Hallows Eve

Jan Kostka

Domovoi

by Ivan Bilibin, 1934

 

Brother Adalbert could tell when Brother Anselmo had the visions coming on. He would start to play with his rosaries before bleeding from his nose. They were usually in prayer together, when the visions hit, and Anselmo always did as the Holy Father had taught him to keep himself under control and from what he told Adalbert, to keep the demons out. Whenever they spoke, Anselmo always said that he fought back with his faith, concentrating, focusing on one point, then as if glass breaking, his world shattered into darkness. This moment was one of such times. 

            Adalbert perched next to his fellow and he could see that the world must have been coming back to him slowly as Anselmo’s eyes reopened. He, alongside Brother Witold, helped Anselmo sit up. There was confusion in his eyes, and it took a few moments before Brother Anselmo recognized the other two. Brother Adalbert tried to stop the blood as best he could, but the trail, now dried, still came from his nose, down the front of his cassock, and all along the palms of his hands. His long black hair, now streaked with grey, hung limp and straggling across his face. Brother Witold leaned in toward Anselmo and smiled when he got his attention.

            “Be still, Brother. You have successfully fought the demon.  The Holy Father is right to have faith in you. Give yourself a second.”

            Adalbert knew that Witold did not really care about Anselmo.  He was not even sure that Witold believed in Anselmo’s powers, but Witold knew if other people believed in Anselmo’s gifts, he would by association be looked on with favor, by being close to him. Adalbert reached his hand to the prostrate monk. He touched the monk, but then backed away as if he was struck by lightning. Anselmo was still pulsating for a moment or two after one of his ‘visions’ and Adalbert knew that if he made direct contact, skin to skin, he could feel the residual effects.  Brother Nachtel had been thrown against a wall with smoke coming from his hair, when he had touched Anselmo once. Through the blessing of the lord, he used this force, this ‘electricity’ to keep the demons in check.

            “Come, Brother. Let us clean you and give you some nourishment so you may rest and prepare.”Adalbert had a small but muscular frame that made it easier than Witold to help up Anselmo. He didn’t have the facial hair the other brother had yet, but he started to show light blond fuzz. He was one of the tallest brothers in the monastery after the masters, but never used that to intimidate the others.

            “Yes,” Witold repeated with a look of concern that was forced, “so you may rest and prepare.”

            The prone monk leaned over on an elbow, then with the help of Adalbert, got onto his knee, then stood up. Adalbert was quickly elbowed out of the way by the sycophant Witold. “I will take him back to his cell, Brother. No need for you to worry.  Just clean up the floor.”

            Adalbert stood for a second, knowing that two people were supposed to be with Anselmo at all times. As he watched Brother Witold walk away with Brother Anselmo, he knew he would have to say penance for contemplating kicking his fellow brother. He would worry about that at confession; for now, he needed to attend to the floor. Brother Misko was there to help, but Adalbert decided he would work in silence by himself. Sometimes, the young novices did not do a thorough job and the stones were stained over the years by the brothers that bled from the transformation. Now, more than ever, the brothers needed to be vigilant to protect Anselmo and whoever might replace him.

            In the old age, Perun and the others had sacrificed themselves to bind the old ones inside a portal. Over the years, cracks had appeared as some of the old ones escaped. Brother Anselmo was used to reinforce the wards; the monastery resided on the doorway between worlds, connected to one of the waylines of power and energy. Nearby lay the town of Starybogow, the center of planes between worlds. By holding the wards in place they assured that outside forces could not release the Eldar Gods, but someone had effected a major breach. In some cases the lesser gods had been co-opted by the Christians, some like the brothers in this monastery had just remained hidden in place, replacing the guise of pagan priests for Christian ones. The town of Starybogow was the nexus of the portals. There was a shrine to the gods where they sacrificed themselves against the old ones and over time Prussians, Slavs, and Balts gave way to Teutonic Knights, Lithuanians, and Tartars. Towns rose and fell, but the brothers stayed immemorial as watchers and protectors. Now though, a breach had been effected as they had not seen for many generations. There were forces at play here as there always were that could break this wide open.

            When Adalbert first came to the monastery he was a simple peasant boy. His family was killed in one of the raids in the area and the brothers took him in. He learned the ways of the monasteries, the faith, and because he was called a ‘clever’ boy, he was taught to read and write. He eventually accompanied Brother Wojtek to transact business in the town for the monastery. Only certain brothers were allowed to enter the town walls. At first Adalbert thought it was to keep them pure, but eventually he discovered that some of them ‘couldn’t’ go into town. When they did they became ill – some violently so, but he was safe enough to go. There was something in the town – in the town itself – that they were susceptible to.

