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Copyright © 2023 by Ashley Evercott

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording,
or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright
law. For permission requests, contact ashleyevercott@gmail.com

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or
deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by Miblart

1st edition 2023

Copyright © 2023 by Ashley Evercott

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording,
or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright
law. For permission requests, contact ashleyevercott@gmail.com

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or
deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by Miblart

1st edition 2023

 Contents

Dedication

1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25

26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
31. Chapter 31
32. Chapter 32
33. Chapter 33
34. Chapter 34

35. Chapter 35
36. Chapter 36
37. Chapter 37
38. Chapter 38
39. Chapter 39
40. Chapter 40
41. Chapter 41
Thank You
Also By
Acknowledgments

About Author
Acknowledgments

About Author
To my wonderful husband who believes in my dreams
To my wonderful husband who believes in my dreams
 1

Rumpelstiltskin

he seal was painted with blood. Red as crimson, the coppery smell of it assaulted Rumple’s
T nose in warning. It lay like a large, ominous tapestry over the ground with overlapping circles
and an ancient language most folks had forgotten how to read. Over a century had passed since the
circular symbols had been drawn, but it was still wet, as though it were seeping from the ground
itself.
A sacrifice paid with blood.
The only way to seal the Gamori—a corrupted monster—to Agares, the lowest depths of the third
level of hell. A monster he must now bargain with.
 The flickering flame from his torch cast a glow of light and shadows over damp rock and sleeping
bats. He raised it around. There was nothing—nothing except a skeleton at the bottom of the seal with
outstretched arms and a finger touching the seal. No doubt it was the very person—an Enchanted—
who performed it and used the last of their strength to finish the circle.
But he was not looking for a corpse. As the light glowed across the jagged ceiling, he could not
detect any shimmering spells or traps like the many set throughout the mouth of the cave before he
found the secret wall in this cavernous room. Those hexes were difficult to remove; his hair still
singed from an unfortunate fire trap. All of them were meant to deter him from approaching the evil
laid within the seal. The texts of the creature had warned him too. But he had made up his mind.
The crystal necklace at his chest burned hot against his skin as he approached the seal. “Leave this
place! There is nothing you can do to save me. You cannot defy nature!”
His free hand moved to hold the crystal, feeling its warmth against his palm. “It’s alright, Mother,”
he said, determination filling his steps. “There is a way. I will save you.”
The crystal bounced back on his chest. It burned and glowed violet as he planted his torch between
two nestled rocks in the ground and then stepped over the skeletal corpse. Fear burrowed into his
heart, but he ignored the gut instinct to run away and never come back. He must do this. For her.
The air became sharp, filling him with biting nettles down his throat when he approached the blood
seal. The clawing sensation almost convinced him to retreat again, but he forced himself past the
painful sensations. As soon as one boot touched the scarlet symbols, every hair on the back of his
neck stood on end, and his gut lurched. With both feet in the circle, a chill swept through his bones
like a raging hailstorm until darkness swallowed him whole.
A thousand pinpricks nestled under his skin as his mind hurtled through the dark space. Stars
flashed before his eyes, weightless. He flew through shadows before the link dug its nails into his
soul and forced him to come to a stop. Through the opaque darkness, Rumple released a breath, and
’s
his stomach hurled from vertigo. There was nothing to see, not even his own hands, but every muscle
es
in his body grew taut under his skin.
he
He hadn’t known what would happen when he stepped into the circle. None of the historical texts
nd
from the monasteries prepared him for this. There had been little information about Gamoris but one
thing he knew for certain: this was a dangerous place. An awful, terrible place in-between his world
and the next.
rd
Breathing slowly, he attempted to calm himself even as a buzzing hummed in his thoughts—a
vibrating, grating sound that turned into a burst of deep laughter, not his own.
ng “Of all creatures to disturb me, I did not expect a faeling. I commend you for your efforts.”
th It took all of Rumple’s willpower not to shudder at the voice that could grind bones with one
—syllable. Though temporarily blinded in this dark realm, the monster’s invisible presence loomed
over him through the threads of Agares, connecting them both to this place. Its power filled his throat
otlike smoke—suffocating and invasive—but he exhaled, remembering how to breathe.
he “Perhaps you’ve never met a faeling before,” he said and directed a forced grin in front of him. He
illwas unsure if he was looking at the monster. It was difficult to tell when he couldn’t see.
vil“Rumpelstiltskin at your service.” Although a slight tremor ran through his legs, he dipped into a
curtsey, holding the length of his coat out as a mock dress.
is “Serve me?” the creature asked. Rumple sensed it appraising him with new interest. “You? What
makes you believe I would take on a worm like you?”
r,” Rancid breath washed over his neck as an invisible force inhaled, pulling his hair upward.
Goosebumps pebbled over his skin.
en It was smelling him.
his “Well, I imagine this worm doesn’t smell very good. Haven’t had a bath in ages, traveling and all,”
Rumple said to diffuse the tension eating his confidence away.
od He felt a glare boring into his head. “No, your aura,” the creature hissed, “It is not ripe with
hemalice. Some corruption, yes, but your heart betrays your words. You do not wish to serve me, no…
hisyou want something from me.”
es The crystal burned again, and he closed his hands into fists at his side. He could not show
weakness in front of the creature. He must be strong.
rs Raking a hand through his curly hair, he hoped it was convincing enough to feign nonchalance.
hisAlthough the monster was trapped, there was no telling if it could still harm him in some way. “I’m
ndhere to bargain with you.”
le “And how do you propose I do that? Trapped as I am. You are a fool if you believe in your hubris
that you—a mere faeling—could bargain with me. Do you not know who you’re dealing with?”
xts The ground shook, and Rumple steadied himself as its presence crushed over him like a slamming
netidal wave. A sliver of panic raced through him. The heat of the crystal rooted him to the spot even as
ldhis lungs rose to his throat to silence him. It anchored him, reminding him of his purpose. But just as
he stabilized himself, invisible hands shot out and wrapped around his throat.
—a “Alright, alright, hear me out,” he choked, clawing at his neck. Its hands closed tighter and tighter,
and the presence only released him when he thought he was blue in the face. Gasping for breath and
 coughing, he stumbled before he willed himself to speak. “I will release you from your prison if you
nesave my mother’s life. She is dying. I need you to save her.”
ed Silence met him, eroding all warmth from his body. As the seconds slipped away, he didn’t know if
atthe creature would rip him apart for suggesting such foolery or if it would throw him out of the dark
realm, onto his arse, and next to the charming skeleton.
He The crystal scorched through his clothes. He could smell his skin sizzling under its weight. If he
e.made it out alive, he knew there would be blisters there.
a “Do you understand what I am?”
A promising answer, even if it was filled with unveiled hostility. “I would not be here if I didn’t,”
hatRumple said, quiet but firm.
“Then you know I am no healer, far from it.”
d. “You sure don’t sound like a Gamori wanting to be free from his prison if we’re going to argue
over semantics.”
Another glare, now directed at the back of his head. He could feel it by how a shiver threaded
,”through his spine. “I might just take your tongue as well then for your impudence.”
“Fair.” He nodded. “But, I know what you are. You are capable of stopping death as much as you
thwield it. That’s why the Enchanters spurn you so much. Or at least one of the reasons.”
… At the mention of the word ‘Enchanter,’ the creature hissed an unnatural, guttural sound.
“Ah, not fond of them? Me neither. They won’t help me. Hells, no one will.” Bitterness washed
wthrough him, and for a moment, his fear was forgotten at the memory of himself begging before an
Enchantress. The coldness, the pure inhuman passivity in her eyes before she shook her head at him.
e. “You cannot erase what you have already done. I do what my master, Erus, commands, and he
mwill not aid you in this.”
The rotter.
is Let the Gods’ will be damned. They abandoned him. Everyone had. All for a mistake he
desperately attempted to repair.
ng “That’s why I’m here,” Rumple continued with renewed determination. “Now, do you want to get
asout of your fun little hellhole or not?”
as “Do not mock me.”
“I’m not. In fact, I am very serious. Tell me where your amulet is, and I’ll bring it to you.”
er, After a moment, the crushing weight of its power, ever-present, suddenly vanished from his chest
ndlike a boot lifting from a bug. Good, he was not in the mood to die today.
ou “Do you believe it to be as simple as bringing my amulet back to me?”
“According to the texts, that’s most of it,” Rumple said. His lips compressed at the thought of
ifcountless hours stealing into monastery libraries in the dead hours of the night. All the books he sat
rkthrough, searching, ever searching for answers.
“Then you must have forgotten the rest of the text. That is only half of the ritual.”
he Someone had burned the texts of the information, probably to deter fools like him from letting
monsters like this one out of their cages. But from what he could gather, and if the skeleton lying
behind him somewhere in the cave had anything to do with it, he had an inkling of what was required.
t,” “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“So eager,” the creature murmured in his ear. He flinched. It chuckled, slinking in front of him, its
power caressing his cheek mockingly. Rumple gritted his teeth to stay as still as possible. “But first,
ueyou must swear to me in blood that you will free me. Only then will I tell you.”
The rotter. Of course, the monster would bind them together as leverage before he revealed what
eddark deed he needed to do. But Rumple expected this. He was dealing with a Gamori​ , and they were
not stupid. They were cunning, vile creatures who had once been Enchanters and Enchantresses. They
outurned to a new master, Saleos, the God of the hells, for more power. They could not be killed
because they were now creatures of hell—a land of the dead. For their corruption and betrayal, the
remaining Gods commanded the Gamoris be sealed away. They had a lot of time to think in their
edprisons. No wonder it was desperate to make their deal more permanent in case he changed his mind
anonce he knew of the ritual conditions.
What the creature hadn’t anticipated, however, was that his choice had already been made long
hebefore he stepped foot in this cave.
No matter the cost.
“Will you swear to save my mother?” he asked quietly.
he “Yes,” it rasped in his ear. “I will save her if you swear to me in blood.”
Relief sat with dread and curdled in his stomach like sour milk. He swallowed the prick of his
getconscience, screaming at him to run away and never come back. The crystal rattled against his skin,
and he bowed his head to look at its violet glow—the only light in this godless realm. A light that
could not penetrate the darkness enough to reveal the monster he spoke with.
Maybe his mother would never forgive him, but he could live with himself if it meant her life was
estspared.
“What are the terms?” he asked.
 “I will give you one year from this day to release me from my prison. Fail to do so, and your life
ofbelongs to me.”
at Curiosity blazed through him, and he could not help but ask, “Why one year?”
“The blood moon is required and shall appear in one year’s time.”
“Ah, pleasant.” His mouth stretched into a sardonic line. Of course, the ritual needed a creepy
ngeclipse to boot. Most of them did. Hopefully, it would be enough time to find what was needed. It was
nglonger than he anticipated to keep his mother alive, but she would be alright. He would make sure she
d. was safe.
“Will you do it? Will you bind yourself to me?” the Gamori pressed.
its In response, Rumple fished out a bone knife in his pocket, a gift from his father given to him as a
st,boy. The item rarely saw the light of day, but now it would be used in the cover of unholy darkness. “I
will,” he said and ignored the crystal shimmering like a desperate beacon as he sliced his palm open.
hat When he opened his mouth to speak again, another shiver ran across his skin in a warning, but he
repressed on. “I swear by blood that I will free you. In exchange, you will save my mother’s life. If I do
eynot return in one year and complete the ritual to free you, my life is yours,” he said, extending out his
edhand.
he A force grabbed it, twisting around the appendage and lapping the mess dribbling down his hand.
eirFire shot through the cut, spreading like a plague through his veins before he snatched his hand back
ndwith a gasp. The burning matched the one hot on his chest until it ebbed into an itch. A bond was
forged.
ng He could not go back.
“Now…” He swallowed, attempting to stay steady on his feet. Exhaustion swept through him, and
he would have passed out if he were fully human, but he stood tall. “Tell me what you need to break
the seal.”
The Gamori chuckled darkly and whispered in his ear. “Bring me an Enchanted.”
his
n,
hat

