Netenyahu of the 16th Century by The Protected by Allah - HTML preview

Chapter Four:

Three Against the Leader

 

Johannes returned from the raid weary and worn. He exhaled a heavy breath, watching the sun dip toward the horizon as he dismounted.

He entered his room to rest and eat, preparing himself to trade his exhaustion for another night of ecstasy in the nearby tavern. He smiled, the memory of swaying courtesans dancing in his mind; how he missed the feel of them in his arms. It was true he had been deprived of his girls for months, but eventually, he had found his way back to his debauchery at the tavern.

He collapsed into a chair in his outer chamber, his hands dangling limply and his legs stretched out after the long day. Jorvoss rushed to pull off his boots and wash his feet, as was the custom.

Johannes yawned, stretching his limbs, and began to fixate on Jorvoss’ swollen face and bruised, blackened eyes. He recalled how he had kicked him with all his might the day before—simply because the wretch dared to laugh while Johannes was speaking to Catherina. He smiled to himself.

"Catherina forgot to tell me that God put the face at the top so it could stay high, not so it could be kicked by feet!" he thought. “Kati... poor, foolish Kati. I can never tell if she loves me or loathes me. How fortunate I am that I snatched her from her kin; otherwise, she wouldn’t have looked at me twice in her life!”

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He chuckled inwardly. “What a girl. Though she opposes me in everything, I am drawn to her more than all the beauties of the world.”

His mind drifted back to two months ago, when he was struck by an arrow in the shoulder. He remembered opening his eyes through the haze of a fever to find himself enchanted by the sincere, radiant love in her eyes. She had stayed awake over him, insisting on tending his wounds herself. It was that moment that made him vow to change his view of women—to abandon the path of violence and torture against them.

After dining and perfuming himself, Johannes left his room with a light heart, intent on the tavern. He was descending the stairs toward the exit when the sound of Catherina’s voice, strained in agony, drifted from somewhere deep within the house.

He paused, doubting his ears. He took a step further, but the moaning came again, and he was certain now: it was her. He turned back to investigate. As he approached the Great Hall, he found his path blocked by two guards deep in conversation. He cut through their chatter with a sharp question: "Is Catherina in there?"

"Yes, sir. Since this morning."

Johannes’s eyes narrowed into a grim stare. He pushed his way into the vast room to find the Leader sitting on his 'throne', arrogant as ever.

Jonathas turned, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Ah, Johannes! You’ve arrived just in time. Or perhaps a little late.

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Your wife has been on that chair weeping since dawn. All she has to do is pull this rope and return to her chambers, but the poor thing simply cannot manage it.

And I, as you see, am treating her with the utmost kindness; I am waiting for her to find her strength without forcing a thing!"

Jonathas’s teeth flashed in a broad, predatory grin. Johannes turned his gaze to Catherina. She was slumped against the wall, her head tilted back as if searching for the heavens, but her face was buried in her hands. Her body shook with the force of a total breakdown.

Beside her stood a gallows. At the end of the rope hung a slave woman, bound and broken, appearing half-dead from exhaustion.

"Let us suppose your servant performs his duties poorly," Jonathas said, resting his head on a fist tipped with sharp nails. "What would you do to him, Johannes?" Johannes clenched his fist. "I would punish him severely until he learned his place."

"And if he were arrogant in his failure? What then?" Johannes struck the floor with his heel. "He would not survive my boots!"

Jonathas mocked him with a forced radiance. "Ah, well said! Then why haven't you taught Catherina this lesson yet?" Johannes’s tone grew subdued. "She is but a weak woman. I Am the one who handles such matters."

"Julia is a woman," Jonathas countered, "and she has done far worse since she was a child. I fear your wife suffers from a

 

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sickness of the heart called 'Religion.' It prevents her from acting correctly. We must hurry to cure her of it before it is too late... wouldn't you agree, Johannes?"

Under the piercing gaze of the Leader ’s hooded eyes, Johannes’s answer came:"Certainly. What are your orders?"

The Leader whispered the command: "Make her hang her." Johannes turned toward Catherina with a heavy sigh. He placed a hand on her shoulder and hissed into her ear, "Come now. She is going to die either way. Do not destroy yourself for her sake."

Catherina recoiled, dropping her hands to glare at him with bloodshot eyes, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "What are you saying, Johannes?! You are talking about a human being like yourself! To—"

Johannes’s eyes shifted nervously. "Kati! Do you Understand what I am telling you? It is just one movement. Grasp the rope as high as you can and let your weight do the rest."

