Sinteren, Vol 1: The Alptraum Chronicles, #1

By Kai Austin

VOLUME 1 of 2

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A Tale of a Complicated Friendship

Once upon a time, there was a town next to a forest in the Holy Roman Empire plagued by elves. The prince of the land happened to meet a young man in this forest. The young man tried to warn him of their sinister ways. The prince decided he and the man were friends.

But there is no longer a town next to a forest in the Holy Roman Empire plagued by elves. Perhaps there never was. Perhaps the prince never went to the forest in search for the meaning behind his mother's final words on her death bed. Perhaps he never went to the town in his father's pressure to find a wife. Perhaps the prince and the man never were friends to begin with.

All that can really be said to be true was that there was more to the man's story than what he told the prince, and there is no longer a town next to a forest in the Holy Roman Empire plagued by elves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kai Austin
• Release date: Jun 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9780999520239

Book preview

Table of Contents

Disclaimer

Language Notes

1 -- The Maiden

28 May 1404

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2 June 1404

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10 June 1404

June 1404

14 June 1404

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15 June 1404

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19 June 1404

20 to 22 June 1404

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23 June 1404

2 -- The Witch

7 July 1404

10 July 1404

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11 July 1404

12 to 15 July 1404

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17 to 19 July 1404

21 July 1404

22 July 1404

23 July 1404

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24 July 1404

3 -- The Mother

1 August 1404

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3 August 1404

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9 August 1404

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11 August 1404

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13 August 1404

14 August 1404

16 August 1404

20 August 1404

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21 August 1404

27 to 28 August 1404

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30 August 1404

4 -- The Demon

5 September 1404

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10 September 1404

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September to October 1404

October 1404

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October 1404

2 November 1404

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5 -- The Adulteress

November 1404

November to December 1404

25 December 1404

26 December 1404

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27 to 30 December 1404

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9 January 1405

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12 to 13 January 1405

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1 February 1405

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12 February 1405

10 March 1405

Continued in Volume 2….

Terms

Characters

Family Charts

About the Author

Acknowledgements

SINTEREN

Volume I

Dedicated to my relative’s old neighbor, whom my relative spent many years complaining about for being gay before learning he was just a single writer who lived alone, and didn't like to be bothered much.

If he had been gay, I doubt we would have been introduced. If we hadn't been introduced, I would have given up writing. This book and all my others would not exist without him.

Dedicated to every abused child who had to grow up hearing Cinderella wasn’t strong or empowering enough because she needed help to escape her abusers.

And, finally, dedicated to Harold, who had the audacity to shave his beard.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of existential horror and historical fiction.

Content warnings include:

Depictions range from ignorant microaggressions to blatant bigotry, even from the protagonist and characters some might deem good. All characters’ beliefs, actions, and understanding of the world are reflective of their time, and should not be assumed views shared by the author.

In addition, while the product of 8 years of work, this book has the misfortune of being released during on ongoing genocide at the hands of the Israeli government, which many Jewish people have condemned. The author, likewise, distinguishes between antigenocide and antisemetism. Any comments made by characters relevant to modern events are coincidence and were written years ago, with respect to history, lest that history be forgotten.

Reader discretion is advised.

Language Notes:

This book is suspected to be released mostly to a modern American/English-speaking audience. As such, there are certain terms that may be unfamiliar to readers.

(1)

Sodomy: (n.) any sexual act deemed unnatural, including, but not exclusive to: consensual anal intercourse, anal rape, consensual oral intercourse, oral rape, child molestation, and bestiality, regardless of gender.

Sodomy, as a word, has evolved in meaning over time and how characters understand it is not how modern readers might. This is important to understand before tackling this girthy monstrosity. In modern English, sodomite is generally understood to mean a homosexual man, and to sodomize someone to mean orally/anally rape someone. In modern German, sodomie specifically refers to bestiality.

The characters in this book do not speak modern English (or modern German for that matter), and thus, understand sodomy to mean the broader encompassing definition is provided above.

(2)

Fürst: (n.) The First, a prince within the Holy Roman Empire among the highest of nobility, just below the emperor and king, who ruled over an imperial state.

The son of a Fürst is a prinz, which also means prince, as English uses the same word for both terms. Likewise, Fürst is often used in German to refer to any ruler—including counts (prior to 12th century) and even lords, hence the vast swelling of princes in German folklore wandering about forests that have carried over into English translations.

Instead of calling everyone a prince, I have attempted (and failed) at my attempt to apply appropriate labels in context of story. Whether this makes things easier to read or terribly more confusing, I have simply given up.

(3)

Swabia: (n.) A cultural, linguistic, and historical region in Southwestern Germany.

The name comes from the Suebi people, some of whom migrated to the East Rhine (Rhein) region about 300AD. The region eventually became the Dutchy of Swabia from 900AD to 1268/1313AD, where it was discontinued, attempted to be revived, and then formally disestablished. Much of the former territory became free imperial cities that went onto establish the Swabian League of Cities from the years 1331 to 1388, when the league was formerly defeated. In 1488, a new Swabian League was then established.

Our story takes some liberties with this history—Vogelheim and Felix’s family obviously never existed, and the actual territory was split between Baden and Württemberg—but otherwise strives to be as historically accurate as it can.

