John's Empire: John's Empire

By Philipp Schmidt and Martin Pfeilschmidt

Ban Rotha- the land of the Fishers – is in danger.  A gigantic horde of northlanders is gathering under the banner of a vindictive sorceress.

In their need her former sisters, the liegelords of Ban Rotha, call heroes from various times and cultures to help them.  Eleven men, who are ready to step up as their champions, succeed in following their call.  One is Cuchulainn, a powerful warlord from mystical Eira. Another is John, a nearly normal man of the 21st century.  Two heroes who could not be more different. To successfully lead the forces of the south into battle they and the other champions must overcome their difference despite all opposition. The magician Thoran, the last of his fellows, knows that not only the fate of Ban Rotha hangs in the balance, but that of all worlds.  The invasion must be stopped at any cost, but the witch queen also has a champion at her side: a being from the realm of the dead, a nightmare made flesh, an apparently invincible foe …

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Nov 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781071517451

Book preview

John's Empire

Book 1 - Pela Dir

By

Phillip M. Pfeilschmidt

If you truly wish to know the magnitude and excellence of our Highness and over what lands our power dominates, then know and believe without hesitation that I, Prester John, am lord of lords and surpass, in all riches which are under the heaven, in virtue and in power, all the kings of the wide world. Seventy-two kings are tributaries to us.

Excerpt from Letter from Prester John

(Michael Uebel, Ecstatic Transformation on the Use of Alterity in the Middle Ages [New York, Palgrave MacMillan, 2005] 155)

Imprint

Copyright © 2015

All rights reserved.

Cover Layout © Richard Hanuschek

The Kingdom of Prester John, Book 1 - Pela Dir©

by Philipp Schmidt & Martin Pfeil-Schmidt

Editors: Sophia Pösselt / Vera Brillowski

Excerpt from Letter from Prester John

(Michael Uebel, Ecstatic Transformation on the Use of Alterity in the Middle Ages [New York, Palgrave MacMillan, 2005] 155)

Published by Philipp Schmidt / Ferge Verlag

Chapter 1  John: the Arrival

––––––––

He knew the stone in front of him very well. He had seen the approximately fist-sized chunk of granite on every one of his trips here. He knew he was really here as soon as he touched it and picked it up. Thus far he had always shyed away from this step, but this time he had no choice. He stooped, picked it up, and felt how cool, rough, and heavy it was in his hand.

When you find granite, feldspar, quartz, and mica began it. he murmured to himself as he crested the top of the hill and thoughtlessly dropped the stone. He knew himself well enough to know that dumb sayings always came to him in serious situations. He had stopped letting it annoy him.

It was night, as it always was when he came here. Until picking up the stone he had been walking in a pale, unnatural light. A large crescent moon in a clear, starry sky illuminated the gentle downward path for him now. In the moonlight he saw the broad orchard meadows on both sides, with blossoming apple and pear trees of various sizes. It was spring where he came from, and it seemed to be the same season here. The air was fresh, a cool breeze made the delicate flower petals shake, it smelled like grass and wet earth. He hugged himself such that his arms crossed in front of his stomach and hands were on his hips,. The wind made him shiver; he was naked. About in the middle of the valley basin he suddenly saw a light flicker through the trees. He must go somewhere, why not there? He followed the path to the foot of the hill, from which the path became narrower until he finally lost it in mowed -no, he smelled fresh dung - grazed meadow. He looked into the clear night sky but the Big Dipper, the only constellation with which he could orient himself, was not visible. Perhaps it didn't even exist. So he simply walked farther in the direction he assumed the light came from. The meadow eventually ended at a small ditch; on the other side was a wide gravel path. He carefully walked over a wooden beam, and when he came to the path, he saw the light again. With cautious steps he approached it. Walking barefoot on the gravel was uncomfortable; it hurt his exposed soles. Finally a large, single-story building complex appeared in the shadow of a grove of trees. He followed the fork which led to an entrance framed by two illuminated windows. There was neither a gate nor a fence; obviously no one feared intruders here. Also dogs, which he would have assumed to be present in such a remote estate, were so far not to be seen or heard, to his relief. He liked dogs, but not at night when he was a stranger approaching a dwelling uninvited and naked. He hesitated in front of the large entrance. Should he try to look inside through the side windows? But for that he would have to trample the well-kept garden which was planted along the wall. He probably wouldn't make any friends doing that.