            Once in a while he would sneak out to the sacred grove that still stood near the monastery. The brothers knew that sometimes the people would be there to pay their respects to the Old Gods. The statues of the Old Gods had been thrown in the pond when the Teutonic Knights had controlled the area, but the local people did not forget Perun, as they saw the wonder that the four sided statues of his still stood upright below the surface. Sometimes, to appease the spirits, the people would come with straw effigies to appease the spirits that still lingered. Adalbert would go as well to spend time and contemplate; he did not bother them, they did not bother him. He was there on the night of Kupala, the summer solstice, when some of the young and old gathered for dancing, drinking, and loving.  They lit fires and threw a bread lady in the pond. The water sprites gratefully took the sacrifice. The men and women wore crowns of flowers in their hair as they danced in circles before pairing off. He left the folk to their merriment and returned to the monastery. This spot however, was still stained. There was a blood sacrifice here and in the city center. When the Teutonic Knights first came in, they slaughtered many of the inhabitants – some were of the old Prussian faith, some were Slavs, but to the knights they were all pagans and deserved to die. The memories of those events still hung heavy in the air and the soil.

            The brothers practiced martial skills for an hour twice a day, to be prepared in case the pagans or heathens attacked the monastery.  It was during practice one day that the first tremor hit. After that, the talk of tremors in the area was all the brothers could speak of. The only thing that replaced such talk was when Anselmo had a vision that indicated a nexus of the Old Gods. Adalbert lit a candle in the corner with the icon of the Virgin and prepared himself for morning prayers.

 

*****

 

            Adalbert was going into town with Brother Wojtek to bring manuscripts to the castellan and goods to trade with the merchants.  For the most part it was business as usual; they were at the town gates with their cart when it opened and passed through after a cursory inspection. After visiting the castellan, accompanied by his fool, the monks visited the tanners with sheepskins, then set up their cart in the market and started to buy some supplies. 

            After their duties had been done for the day, they had some time to relax. Adalbert breathed in deeply as he looked up toward the sky, a hand held up to shield his eyes. From the position of the sun in the sky, and the traders packing up in the market, it seemed to be about noon. He smiled as he turned to Brother Wojtek.

            “Peaceful, is it not, brother? Even with all that has gone on lately.”

            When Wotjek did not answer, Adalbert cocked an eyebrow in his direction. He stood, still as stone, but his face was pained. Adalbert leapt to his feet as he approached the brother, and it was just in time to catch him. The man staggered as if he has been hit in the chest and toppled over into Adalbert’s arms.

            “Wotjek?! Wotjek, speak to me!” Adalbert shook the man, but felt his stomach knot as he noticed the color had drained from the man’s face and his eyes had rolled back to only show the whites. He looked to the sky again, this time for a sign from God; he was terrified with what he saw. Black clouds filled the area overhead until black smothered the light.

            Lightning came in bright flashes and the ground shook. At first, he could barely feel it, but with Brother Wotjek in his arms, he was thrown violently to the side; the tremors were so severe that cracks appeared in the ground where buildings toppled.

            Wojtek reached out and was going to fall, but Adalbert caught him as the ground shook again. Cracks appeared in the ground in some places and several buildings toppled. He could see what appeared to be a giant wave along the river front and he could hear water splash and wash. Then there was silence; for a second or two, then the world exploded with sound. The bells of the church were ringing and people were shouting. He could hear rumbling and it seemed other parts of the town collapsed.

            Adalbert felt hands on him and came back to the present as Brother Wojtek was pulling at him and talking with a strained voice. “Get back, back to the monastery.  Quickly.” Then he slumped as dead weight and slowly fell to the ground despite Adalbert’s efforts to hold him up.

            Brother Wojtek was a big bear of a man, muscular and hairy, so it took all of Adalbert’s strength to throw Brother Wojtek into their cart and then try to make their way out of the town. There were people in the narrow streets that made it difficult to go, until finally, he tried to carry the brother over his shoulder. That worked for a very short distance, but his muscles began to scream in agony, and he realized he could not carry the brother any longer. Several people were pointing toward the northern end of town – a purplish-green smoke was forming a cloud over the area. Other people ran by saying the earth had opened up a fissure to Hell. Adalbert was not going to be able to go much further, so he put Brother Wojtek down near a stable, avoiding the horse manure on the street and finding some clean straw.  He propped Wojtek up against a support pole, but he was out of the way. Adalbert picked up a pole to keep people away, waited there, and guarded the brother in the hope he would regain consciousness.

            As the day wore on and evening started to creep in, there were less people on the street in this area, but Adalbert could still see the glow of fires and that eerie smoke plume. During that time Wojtek came in and out of consciousness.

            “You need to go boy.” Then drifted away only to drift back a short time later, continuing in mid-thought, “if the Gods are released some of us are susceptible to them, people in town as well as the brothers.You need to go; now.”  Then he drifted out again. All Adalbert could do was keep an eye on him.

            He was watching this when Wojtek let out a gasp and bolted upright, his eyes milky white and a raspy voice released from his throat.  

            “I thought I told you to go boy.”

            “Brother Wojtek…? What has happened to you?”Adalbert crept forward but held his guard. “Are you alright, I…?”

            Before Adalbert had time to react, the man was upon him.  He had drool from the side of his mouth, his milky white eyes stared blankly at the boy and his nails seemed to have transformed into small talons. Wojtek got tangled up in his cassock and fell forward. Adalbert hesitated for a moment as he tried to move away from his companion; the wild look on his face sent a chill through him as he lunged forward again on hands and knees. Adalbert just turned and ran, not sure what had happened, but sure he needed to run. 