(4)

Frisian: (n.) A ethnic group indigenous to the coastal regions of the Netherlands, called Friesland/Frisia.

Frisians are notable for having a very strong sense of individuality and pride in the idea of Frisian Freedom. This is believed to begin all the way back in the 800’s when they drove off Viking invaders with their own military might, and as the rest of Europe began to establish reins of feudal lords and kings, feudalism never took root in Frisia. Leaders, though often wealthy farmers themselves, were elected officials.

However, legend has it that Charlemagne, after having conquered Frisia in the 700’s, gifted Frisians their freedom after they freed Rome from Saracen invaders.

Frisia went on to be invaded many, many more times with the Friso-Holland Wars (various pockets of wars spanning 1256-1422) being among the most notable, and finally in 1523, Frisia was formally conquered by the territories around it.

Sinteren

VOLUME I

The alptraum chronicles

Kai Austin

Copyright © 2024 Kai Austin

ISBN: 978-0-9995202-3-9

All rights reserved.

Alb, or also little alb,

you shall remain no longer

alb’s sister and father,

you shall go out over the gate;

alb’s mother, trute, and mar,

you shall go out to the roof-ridge!

Let the mare not oppress me,

let the trute not pinche me

let the mare not ride me,

let the mare not mount me!

Alb with your crooked nose,

I forbid you to blow on people.

-- 14th Century Münchener Nachtsegen

1

The Maiden

28 May 1404

His mother was dead and Prince Felix ran. He ran out of her room. He ran out of the tower. He jumped onto his dappled-grey palfrey, kicked her into a gallop, then she ran too—across the bridge of the cliff-clinging castle, over the tributary to the river, down the slopped roads through the town of Kesselburg, and into the unpaved forest paths, valleys, and mountains he had never been permitted to venture far enough past the borders of Vogelheim to see the end of.

It was not a tragedy anyone could have avoided, they said.

It was her time, they said.

Did Felix believe it? No. The doctors were all liars when they said they could not cure his mother’s sickness, or blamed her age of sixty-one. They broke her heart when they stopped her from going outside, to her garden and her horses. His father only made it worse by ignoring her delirious babbling in her final days while still claiming to love her.

Sepelierunt in silva. She said. They are buried in the forest.

For a full year, every chance he could run, when his duties as prince promised even an hour of freedom, he took it. Every time he rode forth, he sought a forest further beyond that which he had come to know. And today—today was the furthest yet. A full half-day’s ride from the castle.

He sat mounted on meadow clearing with forest on both sides of him. From his clothes, none would have guessed he was a prince: a simple yellow shirt with a leather belt, black hose, and a dark green cloak. Perhaps the only hint of his status was his ring bearing his family crest and the sword forever at his side.

He wondered if his father truly mourned the death of the most wonderful woman in the world. The most perfect wife. His mother. Only a year had passed, but even before then, everyone acted as if nothing had happened, and his father was the sort of man it was impossible to discern his thoughts by his face alone.

Sepelierunt in silva. They are buried in the forest.

What did his mother mean by it? Which forest? This was Vogelheim, a shrinking state within the Holy Roman Empire on the east side of the Rhein River which only clung to its status as such per rumors Felix’s house bore the last drop of blood to the once vast Dutchy of Swabia. To the north was the Margraviate of Baden. The north-east was the County of Württemberg. The east was the County of Hohenberg, whose land had been sold by Count Rudolf of House Hohenberg to House Habsburg twenty years past due to his lack of male heir. The south-east was the House Fürstenberg. The south was Österreich, which was also ruled by House Habsburgs. The south-east was the County of Hohengeroldseck. The east was the Diocese Strassburg, the imperial city of Strassberg, and the imperial city of Offenberg. And to the north-east was the County of Mindelstein ruled by Count Rupert, which had once been part of Vogelheim, but now no more. So which forest? There were forests everywhere. The Romans once called this land Silva Nigra—Black Forest, for how far too many trees there were, and it was the very thing which protected an invasion from all those who surrounded it for how terribly difficult it was for an army to navigate the terrain, and Vogelheim’s primary export was timber.

Felix clicked his mare into an amble along the meadow, but she leapt into a gallop. He yanked her reins back and shoved his saddle stirrups forward; she slowed to a walk, snorted, and dropped her knees to the ground.

He yanked the reins harder. Halt, Nixe. Rise, rise!

Be she did not heed his words; he slipped himself free of the saddle just as she rolled onto her side, kicked her legs in the air, and twisted against the saddle horn.

He sat and helplessly watched her in the grass. He picked up a rock and threw it at her. She stood again, shook her mane and snorted.

He would never understand horses, not even a fraction of how much his mother did, and the fact the mare seemed to understand his softness for her whims made her all the more frustrating. If there was one constant in his life right now, it was her, and that pained him all the more. She was lucky he cared so much for her.

She was a yearling when his best friend, Friedrich, passed almost four years ago. His mother gifted her to Felix to care for and raise as a distraction, as a new friend, as a confidant.

Horses are the best friend anyone could have, and better at listening than men ever will. They may not speak with words themselves, but if you learn how they communicate, you will learn they have so much they want to say to you too.

The only thing Nixe was saying to him was she tired of carrying his useless corpse all the time. And had not even God looked upon Adam, in his garden of animals he named too, and proclaimed beasts were not enough? Man was not meant to be alone.

