translated by Sarah Hanbury Tenison

Chapter 1 -  Wolves

With each step she took, she was finding it more difficult to advance.  The icy air made every gasping breath agony.  The wind was steadily whipping fresh waves of stinging flakes at her delicate face.  Her once deep blue eyes were staring dully and blindly through the whirling snow.

The young woman gasped desperately for air as she stumbled on numb legs through the snow-covered bushes.  The baby in the bundle on her back was rocking perilously backwards and forwards.  It had not cried for a long time.  With the last of her strength, she was clutching another bundle tight to her breast.  Her free right hand was dragging a third child along, her first-born.  The boy’s scratched and bleeding face was blank with fear.

Suddenly, the woman caught her feet on a root that lay hidden beneath the snow.  The pain made her groan out loud.  She stumbled and fell to the ground, dragging the boy down with her. The little bundle on her breast was buried beneath her in the snow.

For an instant, she was overwhelmed by a sensation of unending beauty.  Like drifting into sweet sleep, though it lasted only a moment.  The twin beneath her twisted and jerked her back into the howling storm. Or was it the howling of a wolf pack?  She pulled herself up with her last ounce of strength.  Not now!  Never! God in heaven!

The impact of the leader wolf’s attack threw her back onto the snow.  She could feel its thick soft fur.  For a second, wolf and human stared into each other’s eyes.

What bright eyes, she managed to think.

By the time its sharp-toothed jaws snapped shut, her soul had already slipped away into the snowstorm

Before the pack could fall on her prostrate body, though, a huge shadow loomed up in front of it.  The wolf leader learnt too late about the mighty sword that sliced through the air with a deep singing sound. The wind swallowed up the wolf’s yelps, and even before its lifeless corpse had fallen to the ground, the sword had slashed a bloody trail through the rest of the pack.  Another instant, and the phantom had vanished.  The remaining wolves melted away silently into the depths of the forest.

Unseen forces seemed to be at work now, because the storm dwindled to a gentle whisper.  The sun broke through the grey clouds.  It turned the snowflakes into thousands of sparkling silver crystals. A small tinkling sound filled the air...

The knight let his sword drop uselessly.  Too late!  An instant too late!  He gave an anguished cry and kicked the dead wolf aside.  Then he fell to his knees.  His large hands were trembling as he reached for the lifeless form.  He stroked the matted blond locks away from the woman’s small pale face with an almost tender gesture.  Her blue eyes gazed lifelessly beyond him, at the sky.  A gold chain was drawn tightly round her slim neck, its ends caught between slender clenched fingers. The knight prised them open carefully and caught the gleam of a plain gold crucifix.

The huge man crossed himself, “Christ have mercy on you!”

A faint cry roused him from his thoughts.  Peering at him from behind a rotted tree trunk was a terrified little face; it belonged to a boy aged around five.  His wide-open eyes were staring straight past the knight, at his mother’s lifeless form.

Only then did the knight notice something else: there was a spark of life stirring beneath the woman!  His powerful hands quickly dug the little body from the snow.  The baby was stiff with cold and its face was blue. It was no longer breathing.

The boy had drawn closer, trembling, and now stood silently beside them.  The knight pressed the infant to his chest and rubbed its tiny back with rapid movements. The baby suddenly heaved a great sigh and breathed in.  Its thin cry rang over the glittering snow. The knight wanted to talk to the boy as he stood beside him, to comfort him.  The boy was holding a second lifeless bundle in his arms.  A little face was peeking out of it. Dead.  Perfect in its beauty and peacefulness.

The knight turned his face away for a moment, as he struggled with sudden tears.  He had seen a face like that before!  Many years ago. Back then, the agony had endured more than seven hours.  How he had suffered!  But the boy had finally arrived! His keenly awaited son.  He had hovered with bated breath outside the door and listened, consumed with anxiety.  After his wife’s last anguished cries, a terrible silence had fallen.

Finally, he had been unable to endure it any longer; he had opened the door and shoved the ashen-faced doctor aside.

The mother was lying on her bed, exhausted.  She was holding the baby in her arms. Peaceful, like a sleeping angel from another world. Only then did he see the cord that had strangled the baby in its remorseless grip.  He could not understand it. Everything was there!   Lovely little hands, tiny whorled ears, dark curly hair. His sweet little nose. So perfect!  At any moment now he would open his eyes and draw breath with a deep sigh.  But the eyes stayed shut, the lips silent.  For eternity…

Conrad of Falkenstein heard himself sob and gasp in the wintry forest.  For many years he had concealed his feelings behind thick walls.  He listened to himself as if he were a stranger.  When the little blond boy sought refuge in his arms, when he pressed the crying baby to his breast, though, those walls came crashing down.  The unhappy sounds coming from the little group blended into a strange melody as they drifted beneath the silent snowy canopy.

