The first thing I hear is the barking of a dog. It echoes in my ears.
Where am I, and how did I get here?
The next thing I notice are the smells. Damp earth, rotting wood, resin, and mushrooms. And beneath them something heavy, cold, like iron that has lain too long in the rain.
What is it? A poisonous plant?
And under it all drifts the salty breath of the nearby sea. A scent I know, one that feels comforting at first.
I open my eyes. The barking has stopped. Branches sway in the wind above me. I am lying on the ground beneath an ancient oak, my cheek pressed against a root.
The air is cool. Strange and familiar sounds and scents blend together: the breaking of small waves on the shore. But what is that in the distance? A sound I have never heard before makes my heart race.
Bees! Thousands of bees! No, hornets, a massive swarm!
The rustle of leaves distracts me for a moment. I blink and glimpse a dim light drifting toward me. A strange feeling grips me, as if the world stood still and yet pulsed with motion all at once.
Between the trees, at the edge of my sight, something scurries behind old stones. Now I see him more clearly: a small man, dressed all in black. His movements are frantic as he paces in restless confusion. His left arm flails like the wing of a sick gull, his right hand clamped to his ear. Is he in pain?
He nods again and again, as if speaking to something unseen. His lips move, but his words reach me only in fragments, louder, softer, broken. Though my mind feels clouded, I feel pity for the stranger.
He looks like a man haunted by a shadow only he can see.
Is it me he fears? He seems ready to flee from me.
I look at my hands. They are no longer bound. But there is soil beneath my nails.
My execution gown of coarse linen is torn, heavy with dirt. It looks the same as on the day they lifted me onto the cart. Who knows who wore it before me?
The burning pain of the whip lashes is gone. Perhaps in heaven there is no pain.
Is this heaven? Is one to expect, after death, a night just like on earth?
I breathe in and out.
Can one breathe in heaven?
My hand reaches for my throat—relief floods me. The rope, the last thing I felt, rough and tight around my neck before the ground vanished beneath my feet, is gone.
And what is that above me? Not black… not entirely. It is night, dark but not black. Can black shine? Why is the night so bright? Perhaps with God the heavens are brighter than here on earth.
And there is something else, something I cannot name, wrong, unsettling. I do not understand. I should try to rise. If I can sit, I can stand.
Slowly I push to my knees, crawl on all fours. My bare legs scrape against small stones, smooth and oddly shaped.
Beneath me is no soil, and no path I know.
What if this is hell? But why hell? God knows I am innocent.
A shiver crawls along my spine. Stone slabs rise around me. Some crooked, moss-covered, others marked with signs I cannot read. What are they? Runes? Names? Warnings?
My fingers trace the carvings. Rough, cold, yet somehow alive, like an old oath still breathing.
Dark shapes emerge: trees, many trees. Am I in a forest? And stone figures too, faces hidden in the night.
Why is the darkness bright? Has the moon fallen, glowing here unseen?
I lift my gaze. The sky is clear, the moon a thin crescent above the treetops.
And yet everything feels… wrong.
Fear rises again. I tremble.
“Matthes?”
My voice is rough, broken. No wonder—I dangled from a rope. Where is he? He promised to be there at my final breath.
For a moment, hope flickers. Perhaps I survived? And if I did, what now? Can I return? Or must I vanish? Where shall I go without Matthes… and Alina?
I turn in a circle, peer into the darkness of the trees.
“Matthes, where are you? What has happened?”
In memory I hear his voice, soft as in those nights long ago, before Alina was born: “There are three moons, Sina. One for you. One for me. And one for what we shall never understand.”
We laughed then, and loved by the shore, alone together.
Now there is no laughter. I am alone. And I am afraid.
“Matthes?”
Only the wind replies.
And what is that strange light beyond the wall? I feel the ground beneath me more solid, as if I am arriving, slowly, like the morning mist reluctant to rise.
Many times Matthes, Alina, our wise daughter, and I watched the fog dissolve, the sun taking its place.
I stand, unsteady but upright. My mind clears. I hear the owl in the forest, the beat of its wings. It feels good to sense something familiar.
But then another sound. Deep, steady. Like thunder rolling far away.
I step back. The rumble grows louder, sharper. A scent reaches me, one I have never known. Breathing grows hard. It reminds me of smoke and fire, yet I see neither smoke nor flame.
Am I in a realm between heaven and hell? Am I judged for having failed?
I rest my head against the cool stone. Tears stream down my face. I weep quietly, soundlessly. I do not want the thing with the strange scent to find me. But the tears come unbidden.
Between sobs I hear the owl, the surf of the sea, taste the salt in the air.
I must breathe! I must!
The ground quivers beneath my bare feet. Something approaches. No hooves, so not a horse. No steps, not a man, nor dog. Not the heavy tread of cattle. Something larger.
Again that droning. The hornets! Have they found me? But this time a high pitch mingles with it, like a howl. A sound I have never heard.
I lift my head, look toward the noise.
There is an opening in a stone wall, large enough for a gate.
A light! What a light!
Blue and cold, flickering like a fish caught by Matthes.
It passes through the opening.
It is large, gleaming white like the Vogt’s stallion, strangely smooth and shining. And it rolls, without horse, without wooden wheels, without the pounding of hooves.
It rolls and hums, menacing.
My throat goes dry. This is the devil himself, breathing. I am in hell!
Oh Lord, help me!
Two more of the monsters! Each bears a flickering hell-light on its head, blue as enchanted water, restless, wild, like witches in a frenzied dance. They glide over the ground, over the strange small stones that look as if they had been fired from milk.
The three halt, and silence falls. Rolling, they hum. Standing, they hush.
Yet the blue lights flicker on, casting their ghosts across stones, branches, and walls.
From the monsters emerge men. Tall men, in dark blue garments with strange headgear.
I hear their steps, measured, heavy. Their voices … not a word familiar, and yet I understand each one. The language sounds like hammered stone, harsh and abrupt.
I try to step back, to remain unseen. But my foot twists, I slip into a hollow, and I tread on something cold, soft. I turn and my breath stops.