as
 “I will give you one year from this day to release me from my prison. Fail to do so, and your life
belongs to me.”
Curiosity blazed through him, and he could not help but ask, “Why one year?”
“The blood moon is required and shall appear in one year’s time.”
“Ah, pleasant.” His mouth stretched into a sardonic line. Of course, the ritual needed a creepy
eclipse to boot. Most of them did. Hopefully, it would be enough time to find what was needed. It was
longer than he anticipated to keep his mother alive, but she would be alright. He would make sure she
was safe.
“Will you do it? Will you bind yourself to me?” the Gamori pressed.
In response, Rumple fished out a bone knife in his pocket, a gift from his father given to him as a
boy. The item rarely saw the light of day, but now it would be used in the cover of unholy darkness. “I
will,” he said and ignored the crystal shimmering like a desperate beacon as he sliced his palm open.
When he opened his mouth to speak again, another shiver ran across his skin in a warning, but he
pressed on. “I swear by blood that I will free you. In exchange, you will save my mother’s life. If I do
not return in one year and complete the ritual to free you, my life is yours,” he said, extending out his
hand.
A force grabbed it, twisting around the appendage and lapping the mess dribbling down his hand.
Fire shot through the cut, spreading like a plague through his veins before he snatched his hand back
with a gasp. The burning matched the one hot on his chest until it ebbed into an itch. A bond was
forged.
He could not go back.
“Now…” He swallowed, attempting to stay steady on his feet. Exhaustion swept through him, and
he would have passed out if he were fully human, but he stood tall. “Tell me what you need to break
the seal.”
The Gamori chuckled darkly and whispered in his ear. “Bring me an Enchanted.”
 2