Have you finished your fun? Felix said.

The mare whinnied as she skipped her way around him. Lowering her head, she snorted a laugh. Her soft muzzle puckered kisses along his cheek.

Felix laughed too and pet her nose. Forgive me. I have forced my selfish quest upon you more than anyone.

A shrill neigh came from the trees.

Nixe jolted into alert. Her head ears flicked about, seeking the source of the sound. Again, it came, and this time Felix sat up to look too. The mare pawed at the grass and snorted a beckon for him to mount.

So, she was going to pretend she was a good horse again?

Very well, he said with a sigh. He hoisted himself onto her back. Let us go meet this fellow traveler, shall we?

She tossed her mane and pranced forward, swishing her tail with pride. Once again, the shrill whinny came and Nixe bobbed her head in reply, pushing her gait faster.

Perchance it was boredom. Or curiosity. He knew where he was in his land. He may not have been permitted to ever properly leave Vogelheim—only son, so many enemies to worry of, and all matter of blah—but he knew. Beyond the forest was another river, another town, the main road, and the beginning of Eichelberg—one of the few small counties with allegiance to his father and ruled by its vassal, Count Heinrich. He was one of the fürst’s oldest of friends whose first wife was Felix’s mother’s cousin. But this was not a forest he could truly claim to have been to.

They weaved through the trees and the first thing he noticed was it was rather clear and unobstructed for a wood, but there were still larger fallen trees and brush about. He took a detour around a fallen trunk Nixe refused to jump despite many a claim she was bewitched for how high she could jump if she was inclined, and they continued until they came to a small clearing. In it was a destrier stallion, great and large, the sort of horse knights sought to carry them into battle, and as black as night. Clearly, far too proud for the shabby harness strapped the log behind him. The stallion’s head stooped level to the eyes of a youth. He was younger than the prince—himself at age 22. But this youth must be at least 18 years.

The youth was opposite of Felix’s own appearance in many ways. Felix was a trained knight himself, though his training had grown lax, his muscles were hardened with the years. The youth was quite scrawny. Felix had straightened, black hair. The youth had golden, curly locks tangled and falling every direction. Felix had the blue eyes of his mother, which his father was fond of informing anyone who would listen. The youth had eyes so dark, his pupils would only reveal themselves a chestnut if sunlight fell directly upon them. But in the shade of this forest gloom, they were completely gone, mere round orbs of blackness that gave him a twisted air of innocence, mischievousness, and exhaustion.

Yet, despite the destrier, his clothing boasted no social status. A colorless shirt, hose, and belt with a pouch. Certainly, no lord nor knight. Was he a servant then?

The youth groaned, pointed to the log, and threw up his hands. He said something, which Felix could not quite hear. But as he continued to speak, Felix tilted his head. No, it was not a matter of volume. What language was that? It was not Schwäbisch, nor anything like Deutch. Hollandish? English? He supposed as long as he were not a Habsburg, there would be no concern, but…. any foreigner was cause for curiosity.

He carefully watched and studied the two.

The stallion snorted a glob of snot onto the youth’s face. The youth cringed. He dropped his axe and pulled up his shirt to wipe clean himself.

The stallion pulled the axe toward himself with a hoof.

No! The man dove for the axe. The stallion stomped on its handle. The man wrapped his arms around the stallion’s leg and pushed the full weight of his body against his shoulder.

Shaking his head, the stallion stomped the ground with its other fore-hoof and snorted again.

Well, this was an amusing sight—enough to ease any concern he had the man might be a horse thief.

Felix called to him. Ho, there! Do you need any help with that?

The man jolted upright, his balance wobbling like a newborn foal discovering its legs for the first time. He spun to face Felix, finally catching himself, though his posture remained twisted in question. His untidied hair fell as a curtain to cover his eyes. Where did you come from?

He did speak his language. That was a relief.

The stallion perked his head at the sight of Nixe. She padded her hooves, swished her tail, and nickered in greeting..

Nixe and I heard your horse out in the meadow and decided to bid you a good morrow, Felix said. Whose horse is that? He seems aware he is built for more than a mere pack animal.

No, this is a common task. He is simply a bastard. He pointed at himself. The name is Gerrit. He pointed to the horse. And this sack of lazy flesh is Fii.

Gerrit…. That was not a Schwaben name either. Fii, on the other hand, sounded too similar to the word for cattle or livestock. Was that even the horse’s true name?

My name is Felix. And this fair creature is Nixe. He gave her neck a pat.

Gerrit tilted his head. Felix? A strange name.

Hardly so. Many a man has been called such.

"I meant not it uncommon. It does not seem fitting. Felix means gelückelich—lucky, yet you are here. And Nixe…of all the names you could have chosen."

Hardly strange for a horse. Nixe were half-human, half-fish creatures who lived in rivers that mostly kept to themselves, but some were inclined to lure men to their watery death from time to time, and it did suit Nixe’s nature as a menace to mankind to be called so. But her name came from her coat, and his mother’s thought it resembled a river, and the fact she did try to drown Felix. Twice.

"So says the man named Gerrit who calls his stallion Fii. And from where do you come? I heard you speaking some foreign tongue, and I cannot fully understand it.?