            He ran toward the gates as fast as he could, dodging rubble and fallen bodies strewn along the way. He dodged and darted, losing his outer robe for his hose and jerkin beneath. He felt hands were grabbing at him along the way, but he pushed them aside, not looking back until he reached the gate. It was closed, which meant that he was locked in till morning – no one left or entered the city after dark.  There were no guards visible. He pounded on the door of the tower, but no one answered. He looked around when he saw a figure emerge from the far street – it was Wojtek, but he was not moving well – starting and stopping with spastic movements, but always toward the youth.  Without knowing where he was going, his legs carried him onward, back into the city. He didn’t know anyone in the town other than those they traded with and he knew them only from the market.  Perhaps the river would be the way to go.

            Those people who were on the street had a hollow look on their faces as could be seen from the firelight. They were huddled in small groups and made a menacing gesture if Adalbert got too close.  Occasionally a scream for help or a shriek could be heard, but he never could tell from where. He kept checking if he was followed by Wojtek, but he could not see him, though the little light available made monstrous shadows appear. The closer he got to the river, the more dilapidated the buildings were, to the point where there were some caved in. Only the older buildings that dated from the early history of the town, where they were still visible, seemed to have weathered the upheaval alright. 

            Once he got close to the riverfront, he stopped in shock, then ran quickly again.  The river was no longer at the docks, but had shifted its banks at least thirty feet away from its original location. Where the river had stood along the docks, was now mud glistening in whatever moonlight had hit on it. He saw men down there hauling small boxes up to the wharf. Tunnels were now exposed along the bank – several feet down and seemingly beneath the town. He thought he might try to make his way out along the muddy banks when a roar rose up to his right. A mob erupted from that direction and suddenly there was a battle along the riverfront as men and women armed with all sorts of knives and blunt instruments started to fight each other. He tried to flatten himself in a doorway and was sure he had seen Wojtek amongst the battlers. At one point he thought he saw the man try to bite his opponent. His face took on a macabre visage in the dancing light, dripping and pressing forward. At that moment another cry came from the opposite end of the block as the town militia started to press in. He leaned back against the door and it gave way. He fell in, but instead of floor, there was a hole that dropped down ten feet or more and he hung there in the air on the door handle with his feet flailing as if he could fly with his legs. He pushed the door back with his feet to a ledge to get his footing, then swung the door back closed. With no other option, he tried to climb down the ruins and rocks, into the tunnel.

            Now, there was only moonlight to guide the way. There was an opening to the left toward the water, but that only led to chaos. There seemed to be another tunnel to the right which was dark as pitch. Behind him was more space, but he couldn’t tell if there was a pit a few steps ahead or more tunnels. A light suddenly appeared in that space twenty or so yards away in what appeared to be a gentle slope downward. The person coming toward him was holding a lamp – not bright, but projecting enough light to see ahead in a concentrated beam. The shadow made it seem to be a big person, tall as it was broad, but as it got closer, the being seemed like a young boy; but once the figure came in sight it was clearly a short man by the lines on his face and thick beard.

            Almost as if the man expected him to be there, he strode purposefully toward Adalbert and came to a stop in front of him. He held a pry bar in one hand, about equal to his three foot height. In the other hand was a lantern like a miner would carry with a series of succeeding doors to expand or focus the light. He wore a black round felt cap with side flaps that were tied across the flat top. His tunic was also black, tied in the front, brown hose and ankle height boots completed his outfit. His hair and beard was carefully combed and braided with silver rings holding them in place. A battle was raging above him, but all Adalbert could hear in this tunnel were the soles of the boots on the limestone ground. The small man motioned to Adalbert to come, and without hesitation he followed him. A karzełek – a dwarf abiding in the underground – that is what he looked like. As they went back about the twenty yards he had come, there was an opening on the right. As they started into it, Adalbert turned back to see people starting to fall down the opening into the area they had just come from, and new people or creatures were coming down the opposite tunnel. 

            Adalbert followed the karzełek, still as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and when they turned the corner, the small man pushed a boulder along and covered the opening so that there was no seam to indicate it was there at all.

            The man set the lamp in a nook in the wall and it was then that Adalbert noticed there did not seem to be a candle or wick in the lantern. 

            “Come,” the man motioned again, and the passageway seemed to light-up as they passed down it, then darkened. “As long as you are with me there will be light.  Stay close and don’t dawdle.” His tone was annoyed as if speaking to a small child. They traveled for what seemed like an hour, but probably took less time. It seemed like there were a couple of side galleries, but they kept moving forward. They finally got to a dead end, when the dwarf opened the wall and pushed Adalbert through – leaving him in the common room of the monastery. 

 

*****

 

            The primate looked up from his papers in annoyance at the knock on his apartment’s doors.  His secretary poked his head in hesitantly. The primate hated interruptions when he was trying to collect his thoughts like this. He motioned for the man to come in.

