in a final greeting, and his body covered with wounds. Farther ahead were the musicians Bjarne and Thadäus, who appeared to have been killed by a number of blows from a sword. Tabea was standing alongside the two Janssen Brothers, her face smeared with dirt and blood. When she saw the four friends, she let out a cry of relief.
“Thank God, Lukas, you’re alive!” She ran toward the boys and took Lukas in her arms. “I was afraid they’d gotten you, too.”
Lukas still couldn’t take his eyes off the horribly mangled Ivan and the dead bear. It took a few moments for him to understand what she was saying.
“Gotten me, too?” he asked. “But why—”
“They were looking for you,” Tabea interrupted, “God knows why. They . . . kept asking about you, but we were silent, then they took Ivan and the others . . .” She stopped and began crying softly.
“What did the Swedes want from Lukas?” Jerome asked. “They don’t even know him.”
“But . . . they weren’t the Swedes at all.” Tabea shook her head in despair. “They were other mercenaries, with dark skin and odd-looking helmets . . .”
“Spaniards!” Lukas cried. “They were Spaniards, just like the man in Augsburg.” He turned to his companions. “Didn’t I tell you? The man was looking for me.”
Paulus groaned. “Are you going to start in again with this tale about the huge wolf?”
“A huge wolf?” Briefly, Tabea looked muddled, then she whispered, “Ivan also spoke about a wolf, just before he died. He was the first to notice the men and tried to block their way with Balthasar. He said a horrible beast attacked them, a . . . huge wolf, but we didn’t see anything. His injuries . . .” She paused for a few seconds and pressed her lips together. “They’re not just from the muskets.”
“How is the master?” Giovanni asked.
Tibia pointed behind one of the burning wagons. “Sara is caring for him. He fought like a wild man, but in the end, there were just too many of them.” She paused again. “A few of these mercenaries looked very strange. Their eyes appeared lifeless, and it seemed like nothing . . . no one . . . could stand in their way, even though Scherendingen attacked them again and again. He . . . tried to protect us . . .” She fought back tears. “It’s no doubt just a matter of time until the Lord takes him away.”
The friends ran around the wagon, which had been smashed to bits, and found Red Sara kneeling next to Dietmar von Scherendingen. His leather armor had been pierced and ripped in several places, as had his shirt and trousers, and the ground was soaked with his blood. Sara looked at Lukas and the others with weary, tear-stained eyes. She had started bandaging Scherendingen’s worst wounds, but it was clear to Lukas that any help was too late.
“There’s nothing more I can do for him,” Sara said, “other than trying to relieve his pain.” She smiled sadly at Lukas. “It’s good you are here, Lukas. He’s asked about you several times.”
With trepidation, Lukas bent down to look closer at Scherendingen’s chalk-white face. Blood ran out of the old warrior’s mouth, and he already looked like a corpse. When he recognized Lukas, however, his gaze became firmer and he seemed relieved.
“So you are alive?” he mumbled. “That’s good.”
“Master, I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” Lukas began, but Scherendingen waved him off.
“Please, no long words. I have little time left, and there are a few things I want you to know.” He groaned and sat up a bit. “A few days ago, Giovanni told me about your past.”
Lukas looked up at Giovanni, who just shrugged. “You never dared to ask,” Giovanni said. “I thought I could help you this way.”
“Lukas von Lohenfels,” Scherendingen continued, “a good name from a noble, battle-tested family, and indeed, you are worthy of it.” He stopped for a moment and coughed up blood. “You know already that I was one of the Black Musketeers, a good fighter, but there was one, damn it, better than I . . .”
“You knew my father, didn’t you?” Lukas asked softly.
Scherendingen nodded, his face contorted with pain. “Yes, we were comrades-in-arms. By God, I never saw a braver or more skillful warrior. He danced like the devil. You have the same talent . . . I saw it at once. Fate brought you to me so that . . .” He groaned again, and it was getting harder and harder for him to speak.
“Listen, Lukas, many years later, I saw your father again,” he continued. “He told me a secret, one that has to do with your mother, and I’m sure these Spaniards believe you know something about this secret. That’s the reason they are looking for you.”
“But I don’t know about any secret!” Lukas insisted.
Scherendingen smiled briefly. “All the better. Then you have no secret to give away, but they’ll keep looking for you nevertheless.”
“Who are these men?” asked Giovanni. “What do they want from Lukas?”