The youth pointed north. I come from there. He tossed a thumb over his shoulder to the south. But I live yonder.

Felix glanced both directions. Trees. That is not—

Fii nickered in greetings to Nixe. She whinnied in reply. Stomping the ground twice more, Fii started to walk, tossing his mane, and veered in a wide circle.

Gerrit threw out his hands. "Oh, now you walk? You womanizing hoerbred! He cursed under his breath. He set one foot of each side of the axe, bent at his waist, and straightened himself and placed the axe on his shoulder. Well good sir, I must take my leave before Fii falls again into obstinance. God speed on your own journey."

What was a strange way to retrieve an axe. And the youth’s gait too…he would sway, limp, and rebalance himself as if he were injured or drunk, and yet, nothing else seemed amiss.

Strange, but a curious man. A very curious man.

Hold a moment. He pressed Nixe to follow. He dared not pass the chance to be treated as any a humble man, and Gerrit seemed in his mind to do so. Let me accompany you.

I would advise not.

How so?

Do you believe a one can be bewitched by love upon a glance?

Felix laughed. That was not a question he expected. He looked down at Nixe, whose eyes were fixed upon Fii beside them. Our horses certainly do.

The youth’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his hair still a misarranged curtain over his face. This place here is a crossroads between the world of men and alpen. Elves. There is a tale that if your eyes ever happen to meet their gaze, the creature’s beauty will consume your heart and blind you to all the rest of time. And then you go mad.

Another curiosity. Of course, he knew elves were shapeshifting tricksters and witches would command them to their bidding at times. Nightmares—elf dreams, alptraum, nachtmar—were another tale he knew well. An alp would come while you slept, sit upon your chest, and send you into delirium. Most were male, but trut or mar were female. And of course, they were among the many accused of causing the plague—but charming men into madness was another matter. He smirked. To fall into love… If only it was something he feared.

Oh, this is why you thought Nixe’s name strange. He laughed. She is no river siren, I assure you. But what of you then? Alone here, as I. Or has an elf enslaved your heart?

Tis nothing but a story, Gerrit snapped, the pleasantry in his voice gone. He sighed hard. But if you will forgive me, sir, I am but a servant of a merchant. Why are you conversing with someone like me?

Felix yanked the reins in insult, forcing Nixe to a halt. Gerrit and Fii continued to walk.

He called after, Is it wrong to have a simple conversation for the sake of company?

Nixe whined.

Aye, aye. Felix released her to catch them. That was an unjust overreaction.

Gerrit said nothing.

Call yourself a simple servant if you wish: You knew the meaning of Felix, which means you were either told or you have studied Latin yourself.

My father ensured I was well educated.

A merchant’s servant? In Latin? What noble is your master?

I once thought to become a monk. Tis not strange beyond simple upbringing, but alas fortune failed to favor me with my father’s passing and now I am trapped having more intelligent conversations with my own horse than with the family I serve.

Aye, Jorge sought to be one himself, but…now he is…. His smile fell.

Jorge was one of his cousins, seven years older than he, and as Felix was an only child, Jorge was closest thing to an older brother he ever had. Jorge adored Latin and scripture. He taught those things to Felix, and answered every question the prince ever had. His childhood dream was to become pope one day, and as he reached age, he joined a monastery. Felix swore he would do everything he could to support him.

But Felix had dared to sin, a sin that forced Jorge to become wed to Cristyne, the daughter of Count Rupert of Mindelstein. Now he was the Treasurer of Aldenbach. A married man could never become a pope.

So, your parents are dead? Felix said instead.

My father was killed during a journey, and my mother got sick and passed when I was a child.

They were the same. Both the same and somewhat different. Oh, I see. I lost my mother to sickness as well. Or at least, that is what I was told it was.

Well, Gerrit shrugged. It was not a tragedy that could have been avoided. Perhaps it was her time.

The words of those at the castle passed through his mind like a battering ram.

Felix gave Nixe a sharp kick. She jumped and squealed in protest as he turned her to barricade before the man. Fii stopped, his ears falling flat against his head. Gerrit seized the stallion’s reins and turned his head aside to stare at the forest beyond, almost as if avoiding Felix’s own gaze.

Do not speak such words! Felix said. Never say them before me again. You know nothing of my mother. His scowl deepened. And look at me when I speak to you.

Your horse. Gerrit mumbled.

I beg your pardon?

Get off your horse. He spun his axe around and offered the handle up to Felix. His gaze was still fixed upon the great rock. I care not who your mother is, nor even who you are. Prince of this land, or a passing Jew—you are a person, like all others. So, take this axe, and take it to a tree until your wrath has passed. It shall help. I promise.

Did not care he was the prince? If only he knew to whom he spoke. And yet, that his status not matter to anyone…. What a strange youth.

Felix scoffed, though now amused. You ask me to fell a tree?

If you should rather a grave for your heart, I can offer a hole you may toss it into. It will not be the first buried in this forest.

Felix straightened.

Buried in the forest. Perhaps… His memory of his mother suffering in her sleep came into his mind. The words she babbled. He had already investigated witchcraft, but now the strange youth repeated those haunting words in almost a riddle of his own. Perhaps…

Carefully, he took the axe from the man.

The moment it left his hands, Gerrit yanked Fii’s head over his shoulder to shield his face completely.