            “Holiness, I have received these responses in the post from various magnates.” He dropped the papers on the primate’s desk and backed away.

            During the interregnum when the nobles were to meet to elect the King of Poland, he was the head of state. He quickly scanned the responses and moved the papers to the side. During this interregnum he needed to make sure he reunited the crown of Poland with the Grand Duchy of Lithuania again and keep the Teutonic Knights in check. He was also following the portents from his ‘friends’ in the Abbey that there were stirrings in the void. He waved the man away again, and the secretary started shuffling toward the door, stopped, and raised his hand as if lost in thought.

            “A thousand pardons, Holiness,” he turned, bowed, and pulled another note from his coat pocket, then backed away. “This came earlier from Rotmizter Robach.”

            The primate’s head jerked up from his papers and grabbed at the note snarling at the cleric. “I thought I told you to let me know right away when he sent anything…” he ripped open the seal and read the report. His eyes scanned the paper quickly, then focused on certain sections. ”Damned!  Damned, damned, damned!” He grabbed some paper and wrote out orders; stopped, crossed out a section, and wrote some more. He folded the note and sealed it with his ring, then handed to the scared man. “Bring this to Rotmizter Robach, now.  Do not stop, do not forget, and make sure you give it to him directly.” He paused to compose himself, “And if you ever wait to give me news I will make sure you will accompany the next mission to Moscowy.”

            The frightened man quickly left the room. The primate got up from his desk and went to the corner of the room with the icon of the Madonna. He crossed himself and opened the small box below that – the one for the domovoi, the ‘household spirits’ and threw a crust of wafer in there as an offering.  If an opening had occurred, they would all be in trouble. No telling what the German Knights would do, or the Muscovites. There was always a bad time for a breech, but at this point in the royal election too many people would be distracted. The nature of royal politics, be it the King of Poland, Holy Roman Emperor, or Tsar meant that there were always forces at work that would try to swing the election in their favor. By getting Alexander elected King, both nations would be united under one ruler and they would be better suited to combat the Teutonic Knights, and perhaps put an end to them once and for all. Not many people knew the true history of the knights in the Baltic and the dangers they posed.

            Alexander was a Grand Duke who understood the forces they were facing. While Jan Olbrach was a strong King, he also was a carouser. Alexander was more cerebral, and knew the folklore of the areas under his rule. From what the primate understood, he also had his own secret agents at play to counter moves the dark ones might take. Jan Olbrach was supposedly injured during a drunken brawl on his way around the city. In reality, the Knights had a hand in his death.  The barber-surgeon who initially attended him noted small punctures on his neck, discolored from the poison that was injected in him. By the time the medical doctors had arrived it was too late. “A shame to have to kill the barber, but can’t have loose tongues gossiping.”

            “I am a good and loyal servant of the church,” the primate declared to no one in particular, “But even the church tries my patience with the people it protects.” With that he slumped in his chair, took a deep breath and started in on his correspondence again.

 

*****

 

            Grandmaster von Sachsen paced back and forth in his study.  At one point in their past the knights might have been ascetics, but now he liked his comfort. He moved closer to the fire to try to get warmer.  He tightened the belt on his robe and tucked the tentacles back under his beard.  The  Grandmaster of the Teutonic Knights, Frederick Wettin von Sachsen, began to review his reports from the countryside. He nodded to himself with a smile of satisfaction. Their assassination of Jan Olbrach had bought them more time and forestalled another war.  His reflection was interrupted by a knock on the door.

            “My lord, this bird has just brought some correspondence from our man.” The  knight-brother placed the small pieces of paper on a silver dish, then backed away. 

            The Grandmaster waved him away and picked up the paper to review. Reports from the castellan in Starybogow indicated that the opening would be moved forward and the old masters released. He smiled to himself and relaxed, reaching into the small box and pulled the small bird out, then quickly gobbled it down. There were some in the order who still believed they represented the Christian God, but those of the inner circle knew. They knew the old masters could be brought back. They could disrupt the guardians. With a little luck, their agents could bring them back. 

            “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh fatgn.” The longer they kept the election in limbo, the most they could consolidate their forces. He would order a troop of men toward the Lithuanian border; surely the boy-Duke would try to move people across to block any moves the Knights and their agents might make. He would move some agents toward the town as well. Better yet, use some of the unsuspecting ones  under the guise of a quest.

 

*****

 

            Adalbert felt himself slowly coming around. It was not like waking up from a sleep, but how he imagined it would be after drinking too much wine – if he drank wine. Slowly he was able to focus and he came rushing back to reality like jumping from a height; then he was able to concentrate. He was in the common room, but with little recollection of how he got there. His cassock was torn and muddy, and he was starting to shiver, but at the same time he was sweating profusely.  He tried to stand and lost his balance. He grabbed the side of the bed and steadied himself. He stood there clutching his arms together, then fell into a heap. The next thing he knew, several of the brothers were surrounding him as well as the assistant Monsignor Urza. 