Lynn

hree bells chimed; their sharp peals overlapped the other like tinkling laughter. Its ringing
T rolled through the village of Fellwig and into the bakery as Lynn shoveled the last of the bread
from the clay oven onto the table to cool.
Springtide had begun.
“Ah, just in time,” her Aunt Floy said, looking up from her sweeping. Putting the broom aside, her
hands came over her wide hips as she inspected each roll. “They came out nice and crispy too. I think
the lord will approve of this batch. You always make them very tasty.”
Lynn looked over her shoulder at her aunt as she put the bread paddle on its hook. It was fine praise
from Floy, and she blushed at the compliment. “Is there enough? I think I counted right.”
 “Yes, yes.” Aunt Floy waved a ruddy hand at her.
“I meant for Uncle Ritter’s appetite,” she teased.
Her aunt’s cherub face, curtained by a wimple, looked up with a curving smile. “Aye, I think this
will be enough. But you might have miscounted for your father’s appetite. That man can shovel more
bread in his mouth than old Blaze can, I reckon.”
The image of her father contesting with the cranky mule made her chuckle as she dusted the flour
from her apron.
“What about me?”
Lynn turned at the sound of her father’s booming baritone voice. He hoisted a large sack of flour
with one arm over his back and let it slide down by the door. He was a large, square man with an
equally large, square face offset by rounded cheeks. Flour covered his tunic, and it trailed behind him
as he came to give her a messy kiss on her forehead.
“Hello, Papa.”
“Hello, daughter,” he said in greeting. “Now, what was that old duck quacking about?” He hooked
a thumb toward his sister.
“We’re talking about your fat gut, Garin.” Aunt Floy pointed one of her stubby fingers at him.
“Oh, this old thing?” He laughed, taking both hands and jiggling the little fat on his stomach. “I
gotta keep it happy, Floy, or else the pixies will—”
“Ah, stuff it, Garin. I don’t wanna hear about no pixies. Your tall tales are gonna get you in trouble
one day, you hear?”
Another man came huffing to the open door, his thin face sweating as he dumped another bag of
flour next to her father’s. “What about Garin’s pixies?” Uncle Ritter grinned, and his wife scowled.
“Don’t encourage him, you.” Floy pointed and made a grab at the broom as a threat.
Her uncle threw his hands in surrender before wiping the flour from his cheeks. Papa laughed at his
ng
brother-in-law’s expense as he wrapped one large arm around Lynn’s shoulders. The weight of it was
ad
comforting, and she leaned into his touch even though the smell of stale sweat clung to his clothes.
“What do you say, Lynn? You think my ‘tall tales’ will get me into trouble?” He squeezed her
shoulder, rocking her to the side.
er
In truth, he had already been in trouble. Many of the villagers were becoming annoyed by his
nk
exaggerations and his claims of her golden ‘powers.’ Each day, the stories became bolder and bolder.
The priest himself warned her father of the consequences of lying, but no matter what she said, he
se
 would laugh and say, “Oh golden girl, our lives are so meager as it is. How else are we supposed to
make our time interesting if there are no tall stories to tell?”
his It was a sin to lie, a sin keeping her father happy for five long years without the company of his
rewife. After all this time, he continued to throw caution to the wind, leaving her sleepless at night.
Sometimes it infuriated her how he acted so recklessly, but she squashed her anger when he would
urlook at her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart altogether. How could she hold
on to her anger after he looked at her so? Like the way he was looking at her now?
“You are trouble, Papa.” She sighed, forcing a smile even as her eyes darted to the open door to
urcheck if anyone was listening.
an “Ah, see, that’s my golden girl. Even your words turn my heart to gold.”
m “Oh, don’t start that one up again, either.” Aunt Floy rolled her eyes. “Don’t get your daughter
involved in those pretty lies. She doesn’t deserve to get in trouble with you, and the priest won’t like
it one bit.”
ed “But it’s not a lie, Floy. Anything she touches turns to gold, just like her straw hair. It turns gold in
the light, so that’s proof enough. Just look at those rolls there, see?” He pointed to the steaming bread.
“Gold, too. It fills you up and strengthens your bones more than any bread could. It’s magic. Just like
“Iher healing touch.”
She flushed at her papa’s words. He was the reason she avoided all the villager’s whispering and
lepeculiar stares. They thought she was strange, and she attempted to prove them wrong all these years
by keeping her head low and staying out of trouble. She was an ordinary woman trying to live her
ofordinary life. And although she enjoyed tending to her family whenever the occasional cut or burn
happened, it did not make her special.
“I’m not a healer…or a witch, Papa,” she insisted.
his “No, but you have magical hands, like your mother before you.”
as Aunt Floy shot her a look, but Lynn avoided her accusing stare. She didn’t need to see it to know it
was a look that screamed, ‘you’re his daughter. Why can’t ye control him?’ but it was near impossible
erto muzzle a bear. He was like the watermill he looked after. Once enough power got him rolling, he
wouldn’t stop for anybody, not even for her.
his “How about we get the last of the flour before we head for Springtide?” Uncle Ritter motioned to
er.him, the only man her papa seemed to listen to occasionally. The arm over her shoulders fell to his
heside.
to “Ah, alright,” Papa said, wiping his hands together. “But not without one of these.” He dashed to
the table and snatched a roll.
his “No, you put that back this instant!” Her aunt flew at him, but his long arms kept it out of reach.
ht. “How can you fault me for taking one of these, Floy?” He laughed, taking a bite. Her aunt gasped
ldand swatted him on the shoulder even as he made an exaggerated moan at the taste. “There’s just
ldsomething magical about these. Don’t deny it! My golden girl has a gift.”
“Papa, really? Those are for the festival, you know that,” Lynn scolded, but her irritation melted
toaway when he winked at her. Her anger deflated at the teasing glint in his eyes. He meant no harm,
and she sighed.
What was she to do with him?
er “You’re banned from eating another one today, you hear me?” Floy smacked him on his large bicep
keagain, but it did little to deter Papa, the force of nature, from scarfing the rest of the roll.
“We’ll see about that,” he said, making a show of licking his fingers. “Mm, mm, mm!”
in “Get now, get I say.” Her aunt waved a hand, shooing them out.
d. “Don’t get in no trouble now, Floy.” Her father laughed.
ke Floy huffed, “Yeah, yeah.”
“You too, golden girl,” he said to Lynn, and she shook her head as the two men exited.
nd “Whoo!” Floy fanned herself. “It was getting hotter than a demon’s armpit with those two stinking