Johannes forcefully hauled the collapsed Catherina from her chair. He fixed her with a hard, commanding stare before thrusting the rope into her hands.

"Look at Jonathas," he whispered urgently in her ear. "He is the one doing this, not you. If he weren't here, none of this would happen. Now, move!"

She swallowed hard, trying to delay the inevitable. Her hands shook as they felt the rough hemp, sliding slowly upward. They flinched as Johannes whispered one final warning: "If you hesitate, or let go too soon, or if it isn't strong enough... she will

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only suffer more."

Catherina felt as though she were being consumed by flames. she averted her face as if from a furnace, her heart screaming in silent prayer: “O Lord, this is Jonathas’s deed, not mine!”

She let her trembling legs go limp. Her weight dropped, sealing the final breath in the life of Elisabetha—who was fortunate enough, in that moment, to be spared the sound of Jonathas’s cackling laughter. He sipped his wine, intoxicated and proud of his Victory over Catherina’s conscience.

Catherina fell to the floor, surrendered to the mercy of her own soul, shivering in the dirt as her tears flowed like rivers.

Minutes later, once Johannes was certain Elisabetha’s life had ebbed away, he gripped Catherina’s shoulders. "Enough," he muttered. "Get up. Go to your room... you have done enough for today."

Catherina did not answer, nor did she move. He swallowed hard and hoisted her upward, only to find her limbs as limp as a rag doll’s. Blood rushed to his head as he pressed his fingers to her neck, exhaling in sharp relief only when he confirmed she had merely fainted.

Yet, as much as water failed to revive her, Johannes failed to pry her spasming hands from the rope. Her nerves remained locked in a death-grip, as if still clinging to the life that had just departed. Scowling, he severed the cord with a swift strike of his knife, then

 

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dragged his wife toward the door, her unconscious weight stubborn and unyielding against the floor.

The eyes of those remaining in the hall tracked the scene, a hollow silence falling over them as they sought to wash the smirking from their own faces. Their Leader, however, remained perched on his throne, laughing with Julia. "I wonder," Jonathas mused, "is the rope more difficult than the blade? Stay with us, Johannes—perhaps we shall find out next time!"

Julia chimed in with a jagged sneer. "The creature in her womb must surely be a raven, seeing as we’ve crossed a hen with a wolf."

Johannes endured the taunt, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth threatened to shatter. He continued dragging Catherina until Jorvoss appeared, helping him carry her to her bed. As Jorvoss brought warm water, Johannes began to pour it over Catherina’s hands, rubbing them frantically to loosen the muscles' grip on the rope. When the hemp finally fell away, he splashed water directly into her face.

She gasped awake, her lungs hitching with a terror that clawed at her throat. "Is... is she dead?" Johannes exhaled, trying to suppress the bile of his own rising temper. "Catherina! That is Enough. I kill nearly Every day and Never give it a second thought!"

She wailed as if she hadn't heard him. "Sweet Jesus! Her soul will haunt me forever... Oh, the misery... the shame..."

 

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Her sobs erupted into a crescendo until Johannes’s palm cracked against her face. He hissed, "If you do Not silence yourself This instant, I will send you After her!"

The air left her lungs as she listened to Johannes’s ragged breathing. "If you are truly My other half," he added with venom, "you must learn How to act. You’ve made Everyone mock me. You've made them laugh at Me—and at My son. I will Never forgive you for this!"

She pinned him with a gaze like a volley of arrows, her words flowing like molten lead. "Is your upper half the same as your lower? Even if I am your 'half,' it does not mean I am a mirror of your soul."

"Even so! I will not allow you to behave in such an embarrassing fashion! It was a Mere movement! What point is there in weeping, in fainting, in making a spectacle of yourself and an object of ridicule of me... for her?"

She surged upright, hovering over him like a hawk. "Johannes, why can you not understand? This was not a 'movement.' This was Death. It was Pain. It was an ending... She had dreams! She had—"

"To hell with her!" Johannes roared.

In the echo of his shout, Catherina’s limbs went cold. She spoke with a voice that sounded already dead. "And I hope You go with her. Know this: I Hate You. I do not wish to be a part of You. Kill me, torture me if you must. Whatever happens to me, I deserve it; I bought My safety with the Agony of soo many others."

 

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She threw him a look of pure loathing before burying her face in her hands, dissolving into a madness of grief. "All of this because of you... You... you dog who brought me here and expects me to Love him? How can I Love a Criminal, a Reckless, Cursed, Hateful thing like You?"