A woman's voice spared him any further deliberations. Don't just stand there, come in. He started and felt his knees go weak. I'm waiting for you!

Um, I'm naked. he said hesitantly through the closed door.

I know that you all are when you come here. replied the voice.

He composed himself as well as he could given the circumstances, opened the door, and first only saw a wooden table, on which a candle in a lantern flickered.

Close the door, the draught makes the candle smoke. the pleasant but now impatient voice eminated from the darkness behind the lantern. Just to the right of you is a blanket you can wrap yourself in.

He laid the warm wool blanket around his shoulders, thankful.

Come closer, so that I can finally see you!

He walked around the table and finally saw the owner of the voice, who sat on the opposite side. She stood - and he was deeply impressed. She was... what was she really? Beautiful? He didn't think that she would get a contract from an advertising agency in his homeland. Her face, framed by long brown braids, wasn't enough even for that. She had high cheekbones, somewhat slanted, dark -probably brown- eyes, her nose was small but pronounced, perhaps somewhat thin lips and she had fine laugh lines around the slightly-upturned corners of her mouth, just like around her eyes. ... exceptional, that most likely fit.

I am John. he uttered somewhat sheepishly.

I know. she answered with friendly impatience. And I am Ishtar. We have a date here. But I imagined you differently. She had also sized him up.

I am happy to have a date with you.  That was the truth, he really would like a date with such a woman, only I had no idea that I did. he added, shaking his head.

I am Ishtar! The priestess of the Allmother, who called you. she looked at him expectantly. As you know, we can, in times of great need, call a champion through space and time, who will step in for us. She continued when he didn't react.

Times of great need, he thought that he had recently experienced that. He, himself, was in a time of need and was seeking help. As desperate as his situation was, one could believe that he would choose to take a dream journey now. And then champion, that sounded damned martial, and that was not at all his thing. He expected that she would continue, but she just looked at him in a friendly manner, from her perspective everything was probably already said.

How could you be expecting me? he eventually blurted out. I only just recently found out that I would come here! Who are the others, who arrived naked before me? Who are you, and where am I really? he paused and laughed uncertainly.

And that is just the start, he continued, shrugging his shoulders, I also have no idea what your emergency is and in particular, what you expect from a champion. He added. Slowly he regained his self-confidence.

You really don't know anything at all about this? She looked at him doubtfully. You have to remember! We have talked so often on a spiritual level that you can't possibly have forgotten everything!

It was flattering to have such an attractive woman imagining conversations with him, but he had no idea what she was talking about. I didn't notice that you or anyone had called me. I am here of my own accord, because I hoped to find support with mastering my own problems here.

That can't be. A look of unbelieving skepticism covered her face. Are you not John the Ranger, the lone wolf, who shuns neither hardship nor danger and undertakes incredible journeys to fulfill his missions? Who stands alone against stupidity and ignorance and ...

Now slow down he interrupted her, amused. You're putting that very poetically. Yes, I am John. I work around the world as a forestry expert, I fight for every square meter of forest, often alone, against corrupt administrations and idiotic politicians. But I'm just doing my job and I am anything but a hero. The longer he spoke the more his initial cheerfulness evaporated.

There was a long pause in which she looked into his eyes deeply, with a grave look on her face. Well then, she eventually sighed. I haven't understood a word you're saying, but let us nevertheless assume that you are the right man.  What would you think of us telling each other our respective stories?

Ah, John exhaled, I think that would be a very good idea! But before we start, do you perhaps have something to drink and perhaps even something to smoke. He saw her questioning facial expression. Forget about the smoking, but something to drink would be great.

Pardon me, Ishtar recomposed herself, in my initial joy, and, I must say, subsequent confusion over your arrival I have forgotten my obligations as host. What may I offer you: water, mead, beer? I can also bring you some cold roast, cheese, and bread, everything is ready. All-Mother, I am remiss, you must be thirsty and famished after your journey. And should I perhaps light a fumigating candle? she added, somewhat uncertainly.

No thanks, forget about the smoking, really, but a glass of beer and some bread with cheese would be very good.