“That damned knight!“ Magos shouted and dashed the crystal ball from the table.  It flashed past him, revealing the image of the dead wolf leader inside it for the last time. Then it shattered into a thousand fragments on the stone floor. The sorcerer’s bright eyes clouded over and everything went dark.  His strength left him for a moment.  He was still breathing with difficulty.  He could still feel the knight’s sharp blade, as though it had driven clean through his own body. He knew that sword, that mighty blade, and the iron hand that had driven it. Conrad of Falkenstein!  How had he known about it...?  He had been so close to his goal.  He had wiped out the mother, and one of the twins with her.  The firstborn and the second twin, though, they were alive!  Now, all he could do was hope that the others had noticed what had happened – if they were anywhere nearby.

Magos’ voice rang plaintively along the dusty corridors and roused strange shadows. He sank back, powerless, on his dragon throne. He brooded over the parchment with dulled eyes.  He had studied that ancient roll countless times.

He had devoted endless nights to perusing it, in the hope of uncovering its hidden treasure.  He had deciphered the letters forwards and backwards, vertically and cross-wise, but they had consistently baffled him. The words that lay behind the words were still a secret.  Worse still – it was impossible to guess what they were.  He simply could not understand the words that were there.  They made no sense at all.

A surprising thought roused him from his gloom. Of course, the Prior! It was he who had sliced through his plans!  Conrad had lost the gift long ago, but the Prior – not him!  He must have known about it.

“That damned priest!” Magos growled and his face grew long and pointed like a wolf’s.  He closed his eyes to concentrate.  He would not let himself be distracted by his feelings, now.  Cold hatred would slowly allow his former powers to return to him.

A sinister whisper reached his ear.  Magos listened and nodded silently. He was very pleased with what he heard.


Chapter 2  -  Bernardus

Bernardus rose to his feet, sighing gently. He had been kneeling deep in prayer for a long time.  An invisible hand had shaken him awake at a very early hour of the morning. His mind had immediately registered an urgent need to pray. He had hastily crossed the frozen inner courtyard by the light of a tallow lamp and had entered the chapel.  He had thrown himself down on his knees in front of the big wooden cross that bore the figure of Christ and had started to mutter his pleas and entreaties.  Darkness and dismay had swamped his heart like icy waves. Something terrible was at work, spreading death and horror out there, in the forest!  A few minutes later, Bernardus prostrated himself, his face streaming with perspiration despite the cold. A terrible feeling of distress overwhelmed his mind. He had often struggled with this dark force on previous occasions, but this time it was far stronger. After two hours, he seemed to have succeeded in forcing it back, at last.

But then he heard God speaking to him, in his heart: “Cease! It must come to pass! Fetch Conrad of Falkenstein!”

Bernardus hastened as quickly as he could to the mighty keep, but its great door had already been flung wide. The grim-faced knight came rushing out, wearing his chain mail and holding his big sword in his left hand.

“Conrad!  I’ve got something urgent to tell you!” Bernardus gasped breathlessly.

“I know! I heard it too, it’s Magos!  He’s about to perform a dreadful deed!”

Bernardus raised his eyebrows in surprise, “You heard it? That’s truly amazing! After all these years…”

“We have no time to lose, the snow is settling.  Give me your blessing,  Bernardus!”

The Prior tried to refuse, “But, you know that you don’t…”

“Keep your catechism class for another time! You don’t need to lecture me!” Conrad interrupted, shouting in his impatience.

“Yes, I should have known! Pardon, I was simply hoping that…!

Then he placed his hands on Conrad’s head and blessed him.

“It will never be the same as before – you know that, Bernardus.”

“I know. Time cannot heal every wound, noble Knight. But, through a child, maybe… and now, in God’s name, make haste!”

The knight stared at him for an instant in astonishment, and his voice sounded strained and angry, “A child?”

Then he swung himself onto his black charger and rushed past him, through the open castle gates.

Bernardus gazed after the knight, as the sound of his horse’s hooves clattering over the drawbridge was muffled on reaching the fresh snow. “God be with you!” He murmured.  Then he returned, treading resolutely, to the chapel, to storm heaven with his prayers.  After running these latest developments past his inner eye, Bernardus stood up, took a couple of stiff steps, and stretched.  His back was hurting and his legs had fallen asleep. His feet were sticking out from beneath his robe like strange, unfamiliar body parts.That was just how the Prior had been feeling during the last few hours; like a stranger in a strange, perilous place.

For now, though, there was nothing left to do.  He had done all that was possible.  The rest he could only commit to God’s mercy. Magos had returned!  He had felt his power. Once again, the very worst had been forestalled. From now on, though, the highest degree of vigilance was required. The circulation gradually returned to his limbs, with a prickling sensation.

The next hours were spent in fear and hope.  He kept watch by one of the battlements on the gatehouse. The snowstorm kept on driving him back into the guardhouse, where he could warm himself alongside the castle guards.