"Wait and see how the Lord will cast you into Hell... headfirst. You will pay for Everything. Every small sin, Every great crime. One by one... Over and over. Your soul will perish without the Mercy of death, and your eyes will melt away while no amount of weeping can save you.."

"SHUT UUUUP!"

Johannes’s cry rang through the stone room, a primal scream as he clutched his head, gasping for air as if he were suffocating. Catherina, however, revealed a savage smile, her eyes wide and bulging. She reached her hands toward him, her fingers curling like talons, her voice dripping with vindictive glee. "Go on, take me and Kill me! Torture me and feast on my misery! We shall Meet Again... We shall meet when the scales are Turned Against You! Gouge out my eyes and wait for the day I do it to You! Tear My Flesh in whatever way You wish to experience Yourself later! Throw—"

Johannes clamped his hand over her mouth, silencing her by force as he fought for his own sanity. "Enough, Enough, Enough! What has possessed you?!"

He mastered his hand, using it to smooth her hair, trying to

 

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retreat from the escalation he had caused. He had pushed her when she needed a sanctuary. Her eyelids flickered, her gaze telling a story of unutterable sorrow.

Suddenly, her brow shifted, and she whispered from beneath his fingers: "If you are a Man... then get me out of here. Get me out the same way You brought me in." She held his gaze with a piercing doubt. "If You are a Man."

Two helpless tears tracked over his fingers, which were trembling alongside his body as he suppressed his rage. His features softened, and his whisper came out faint and colorless. "If I get you out, I will take your place. I will be sentencing myself to the torture. I will…"

Johannes closed his eyes tightly under the weight of the thought. She wept, "It is not my fault; it is yours. You knew what would become of me. You were the one who tore me from my father’s hands. Who else is there to be a man for me now, if not You?"

Those final words snared Johannes’s pride at its peak. Under their weight, his resolve fractured. He withdrew his hands, wringing them together as he stared at them with a fixed, vacant intensity, as if awaiting the outcome of an internal war. Finally, he whispered in a calm, hollow voice:

"Dry your tears and get up. I will take you as far as I can, and after that, you are on your own. Do not think of returning to your family or seeking refuge in a convent, lest they catch you. I will not lie to you—it is a desperate gamble. I will fall, and you may fall after me... but it is the most I can do."

 

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Before Catherina could truly believe what she was hearing, Johannes had hauled her from the bed. He sat her in a chair, her face a mask of bewilderment. She felt a sharp tug at the back of her head, followed by a swift, cold strike—and her hair was gone.

The door opened and Jorvoss slipped in quietly with a set of Johannes’s clothes. Within minutes, Catherina had been transformed into the likeness of a young man—though a woman in man garments alone. Johannes placed one of his hats upon her head and wrapped a cloth around her face. "It is the best we can do. Show me how you walk... try to mimic my stride!"

Catherina attempted to walk with a masculine gait, but her swollen belly made the effort futile. Johannes groaned in frustration. "This cursed pregnancy! All that nervous hysteria you were in, and it didn't even flinch?"

"It is moving inside me..." she whispered.

Johannes began to scratch his head with a violent intensity that drew blood, until a sudden comment from behind him stopped his hand.

"It is a good idea," Jorvoss said softly. "But it will never be enough."

Johannes bristled, turning to pour his wrath upon the servant, but Jorvoss continued, his voice steady. "I have been thinking of how to escape myself. I found a good plan, but it required someone to sacrifice themselves to ensure the flight. And so, I thought I was doomed to stay."

The servant looked at Catherina. "But now, I can be the one who

 

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sacrifices for her."

Uncharacteristically, Johannes did not strike him. He answered with a firm, quiet resolve. "And are you truly ready to sacrifice?"

"Yes," Jorvoss replied. "I don't live for myself anyway. If the two of you leave, things will only become harder for me here."

Johannes adjusted his stance, swallowing his pride. "And what is your plan?"

The eyes of the young man—whose intellect had been buried under the title of 'slave'—shone with a sudden brilliance. He savored the moment of the master learning from the servant. "I will lace the guards' brandy. I will spill oil along specific points of the house between the rooms. When the night is at its darkest, I will light them one by one, creating a frenzy to find me.

1. While the fire rages and everyone is blinded by panic and brandy,

you will exit toward 'Montis-Ferrus' through the right-hand window near the foyer. The main door will be far too dangerous."

