Eifelheim - Michael Flynn [199]
Hans flapped his lips. “Perhaps he does. The Herr-from-the-sky is often whimsical. But see how he shows his neck to the sky. He invites the Swooper to take him. This was an old rite, practiced among Ulf’s folk on their far island in the Eastern Sea of Storms. Gottfried’s folk and mine alike thought them foolish and vain, and Shepherd’s folk tried to suppress them. Indeed, the rite has long passed out of use, even on the Great Isle; but in times of peril, a man may turn to the ways of his forefathers and stand exposed in an open field.”
Hans unfolded from his perch, staggered, and nearly fell from the rock. Dietrich seized him by the arm, pulling him to safety. Hans laughed. “Bwah! There is an ignoble end! Better to be taken by Ulf’s Swooper than a clumsy tumble, though I would prefer a quiet death in my sleep. Ach! What is this?”
One of Manfred’s loosed falcons had come to rest on Ulf’s outstretched arm! The bird sheered, and Dietrich and Hans heard its distant cry. But when Ulf did not provide the expected morsel, the bird spread its wings and soared into the sky once more, where it circled thrice before departing.
Hans fell to a sudden squat and hugged his knees, his side-jaws agape. In the far field, Ulf leapt into the air in the manner of Krenkish dance. Dietrich looked from one to the other in bewilderment.
Hans stood erect and brushed absently from his leatherhose the grass and dirt. “Ulf will take our baptism now,” he said. “The Swooper has spared him. And if It can show mercy, why not swear fealty to the very Herr of mercy?”
“PASTOR, PASTOR!” It was little Atiulf, who had taken to following Klaus about and calling him Daddy. “Men! On the Oberreid road!”
It was the day after Ulf’s baptism, and Dietrich had been digging graves atop Church Hill with Klaus, Joachim, and a few other men. They joined the boy at the crest and Klaus fetched him up in his arms. “Perhaps they bring word that the pest has gone,” the miller said.
Dietrich shook his head. The pest would never go. “By his cloak, it is the Markgraf ‘s herald, and a chaplain. Perhaps the bishop has sent a replacement for Father Rudolf.”
“He’d be a fool to come here,” Gregor suggested.
“Or overjoyed to leave Strassburg,” Dietrich reminded him.
“We do not need him here, in any case,” said Joachim.
But Dietrich had taken only a few steps down the hillside when the herald’s horse reared and nearly overthrew him. The rider fought the reins as the terrified beast pawed the air and whinnied. A few paces behind him, the chaplain found his mount also fractious.
“Ach,” said Gregor under his breath. “That’s done it.”
The two riders retreated into the pass between the hills before the herald wheeled his horse and, standing in the stirrups, tossed his right arm in what Dietrich mistook for the Krenkish gesture of dismissal. Then the shoulder of the hill cut them off from sight, and only a dust haze lingered to show where they had been.
They found Hans in the open space between the smithy and Gregor’s stoneyard gazing down the high road toward Oberreid. “I thought to warn them off,” he said, swaying slightly. “I had forgotten that I was not one of you. They saw me and …”
It was Klaus, of all people, who placed his hand on the Krenkl’s shoulder and said, “But you are one of us, brother monster.”
Gottfried stepped from the shadows of the clinic. “What matter if they saw? What can they do but release us from this? The one in the fancy cloak threw something in the dirt.”
Gregor trotted down the road to retrieve it. Hans said, “It sorrows me to betray you, Dietrich. By us is motionlessness hard to see. I forgot myself and stilled. Habit. Forgive me.” And so saying, he collapsed into the dust of the crossroads.
Klaus and Lueter Holzhacker carried the twitching body into the hospital and laid it on a pallet there. Gottfried, Beatke, and the other surviving Krenkl’n