While she went to a sideboard lying in the semi-darkness of the room, John had a moment to look around for the first time. The room they were in was a large, elongated hall, which he sat at the front of and the opposite end of which was lost in darkness. The only furnishings which he could recognize were a long line of tables in the middle of the room, around which were high-backed chairs, and small sideboards at regular intervals on the wall. The wall itself was made out of large, cuboid stones up to shoulder height, above which it was made of wood with little windows at regular intervals. The room could not have been particularly bright during the day either.  The wooden truss was composed of decoratively carved beams and was, as far as he could tell in the scant light, brilliantly constructed. He wanted to look at them more closely in the light; good woodwork fascinated him. Between the little windows woven rugs were hung on the walls, which depicted Arcadian landscapes. Or at least what he thought of when he thought of Arcadian landscapes. Art was just not his area. The floor was made of large stone tiles; he felt it with his fingers, fine sandstone, so one would need good house shoes in winter. Apropos of winter, he looked around but couldn't find an oven or other heating device.

"How do you heat this place in winter?  There is winter here, right?

For us, even though snow rarely falls, unlike the mountains in the north, but there is winter and it is certainly unpleasant, long, wet, and cold.

She had returned to the table - her steps were graceful despite the sandals, as he benignly determined - and set down a tray fully laden with food and drink.. He used the opportunity to eye her up from top to bottom. She was a large woman, with rather small breasts, a slender waist, wide hips, and long legs. She wore a light-colored wool dress pleated under the bust with a round but not very deep neckline. At first glance it looked simple, but the dull silky gloss of the fabric and the fall of the folds bestowed a regalness upon it. Especially the fall of the folds under the bust ... he looked her in the eyes again.

A system of pipes runs under the floor, through which warm water is channeled during the cold season. But that is a long way off, it is spring now and besides, as I think, we have more important things to discuss. She had sat down on the opposite site of the table and critically looked at him.

Yes, excuse me, that just slipped my mind. Idiot. He mentally chided himself, can you not concentrate on what's important for once? He took a deep drink from what he thought was beer and only just managed to not spit it out again. The stuff was bitter., flat, and lukewarm. It would have been better if they had invented refrigerators instead of underfloor heating, he thought to himself and cursed the ferryman who had taken everything, including the cigarettes, from him. He cleared his throat and wiped the thin foam from his lips with the back of his hand. Well, who's starting?

Perhaps I should first explain about the call and the reason for it. Then you should also understand why I am so astounded that you appear to know nothing about it.

Well, just another question beforehand: How is it that you speak German, are we in Germany at some point? At that moment it occurred to him that this was very strange. Initially he had been much too overwhelmed by the situation and had answered as he was addressed.

"I have never before heard of a Germany. What we are speaking is the Language of Thought. People who undertake spiritual or dream journeys use it instinctively when they encounter other travelers to communicate with them. I assume, that German is your mother tongue? He nodded affirmatively. Then it is quite natural that you would understand the words like that. Because the Language of Thought is the common mother tongue of all people who are conscious of their spirit and use it.

That is, I am only here in spirit? He had experience with dream journeys

No, our previous encounters happened on a spiritual level. But now you succeeded in following my call and come bodily by some path unknown to me to Mun Ban, as this land is called in the old tongue. I am excited to hear your tale later, but please let me start! She leaned forward, put her elbows on the table, folded her hands, and looked him deep in the eyes. I journeyed through dreams to seek a man who is willing and able to be my champion. It is not that I couldn't stand up for myself, but my position as priestess brings not only benefits but also restrictions. For example, at my consecration I had to swear an oath to never use magic directly against people and forsake all forms of physical violence.

And that means you now have magic to use against people and can become violent? John had loosed himself from her gaze, the mention of violence had broken the spell that her eyes and voice had cast on him.

Please let me finish, it is not that we would do this of our own accord, it would be forced upon us.

Everyone says that, he thought but kept it to himself. She had that angry look in her eye again. Quick mirth and quick anger; not a simple character.

In our society there had always been twelve priestesses of the Allmother. That changed twenty-three years ago now. One of our sisters, Boudicca, had turned from us in anger and left us, with an initially unknown goal. The reason for the break was that she had lost the then-upcoming election for high priestess, although she was the strongest in magic by far. Normally the sisters elected to the position are those with the strongest magical abilities, because we see this as reflection of the closeness and connection to the Allmother. In her case, however, we saw it differently. She was quick-tempered, full of ambition and was always looking to increase our and therewith her own worldly power and influence. The other sisters felt - and still feel - that this is the wrong way. Beyond that, even then there were already signs that she was moving towards the grey area around black magic to build her personal power, perhaps had even already crossed the border. I don't want to go into this further now, but you can believe me, that we didn't make the decision lightly. It was clear to all of us that not electing her would lead to a break, the first in our long history, and none of us wanted that. Besides, we had unanimously selected another anyway, who was not far behind Boudicca in terms of magic, but was of a more humble character and unswervingly followed the Allmother's rules.