Johannes stared at him, his suspicion mounting. "And why this window in particular?"

"Because it is the furthest point from the Leader ’s private quarters," Jorvoss replied firmly.

2. Johannes traced the layout of the estate in his mind's eye. "Fair

enough. From there, we take the western mountain pass toward Montis-Ferrus. It is a long and treacherous path for her; she cannot make it alone. I must be with her."

Jorvoss adjusted his strategy on the fly. "But... well, if you intend

 

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to return, you must not come back by the same route, nor let anyone spot you. You bear a striking resemblance to the Leader; you would be recognized instantly."

3. "True," Johannes muttered. "The moment they realize I’m gone,

they will comb the area. There’s no way I could have vanished far." He rubbed his head, eyes darting upward as he calculated their chances. "We will part ways at Montis-Ferrus. Then, I’ll head toward 'Pratus' When they find me there, I will have bought her enough time to escape in the opposite direction."

"Yes," Jorvoss added. "And you must get her onto a carriage. A pregnant woman moves far too slowly for a pursuit." Suddenly, Catherina snapped out of her nervous state. Her maternal and protective instincts surged, and she cried out in distress, "Does this mean you are both Sacrificing your lives for me? I don't want—"

Johannes cut her off sharply. "Forget about us, Kati! You must do your part, or you’ll be throwing our lives away for nothing. And if we become ghosts after death, we shall haunt you forever!"

A grim smile touched Johannes’s lips despite his furrowed brow. For the first time, a strange, overwhelming emotion flooded Catherina’s heart. She lunged forward, throwing her arms around him with all her might, sobbing into his chest. "I don't know how to thank you... please, believe in God and intend to repent... perhaps you might enter Heaven. I couldn't bear being the reason you go to Hell!"

 

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Johannes let out a disbelieving huff. "Kati! Are you the same person from moments ago? Is Hell a matter of your whims? When you are angry, I deserve it; when you are pleased, you try to save me from it?"

Catherina’s face flushed deep red. She clung to his neck, caught between a laugh and a sob. The moment lingered until Johannes gently stroked her hair, disentangling himself, then turned to Jorvoss with a sharp nod. "Now!"

Jorvors smiled with a quiet pride, lifting his gaze. "I will knock three times on the door just before I set the first flame."

"Good. We will be ready."

Under the shroud of midnight, Johannes lowered Catherina through the window. From the outside, the fire already seemed to be spiraling out of control in one wing of the massive stone structure. Chaos reigned; some scrambled to douse the flames, others wailed in incoherent terror, while those clouded by brandy saw the fire as a hell they had to flee at any cost.

Taking advantage of the pandemonium, they slipped away into the mountain pass. When they reached the ascent, they faced their greatest challenge. Despite the rugged terrain, Johannes had to move Catherina as quickly as possible without causing her pain—knowing he couldn't rely on the agility of a girl who had spent her childhood within the sheltered walls of a convent.

At a critical moment, as Johannes was half-carrying Catherina down a steep slope, a voice startled them from behind. "Is that little Vilmos? Why have you come this way?"

 

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Johannes barely managed to set Catherina down before he whirled around, drawing his sword in a silver flash. "None of your business! Save your own life!"

The other man drew his blade, his voice wavering with hesitation. "Easy now... I didn't mean to trouble you. I'm just a guard here, on the Leader’s ’s orders."

"And that," Johannes hissed, "is your death sentence." Johannes lunged, the two men clashing in a desperate duel. Catherina shielded her eyes, her body trembling at the rhythmic, cold clang of steel hitting steel.

Her nerves jumped in terror when a hand suddenly gripped her shoulder.

"Come, we must move faster," Johannes’s voice was urgent. We’ve left a trail now; his blood has stained the earth. Speed is a better guarantee than wasting time hiding a corpse."

They hurried past the body, reaching a stretch of road that was somewhat level. Johannes wiped the sweat from his brow and moved to hoist her onto his back, but she let out a piercing cry that cut through him: "My stomach! I can't... Arch!" His heart sank. He helped her back to her feet and urged her forward, cursing and swearing at the "stubborn pregnancy" that hindered their flight.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the crossroads leading to Montis-Ferrus and Pratus. Johannes caught his breath, exhaling a long, ragged sigh. "Let’s walk a bit further toward Montis-Ferrus until we find a carriage."

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She leaned heavily against him, her steps faltering. "I’m sorry for slowing you down... I am so exhausted." He looked down, his voice tinged with regret. "Don't apologize. This child was My fault. It was clear Jonathas would never let you be, yet I went ahead anyway."