It was subtle. But for one to proclaim he cared not of station…it was a stranger fact still, and all the more, for whatever reason, Felix has a sense this youth was trying to not look at him.

Gerrit said, We must finish our business before dark. I bid you farewell.

But the stallion tugged toward the mare and stomped the ground.

Back, you beast! Gerrit jerked him hard and muttered again in his foreign tongue.

Nixe nickered her farewell. Fii’s ears dropped and he snorted hard; he submitted to Gerrit’s command.

I should like the axe returned someday. Gerrit called out, still not turning to look back. He pointed forward. There is a fence ahead. When you are satisfied, leave the axe against a post and I shall find it…someday.

Do you intend to leave me out here alone in a forest full of elves?

Do not look into the eyes of any a man, woman, or creature you meet in this forest—not even that Nixe of yours. They are cunning when choosing a form to deceive you. Gerrit must have said something else after that, but a sharp gust of wind flew past Felix and swept up the leaves around him to swallow the sound.

Silva. A soft voice whispered. Felix glanced around to seek the source before the wind faded and a shiver crawled up his spin.

And yet, he could only smile.

He had only planned to ride as far as the sun would allow today, but…Could this finally be the forest his mother was speaking of?

~*~

He galloped Nixe along the last stretch of road to the gates of Kesselburg—the largest town of Vogelheim. Mounted and armored guards already awaited him, and as he pulled Nixe into an amble, they turned their horses to ensure his return to the castle.

The castle was built upon a cliff along the Murg valley and river. To enter required a pass through the first gatehouse, then a journey up the stone bridge that twisted along the drop into the river, then the second gatehouse into the bailey—where there were the stables, the dog kennel, the blacksmith, the barracks, the armory, and every other thing the castle had no room for. But he rode past them all pass under the archway of the final gate into a round courtyard before long rows of stairs leading to the entrance of the hall. Before the stairs, a servant ran up to collect Nixe’s reins as he slipped off her. Atop the stairs, standing with crossed armed before the opened door was Lienhart, the chamberlain—and his mother’s younger brother, though after a year of Felix obsessively asking him of every detail of her life, he refused any more questions.

Like most men in their fifties, Lienhart had the forehead creases of frustrated years, hair past his ears, and a shortened beard. Both were wheat in color. He bore the same blue eyes as his sister too. Beyond this, there was nothing particularly distinguishing about him. Yet, should he ever change his clothes, Felix was sure he would still know him from his eternally grim presence…or at least, as long as there were no women about.

That was, alas, cause for the present tension between them, and perhaps other men too. The first month after his mother died, Felix sat before every single one of her handmaids and interrogated them into exhaustion. He might have accused five of her demise and caused two to mentally break and collapse into sobbing fits. And this might have caused their husbands and the furst to step in. And now Felix was forbidden by his father from pressing more women with further questions about his mother.

Felix patted Nixe farewell as the grooms took her. Axe in hand, he ran up the stairs and bowed his head to escape the chamberlain’s cold gaze. He swept through the grand hall and the maze of corridors, and continued upstairs into what was once a storage tower he had claimed as his own. Shuffling through his clothes and purse, he found his precious key, unlocked the door, and stepped into his private study.

He threw the curtains open wide to let as much of the setting sun’s remaining light within. The light illuminated the walls, covered top to bottom with every map of his three-hundred count collection he could find a place for—some he made himself, but most by others and some costing a small fortune—and shelves and tables filled with scrolls of both paper and parchment, measuring instruments, and ink stains from his own cartographic inspirations. He scanned walls, shuffled around several long boxes and scrolls.

Where did he put it? Where? Where? This one!

He unfurled the map and slammed it upon a table, placing the axe on one end as a weight. Dipping a quill in ink, he crossed of two more patches of land and drew a large circle around the forest in which he met Gerrit.

It had no name. To the south of the forest was a small river which marked the beginning of Count Heinrichs’ land; along the river—between it and the forest he had met Gerrit—was a town.

"Want," he read as the town name. Wall. Of all the places he had been in his land, this was not one of them. It looked far too much like everything average from a distance.

Felix drew a line from the center of the forest to it. He drew more circles around the forest and town and wrote above it:

Buried in the forest. Gerrit. Elves???

Witches he had considered. But perhaps…

He sat down with fresh paper and began to write down as many stories as he could remember. Stories he was told by his nurses in boyhood, by guests in the castle, by traveling musicians, by parents he overheard speaking to children in Kesselburg when he was out in disguise, and whatever else he could vaguely remember that came from particularly nowhere. It was not as if he entirely believed elves were real—people could say anything about anything, and common tales must be understood with caution—but perhaps…

Once upon a time, there were two woodcutters who lived together. Many nights, one of the men would be crushed by an elf and the other would be awoken by his groans of pain. They agreed to work together. As the night came, the elf entered the room once more. The first man blocked the keyhole, for elves may only escape through that which they entered, the one who had been crushed cornered the creature behind the stove and saw a beautiful woman. Both men wished for her, but the man who had been crushed won and made her his wife. They had many children together, but the woman began to beg her husband to see the hole through which she came. At last, his love for her consumed him, so he showed her the hole and removed the stop so she might see outside. She fled and never returned.