But shouldn't that resolve itself at some point naturally? John interjected. You say, that the whole thing happened over twenty years ago, and even then this Boudicca will not have been the youngest one, if she was gambling for the top position. How old is she now?

Age plays no role for us, we are forever.

You mean, you all are undying?" He asked, unbelieving, his brow furrowed.

No, I don't mean that, no one is undying. What I'm saying is that Boudicca will always be there, and the problem won't solve itself. Please take that as a fact and let me continue.

The subject appeared to be uncomfortable for her, her eyes betrayed it, and John let it rest for the time being. Theologians are the same everywhere, he thought to himself, no matter whether they're male or female. Hair-splitting, no clear statements, and references to faith, if it becomes uncomfortable or contradictory.

As stated, Boudicca left us in anger, continued Ishtar, openly relieved to be able to return to the original topic. "We heard nothing more from her for a long time. Seven years ago we heard the first rumors, spread by traveling traders, that there is a vast new realm in the north. We have few contacts there, where one finds the residing tribes and wild barbarians, with their constant fighting and shifting coalitions. It is not wise for outsiders to get caught between these fronts. Only traders, who serve all parties and on whose goods the residents of the desolate and cold lands are dependent, dare to travel there more or less regularly. But also a number of these pay for their boldness or greed, depending on how you look at it, with mutilation, loss of property, or even with their lives. It is too easy to break one of their many taboos transgressed, or for one or the other party to feel cheated. The fact that, despite this, there are still those who would dare to make the attempt is because of the fantastic profits that come from exchanging metal wares for furs, leather, and salted meat. In any case, news from this region was scarce, and like the bearers, usually unreliable. Here we have the proverb, as true as news from the north, if we want to express our doubt about information. But the rumors became more frequent and eventually became a certainty, as more and more wagon loads, later entire columns of wagons moved to the north, and the happy owners returned safe and rich. Their wagons, which mostly went there with iron ore, were not immediately unloaded at all but remained there together with the teams. The traders were paid with gemstones, hitherto no deposits were known in this region, but suddenly they existed in abundance and the purest quality."

Ishtar continued her story with great attention to detail, and John listened more or less attentively. She was a good storyteller with little but expressive body language, but sometimes he wished that she would get to the point faster. So he had to draw the information relevant to him from many sub-plots and ramblings. On the other hand he enjoyed listening to and watching her. So he let her talk and only rarely interrupted her with clarifying questions or affirmative statements to give the impression that he was listening to her or that he had understood a part of her story. The story, in summary, created the following picture: this Boudicca had apparently succeeded in uniting the diverse tribes of the north under her banner. Now there was a violent, well-equipped army with the obvious goal of marching south to implement Boudiccas supposed claim to the position of high priestess by force. Negotiations and offers from the side of the remaining sisters to restore her earlier position, or to recognize her own domain in the northern lands, had not borne fruit. The attack was expected in early summer the next year after the late northern thaw.

John initially breathed a sigh of relief, apparently there was no immediate danger, and therefore no need to do anything on the spot. That was still over a year away and perhaps the entire thing would blow over in the meantime. In any case he planed to wait until then and stay here. On the contrary, he urgently had to return to his world the next day in order to take care of his own problems.

What about your men?  he was trying to distract, do they now have their own army, which would be able to repulse the attack? In his experience every society had enough idiots who were intent on fighting over honor, the fatherland, money, women and similar things, or were just happy to get out of the house.

Ishtar furrowed her brow; apparently this was also a sensitive subject. We, by which I mean us priestesses, are not from this land. Our world perished many centuries ago in a violent catastrophe, which the men in our society were responsible. Some of them fled here with us, but since that time they have committed themselves exclusively to the exploration of the inner world and don't participate in social life anymore.

Very obviously Ishtar resented this stance and John inwardly agreed with her: a few centuries of navel-gazing was quite long enough.