He sighed, a note of finality in his voice. "If the child survives all this... do not tell him of me. Do not give him my name. Let it be as if I never existed."

His words struck Catherina like a physical blow. She hadn't let her mind drift beyond the immediate escape. Her voice grew thick as she hugged his arm, the sting of impending separation burning her throat. "Johannes.. my love.. I will miss you!" He bowed his head, his voice hollow. "Just make sure you succeed in escaping, so you can miss me. Or else we shall die together."

The distant rattle of a carriage reached their ears. Johannes broke into a run, shouting until it ground to a halt. He brought Catherina quickly to the hay-filled cart and opened the back. He reached out to help her up, but instead..

She threw herself into his arms, clinging to him with every ounce of her strength. She pressed a searing kiss to his pale cheek, sensing the profound conflict within a soul that had always been marked by narcissism and possessiveness. She stroked his face tenderly, tears streaming down her cheeks, and whispered: "I will pray for you every day, Johannes, so that God may save you.

 

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And you, too—remember that the Lord who knows the whisper of your soul... He hears you!"

He did not smile. Instead, he forced her into the carriage and secured the back, while her eyes remained locked onto his, wiping away tears as the crushing weight of guilt overwhelmed her.

As the carriage began to lurch forward, his voice rose above the rattle of the wheels:

"I don’t need to speak to God, for Jonathas is about to send me straight to Him."

The carriage rolled away. Catherina—clad in Johannes’s clothes— etched into her mind the final image of her former husband as she waved farewell. He watched her for one last heartbeat before turning and running toward the village of Pratus at a desperate speed.

He raced against himself, fleeing the realization that his only key to surviving Jonathas’s wrath was disappearing behind him. He ran with every ounce of strength, as if trying to outrun the blackened thoughts that pursued him. For over twenty years, he had watched Jonathas kill, torture, and cackle in ecstasy over corpses. Would he be the next?

After an hour of running, Johannes reached the outskirts of Pratus, gasping for air, his mind at its breaking point. He stood there, hollowed out by tension and ravaged by terror. He lifted his head, touched by a frantic madness, and began to scream.

 

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He knew not where to take himself; he was neither prisoner nor free man.

Against the rough, gnarled bark of a tree, he began to strike his head with rhythmic, violent blows, hoping to silence the voices thundering in his mind and dampen the fire of panic devouring his heart. When his sweat mingled with bloody scratches that began to throb with pain, the futility of it struck him. A tree knows no cure for the head as a sword does.

With a trembling hand, he drew his blade. He leaned it against the trunk, gasping as he stared at the steel that had harvested so many souls. Now, it was his soul's turn. His whisper came through jagged breaths:

"Come on... just one stroke, Johannes. Isn't this easier than hearing Julia’s laughter?"

He closed his eyes, believing himself alone, until his nerves jolted at a strange voice:

"No, it isn't easier."

Johannes whirled around, gasping. "Who? Who’s there? Whoever you are, stay out of my business!"

"I only answered your question," the voice replied. "If you kill yourself just to avoid her mockery, then you’ve helped her achieve exactly what she wants from you."

Fury surged in Johannes. He brandished his sword. "You understand nothing! You’re just babbling... Show yourself, if you’re brave enough!"

 

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The reply came calmly: "Sheath your sword first." Johannes stared at the blade through the droplets of blood on his face. Finally, he gave in and sheathed it, though his hand remained clamped onto the hilt. "Fine. Show yourself!"

A hand waved from behind one of the trees. Johannes took several steps forward until he saw him: a massive, elderly man in a leather vest, sitting beneath the tree. That was all he could discern in the depth of the dark night.

The man looked at him, his voice tinged with surprise. "You are but a young lad! And you wish to commit suicide?" Johannes exhaled sharply, turning away as his teeth chattered. "There is no place for me in this life."

"Look at this vast earth," the stranger said. "No place for you in all of this?"

Johannes snapped, his reason fraying. "I have a tyrannical father from whom there is no escape. His men will be here in minutes!" The stranger shook his head. "Complain of him to the One who is stronger than he."

Johannes roared with all his might, "There is No one stronger! He has cursed followers in every one of these surrounding villages!"

Maintaining his cool, the man asked, "Does he not fall ill? There is a power stronger than him, then."