rsup the place. It’s already hot enough with the oven. But…Heavens, child, your father is trouble.” Floy
ershook her head, and Lynn’s smile fell. There was concern in her aunt’s voice, one echoing her own.
rn“Ever since your mother passed, I’ve been worried about him and his tall tales. People take it as
lying, and that’ll only lead to no good.”
The reminder added to the towering pressure over her chest—pressure to fix him.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, and her aunt reached to rub her back. It was the first time
itshe confessed such a vulnerable thing to her, and she was afraid to look her aunt in the eye in case the
lewoman would interpret her words as weakness.
he “Oh.” Her aunt’s warm fingers tightened over her shoulders. “It’ll be alright, just you see.” It
should have been a comforting gesture, but it confirmed her worst fears: her aunt thought her frail too.
to But Floy was wrong. She remained strong. She did not shed tears openly as her father did after all
histhese years. She did not blubber in front of her aunt or uncle when every fiber of her being wanted to
scream at the heavens at the injustice. How could she when sickness and death were as rampant as
lice? It was a part of life as she knew it.
to Moreover, there was nothing she could do to change the laws of nature that claimed her mother.
Nothing she could say to the unfairness of the situation that was bitter enough to rip every one of her
insides apart. No amount of soothing words could ease her pain. Familiar, loving faces could not
edbring the same comfort. In the end, she must accept her new, lackluster world and the grief cloaking
usther waking thoughts like a second shadow.
But she worked, she survived, and she ignored the sting threatening to consume her whole at any
edglance of butterflies—her mother’s favorite.
m, What more could she do?
Without a word, Lynn shrugged her aunt’s hand from her shoulder. Floy did not protest but gave her
a pitying look she despised. Logically, she knew her aunt was just trying to love her but sometimes
eplove dug deeper than any wound on her heart.
“He will be fine,” Lynn said firmly. “We’ll be fine.” Her aunt shot her another concerned look, but
she gestured to the bread cooling on the table to change the subject. “Let’s get these rolls in the wagon
so we can deliver them for the festival.”
Floy nodded, rolling her sleeves before the pitter-patter of feet came storming through the door.
“Lynn, Lynn!” A boy with a mop of dirty-blond hair ran to her with one fist raised in the air. “I got
something for you. I got something for you!”
ng “Woah, hey there.” She steadied her nine-year-old cousin, who jumped in place and threatened to
oytopple over and take her with him. The bitterness swollen in her stomach shrunk at the sight of his
n.contagious excitement.
as “I better not be seeing my son running in my bakery,” Floy barked behind them, and his bouncing
ceased.
“Mama, I just came to deliver something to Lynn.”
me “It’s alright, Auntie, he’s just excited,” Lynn said, kneeling in front of him. She held the
herambunctious boy by his shoulders so he would look at her. “Now, what is this about, Roger? What
do you have in your hand here?”
It Roger opened his fist to reveal a gold coin. It was large, the size of an eye, and she gasped in
o. tandem with her aunt upon seeing it. It was worth more than half of their wages in one year.
all “The Gods have mercy,” Floy whispered.
to Taking the coin from him, Lynn lifted it at eye level. It shined in the dim light, and she could see her
asreflection in the precious metal. “Roger,” she began, adopting a serious tone, “Where did you get
this?”
er. His lips dipped into a frown, his brows worrying together. “I thought you would like it.”
er “Roger!” Aunt Floy hissed behind her.
ot “It’s alright. Let’s try and figure out what’s going on first,” Lynn said gently to her aunt despite the
ngnerves buzzing in her belly. She turned to her cousin, and his brown eyes widened even before she
could say, “You need to tell us where you got this, alright? Please, no lying.”
ny “Am I in trouble?” he asked, his voice small.
“No, you’re not in trouble. Just tell us the truth.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile, trying not to
cringe at her own white lie. Floy would still likely whip his bottom for having it.
er His eyes rounded, looking at her and then to his mother, who huffed like a boar ready to charge.
esThroat bobbing, he swallowed before turning and pointing out the wooden door he left open.
“A funny man gave it to me and told me to bring it to Lynn.”
ut Lynn looked behind her, and her aunt’s confusion matched her own. “What funny man?” she asked.
on “The funny man with the long hood?” He pointed outside.
“Do you know him?”
“No, I’ve never seen him before.”
ot Her heart stopped in her chest. A stranger? They rarely had visitors, and if they did, they were
either traveling merchants or their lord’s guests of honor. Both options were not good. Even if this
tostranger gave her cousin the coin as a gift, what would they possibly want with her? Were they
hisattempting to buy her into indentured servitude? If so, they would give the money to her lord, not to
her. What could this possibly mean?
ng “Stay here,” she murmured to them.
Standing, her hand closed over the gold coin as she approached the door and shut it behind her.
Sunlight bore on her eyes, and she raised a hand to shield them as she scanned the dirt road. Two men
hecarried bags of wheat to her father’s mill, and Old Greta hung clothes across the way. The aging
hatwoman waved at her, her hand consumed with protruding veins and wrinkles.
Lynn waved shyly back until her eyes spotted a hooded figure behind one of the wagons loaded
inwith vegetables to her right. How could she have missed him?
The man stood there, staring straight in her direction. The darkness of his hood concealed his
features, but there was something…strange about him. Something unnatural. Maybe it was how tall he
erwas or the way he stood, so still she could mistake him for a statue. Just looking at him sent
getgoosebumps down her arms.
 As they stared at one another, his head nodded forward. It was an invitation to look at the coin
again. Tearing her eyes off the stranger, she opened her fist and yelped when the coin bubbled and
heshot out four legs.
he Magic!
Before she had time to scream again, its golden hue shifted green until it was hopping around in her
palm. It was a slimy, wet frog! Snatching her hand back, the frog clamped on, biting her finger. It
toshouldn’t have hurt, the frog’s toothless mouth was tiny, but a tingle shot in her finger, fueling her
panic. It held on even as she waved it around like a madwoman, trying to shake it off.
ge. Finally, the little thing flew and landed with a dull splat on its back. It rolled over in the dirt,
croaked, and then hopped away, unharmed and unaffected by its sudden transformation. Gaping, her
eyes flew up to the stranger.
But he was gone.