Once upon a time, there was a shepherd watching his sheep. Every day as the sun began to set, he saw an elf come from the forest to the river, pull a boat hidden in the bankside, and travel to the other side. Every morning, the elf would return. One day, the shepherd decided to take the boat to the other side and wait for the elf. It came and began to cry out for the shepherd to return its boat. The shepherd refused. The elf then offered a wish in exchange for the return of its boat. The shepherd wished for all the gold he could carry. The elf granted his wish, the boat was returned, and the shepherd lived the rest of his life in comfort.

Once upon a time, there was a woman who had recently given birth, but one day, she began to realize there was something strange with the child. It began to drink too much milk when she nursed and bit her breast when she was dry. It never cried, but it walked and stomped about the room at night, and she would wake to find the neighbor's horses exhausted from being ridden in the night. She realized it must be a changeling. She cooked a stew in egg shells. Upon seeing this, it began to laugh and laugh, revealing its true nature. She seized it and beat it until it at last returned her true child.

Once upon a time, a woman who was but one week from giving birth was called by a nobleman to assist with the harvest. She left her child in a clump of hay and returned to it later that day. But as she picked up the child, it screamed and hit her, and she realized this child was not her own. She tried to keep the child for a few days, knowing not what else to do, then at last she spoke to a priest who told her to return to the place she left her previous child and beat it with a switch. She did so. The changeling began to cry and scream so loud, the devil appeared and returned her child to her.

Once upon a time, there lived a blacksmith. Every night a cat would come in through the keyhole and lie on him, crushing him in his sleep. One night, when he saw the cat come in, he ran over to it, nailed its paw, and went to sleep. The next morning, the cat was a beautiful woman. He made her his bride. They had three children together. One day, the man decided to show the woman the keyhole from which she came. She changed into a cat and escaped, never to return.

Once upon a time, an elf used its evil eye to cast a family into misfortune. The son set out on a quest to find the elf and pluck out its eye, thus freeing his family from torment.

Once upon a time, a witch summoned an elf as her familiar to cause misfortune for a family. The clever daughter tricked the elf and forced it to reveal the name of its master.

Once upon a time, a fisherman wrestled an elf's tarnkappe from its grasp—its magic hat that was source of its power and allowed it to become invisible—and it agreed to forever come when called for its return.

Once upon a time, a woman suffered an elf lying upon her chest every night.

Once upon a time, a man.

Once upon a time, a woman.

Once upon a time…

Once upon a time…

If he was to observe the stories objectively, men and elves seemed equally inclined to abduct and torment each other for whatever whims they desired. He could certainly see Gerritt’s words of men falling for elven women on sight as well.

There was a knock on the door.

He hissed at the interruption. Already, he was straining his mind, but more than that, he had an inkling who his uninvited guest might be.

Enter.

A man with a lantern opened the door.

Felix had long suffered a peculiar aliment: He was abnormally horrific at recognizing anyone. Only five men in his life knew of this, or at least five he knew of: the fürst, the captain, Sir Wilhelm, Jorge, and Friedrich—and most of them had figured it out without being told. Also, perhaps Cristoph too. One never really knew what Cristoph knew. That Felix could recognize very few was a carefully guarded secret by his father, on account of him being the prince, lest any man approach him and proclaim themselves as someone else—and he himself thought it was perfectly normal until he was about age twelve. A normalness after years of being called brilliant but hopelessly absentminded and that such, as a prince, was something he must learn to overcome. That, and being left-handed. The latter proved far greater in its progress to correct. He managed to hide it well. But recognizing faces…

Why, why, sister? He overheard Lienhart whisper to his mother. Felix was, perhaps, age eleven at the time, and slowly acquiring a habit of spying. Why can he not greet our guests by their own name? The servants know they are but furniture, but all else—it is an insult if not a complete violation of hospitality. His head too filled with foreign lands.

But some people he could sort out based on distinguishing features. Their hair, their voice, their manner of speech, their walk, and other quirks they bore others never did. Some nobles even had wardrobes he memorized, Count Heinrich especially, along with guests, and he need only a few days to learn their arrangement until they had the audacity to buy something new. Nothing helped more, however, than expectation and situation.

Thus, this man who entered was Other-Klas, his current manservant…until they replaced him too. His true name was Klas, but Other-Klas was what Felix nevertheless called him in his mind. The original Klas was the son of the castle butler, Michel. But Other-Klas was the second son of Chancelor Auberlin. Other-Klas became his manservant two months past upon boasting confidence he was an intellectual match for Felix. His distinguishing feature was he had a scar over one of his eyebrows that grew smaller with each passing year. Everything else about him -- his common stature, his brown hair, his clothes of tunic, pants, and pointed shoes...they were either forgettable or part of Other-Klas’ wardrobe Felix had memorized too.

They were on friendly terms once.

Alas, Felix learned Other-Klas was not a particularly clever man at all, that he could be easily fooled, that he grew weary of conversation too quickly, that Felix could exploit his carelessness to escape for his rides. He had on multiple instances.

Other-Klas learned humiliation. With today’s escape, he was likely lectured again. Brutally. Though Felix could not remember faces, he could see them. He could see them too well, all the horrible twisting ways eyes, brows, mouth, and a nose shaped themselves with sheer hatred. It was those moments he was glad to know not those who made them, and yet, he knew who this man was.