Johannes’s spirit felt a flicker of comfort, hearing his own old observation from another. He spoke with a steadier voice. "Ah... you believe in God. Unfortunately, your God helps no one. Even His own son—He didn't help him; He just watched as he was crucified."

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The old man laughed softly. "That is what the Christians believe. But the Lord saved the Christ and did not allow them to crucify him to death, my friend."

Johannes clapped his hands in annoyance. "Don't start a new story with me!"

The stranger went silent for a moment before turning back. "It seems you believe in nothing at all?"

"I have No time for illusions now!" Johannes shouted. "When I am groaning over my own blood, neither your God nor anyone else will save me."

He turned away petulantly, walking toward the tree he had chosen for his end. He drew his sword again, preparing to harvest his own soul, when he saw the shadow of the old man approaching.

"There is a very beautiful woman over there," the man said. "Will you deny her existence simply because she won't save you?"

Johannes lashed out. "Why would anyone believe in God except for His power? As long as He provides me nothing, I do Not want Him."

"And as long as you Are that way, He does N ot want you. No one takes in any but the Loyal followers." Johannes lowered his sword to shout, "I have seen those who gave their Lives to Him, and He didn't care for a Moment about their agony."

"That is because the agony you saw them in was the Trial of their loyalty."

 

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Exasperated, Johannes shook his sword threateningly. "What use have they for Him if they are Dead?" The old man didn't blink, anchored by his own certainty. "Death is the moment they meet Him, you fool!"

Johannes leveled his sword, his eyes flashing with sparks of rage. "I shall cut your head from your shoulders to test the truth of what you say!"

With stern eyes, the man replied, "By doing that, I will know, but you will not."

"No... I will remain, and you will vanish!"

Johannes swung his sword, and the stranger said even as the blade moved: "The fact that I can no longer communicate with you does not mean I have vanished." The sword stopped inches from the old man’s neck. Johannes mocked him lightly, "Have you never seen a dead person before?"

The man replied with total indifference, "I have worked as an executioner all my life, my boy."

The mockery faded from Johannes’s face. "What did you mean by what you said, then?"

"Suppose your sword broke right now and you lost your ability to slaughter me. Does that mean you have vanished? Or has your tool vanished?"

Johannes lowered his sword slowly, eyeing the man with deep suspicion. His comment was dry: "You mean my body is my tool... Where Am I, then?"

 

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"You are you. Do you not feel Yourself? Your will? Your decision? Would any of that be missing if you cut off your hand, for instance?"

Johannes shook his head. "Don't toy with me. That is the work of my head and my chest! That is why wine affects it." The stranger smiled. "Does your body not perform acts you do not want when you drink?"

Johannes’s hand crept up, trembling as it brushed against his own chest. "So... I am More than just flesh?" he whispered, his voice thick with awe. "Does that mean death isn't necessarily the very End of me?"

He shook his head violently, trying to dispel the thought. "No! When I sleep, I feel nothing. Total void."

"Do you not dream?" the old man countered. "Those are just my thoughts! And sometimes, I don’t dream at all."

"And who is it that lives the dream when it takes shape? Your numbed, motionless body?"

Johannes fell silent, his features frozen in a mask of bewilderment. The old man leaned in, his voice dropping to a haunting rasp. "One of my victims... I beat him until he perished under the torture. Afterward, I went to a tavern and assaulted a woman I had never seen before; I remember being captivated by a mole upon her lip."

"The next morning, I returned to dispose of the body. As I hoisted

 

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him onto my shoulders, his voice hissed in my ear: 'We shall have our vengeance upon you—I and the woman with the brown mole.'"

The old man shuddered at the memory. "I recoiled and flung him away. I killed him again in my mind, yet to this moment, I cannot explain how he knew of that woman. I found his corpse bound in the very chains where I had left it."

Johannes thrust his sword into the dirt, leaning on it for support. "I don’t want to die, then. If I were to get trapped in a nightmare... it would be horrific." Then, his face flushed crimson with a sudden burst of desperation. He clenched his fists and cried out, "There is No Escape for me! Neither in death nor in life!"

"Reconcile with the Lord in the world of the conscious," the old man said calmly, "so that you may find rest in death." Johannes’s breathing grew heavy. "Reconcile? How? I know He exists, but I know not His place, nor how to speak to Him."

"He requires no 'place.' Physical location is a trait of the weak and the finite. Our Lord is far greater than that." A sense of peace began to smooth the lines of Johannes’s face. He stepped closer. "You are the first person to speak to me of the Lord in a way that resonates with my soul."