re
his
ey
to

er.
en
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ed

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he
nt
 As they stared at one another, his head nodded forward. It was an invitation to look at the coin
again. Tearing her eyes off the stranger, she opened her fist and yelped when the coin bubbled and
shot out four legs.
Magic!
Before she had time to scream again, its golden hue shifted green until it was hopping around in her
palm. It was a slimy, wet frog! Snatching her hand back, the frog clamped on, biting her finger. It
shouldn’t have hurt, the frog’s toothless mouth was tiny, but a tingle shot in her finger, fueling her
panic. It held on even as she waved it around like a madwoman, trying to shake it off.
Finally, the little thing flew and landed with a dull splat on its back. It rolled over in the dirt,
croaked, and then hopped away, unharmed and unaffected by its sudden transformation. Gaping, her
eyes flew up to the stranger.
But he was gone.
 3

Rumpelstiltskin

umple howled with laughter.

R The deep belly-aching laugh made his cheeks hurt, and his eyes water with the effort. One
hand steadied himself against a tree as he bent over with giggles.
“The look on her face!” he cried and slid to the ground with his legs kicking. The image of the
woman’s eyes wide with surprise as the frog chomped on her finger, the way it flailed until it flew in
the air—he couldn’t take it.
Minutes passed before he could calm himself, but every time he thought of the little splat, the way
the frog teetered on its back, he would burst into more giggles. It was one of his best tricks yet.
“Now, I wonder what could be so humorous?”
 Rumple whirled around with his hand reaching for his bone dagger. He was away from the village,
inside the forest where no one would wander during the festivities. There shouldn’t have been any
interruptions here. But, as soon as he spotted the person, all his mirth turned to ice.
“Morwen,” he hissed with his mouth curling.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Her painted, magenta lips puffed into a pout, and she pushed her
long, white hair to one shoulder. Delicate, spider-silk fabric swayed around her. The diaphanous
dress shimmered like mulberry wine against her pink skin. Beams of sunlight through the treetops
highlighted lavender accents in her sharp cheeks and sleek neck. Her bare footsteps were silent,
graceful, and above all, predatory as she closed the distance between them. As she approached, the
scent of purple roses decorating her hair and dress punched him in the nose. It was a sick, cloying
scent like the fae woman who wore them.
“Oh, pardon me, you’re right.” His face dropped into an expressionless mask as he raised a rude
gesture with his hand. “Is this better?”
Her nose wrinkled, and her pout puckered. “Rummy, I thought we were friends.”
The sound of her stupid pet name made him want to gag. “No, we’re not friends, far from it. Now,
if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” He stepped around her to create as much distance as
possible, but the scent of roses followed.
“Do you mean tracking the girl you marked?”
Freezing in mid-step, his fists clenched at his side. The mark he made on the girl must have
attracted her to him—the use of his magic. “How long have you been following me?”
She pushed her white hair, shiny as pearls, from her shoulders as he glared at her. “Not long, but
long enough to know you’re up to something.”
“It’s none of your business,” he snapped.
“It is if you’re sticking those grubby hands into something you shouldn’t.” She tilted her head with a
cheery smirk. “Besides, isn’t it about time we amend our relationship? The last time we parted, we’d
ne
ended on…ambiguous terms.”
“I told you I never wanted to see you again,” he said as he raised his arms out.
he
She waved the comment aside with slender fingers. “Frivolous details. Besides, you’ve had almost
in
a year to forgive me. Have you no warmth in your cold, shriveled heart?”
Gritting his teeth, he marched up to her so he could stare directly into those unnatural, milky eyes.
ay
Colorless. White, eerie things. “None. Now, you listen to me.” He grabbed her pointed chin and
ge,jerked it for good measure. “Leave me alone. Never show your face around me. And if you do, I’ll
nythrow salt in those creepy eyes of yours so that you’ll never be able to even look at me again.”
She did not wrench her head away as he hoped but leaned into his grip. “Is that a promise?”
His eyes narrowed on her. “It’s a threat. Now, leave.”
er For once, she listened, but not without grinning like she had no intention of obeying him forever. In
usa blink of an eye, she was gone, and he cursed her name for good measure. His molars protested as he
psclamped them together and turned toward his makeshift campsite.
nt, He’d not been careful enough. Almost a year of suppressing his magic and covering his tracks did
henot stop the cunning fae from finding him. If she found out about his deals with the Gamori and ratted
ngon him, being tossed into a fae prison would be the last thing he would need to worry about. But it
was not the only reason he was avoiding her.
de Just the thought of her smug little smirk made him want to punch the tree beside him. All he wanted
was a moment of fun—fun he hadn’t experienced in ages—before she came and ruined it. Spikes of
rage ignited in his belly just thinking about those noxious flowers she wore, a scent lingering on his
w,clothes. Who in the three hells did she think she was?
as After what she’d done—after tricking him—he would never forgive her.
And now, he must relocate. Stomping toward his tent, he bent to yank the stakes out and gathered
his belongings into one pile. A slew of grumbling and curses tore from his mouth as he stuffed it all
veinto his leather satchel of dwarven-making, a treasure he stole right under his uncle’s nose—a feat
which made him smirk at the memory despite his frustration.
ut Each item, small and large, disappeared in the bag. Into the never-ending vacuum of space within.
To a dull, human stranger, it would seem like an impossible feat, but dwarven-made items often
defied logic and reason. Fae hoarded such items considering their interest in the wondrous and
h astrange, and he half-wondered if his uncle would miss the item among the mounds of treasures he kept
’dlocked away in his castle.
Maybe his uncle would notice. It wouldn’t surprise him if his uncle cared more for his riches than
his nephew, who begged for his help.
ost “The fault is not mine. You must accept your misjudgment of time. Your mother cannot be
helped,” his uncle had said. Stoic. Unfazed.
es. Rumple scoffed and attempted to brush the painful memory away, but it only added fuel to his
ndfrustration. How could his own flesh and blood be so callous? It was his uncle’s sister-in-law, and
yet the fae could not be swayed. Did family mean nothing to him?
’ll Rumple shook his head. His mother meant everything to him. He would fix what was done.
Once packed, he trekked his way toward a different path in the forest, careful of suppressing his
magic from view—his trackable signature, and settled by a patch of wildflowers. Before he made
camp again, he sat and flopped on his back and searched the blue sky.
In “Curse her,” he mumbled but shook his head. It was no use thinking of the fae who betrayed him.
heWho had lied by omission. He had better, more important matters at hand.
Opening his satchel, he called for a vial, and it materialized in his hand within the bag. He
iduncorked it and spread salt around his person in a circle, careful not to touch it himself, for it would
edleave a nasty burn.
it “There. That’ll do it,” he said and put the salt away. Although painful to his person because of his
fae blood, it came in handy for keeping fae away and shielding oneself against their powers. Closing
edhis eyes, he focused and thought of the target, the mark he had made, until an orange bubble popped
ofinto view.
his There within its reflection was the woman he found this morning, the Enchanted he spent months
searching for. A human with blood touched by the God of the heavens—the key to unsealing the
Gamori. After all this time, he found her in an ordinary village in Deuchton, a country bordering the
edone he was born in.
all Said target was walking next to an enormous man and staring at her finger the frog had bitten.
atSmiling at the memory, he wondered what she thought about her new mark. A faint, orange band
twisted around her finger, and she inspected it with worried eyes.
n. In her early to mid-twenties, he’d guess, around his age of twenty-four. Single, though, since she
endid not wear the wimple or veil married women did. That made it easier on his conscience. He might
ndhave reconsidered this whole mission if she had children.
pt Even he had some limits. The thought of leaving a child to fend for themself without their mother
was a line he wasn’t willing to cross. It would have torn him in two if someone had taken his mother
anaway when he was a child.
Otherwise, there was nothing special about her. She wore simple-spun clothes. Blonde hair hung in
bea braid. It was not fashionable like high-born ladies who wore their hair loose and long, a circlet and
veil adorning their heads, or in a complicated updo hidden by a headdress. No, she was a simple,
hisstout girl with easy curves, muscles, and broad shoulders. A woman who lived and breathed labor all
ndher life.
 An ordinary peasant. Not too bad on the eyes, but someone he could overlook in a crowd. She
hisavoided people’s stares and hunched her shoulders to appear smaller. He wondered what lay beneath
dethe surface, but he couldn’t be too curious. It was dangerous to feel anything for this woman he meant
to manipulate into traveling with him back to the mountain where the Gamori was sealed.
m. A fiery heat stole his attention, one laying against his sternum. The crystal had not burned since his
encounter with the Gamori eleven months ago, and his fingers reached for it as they did every
Heevening. It flickered, begging him to abandon all he worked for.
ld “Leave her alone,” it whispered.
“I have come too far,” he said to it. “I have to do this.”
his It blinked, slowly dimming, as though he doused a firefly with frigid water. The light died into an
ngopaque violet color as he hid it under his tunic. Without any more distractions, he watched the girl in
edsilence.