“They . . . are in the service of a dark figure, a former monk, who has risen through the ranks to become the grand inquisitor,” Scherendingen murmured. “His name is Waldemar von Schönborn.”
“Schönborn!” Lukas almost shouted as he heard the name. “That’s the man who had my father killed and my mother burned at the stake!”
Scherendingen nodded gravely. “And now he’s looking for you, Lukas. You must be very careful of this man. More recently he has risen to the position of father confessor to General Wallenstein. I have no idea how he found you, but if he has done it once, he’ll do it again. He has resources you can’t even imagine. These Spanish mercenaries . . .”
The old man started wheezing, and another stream of blood came from his mouth.
“Master, please!” Lukas took Dietmar’s arm. “You mustn’t die!” He looked aroun
“Your mother . . . ,” he said in a final gasp. “She was a white one. She had . . .” Then he collapsed. His body trembled one last time, and finally, he lay still.
“Master! Master!” Lukas crouched down before Scherendingen, holding his hand. The old man had become like a second father to him in the last few weeks, and now he was dead, and Lukas was responsible for his death. These Spanish mercenaries had been looking for him, and because of that, his friends had to die. Wherever he went, he brought sorrow and death. Bitter tears ran down his cheeks, mixing with Scherendingen’s blood.
At last, Paulus gently pulled him away from the dead master, and Sara took him, like a mother, in her arms.
“He is now in a better place,” she consoled him. “Perhaps he’s already up there looking down on us, and he is proud of you. You were his best pupil.”
It took a long time for Lukas’s tears to dry. He sat down with the others alongside one of the burning wagons as the sun set over a devastated land. Tabea had bandaged up Yorrick as best she could, and he lay breathing heavily beside them. Lost in thought, Lukas stared at the burning wood that at one time had been their actors’ wagon. Scherendingen’s final words kept going through his mind.
Your mother . . . She was a white one . . .
“What is a white one?” he suddenly asked, turning around. “At the end, Dietmar called my mother a white one. What is that?”
Red Sara cleared her throat and looked down. “The final words of dying people are often strange,” she began hesitantly. “We mustn’t attach too great a significance to them.”
Lukas could tell by looking at her that she was lying. “I want to know the truth!” he demanded. “I have a right to that. She was my mother!”
Sara sighed. “Very well. The whites are powerful witches, good witches. It’s said there used to be many of them. They helped in the villages, served as midwives, and knew all about herbs and also probably magic. The Inquisition pursued them, tortured them, and burned them. The Church didn’t want to believe there could also be good witches. Not many of them are still alive today, and most are hidden deep in the forest or in the mountains.”
“And my mother was this kind of good witch?” Lukas asked. “A . . . white one?”
“How can I know that?” Sara shrugged. “I didn’t even know her, but I do know that the white witches are still being mercilessly pursued. I myself was nearly sent to the stake once because of my red hair, and indeed my mother, who was a midwife, taught me one thing or another about witches’ herbs and talismans.”
“Lukas dreamed of a big black wolf,” Giovanni added. “He said he actually saw it in Augsburg at the jousting field as one of the Spaniards mumbled something. Ivan, too, spoke of seeing such a wolf. For a long time I didn’t think it possible . . .” He paused. “But perhaps this wolf is actually some kind of ancient magic. During my time as a novitiate, I browsed through some books in which witchcraft was condemned. They mentioned certain magical incantations.”
“Nonsense,” Paulus muttered. “Magic is humbug! I only believe things I can see and fight with my sword.”
“It’s said there are certain vapors and gases that make people sick and can even cause the plague,” Giovanni replied matter-of-factly. “Can you see them, Paulus? No. But still they’re there, invisible, all around us. Perhaps there’s lots more out there that we simpleminded little men can’t even imagine.”
“That’s too much for me,” Jerome complained. “I know only one thing. Lukas must avoid these men, and above all this . . . what’s his name, Schönborn?”
“No, I won’t do that,” Lukas said.
“What?” Paulus stared at him, amazed.
Lukas stuck out his chin defiantly. “I’ve sworn an oath to my dead mother. I shall look for my sister, Elsa, though I don’t even know if she’s alive, and the only one who can tell me is Waldemar von Schönborn. He took her with him back then, and I will find him and take my revenge for my dead parents, but first he will tell me where I can find Elsa.”
Giovanni laughed. “And how do you think you’re going to do that, you hero? You don’t even know where this Schönborn is.”
“Oh, yes, I do. Scherendingen told me that Waldemar von Schönborn is now the father confessor of General Wallenstein, and his army is marching now against the Swedes.”
