Well Dead

VI. The Sound of Black Night

Harun slept through the entire day. This had the unexpected benefit of for once not being woken by the shrill cry of the cock. Instead, it was the cool evening air that made him open his eyes. He felt more awake and alert that he had ever done in the evening. He got up and wandered down the stairs, through the deserted castle and towards the gate, where Wenzel was waiting for him in the flickering torchlight.

“Are you really sure about this?” the guard asked, as he drew back the bolts of the side door.

“Yes.”

“You know what people think of you, of heathens in general, in these parts, especially down in the village. If anyone comes across you, alone, in the dark…”

“Is that likely?”

“No,” admitted Wenzel. “The women will be at home and most of the men will be in the tavern. But nevertheless…”

“I have to do this.”

“Why? Why is it you that has to do this? No one ordered you to get mixed up in dangerous affairs that aren't your own! Why you?”

Harun's brow creased.

“Ask me again in a week, will you?” he said, finally. “I may have thought of an answer by then. Now open the door.”

Wenzel did as asked. Harun stepped past him into the cold, dark, autumn evening. The sun was already down and stars were glinting up ahead. Doing this felt strange. Although he had lived for years in these lands now, he had never set foot beyond the castle walls, with the exception of the trips to Danzig. Never had he left by foot, and never had he visited the village, from which everything the castle required came: the milk, the bread, the honey, the meat – the last two in sadly small amounts.

It had been for a good reason that he had never left the castle when not on official business for Sir Christian: The villagers' attitude towards him was strikingly similar to that of Father Ignatius. He was not welcome in their midst.

Now he was going there, to avenge the murder of someone he had never met, but of whom he now thought every day when he sat down to supper. People like the murdered man – commoners they were called. Some people used the word as if it wore an insult, but Harun could see no insult there. In his view, commoners were called commoners because they were commonly needed. They worked hard, said little, and always made sure that there was food on the table, even if it was tasteless gruel.

Harun slowly walked down the hill. He barely could see the path to the village in front of him, but that mattered little. He was a man well versed in all of the liberal arts, including astrology. The new oxgangs, where Lukas' home was situated, lay north of the castle, past the main village. They should be easy enough to find by following the polar star. Harun walked for a bit, his eyes turned upwards. Then he found a broad strip of forest barring the direct way to the new fields.

Harun hesitated. Should he go around? It seemed an awfully long detour to make. And why should he? After all, he was a learned man. Surely he would be able to orientate himself in any conditions, if people like hunters and woodcutters managed it? The Polar Star pointed the way.

Of course he would not be able to follow the star in the forest, but there was no logical reason why he should not be able to keep going north simply by walking straight on in the same direction as before.

*~*~*~*~*

No logical reason for losing your way, no – but apparently there were a host of illogical ones. As Harun soon discovered it was difficult walking straight on in a forest where everywhere these damn trees kept getting in your way. Why hadn’t anyone gotten rid of them yet? And, to top it all off, the glimmer of the stars above was slowly disappearing. It was getting overcast. Harun stumbled over a tree root and fell forward, his head on a direct collision course with a tree which had decided to stand in this exact spot.