They made Bernardus very welcome. Everyone valued his wisdom and kindliness. Sometimes he spoke in riddles, and he could be terrifying; at such moments, there was a strength about him that left them speechless, and which was difficult to account for.  There were other moments, when he could be as carefree as a child, to such an extent that it could appear unseemly in a clergyman. He would tell the most hair-raising tales without batting an eyelid, and, when they had all regained their seats, there he would be, bent double and laughing hysterically. At such times, his lively, brown, slit-eyes would crease into laughter lines. As for where he came from or his own story, he hardly ever spoke about it.  In his day, he had returned from the Holy Land with Conrad of Falkenstein and many other proud knights. Since then, he had stayed at the castle and served as its priest.

In any case, they loved him, because, in many ways, he was the soul of Falkenstein.  Bernardus and Conrad were like dissimilar brothers. Very different, and yet, there was something about them that bound them closely, one to the other.

Bernardus went on peering anxiously into the snowstorm from the parapet walk on the wall. Then, quite unexpectedly, a few sunrays pierced the clouds, as though breaking through a narrow doorway.  Behind them lay a trail of blue sky, stretching out like a coronation cloak.  The warming sunshine transformed the landscape into an enchanted fairytale country, peaceful and innocent.  Two tiny specks were gradually drawing closer to the castle.   Bernardus’ eyes squinted into the sunshine, swimming with tears; could he actually see Conrad of Falkenstein, coming over the gleaming expanse of snow! Yes, he could!

The huge man was leading his charger, walking alongside him and treading a path through the snow.  Now, Bernardus could see a small shape, perched shakily on the saddle.  As the horse and its rider passed within the shadow of the cliff and vanished from sight, Bernardus rushed back into the castle and rang the chapel bell.

The hammering in the smithy fell silent.  Then, all of a sudden, the castle bailey sprang into life. Squires, serving men and maids rushed through the inner courtyard. In a few moments, the previously undisturbed covering of snow was criss-crossed by countless footsteps. In those days, the sound of the bell was a compelling reason for everyone to rush outside, though the people on duty were the only ones to leave their warm hearths, this time.

Finally, the door to the great keep swung open and out stepped Catharina of Falkenstein, wrapped in a fur cloak. She walked quickly across the bailey to the gate. The drawbridge came crashing down, all its chains rattling, and allowed them a view of the world outside.

Catharina grasped his hand, “I’m so happy you’ve returned! Were you able to…?”

He shook his head silently.  His face showed no emotion. This was something that all the inhabitants of the castle were used to. Kind as he was, the knight never showed his feelings.  Somewhere along the way, he must have lost them.  It had happened, so said those who were closer to him, during his crusade to the Holy Land. Previously, Conrad had been a man like any other, capable of laughing merrily at himself and the  rest of the world. However, neither laughter nor tears had come home to Falkenstein.  Maybe, though, the laughter had vanished earlier still, after his first and only child had been stillborn.  Catharina of Falkenstein, too, had been a lively woman, but she had grown quiet during those years. Maybe, this was the pain that had driven Conrad away to the Holy Land. Whatever the reason, people did not discuss it in this castle.  The men who had come there from Jerusalem and who had built Falkenstein, had sworn an oath.  Since Conrad himself was silent, the others kept silence too.

Conrad was now carefully loosening his heavy cloak and drawing a little bundle from it.  As Catharina took it from him, it gave a thin cry that rang through the castle bailey, where everyone had fallen silent.  She held the infant protectively to her breast, the  tears running uncontrollably down her cheeks. Husband and wife gazed at each other in a manner that the Prior had not witnessed for a very long time.

His face creased in a painful smile; was this the start? Gracious God, make this happen!

Bernardus’ gaze now fell on the blond head of the five-year-old boy who was sitting on the great horse, shivering. He lifted him carefully out of the saddle.

“So, little one, what’s your name, then?” He asked encouragingly, but the child was silent, gazing blindly ahead.

“Don’t worry about that for now.  Come inside and get warmed up by the fire. You’re all stiff with cold.”

As the heavy drawbridge was pulled shut, groaning and creaking, the two worlds were cut off from each other. Here, behind the thick walls, lay security and warmth. Out there, somewhere in the snowy forest, stood two crosses, one large and one small.  A white cloak had been lain over the bloodstains, providing a decent covering.  

Conrad’s gaze followed Catharina and Bernardus for a long while. Then he led Sirius, his stallion, to the stables.

“Maybe, through a child?” he murmured softly to himself.

Something was beginning to stir, deep in his soul.  He had not believed it could still be there. Was it hope?  Conrad banished the thought and rubbed his wet horse down with a wisp of straw. How could he tell, though?  With his left hand, he slowly drew something from his jerkin. The plain gold crucifix gleamed dully. He, too, had once believed in it, though that was a long time ago, now.  He clenched his hand quickly, burying it in his fist.  His life was a different matter, entirely!