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 An ordinary peasant. Not too bad on the eyes, but someone he could overlook in a crowd. She
avoided people’s stares and hunched her shoulders to appear smaller. He wondered what lay beneath
the surface, but he couldn’t be too curious. It was dangerous to feel anything for this woman he meant
to manipulate into traveling with him back to the mountain where the Gamori was sealed.
A fiery heat stole his attention, one laying against his sternum. The crystal had not burned since his
encounter with the Gamori eleven months ago, and his fingers reached for it as they did every
evening. It flickered, begging him to abandon all he worked for.
“Leave her alone,” it whispered.
“I have come too far,” he said to it. “I have to do this.”
It blinked, slowly dimming, as though he doused a firefly with frigid water. The light died into an
opaque violet color as he hid it under his tunic. Without any more distractions, he watched the girl in
silence.
 4

Lynn

“W hat are you looking at?”

Lynn whipped her head to address her aunt as they shuffled through the crowd. Floy gave
her a once over before settling on her finger she worried over. The orange mark from this morning
would not come off with any rubbing or washing, but no one seemed to notice the band twisting on her
finger as it settled over her skin like a tattoo.
However, before they left for the festivities, she didn’t want to worry her aunt and resorted to lying
about the strange encounter. It was too easy to make up a story where she returned the coin to its
rightful owner. Floy had taken the bait, and Lynn half-wondered if Papa wasn’t the only one they
should worry about. Perhaps she was too good at tall tales herself.
 A frown worked its way over her lips. No, she wasn’t like Papa. She planned on being truthful
after Springtide. She wasn’t anything like him.
“It’s nothing,” she mumbled and forced her hand down. Staring at it wouldn’t make it go away, and
such worries about lies, the stranger, and a magical, transforming frog could wait. It must’ve been a
trick, is all. Perhaps a wandering mage? Though she’d never heard of mages turning gold into frogs.
Ones who were capable of such transmutations were inhuman creatures—creatures she’d rather not
think of or speak about for the moment. Papa had enough fuel for his stories, and she’d best keep her
mouth shut for the time being. Besides, no one got hurt, and she’d reckon it was all in her head
anyhow…even if the mark stayed put on her finger.
From the corner of her eye, she could feel her aunt scrutinize her with her trademark pursed lips.
Thankfully, Floy said nothing else as their family came upon a line of elderly women in front of
wagons filled with flowers.
“Merry Springtide, good woman,” Old Greta crooned as she placed a flower crown of yellows,
oranges, and blues upon Lynn’s head. The elderly woman was one of the few women who did not
heed her papa’s tales and treated her like she was her own daughter and not a strange witch. She
smiled warmly at her, appreciating the moment of normalcy. The light floral scents tickled her nose,
and she reached for the ties in the back to adjust it on her head. They always made them too big.
“Merry Springtide,” she echoed with a smile and regarded the other elderly ladies of fifty and
older, handing out similar flowers to all the younger village folk. Every crown was unique in colors
and patterns, and they crafted each with care. Floy received one with purple and pink flowers, but it
sat like a child’s circlet on top of her veil and slid down. Her aunt grumbled under her breath as she
attempted to untie the knots and tie them looser. Lynn held in a laugh, but her nephew did not practice
such tact, and he giggled at his mother’s expense.
“Mama’s got a big head,” Roger snorted.
“Oh hush, you,” Floy said, and a few petals floated around her as she roughly adjusted the flowers.
ve
“They always make them too small.”
ng
Papa kneeled for Greta so she could reach him, and the old woman patted his cheek after
er
bestowing him a flower necklace for the men from her pile.
“I remember when you were a boy,” Greta said fondly, and her wrinkled hand patted the other
ng
cheek as though to make sure each received equal attention. Papa’s eyes softened on the old woman,
its
more family than neighbor, for she, along with several villagers, came together to raise each other.
ey
“So reckless. I’m glad your sweetheart, Ilse, tamed ye a bit. How’s she faring?”
 ul Lynn stiffened beside her aunt and uncle. A shadow passed over her papa’s cheery features before
it disappeared in a flash. “She’s well, remember? Up in the heavens with Erus.” Papa pointed to the
ndsky.
a “Auntie Ilse died,” Roger piped in.
gs. “Roger!” Floy swatted his arm, but she could not stop her son from blabbing out.
ot “I don’t remember her much, but she’s dead. And her baby, too, when she had it.”
er A wave of sharp daggers roiled through Lynn at the innocent comment, and the sting of it assaulted
adher eyes. Sniffing, she blinked at the irritating sensation. Before Floy could cuff Roger on the head,
Papa raised both hands to pacify his sister. “It’s alright. The boy’s right, after all.”
ps. “Oh, that’s too bad.” Greta sighed, shaking her head. “She was such a good girl. So bright and
ofpretty with her blonde hair.”
Papa nodded but said nothing else as Uncle Ritter led them through the crowd into the muddy
ws,square. All the while, Lynn attempted to ignore the holes needling through her heart. Fresh and raw,
otthey reopened the ones she meticulously sewed up. The mention of her mother seemed to pierce her
hewhen she least expected it, but she set about mending the holes once more by distracting herself and
e,taking in her surroundings.
Every year, her village set up many stalls and tables for Springtide. Garland and colorful flowers
ndstrung above her head in rows, meeting at the center on a wreath of antlers decorated with fauna and
rssmall wildflowers. Each handcrafted string was tied with precision above the grime they shuffled
itthrough.
he Uncle Ritter left the wagon near their designated stall and returned by their sides. The crowd and
ceher family stopped around a platform, the only clean structure in sight, with a hand-carved dais in the
center. Sitting on a wooden chair was the lord of the land.
Lord Frederick was a bearded man with dark, cold eyes that could wilt the flowers decorating the
rs.platform. With one look, Lynn was also certain he could easily cut her down despite the regal, long,
blue robes he wore. The scars across his mouth were evidence of a warrior and Knight who earned
erhis honor through war and bloodshed.
No woman—mistress or wife—sat beside him. Rather, his sons, three young men with similar
ersevere features and gleaming hickory locks, sat on either side. The chain mail on her lord’s arm
n,rattled as he raised it in the air, and everyone fell silent.
er. “My good fellowmen and women of Fellwig.” A plump man stepped forward, one she overlooked
in the fierce lord’s presence. The top of his bald head glinted under the sun, and he removed his hands
refrom his humble, green robes. Priest Hagen.