Here, in the south of this land, she continues, in our domain, which we call Ban Rotha, the people are predominantly farmers. The soils and the climate make for profitable agriculture, and the people are satisfied with their humble but stable circumstances. Naturally we will call them to arms, but they are no match for the wild tribes, where every man is a warrior who has been trained with weapons from childhood.

She explained further, that the fruitful middle of the land has six small kingdoms, more or less united under a common high king. As Ishtar described them, they were probably rather small, quarrelsome, violent despots, who care little or not at all for the welfare of their subjects, but in this case they were her allies. Together with their knights, the military of the south and the middle had about ten to fifteen thousand men. Whereas Boudiccas' army, according to the reports, was at least twice as strong. Besides that the tribal warriors are said to be battle-tested from innumerable battles with each other and are now united under common leadership, Boudiccas' champion.

John still didn't quite understand: And what do these knights or kings of the midlands have to do with your internal spat over the officer of mother superior?

What? - I see, for Boudicca it is no longer just about the spiritual and temporal leaders of our own land, which is connected to the position of high priestess. What she has always strived for is to exert power over all of Mun Ban in the name of the sisterhood. But even if this, as she justifiably says, would be for the welfare of the people of the land, is contrary to our teachings and the will of the Allmother.

John didn't dig deeper about how she knew this last bit, but he couldn't stop his forehead from furrowing with skepticism. Ishtar probably saw his doubting look, but continued unperturbed, that she herself and the other remaining priestesses don't think much of how the so-called kings exert their power. Despite this, resolving conflicts by force of arms wasn't worth considering for her.

Worded like that, John could again agree whole-heartedly.

Moreover, Ishtar continued, it was clear to the kings what it would mean if such a violent army from the wilds were to march through their lands. As the seat of the priestesses, Pela Dir, the place where they at the moment were, was far in the southwest, near the coast. By now the kings on the borders of the northlands would be complaining about rustling and raiding on an unprecedented scale. Ostensibly some of them would have also extended some peace offerings to the effect of turning coat with the note that they would gladly spend their lives serving High Queen Boudicca as long as they can continue to exercise they will in their own lands as they always have. However, what returned from the north to those who sent the envoy was just the heads of the negotiators, and the kings would now stand true and firm as allies.

Those sound like very convenient allies, John commented, but what else should one expect from kings? And the champion of this Boudicca, do you know who he is?

According to rumor, he is a mighty warrior, almost a giant, though well-proportioned and good-looking, but incredibly cruel and hard on himself and his subjects. He is said to love and worship Boudicca like an idol, like she was a goddess on earth. His name is Gilgamesh, and he ...

Wait, his name is Gilgamesh? When she responded affirmatively, John explained. I have heard of a 'Gilgamesh' in my world and time. There is a fragment of an ancient epic in which he is the main character. As I remember, he is described as the king and hero of the city Ur somewhere in Mesopotamia. The entire thing played out probably 4000 years before Christ. Is that the era we are in now?

The places and times you mention don't mean anything to me, but you said is important. If the rumors are true, Gilgamesh is from times long past, that is he would be one of the walking dead.

Your magic can do that? Make zombies? He stopped after noticing her questioning look. Forget about the zombies.

Magic can do much Ishtar squirmed, apparently unwilling to go further into this subject. The question is what may we do without breaking the laws of nature and causing unknown amounts of damage. The Allmother has given us clear and strict instructions regarding this. Now she was on secure footing again. Raising the dead is most definitely against nature and only achieved with forebidden black magic.

You mean magic which is in harmony with nature is white, or good magic, but if it is against nature it is black or evil?

She hesitated for a moment then said: Very crudely expressed, yes. but she seemed like she didn't like it.

On the other hand John was very happy; clean classifications and divisions were important and calming to him. Pigeonholing is what one of his former life partners had disparagingly called it.

And you have explained all of that to me before? After a short period of silence John's doubts had returned.

Yes and no. This and much more I have shared with you in our meetings on the spiritual level. But 'told' is not the right word. Understanding during dream journeys has diverse forms as opposed to waking, or so-called real conditions. There is music, there are colors, there are figures, sometimes also direct exchanges of ideas in words, the possibilities are inexhaustible.

And apparently exactly as many misunderstandings are possible John thought, but he said: Can one also be deceptive with this sort of communication? at her questioning look he added: I mean lying or exaggerating?