The stranger smiled, resting a hand on Johannes’s shoulder. "I believe in a Lord who is One, Mighty, and Supreme. He has no father, no son, and no likeness. He neither eats, nor drinks, nor tires. He is grander than anything we can conceive."

 

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Johannes recoiled slightly, his voice cracking with emotion. "Yes! That is exactly what I believe. It must be so. If He has no equal, He can have no kin. And if He is truly Powerful, He would not crave food and drink as we do!"

"Then," the stranger asked, "would you like me to teach you how to communicate with Him?"

"Do you truly know how?" Johannes asked, his curiosity piqued. He checked himself, regaining his composure. "Wait—explain to me first: what is the nature of your relationship with Him?"

The stranger led Johannes to a spot where they could sit, his eyes fixed on the vast sky above. "All my life, I was a criminal like you. I caused pain to many, until..."

"Wait!" Johannes interrupted, his brow furrowing. "How do you know I Am a criminal?"

"I just told you I was one myself," the man replied simply. "I recognized it in the way you speak."

Johannes leaned back, a flush of shame creeping up his neck. "Ah... yes. Continue."

"Later, I purchased a captive who changed my life."

"A slave? A slave changed your life?!"

"Yes. To spare you the details: his strange serenity, his patience, and the calmness in his eyes—even as I poured hell upon him— were enough to make me realize that I was the one in hell, not him."

Johannes’s pride flared. "And how could you bring Yourself to yield to a slave?"

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The man gestured toward the horizon. "I was boiling despite the wine I drank; he was as calm as a stone. I could not even take revenge on his tranquility, for I was poor—if I killed him, I couldn't afford another. I lived in a state of constant irritation until the question finally burst from my lips."

Johannes let out a short, dry laugh as the man continued. "He said he was a Muslim, captured during the wars in the South."

"A Muslim? One of those savages the King is so intent on fighting?"

The stranger chuckled softly. "I, too, thought they were savages based on what I heard. But my perspective shattered once I knew this man."

"Incredible. So... are you a Mulsim then?" The old man leaned in close. "It is pronounced Muslim. I believe in the Lord as the Foundation, and I believe He sent a Messenger named Muhammad, just as He sent the Messenger Jesus Christ."

Johannes nodded slowly. "So these men were able to communicate with the Lord, and so He made them His messengers?"

Before he could receive an answer, Johannes bolted upright in a panic. He scrambled behind a tree, whispering urgently, "They are coming! Quick, tell me how to communicate with the Lord—I must try it for myself to be sure!"

Flustered, the old man stood up, scanning the surroundings. "In the depths of your heart, believe that you are directing your

 

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words to the Almighty. Thank Him, praise Him... and perform these movements."

The old man demonstrated: he stood and placed his palms on his knees, keeping his back and head in a straight line. He stood straight again, then prostrated, placing his nose and open palms flat upon the earth. Finally, he sat back on his heels with his hands on his thighs. "This is it," he whispered to Johannes. "Humble yourself before the Powerful One, and your heart will find its rest."

He began to slip away into the shadows. "Good luck."

"Wait!" Johannes called out. "What is your name? Where can I find you if I make it through?"

"I am Wilius," the man called back. "I live in this quarter here. Farewell!"

Wilius vanished into the labyrinth of alleys, fleeing the approaching thunder of hooves that began to echo through the village. Johannes retreated into the shadows of his hideout, his breath hitching.

This is my last chance to end it, he thought, the cold edge of suicide beckoning. But if I do, I’ll miss the chance to reach out to the Lord... and besides, what if the Lord is already furious with me for defiling His creation? His wrath would surely be more terrible than Jonathas’s.

He looked toward the sky and sighed. "I can’t believe I was moved by a story in the end. Here is a plan: I will try to reach the Lord

 

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now. If it proves to be a deception, I’ll take my life right here before they lay a hand on me.

Staring into the vast expanse above, he whispered to his soul: I must direct my thoughts to Him... I must offer Him my neck, then prostrate. I don’t know if I can bring myself to do it... but wait. I have prostrated to Jonathas countless times just to dull his rage; can I not do the same for the One who judges Jonathas and commands him? I can.

Johannes took a deep, shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and murmured: "O Most Powerful, You who have fated us to die... I am speaking to You!"

He knelt as Wilius had taught him, stood, and then cast himself down. As his forehead touched the earth, a strange, profound calm flooded his chest. His nerves uncoiled, and his fingers gripped the soil.