he “The Goddess Ghiana has gifted us with a bountiful spring, one filled with hope and promise of
future harvests. As the mother of Gallia, she stands beside our God Erus of Heaven and Kyros of
Judgement. Together, they rule over us, but today, we celebrate the mother and creator of our world
and give thanks to her gracious blessings.” The priest went on, reciting scripture until she thought she
might close her eyes and fall asleep with boredom. Everyone knew the stories about their Gods and
edhow each had their different creations and dominions.
d, Erus, the God of the Heavens, breathed out human souls with Ghiana. The Goddess also created
Gallia, the fae, dwarves, and all manner of mystical creatures. Because Gallia was meant for Erus’
ndhumans, she made Faeland a secondary home for her creations. And Kyros ruled over the Inbetween
—the land of spirits. His judgment determined whether a soul went into the Heavens or Hells.
dy Although Lynn believed and worshipped all three, she felt a closeness to Erus. Perhaps, she prayed
w,to him the most, hoping her mother dwelled there and he was watching over her.
er Minutes passed, and Priest Hagen ended his speech by saying, “His Lordship will now grace each
ndof his subjects with a greeting just as the spring greets us this day.”
“Finally,” Roger groaned, but thankfully, he kept his volume low. “He’s so boring.”
rs “Hush,” Floy whispered in his ear as she and her family lined up with the rest of the villagers in a
ndlong, winding line. “On your best behavior now. We mustn’t misbehave in front of the lord.”
ed “Yes, Mama,” Roger said glumly.
A niggling, worrying sensation grew like a swollen tick as she looked at her father’s face. Every
ndyear he’d been good about keeping his mouth in check in front of their lord, but every spring brought a
hefresh bout of uncertainty. The worry spurred like a wildfire in her bloodstream. Lord Frederick was
not a man to be trifled with. Many were punished for the smallest slight against him. Some even
heperished for it.
ng, “Papa?” she whispered as their turn grew nearer.
ed “Yes, golden girl?” his whisper was as quiet as boots scraping against stone—not quiet at all.
She flinched at his not-so-subtle volume but tugged him close to hopefully remedy that. “You’ll
arbehave in front of Lord Frederick, right? No big tales or anything?”
m He eyed her with a faint frown. “Of course not,” he said, but something in his big, blue eyes tugged
at her heartstrings, something which said: ‘have you so little faith in me?’ It wasn’t as though she
eddidn’t want to trust him. But how could she when he was so good at luring attention to himself with
dshis stories?
 “Thank you, Papa,” she said instead of the reassurance he most likely wanted. She must be firm
ofwith him. It was the only way. At least, it was the mantra she told herself as the tinge of hurt in his
ofeyes lingered on her. Thankfully, he shook it off and replaced it with another sunny expression when
ldthe priest called the two of them forward.
he “Kneel and greet your lord,” Priest Hagen instructed. His wry expression pierced holes through her
ndconfidence, but Papa paid him no mind. They both came before Lord Frederick and kneeled.
“Lord Frederick,” Papa began in a booming voice by her ear, and she locked her teeth together.
edWhy must he be so loud? “Thank you for your presence. My golden daughter, Lynn, and I are very
s’privileged on this day.”
en Oh no.
She cringed at the term of endearment. The priest appraised him suspiciously, and she cursed
edherself.
“Golden, you say?” The lord’s brow raised. “So.” He motioned to the priest. “Is this the infamous
chgirl I have heard about?”
The priest’s nose lifted. “Yes, my Lord, this is the man and daughter I have spoken to you about.
The liar.”
na Every limb froze under the word. She dared not speak out of turn. Yet, her heart beat like a
thousand soldiers trampling through a battlefield as they scrutinized her father.
“Wait,” Papa said, and his thunderous voice faltered under their glares. “Come now, we are all
ryfriends here. It’s Springtide, gentlemen. We are here to celebrate, not to condemn.”
ta She snapped her head toward her papa. Panic crawled over her skin. ‘No, no, no!’ she silently
asbegged, ‘don’t make this worse for us!’ But all his attention was on their lord. A slight tremor ran
enthrough his arms.
Even Papa was afraid. He was never afraid.
“Friends?” the oldest son, Fenrick, spat. “Do you know who you speak to? This is your lord—”
“Enough, Fenrik.” The lord raised a hand. “It is alright, friend.” The word was anything but
’llfriendly. “My men have told me about the loud, obnoxious miller who speaks of his golden daughter.
What were the rumors again? Spinning straw into gold, was it? My, that is certainly very talented,
edisn’t it? A peasant under my nose with a gift like this, how could it ever go unchecked?” His sons
hechuckled beside him.
th Another shot of terror stabbed through her chest.
 m “W-well, you see, the story is that her straw hair is so fine, it turns into gold in the light—” Papa
hisstuttered.
en “So you were lying?”
The sharpness of Lord Frederick’s gaze could cut her father into pieces. She must do something.
erShe must act now before this becomes any worse. “No, my Lord, he means—” she started.
“Do you realize the king has appointed me to rule this sanctioned land with the utmost honor and
er.uprightness?” Lord Frederick cut over her as though she hadn’t spoken at all. The question was
rydirected to her papa. “My duty is to provide protection and carry out swift justice to those who break
faith in the laws of the Gods and the land. Furthermore, I am steward over you all, and I must take
claim on anyone with such power.”
ed “Of course, my Lord, I never doubted that,” Papa murmured.
“And is it not according to scripture that you are not to deceive your fellow men with falsehoods?
usA heinous crime to lie to your lord, especially when it concerns magic? All those who possess any
power must be accounted for,” Lord Frederick continued, his eyes unrelenting.
ut. The Priest nodded. “I have warned him of his deceit, but he would not heed my word, my Lord.”
“I believe we have a problem then.” The lord’s eyes narrowed. Lynn’s stomach dropped to her
aaching knees.
“No, it’s no problem, my Lord. No problem here,” Papa said.
all “So, your claims are true then? She can spin straw into gold? A power no mage or witch can
accomplish? My, well, if that is the case, then I am anxious to see her prove it.”
ly “I—”
an “Bring the girl and arrest this man.”
There was no time to think. Her legs moved on their own accord as she scrambled up. Her father
reached for her, tugging her into a warm embrace. The smell of sweat and flour wrapped her in a
moment of comfort before a pair of hands wrenched her away. The guard’s grip over her arm
uttightened. She stretched out her hand to her father.
er. “Papa!” she cried.
d, “I’m so sorry, golden girl,” Papa said, and two guards grabbed him on each arm, jerking him
nstoward the steps. “Forgive me.”
“No, it’s a mistake, it’s all a mistake, please have mercy!” she screamed as they dragged her down
the stand.
pa
image-placeholder