Ishtar looked thoughtful and responded after thinking a while: Not really, it is the soul which is expressed there and I don't know of any magic which can mask a soul.

John was somewhat more at ease with this answer. He had not been able exclude the possibility that he had deceived her - with whatever goal - before.

After a long pause, in which they both indulged in their own thoughts, Ishtar said in a friendly manner: Besides, there will be a test tomorrow which will put aside any doubts about my choice. No, not now. she said when John opened his mouth to ask what sort of test. Now it is your turn. You spoke of a problem which has led you to me. You have never mentioned anything about it in our meetings.

That could be because it's only just come up. I have a son ...

... that you love very much and with whom you have a very good relationship, Ishtar interjected, you have shared that.

... and this son, Michael, has gotten himself into deep shit. He corrected his speech in response to her blank look: I mean, he made a serious mistake which has put him in a fatal situation.

He told her that his son had undertaken a long trip and had come into conflict with the local laws of a distant land.

Has he injured or killed someone influential?

No, that is not his style, he let himself get caught with drugs. John had to take some time to explain to Ishtar that this was a major crime in many countries in his time. What she could not grasp at all was that he had never poisoned or drugged anyone with it, but rather that he had just wanted to smoke the stuff himself and despite this was being punished.

Was that the smoking stuff which you'd asked for?

No - or yes - something similar, only what I normally smoke is legal.

A good hour passed with many incredulous interposed questions from Ishtar and two more tankards of beer for John before he had outlined the story with reasonable clarity. Even then she would have liked to inquire further, but he cut her off. If necessary, we can always clarify this more later. The fact is that he is sitting in prison, the trial is over, and in three days the sentence will be pronounced. And, in the worst case, it will be the death penalty, but at least a decade of imprisonment, both of which are unacceptable to me. If he got some community service or even half a year in prison, I would find it an appropriate punishment for youthful stupidity. But independent of my personal sense of justice, he is my son and I have to get him out somehow.

The last sentence appeared to satisfy Ishtar and deterred further questioning. She looked at him pensively for a long while. Aside from the creaking of the wooden beams, the room was totally silent. Finally she broke the silence: And how do you see me, or us, helping you?

I have no idea. As I said, I didn't know what awaited me here. But I haven't seen any way out in my real world, therefore I thought to try in a magical one, in a dream world.

Our world is also real and bound to certain rules, but I will definitely consider it.

They agreed that they both had enough information to digest for the time being. Besides, with all the explanations it had gotten late and Ishtar said that tomorrow there ould be important considerations and decisions. When John again asked about the test she mentioned, deflected again and said that he would have no influence on the result and should just take things as they come. That didn't seem quite right to John, but then again he was tired and exhausted, so he left it at that. They rose, John somewhat unsteadily - the beer was affecting him - and walked in the dim light of the lantern to the back end of the hall. Double doors opened here on both sides. Ishtar explained that the women laid on the left side of the room and led him through the door on the right to a long corridor which had many doors which were relatively close to each other. The wall on the right side looked similar to the one in the great hall. Only the wall hangings here didn't show peaceful landscapes but rather scenes of hunting and tourneys.

The men's quarters, John thought to himself, walking behind Ishtar and paying less attention to the surroundings as to the figure walking before him and her graceful form, which stood out under her long gown with every movement in the flickering candlelight. She only stopped at the last door, opened it, and prompted him to enter the room. The little room was whitewashed and hat a small window high in the wall. John happily determined that was open and big enough that a man could pass through it. He didn't feel compfortable being trapped, and when he thought of his son all the hairs on his body stood on end. Ishtar had lit a candle with the lantern, which she now handed him and he placed on a small bedside table which was to the right of a very inviting bed laid with white bedding. At the foot lay a thick, folded, and fluffy-looking woolen blanket. Across from the bed on the lift side of the wall stood a chest of drawers with a big, round stoneware basin and also a tall, white-enamelled pitcher. On the other side of the basin lay a folded hand towel with a four-sided piece of soap on it. Otherwise there was nothing but a stool behind the door. John had stayed in more comfortable rooms before, but the simple, clean style spoke to him. Perhaps it also had to do with the fact that he was dog-tired.