He knew his words but yesterday, when Felix pressed his ear to the door of his inner chambers and listened to Other-Klas speaking to another servant, proclaiming in his frustration perhaps the world was better without the selfish prince within it. Words that, if Felix willed it, would remove this man from the world instead.

Nevertheless, Felix opened his mouth ready to apologize and explain things, that what happened to him should not have happened and Felix would make it right, but the manservant stepped aside. He held up a lantern, casting light onto an older man behind him with a handkerchief to his mouth. A man with dimming black hair and beard to betray his age of sixty-five years. His undershirt was white, his over shirt was yellow and adorned with orange embroider, and his pants a soft red with pointed shoes. Around his shoulders was a green robe joined with a row of golden circles, and upon his head was a golden circlet.

His father, Fürst Stephan, himself.

Felix, His father said. I thank God the Württemberg ambassador was not insulted by your absence. Did your ride today fair well?

Felix scowled. It had been but a single day since the fürst’s return.

Felix had never been particularly close with his father. The fürst was absence from the castle quite often, for, as fürst, he traveled throughout Vogelheim surveying the land and visiting nobles, and even beyond the borders. He traveled to Württemberg, Baden, Mindelstein, Strausberg, all the lands about them, even beyond, even to Rome and France, all for business and negotiations and politics and discussing the matter of the future emperor of the greater empire. He would travel everywhere, but he would leave Felix here. Always here. Always the claim he was not old enough. He was his only son and it was unsafe. Always unsafe.

Because of this, Felix’s memories of his father were far fewer than stories he heard about him, and what memories he had were always in the context of discipline or education. He never hated the man.  He was surrounded by men who respected him, and his mother loved him dearly. But he struggled to ever think of him as a father at all. He was just a symbol of obligation. A glimpse of a future he never wanted.

And now, this past year, one thing was especially certain: This man was a puppet his true father’s soul was trapped and silenced inside.

Another man followed the fürst too, though remained aback beside the door, waiting for instruction, and Felix guessed as his father’s own personal manservant, Cristoph.

He was one of two bald man who lived at Kesselburg—the other an assistant to Lienhart—and one of seven baldmen of noble birth who lived in Vogelheim, so Felix had long given up hope of knowing which was which, in addition to the occasional occurrence of bald men arriving as guests, and that Cristoph would grow his beard, shave it, grow it again…. Besides this, Cristoph was a tall and somewhat lean, with a short beard at present, and the occasional grey hair mixed in. His eyes, in contrast, we completely grey.

But Cristoph…Felix never liked Cristoph. While he bore no ill will to Felix nor his family, nor was he the sort to speak slanders, nor was he lazy nor self-serving—truly, he was a wonderful servant—but from an early age, Felix learned he was a master of lies. It was for this exact reason he was his father’s manservant. Cristoph rarely spoke to Felix. He had little reason to, and Felix to him, but when he did, it was whatever false promises were at the behest of his father. And how he lingered as the fürst’s shadow.

But then, there was a third man who entered and stood cross armed with his back against the doorframe. Felix had some guesses of his identity. An older man with darkened hair, a lesser beard, more modest clothing, though the sleeves of his overshirt were much larger. There was one man it was most likely, one man he wished him not be—his uncle, by way of his father, Caspar. This was the warlock who controlled the fürst. Felix had no proof yet, but he knew.

Instead, Felix shrugged at his false-father’s comment. Let the performance begin. I think I found new purpose to my mother’s words. Look. Holding the map, he pointed at the circle with his pen. The town of Wall and the forest next to it, but half a day’s ride. Do you know of it?

My son. How many times must I tell you, this fruitless quest—

What a clever way to avoid the question.

It is not a fruitless quest, father. Mother said something very important before she passed, and that you shrug it off like some madness is nothing but an insult to her name and your own. I will not let her memory be mocked.

I never thought she was mad. But she died last summer. My concern is you.

Then perhaps you should put yourself to use and help me find what she meant.

The bearded man at the door stepped forward into the light. The Fellburg chapel catacombs. That family murdered by bandits. The bones of the Marien witch. Are there any other infatuations I have forgotten?

That voice. It was Caspar, after all.

Caspar and his mother despised each other. That was why he was regent of Aldenbach, the southernmost territory of Vogelheim, as far away from everyone as he could get. His mother always told him Caspar despised Vogelheim too; and yet, with her death he just so happened to come to his father's side as another advisor, taking her place, breathing miasma all over him and making his life-long cough far worse than it had been.

How often Felix had overheard his uncle complain, since then, that Felix loved his mother more than a man should, that she had tainted his mind, made him soft to both life and death, only for his father to command his uncle’s silence with what pitiful will he had left.

Exactly how much did he consider proper for a son to love his mother?

If Felix had one regret in life, he did not love her nearly as much as he should have in his boyhood. Until recently, his relationship with his mother had been rather distant, and like with most women, he struggled to understand her. Aye, she would advise his father. The fürst openly spoke of consulting with his wife in private. But to Felix…she would speak in riddles if he dared ask her anything, and she always seemed to care more for the welfare of her garden and horses than her son. His earliest memories of her, she was trying to grow foreign flowers that would either fail to sprout or inevitably die before they ever bloomed, and he thought her foolish for trying to grow things in places they did not belong. She compared him to horses almost consistently—beautiful creatures always inventing new ways to test the patience of death.