            They brought him to one of the benches and sat him down.  As usual, Witold was in the front feigning concern. Brother Urza moved them all aside and gave Adalbert some water with a little brandy in it.

            “Brother,” Urza placed a hand on Adalbert’s shoulder. He bent down to Adalbert and spoke in a low clam voice. “What happened to you? Where is Brother Wotjek?” Urza’s eyes were piecing blue and once focused on Adalbert, felt like it would reach into his soul. 

            At the sound of his companion’s name, Brother Adalbert sprung back to the present. He could not remember much, but something about his brother jarred his memory. “I… I don’t know. Brother Wotjek convulsed, then there were quakes, and then, I… I…” and his voice trailed off.

            The brothers mumbled to each other and Adalbert felt his head swimming. The rest of the brothers started talking amongst themselves. Some spoke to Adalbert, but to him it all sounded like a dull hum flowing through his brain.

            “Silence!” A voice boomed across the room, but there was no mistaking it; it was Brother Ulric the brother-militant, the disciplinarian of the monastery. “Bring him to my chambers,” his voice dropped lower, but it was just as stern. The brothers knew to just do as they were told and helped Adalbert toward the brother-militant’s cell. Brother Ulric had white blond hair that was unruly and always with stubble, but never quite a beard and never clean shaven. His long moustache drooped around his mouth. His flaxen robe was tied with two ox-tails made into a belt and he always carried a staff of myrtle-wood.

            There were some hurried whispers along the way. Several of the brothers had suffered fits when the quake hit. He passed Brother Anselmo’s cell with people running in and out. There was blood in several places along the walk as if a brutal, fight had occurred. He was brought to the brother-militant’s cell and placed in a chair opposite Ulric, who waved the rest of the brothers away except for Urza. “What do you remember?”

            Adalbert attempted to put the pieces back together. There was the earth moving, shaking; houses falling and people in the street. He was helping Wojtek, then it all went hazy. He only remembered fire and blood and the little man. The karzełek. Or maybe it wasn’t real. He was not sure. He just shook his head and repeated he wasn’t sure.

            Ulric looked up at Urza, who was standing to the side of Adalbert and raised his eyebrows. The brother then leaned in to Adalbert and spoke to him in a low voice. “Brother, we are at war with many evil things today. Our monastery has been grievously hurt, but it is time for you to take a more active role. You are not aware yet, but you possess important powers for the upcoming battles. I know that you spend time with the faithful of the old Slavic ways. Be prepared to use your faith of the old ways with those of the new faith. We shall guide you in what must be done.”

 

*****

 

            Ulric and Urza entered the chambers of the Monsignor Stanisław. The head of the monastery was hunched over his table as if asleep. Ulric gently shook the old man. He gave a quick start but then recovered.

            “Too tired; too much going on to hold back the darkness with our meager forces. Is Anselmo better?”

            Urza sat down opposite him, while Ulric stood behind him.  “Brother, they have affected a breech. Anselmo has closed it for now, but we don’t know what has made it through – some of ours, some of theirs. We need to take action. It may be time to return to our ways.”

            Stanisław sat up and it seemed as if twenty years disappeared from his face. There was a commotion in the corner and all three turned to look. It was the Lekka and Vekka, the domovoi and kikimora, or household spirits of the monastery. They had been listening and fell off their hiding place when they heard Urza’s statement. They were small hairy creatures, these house spirits. Although they were nominally male and female, it was difficult to tell which was which. 

            The one called Lekka stood up and helped Vekka up, or maybe Vekka helped Lekka. He could never be sure. “I think that is a good idea, Belobog.”

            Stanisław held up his hand to stop the creature, “Stan-is-swav,” he said slowly. Pointing his finger as if to accent each syllable. 

            Lekka lowered his head, but kept eyes on the monsignor. “Oh yes, sorry Bel-…Stanisław.  I have heard things; things from the bannik and vodyanoy that the rusalka are coming back in numbers, while the leshy and vila have seen things beyond the Bies. They say the ladies have returned.”

            Urza rubbed his beard through all this, trying to take this in. The rusalka were the mermaid like creatures that skulked along the river. They were always there for as long as he could remember. They were both good and mischievous, but the ladies were another matter.  Polunocnica, ‘Lady Midnight’, and Pscipolnitsa, ‘Lady Midday’, were demons who hunted down children at night and attacked workers in the field. They were not seen for years, and under normal circumstances they would be bad enough, but what had happened in the town required desperate action to protect the people of this area. 

            “We have to act quickly to restore the balance. The vampyr and undead have taken over parts of the city and some of the rusalka have started attacking ships.”

            Ulric jumped in. “We can send some of the brothers to help the militia. They will be overwhelmed if they haven’t been already.  See if our friends among the karzełek can help us through the caverns. If we don’t keep the dark ones in check the city could be lost.” 