“Just a moment!” Paulus raised his hand. “So you’re simply going to march into Wallenstein’s camp, look for his father confessor—who is, incidentally, a mighty inquisitor, the man who’s looking for you everywhere—and ask him where your sister is?”
“The last place he’ll think to look for me is right where he is,” Lukas responded. “Of course I won’t be able to question him personally—I know that. But perhaps I’ll learn something anyway.” He turned to them with a piercing gaze. “This is a promise I made to my mother.”
“Your dead mother,” Jerome murmured.
“In any case, we won’t be there to see it,” one of the Jannsen Brothers said with a sigh. He pointed at the injured Yorrick. “Our brother needs help as soon as possible. We’ll stay here overnight, and tomorrow we’ll consider ourselves lucky if we make it safely back to Augsburg.”
Red Sara, standing at his side, nodded. “I, too, will return to Augsburg with Tabea. It’s much too dangerous out here for us. But there’s one more thing . . .” She took out a pendant that had been well concealed until now, hanging on a leather strap around her neck. It was a silver star with five points, tarnished and blackened with age. “This is a pentagram,” she told the others, “a mighty symbol my mother once gave me that will protect you from evil magic. I wear it as a talisman, but perhaps it’s more than that.” She handed it to Lukas. “Here, take it. You will need it now more than I do.”
“Thanks,” Lukas said in a soft voice, and put the talisman around his neck. “It will remind me of you always.”
Now Tabea, too, came toward him. She stroked his cheek tenderly, and a warm wave seemed to pass through him. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” she asked hopefully. “We could start all over again, you and me . . .” She smiled. “After all, we are both dancers, in our own way.”
Lukas shook his head and struggled to hold back his tears. Recently, he had become very fond of Tabea, and there had been moments when he could see them as a couple. Lukas knew that was not possible now, but as their farewell drew nearer, he wanted nothing more than to throw himself in her arms.
But what he said was “I . . . can’t . . . Somewhere out there is my sister, and I must find her. I promised her that, and what happens now, only God knows.”
Finally he turned to his three friends. “Thank you, as well, for everything you have done for me. I will never forget you, and—”
“Hey, what are you trying to say?” Giovanni interrupted.
“Oh, let him go ahead,” Paulus grumbled. “I like these flowery farewell speeches, even if they’re out of place.”
“What do you mean?” Lukas asked.
“Well, did you really think we’d let you go into this lion’s den all by yourself?” Jerome grinned. “We’re going with you, of course. Maybe your idea is crazy, but I love crazy ideas—after all, I’m half French. Besides, there’s a group in Wallenstein’s army that we all admire, and I certainly intend to join them.”
“The Black Musketeers,” Lukas murmured.
“Jerome’s right,” Giovanni nodded. “Perhaps the Black Musketeers need a few crazy people in their ranks. We’ll be well taken care of there.” He smiled. “How does that saying go again? One for all . . .”
“And all for one,” Paulus added, laughing. “I only hope there’s something good to eat in Wallenstein’s army. I’ve gotten used to eating well again.”
Lukas cast a long and grateful look at each of his three friends
XIII
In the following weeks and months, the four friends wandered through a desolate land. All of Bavaria seemed destroyed, as if an enormous dragon had flown over the once so delightful countryside and had extinguished all life with its fiery breath.
Actually, summer was approaching, but there was little sign of it in the air. In the burned-out villages and cities, Lukas saw only crows and ravens gorging themselves in a gruesome feast. Corpses lay everywhere, as people were no longer able to give their families a decent burial. Those who were not slaughtered by the soldiers succumbed to hunger and disease. In some parts of Bavaria, the plague had returned, one of the worst ever, Lukas learned. There were days when the boys did not meet a single living person. Farmers’ fields had become overgrown, and starving dogs growled at the travelers from the charred ruins.
Lukas didn’t even want to imagine how difficult it would be now to travel alone through this devastated area. Above all, he was grateful that Giovanni, Paulus, and Jerome hadn’t abandoned him. Only half a year ago, he’d been a nobody drifting aimlessly through the world, but now he had friends and knew what he had to do.
He would find his sister and avenge the death of his parents.
The comrades learned from some fleeing farmers that General Tilly had lost a major battle to the Swedes somewhere along the Lech River and had evidently been seriously wounded. A few days later, they learned of his death. Munich, Bavaria’s proud royal residence city, had also fallen.