Do you need anything else for the night asked Ishtar, who was still standing at the threshold. When he said no, she said that he should come early to the hall for breakfast, wished him a good night, turned around, and was about to close the door when John called after her, Just a moment, can you tell me where I can find a restroom? At her questioning look he added: A toilet, a privy, or something similar?

You mean, to answer the call of nature? she asked, bewildered. That would be at the back side of the courtyard by the farm buildings. That is very far and it is dark, but you have a pan under your bed...

Ah, excuse me, I see. he remembered his childhood when he would visit his grandparents' farm, where the sanitary conditions had been similar. He excused himself again and wished her a good night too. Ishtar turned with a little shake of her head and closed the door. He listed a little, but the receding steps rapidly faded.

Now he stood there ... he sat down on the bed first. A thousand thoughts flew simultaneously this way and that through his head. So many questions that his ears rang with them, though otherwise it was completely silent. After a while he noticed the fresh, aromatic country air pouring in through the window, and told himself that he would not make any progress with his ruminations and it was quite probably for the best for him to lie down and rest some. He pushed the iron latch forward, answered nature's call, and put the pan as far away from the bed as possible, under the chair next to the door. He spread the blanket on the bed, laid down, and cuddled up in the fresh-smelling bedding. The candle, which stood on an enamelled plate, he left burning, as he couldn't imagine how he was going to sleep.

Chapter 2  John: The Test

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He was awoken by footsteps and voices from the corridor. The sunbeam coming through the little window told him that the sun had already risen but not yet very high in the sky. The candle next to him was completely burned down. He stretched, took a deep breath of the cool morning air, and determined that he felt good. He hadn't felt this good in a while, both physically and emotionally. Not that he had forgotten his son's situation, but somehow it seemed to him that everything was on the right path, for whatever reason. He enjoyed the feeling for another couple minutes, then stood up and went to the chest of drawers and washed himself, as well as he could given the circumstances. This made him shiver somewhat and he remembered that he still didn't have any clothes. He went to the door, listened for a bit, then opened it a crack. Ishtar could be relied upon: on the threshold lay a clean, folded bundle of clothes and next to it a pair of moccasins. He unfolded the clothes on the bed and was pleasantly surprised. Straight-cut, khaki-colored pants with a belt in the waistband and a dusty blue-colored, V-necked linen shirt without buttons or a collar. The shirt, pants, and mocassins about matched his tastes. Or his lack of taste, as his ex-wife said. Also the wide leather belt with the unadorned, sturdy buckle and the tanned, sleeveless sheepskin vest fit into this category. The only thing he felt was missing was underpants. He couldn't do anything with the triangular linen cloth that was supposed to replace them. He tried the shoes on; they were soft and flexible and fit like a glove. Before he put on the rest of the clothing, he used the chamber pot again. The thought that someone would later take away what he left in there and would be able to see and smell it was very awkward. He washed his hands and ran his fingers through his short hair. Good morning, John. he greeted himself like this every morning. When he considered himself in the mirror he usually he added: How do I look today. But there was no mirror, and besides he didn't feel hung-over, therefore he didn't add that today.

He opened, the door, entered the corridor, which was again in half-darkness, and walked in the direction of the hall from which he heard loud voices. At the double doors he paused, but then he said to himself: Who cares, these are just heroes, opened the door and entered the hall. Suddenly the conversations ended, and he felt all eyes turn to him. Good morning everyone, I hope you slept well! seemed to him to be an appropriate greeting. A few said good morning in response, but most just looked at him silently.

His gaze wandered around the company, who sat, half-illuminated by a few candles, around the long table, and something about them seemed strange to him. The clothing in any case could not have been more different and stylish. But there was something else ... he gradually became aware that they were all of different ethnicities. He saw Asians, Arabs, black Africans, and a few more which he couldn't identify at first. All of them sat in pairs, each a man and a woman, together. But racially there were similarities between the women and the men despite the differences in clothing and hairstyle: the women were, as far as he could judge in the dim light, were timelessly, stunningly beautiful, while the men appeared all well-trained and powerful. He himself was one point eight five meters tall, not lanky, still had a strong chest and wide shoulders despite being forty-three years years old, but the people he saw here were of another caliber. The trainer at his fitness studio would have been happy to have them.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw Ishtar come to him from the back end of the table: Good morning, John, have you slept well? Let me lead you to your chair. she greeted him. Without giving him the chance to respond she took his hand, which he liked, and led him to a place at the end of the row where an unusued