 

*****

 

            Grun checked the street for any sign of the creatures. He knew that once there was a lull in the fighting they would have an opportunity to search for treasure.  The battles had gone back and forth in the streets for what seemed an hour. The town militia had pushed some of the monstrosities back until those shadows of humanity attacked.  Some of the locals then joined in to clear out this section of the city.  It was quiet for now, but it was an uneasy quiet. There were opportunities here. Everyone had heard the stories of the Scythian treasures buried beneath the city, but no one had ever found anything. But now; now there were tunnels, and where there were tunnels, there was the possibility of treasure, granted they survive long enough in the unknown below.

            There were still some fire smoldering where houses had been aflame; what had saved them from spreading was that many had collapsed into holes, which in itself was a miracle. He spit three times and crossed himself. He gave a short whistle and what was left of his associates appeared. The only one that did not come out was Zek. He was dead, he had turned and Grun had to kill him. He had seen it all living on the fringe. He grew up hearing stories of those people that mysteriously turned back in the days when the knights ruled the city, and he knew what to do when that happened. The first time he’d seen it he was a little slow and almost got himself killed, so when Zek’s eyes turned black he knew what to do – take off the head; everything else was temporary.

            “Alright, boys. Let’s see what we can find before the authorities stop this little party.” Technically they were not all men, but Wanda and Rose fought as well as any of them. Living by the docks did that to a person.

            Grun gave Jan One a nudge to lead the way down one of the sinkholes. Jan Two followed him along with Wanda, Rose, Bolek, and finally Grun.They had the blackout lamps they used for smuggling along the river. The lanterns they carried spread little light in the tunnels – this was done purposely so they didn’t alert people of their presence. Grun was always concerned that somehow his red hair would still give him away in the dark. While some of the areas looked as if they were hued out of limestone, others appeared as if they were part of buildings that were covered up over time. There were some niches in hallways that looked like doorways, but were solid; then there were rooms off other halls, one with a pool formed. The structure that was above must have been empty. There was no silver or even brass at the bottom of the sinkhole. Only the remnants of burnt wood were left in most places. It seemed like anything salvageable had been destroyed or taken by other people.

            In addition to the hallways, there were stairs leading up and down – carved or chiseled out of living rock, but in some cases it was clear they were built by masons. There were a couple of times when they thought they heard someone or something approaching and closed the shutter on their lanterns, hiding in one of the niches. When they thought it was safe, they emerged only to find themselves face to face with what looked like Zek only to have him blink out. They let out an audible breath, Jan One stammered a “Maybe we should be going”, which was seconded by Jan Two. They all started moving in the opposite direction, while Grun kept looking down the other; nodding in agreement to no one there. 

            Grun followed his crew without knowing where they were going. They came up to a large room off to the right. There were stone columns interspersed throughout, surrounding a pool. Torches lit some of the central area, but there were shadows around much of the room. It smelled bad like turned meat, with a metallic tang in the air. On either side was a stone platform with the remnants of bodies visible, which brought the group to a crunching halt – the last people in the group bumping into the forward folks.

            There were several rooms that were barely visible off the main room, but the glint of gold got their attention. At once, the group abandoned the torches and moved as one body toward the riches; greed painted plain as day upon each of their faces. It wasn’t treasure lying in a heap like some abandoned  karzełek horde, but a series of oddly shaped golden statues. The crew fell on them like ants trying to hack off bits to carry off or move them from their pedestals even if they were not going to be easily moved. The figures carved as statues seemed to be parodies of humans – misshaped with feral characteristics. They were placed in niches in locations that seemed like they were ready to jump out of the shadows. Grun was in the middle of carving apart one of the statues when something caught his eye further in the room, and then made his stomach drop, feeling ill at the sight before him.

            The Teutonic Knights had been mostly thrown out of Starybogow after the Ten Years War of the early 1400’s, when it was called Querstadt. It was said the knights that garrisoned the town participated in unholy practices. They did not leave willingly when they did go. Grun then realized these were mock visages of knights – tattered surcoats, lesions on their faces, exposed flesh, and a dead look in their eyes. Their swords were coated with a dark patina. The lead one pointed his gloved hand at the small group and started to mumble in an incoherent tongue. The smell of heated metal soon filled the room and it seemed the pool began to glow. The parody knight stepped forward and grabbed at Wanda, who had wandered close to him. Prior to that she was almost sleepwalking, but at that moment she and the others awoke to the realization of what was happening. Her screams died quickly as the swords stabbed her on one of the stone blocks.  Those that were left were under-armed and their only means of escape blocked. 

            Grun quickly realized if more of the monsters followed, they would all be dead soon enough. If they could keep the one at bay and take them on one at a time, maybe time would give him an answer; he pushed Rose and Bolek forward. Although they had short knives against the sword, the knight had very little room to maneuver and they didn’t have a reach, so it quickly settled into a standoff of parries and thrusts with each side waiting for the other to overcommit or make a mistake. Years of street fighting were perfect for this, but it could not last. When the three knights behind the lead were done killing Wanda they tried stabbing at the gang behind their commander, pressing forward. At one point Bolek found an opening and stabbed the knight in the chest, but he was stabbed by one of the knight behind whom then pushed into the room.