Truly, there was only one woman on his mother’s court he felt the faintest interest in conversing with, and that was Lady Contzel.

She was a dwarf. A brilliant one at that, very witty in tongue and clever in her tales. She had been part of a traveling troupe, wearing men’s clothing as part of her act, and a thirteen-year-old Felix was so fascinated by her existence, he asked the woman if she wished to join the court of Vogelheim as the Master of Ceremonies. She might have to continue dress as a man though, because he did not know of any women holding such a position.

The fürst said such a position was already held. Thus, Felix’s mother offered the woman position of court jester, to which Lady Contzel accepted on the condition she might bring her husband. One year later, she became pregnant and died giving birth. The child she bore was far too big for her size.

And now…now Felix lost his mother too. Lost her when he was finally beginning to understand. She was distant because mothers were supposed to be, least they feminize their sons and soften them to war. She tried to grow foreign flowers because Felix delighted in tales of foreign travel, and she wanted him—forever complaining about being trapped to Vogelheim—to see pieces of it. She likened him to horses because they were the only children besides him she ever had, she thought these children superior to people in every way, and she struggled to understand how such a thing could be an insult to another child she also loved more than anyone and anything in the whole world.

And now…now Felix lost his mother too. And the one thing he wanted to understand more than anything in the world, the words she babbled in her dying breath, where becoming an increasingly impossible mystery only he seemed to care about at all!

So how much then, Caspar, was it proper for a son love his mother?

Felix glared at him. I am speaking with my father, not you.

Ah, I forgot to include myself in your suspicions.

Felix puffed his chest in insult.

A prince suspects their uncle is a warlock and demands an inquisition but once, and suddenly the court is fractured in whether or not they think their own prince a madman. Who shall be accused of forming contract with the devil next? Surely, it was but a matter of time another would be accused. Would not a sane man declare she died of poison instead?

Stay calm. Should Felix succumb to rage, he shall only give the literal bastard what he wanted.

Throwing the pen down, he rolled up the map. What do you want? Did you come here to torment me? Here. In my own sanctuary. The only place in the whole world that was truly his own. I do not recall inviting you.

When will you see how much your obsession pains your father? Deny his grief for your mother—you think it brings him pleasure to find you have disappeared every time he returns? Without any guards or servants to look after you?

Do not act as if you care for my life.

It was a perfectly just accusation. Caspar had an evil eye. He had known it since the very day they first met, though it took years and years before Felix learned what it was, that horrid darkness in his gaze, and yet, no one believed him.

You are the prince. The fact I care to preserve it far more than you, is, alas, insulting to all of us.

His father, whose thoughts were forever impossible to read, coughed into his handkerchief and sighed hard. Caspar, save your words. He is not of mind to listen. We shall speak of his betrothal another time.

Betrothal? The word pounded as shock within him. But he was…his mother promised him….

His father turned to leave and waved at the Other-Klas to close the door behind him. His uncle followed.

The rage and panic ran up Felix’s spin as all the color drained from his face. He threw the table aside. He stormed after him, only stopping to lock the door behind him. A guard stepped into his path. Felix shoved him aside.

When was I promised to anyone?

I said we shall speak of it another time.

No. We speak of this now. You went and betrothed me to someone without my knowledge when you and mother promised I could marry someone I love. He had other priorities in his mind than the inevitable business of forcing a child, not to mention there was no woman he had heart for. This must his uncle’s poisoned idea too!

His father stopped walking. First, I have promised you to no one as of yet. Second, as Caspar has tried to explain to you over, and over, and over: You are a prince. You cannot favor petty and selfish passions over your duty to produce an heir and protect the peace of our people and our land men like Friedrich died for. Have I failed so much as a father—?

He paused, sighed, and slowly turned back to his son. Felix shifted his jaw in warning. He dared to mention the death of his best friend yet again….

I married your mother when I was younger than you, and of no consequence to my father’s throne. Aye, I loved her. But you are already twenty-two and my son. My only son. As much as I love you too, as much as I wish you to have everything, you are not the same as I was.

Aye. He knew. He knew far too well. His father and mother were children during the great plague. They overthrew the former fürst in their youth for reasons they refused to speak of beyond them being tyrants who cared nothing for Vogelheim his parents loved so much. And, they had to rebuild the trust of commoners now plagued with hysteria of plague, witches, demons, Jews, God’s wrath, poverty, and the promise of being free of nobles who ruled them…

Keep the peace, his father always told him. There has been enough death to have what is now. Keep the peace.

Yet his father only continued more. It was your mother’s request that I have waited as long as I have. But she is no longer here. How I wish it fell not upon your deaf ears for me to say I wish not to lose you too. How I wish you could have known a woman as she. If you do, one day, find someone who captures your affections, you can always make her your mistress, but for now….

Mistress. Even the thought of it made him ill with the blasphemy. For now, you just expect me to breed with some pawn I have no heart for, Felix snarled. He tossed his head toward his uncle. Whatever thoughts he has—

My brother did not kill your mother.

Tis but a trivial matter to order another.

"He and Rupert are not planning to seize Vogelheim either, or in possession of an evil eye, or whatever other madness you have decided to seek proof