Minutes passed in that sacred silence until he sensed someone approaching. Before he could move, a pair of rough hands hauled him upward by the arm, and a gravelly voice barked in his ear: "Have you seen a young man with black hair and a girl with brown hair? Strangers?"

The man didn't wait for a reply. He dragged Johannes out from the trees, shouting to the others: "I’ve found Vilmos! He’s right here!"

Men swarmed them instantly, hounding Johannes for Catherina’s whereabouts. He remained silent, a hollow statue. Since they were not authorized to maim him, a squad marched him back toward the mountain while the others continued their frantic

 

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search.

By the time they reached the stronghold, the fire had died down to smoldering embers. The stone structure remained largely intact. They dragged him into the great hall where Jonathas was pacing, a boiling cauldron of fury. Jacobus sat nearby, slumped in a chair, a shadow of gloom.

When the men entered with their captive, Jonathas fixed his demonic eyes on his prey, poised to strike. Raphael, the man who had found him, stepped forward. "I found him sleeping on the ground among the trees of Pratus, his face bloodied. He offered no resistance."

Jonathas let out a low, predatory growl. "And the third—the -*-? Where is she? Did you not find her?" Raphael flinched. "Not by the time we left, sir, but the search in Pratus has been intensified."

"Sleeping on the ground?" Jonathas hissed, his voice trembling with spite. "What is that supposed to mean?"

At Jonathas’s nod, the men threw Johannes at his feet. Jonathas delivered a kick with all his might, his face contorted. "You burn the place down and plot against me? Me, your master! You, whose head belongs beneath my boot!" He roared, "How dare you try to run off with her? Did you think I couldn't pluck you from the gates of Bellavar itself? Has that wretched mouse driven you completely mad?"

Johannes said nothing. Jonathas unleashed a barrage of kicks.

 

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"Where is she? Where did you Hide her? Speak, or I’ll paint the floor with your own blood! I swear by My power, you will pay ten times over, even if they find her!"

Despite the rain of blows, Johannes remained deathly silent. White-hot with rage, Jonathas seized him by the collar, hoisting him up in a single, violent motion. "Are you Defying me, you piece of filth?"

Johannes trembled, his swollen lips moving to produce a hoarse, broken whisper: "I am not defying you... I truly do not know. She was with me in Pratus, then I lost consciousness. I woke up in Raphael’s grip. I don’t know what happened."

Jonathas backhanded him across the face, a stinging crack that echoed in the hall. "Lying to Me too? You expect Me to believe you burned this place and fled to Pratus just to take a stroll? Do you take Me for a fool?"

He hurled Johannes to the floor. Johannes coughed up blood, but the beating and the insults continued until the sun began to crest the horizon. The search parties returned empty-handed; Catherina was gone. Jonathas sat in his chair, fuming, beginning to accept that this was a losing battle. Even the lowliest beasts grow savage when protecting their mates. A full night had passed; Catherina was likely miles away, and her trail was growing cold.

He turned his gaze to Johannes, who lay in a literal circle of his own blood. He found a dark amusement in the sound of the boy's moans and muffled sobs. He decided then to recoup his losses

 

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through pure, unadulterated vengeance—to let the pain seep into the depths of the boy’s soul until it rotted, so he could take pleasure in tearing it apart. He would not give Johannes even a second to savor his success.

Jonathas exhaled, unaware that the one detail he lacked was that Catherina was dressed as a Man. His men had passed her carriage dozens of times, never giving it a second thought because they were looking for a woman. She lay there, her lower half buried in straw, her short hair hidden under Johannes’s wide-brimmed hat, drowning in her own silent prayers.

Later, one of the men entered the hall. "Sir, we have tortured the 'Red' all night as ordered, yet he insists he knows nothing. Shall we continue the intensity? He may die."

Jonathas gnashed his teeth, his nails digging into the upholstery of his chair. "He commits such crimes and thinks he can die in a single night? No! Torture him, but keep him alive. I want him to endure as long as possible! "

Even the slave protects her! Jonathas screamed internally. What made them both sell their souls for her? It makes no sense!

As for Johannes, he spent the following days drowning in a stupor of agony. He was kept beside the leader’s chair, a trophy of broken flesh. Whenever his groans grew faint, Jonathas would give him another measure or two of pain.

His soul was shattered, his pride ground into the dust beneath

 

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Jonathas’s feet. But the sharpest sting—the pain that hurt more than any lash—was the haunting memory of the moment he threw away his chance to die.

 

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