            Bolek fell to the ground and was pulled out by one of the creatures. The stabbed knight then pulled the knife out of chest and took a step toward the survivors when a bright light flashed.

 

*****

 

            The brothers were quickly organized by Ulric and they advanced through the passageway and quietly down the stone hall. Turning a corner, they came up against two of the demon knights. The knights assumed a defensive stance, as if by muscle memory with shields up and swords pointed. The brothers were armed with swords and halberds provided by Ulric. Finally, the special training that Ulric had put them through finally came to benefit. The sword felt light in Adalbert’s hand. As they got closer to the sound of fighting and the dead knights appeared, the sword started to glow in his hands. This was not happening with the other brothers, but Adalbert felt power growing in his sword and his arm. The dead knights had slower reflexes, which were taken advantage by the brothers who quickly overwhelmed them. Adalbert rushed to the front, parrying several thrusts and decapitating the creatures after a short fight. Ulric followed behind, armed only with a staff when they entered the summoning room. 

            The pool was already filling with blood and water and more demonic knights had some humans surrounded - ready to finish them off, while a human held a scroll calling out an incantation. A portal was opening in the pool as a red scaly talon was just breaking the surface of a swirling vortex. Ulric stood for a second in concentration. He had not been able to summon lightning for many years, but he felt the power surge in his body and casting his hands toward the pool, he let loose a light bolt  to neutralize the incantations, filling the room with light and a loud crack. The human with the scroll was thrown back against a column. This was quickly followed by a howl as the entities trying to come through the portal were returned to where they came from. All that effort took energy from Ulric and he slumped for a second, leaning against his staff. He felt dizzy for a moment, but quickly recovered. 

            “This never gets easy,” he muttered, moving forward.

            The decadent knights were stopped in their attack on the humans and turned to face the brothers. The monks moved with enhanced speed with Adalbert leading the way, isolating and killing the creatures before coming upon the humans.

            “Who are you?!” Ulric’s voice was already amplified by the acoustics in the chamber, but he had enhanced it using his inner voice.  The humans tried to form a circle to protect themselves, confused by the arrival of the monks but really they couldn’t do much against the brothers in the open. “Put down your arms.” He paused; when they hesitated Ulric boomed, “Now!” The humans hesitated for a moment, then milled around in a circle, they seemed half in a trance and half drunk, but not sure what to do. Then they complied. He point to the one who seemed to be in charge with the red hair, and motioned him along with the rest. The ruffian pulled himself up into stiff, formal pose, and smoothed out his hair; he seemed far more awake than the others.

            “Who are you?! What are you going to do to us?” He jabbed with his knife, keeping them away. Adalbert shook his head at the shaking blade.   

            Ulric approached with palms down, “Calm down fellow. We mean you no harm, but you need to put those weapons away.” 

            “I’ve seen you,” he stammered, “I know you. You’re from the monastery. But you’re no priest. You want this gold don’t you? It’s ours. We found it.” And with that he moved back toward the statues.

            “No one should take that. It is cursed, made with blood and madness,” Ulric then motioned for them to leave. “Go, go now while you can. I’ll send one of my men to show you the way out.”

            With hesitation, Grun heard the words from Ulric and seemed to nod, but didn’t move at first, as if he heard but didn’t necessarily understand. Then, as if it suddenly sunk in he nodded and started to shuffle away. The others blithely walked as if they were dazed. As he went past Ulric, the priest paused him.

            “One more thing,” then blew dust he had in his hands into the face of the human and he dropped like a stone. He then motioned to Jan One and Two to take their companion and follow one of the brothers. “He will have a knot on the side of his head where he hit the floor, but he won’t remember why. Give him a couple of coppers for stalling those creatures, then block up this entrance so the servants of the old ones can’t use it. Burn the bodies of their companions so they can’t come back to life,” then he turned on his heel and led his companions in search of any more portals. The brothers eventually returned to the monastery to regroup.

            At that point Adalbert realized he had been touched by the Slavic Gods. By concentrating and summoning that power he could unleash the wrath of the gods, but it took its toll on him. While it surged through him he felt great power, but after he started to shake with cold as the power drained from him.

            He braced himself on a wall for a moment, shaking the spots from his eyes as the dizziness from his mind, before he prepared for the return trip.

 

*****

 

            Grun woke up in an alley near the Spitting Pig tavern with the other three, not the least bothered that the others of the gang were nowhere to be seen. He had some coppers in his pocket and a bottle.  He must have gotten into a row after drinking – his head hurt, he was fuzzy, and didn’t feel well. One and Two were sprawled out along with Rose. “I guess it was a good night.”

 

*****

 

            The town began to attempt to rebuild, but it would take time.  Several of the wealthy merchants in town disappeared when their homes collapsed into the sinkhole. The new castellan, Piorik, thought he would use the wealth of the missing families to rebuild, but their treasures seemed to have disappeared with them. Piork was in a bad mood in his rooms above the city in the keep of the castle. His fool, Lambert, sat in the corner playing with his knife. Lambert, wasn’t actually a ‘fool’ like most blanks, but just a short boy that Piork had conscripted into the position because he knew a person of his status needed one.

            The captain of the militia, Sturtze, walked over to the table and poured a cup of mead in a familiar manner. The castellan was a veteran of King John Albert’s excursion into Moldavia and the homage of the Grandmaster Frederick von Sachsen. In the end, he was mustered out and came east with a letter from the king to take command of the town militia and the small lance of Cossack used in keeping an eye on the area. While the castellan was a minor szlatcha and the captain a commoner, he did know people and he had the muscle to back up his position.

            “It’s been two weeks since the terror. It’s God’s punishment for the evil ways of this town.”

            The captain slowly placed the cup back down on the table and tilted his head to avoid the direct light in the window. “If that was the reason for God’s vengeance, I think more than this town would be in trouble right now.”

            “How do we know what is going on beyond our walls? Father Kolma…”

            “Father Kolma is a very old and foolish man who drinks too much and reads less. Couriers have come back from Vilnius to say they are fine. I am still waiting on news from the west.”

            “Why wasn’t I informed about these couriers? I am in charge!”

            “I just told you, Castellan. Besides you were indisposed at the time, but more important matters. We have been able to restore some sort of control. The wharfs are still not operable because the river has changed. There have been several mysterious deaths in the north sector, I have the barber checking for plague.” He turned to walk away and stopped at the door turning back to the castellan. “By the way, we have had several of the wandering caravans from the south come to town. I have put some of them to work on clearing and rebuilding. I will keep an eye on them.” Then he left to make his rounds.

            Castellan Piorik slumped back in his chair. He poured himself something to drink and gathered some papers. “No tolls for the river, no market taxes, means no tithes for me,” he said to himself while counting on his fingers. He threw his hands up. “Bah, we need to do something or I’m ruined.”

 

*****

 

            Captain Sturtze took a couple of men to the docks before heading up to the northern sector of the city to patrol. The former quay was twisted and buckled from the moving ground, and part had actually sunk about fifteen feet. The river had shifted in such a way that boats could not effectively unload cargo and would be forced to bypass the city. That was, unless the castellan and the city fathers could get their thumbs out and rebuild the waterfront. 

            He was staring out at the mess for a second when he felt a presence below the wharf in the riverbank. Sturtze quickly looked over the edge to the sandy bank, but saw nothing and no one. It was dusk and there were no regular lamplighters out anymore since the quake, and what would normally be a raucous waterfront was eerily quiet.

            He saw a figure staggering toward him and he grabbed for his sword, but let it go when he saw it was only Grun, still coming down to the docks even though there was nothing new to rob here. The gang stopped when they saw the patrol and stiffened warily on the defensive, then realized it was the captain. He grunted at the militia and made a move to walk the other way.

            “Hold on there, Grun.” Grun turned back toward the captain.  He seemed like he was sleepwalking or drunk, but didn’t smell of alcohol as usual. 

            “Captain, what are you doing out and about? These streets are not safe anymore.”

            “Is that a threat you boozer?” It was half stern, half joking, but Grun’s face turned blank as if he was thinking and scared.

            “No, Captain. This place is getting bad, the north side especially. I may take my chances with the Tartars than stay here!”

            “What are you babbling about? And where is the rest of your motley crew?”

            “I don’t know where they are; I can’t remember, but I need to get out, get away.” Then he moved his arms as if pushing and stumbled.  That is when Sturtze caught a whiff of metallic smell and grabbed his arm.

            “Grun, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Then he noticed a a large lump  on his head.

            “Nothing, nothing. Leave me alone.” Then Grun stumbled back toward the town square.

            “Have that neck checked out! You dumb…” then he just trailed off.

 

*****

            Zoltan eyed the house from the shadows. The count and countess had not occupied the house for many years. Some people thought they were dead, but here they were. The count had arrived two weeks before and the countess arrived yesterday after her entourage was attacked by Tartars outside the city. Zolton and his brethren had other issues, his master would want a report soon. He took a pinch of zmatek and his senses exploded again. He had been watching this place for two days now, if not for this drug the boss had given him he would have fallen asleep a while ago. But he was wide awake, alive, and perceived all things around him. His third arm began to twitch again.  He was getting used to it, a gift from the masters. He kept it hidden under his tunic when he was out. For a noble house there never seemed like there was much going on. Occasionally some minion would come and go, but very few visitors, and when they did, they stayed for hours. 

            Eventually Horta came to take over at the post, and sent Zoltan to go back to their quarters. Several of the brothers and sisters were there chanting, trying to bring the old ones back. There were promises after all, promises of power. 

            The house of merchant Schmidt looked like many other townhouses and like other German merchants in the town, it was as orderly as it could be under the circumstances; the inside was a fortress of sorts. Members of the Order used it to keep an eye on events in Starybogow and now the time was right. The portents were right and they had brought in their own mediums. They had almost succeeded in releasing the old masters. One more push and they might accomplish what they had all wanted. The forces of the Countess and those monks, though not aligned, had stopped them for now. But not much longer. First to the Black Goat of the Woods Inn to meet and plan.