ng.

nd
as
ak
keRumpelstiltskin
Whispers and gasps curled around the audience. The next family in line looked as though they
would piss themselves when the lord motioned for them to kneel before him.
s? Frowning, Rumple watched as they shoved both the woman and her father into a wagon headed for
nythe castle. Swiping his hand through the bubble, the image burst like shimmering orange stars across
the grass while his mind spun for a new strategy. This would put a damper on his plans, but he could
modify them as needed.
er “What a way to start a party,” he muttered.

an

er
a
m

wn
 image-placeholder

Rumpelstiltskin
Whispers and gasps curled around the audience. The next family in line looked as though they
would piss themselves when the lord motioned for them to kneel before him.
Frowning, Rumple watched as they shoved both the woman and her father into a wagon headed for
the castle. Swiping his hand through the bubble, the image burst like shimmering orange stars across
the grass while his mind spun for a new strategy. This would put a damper on his plans, but he could
modify them as needed.
“What a way to start a party,” he muttered.
 5

Lynn

ours passed since they brought Lynn into the tower. Separated from her father, the guards led
H her in and locked the door behind them. The room was large but empty, with only cold stone
walls and a colder wooden floor to sit on. Scrapes marked the ground where they removed furniture,
and only one window sat above her, too high to reach. Even if she could, this side of the castle
steeped into a sharp cliff side with nowhere to run.
This was all her fault. Had she been firmer with her father, or if she screamed at him to stop with
all the nonsense years ago, then maybe they would not be here. Why was she so soft on him?
Now all she could think about was how Lord Frederick would decide their fates. Lying about
magic was not something to be trifled with, and they would pay for it. Would it be the noose or
 beheading? Those would be merciful in comparison to being hung, strung, and quartered. Or maybe
being burned alive was the worst of the options. Such an execution was saved for dark magic users,
but who was to say Lord Frederick would not accuse her of such things?
Just the thought of her death spurred panic to consume her before multiple servants came in, arms
full of bundled straw, and dumped it in piles around her. They did not acknowledge her even as she
begged them to listen, but they shrugged her off and left without a word. After a while, she gave up
trying to speak with them and watched in resigned silence. In and out, they came with large bundles
until each pile climbed higher and higher toward the stone ceiling. Lynn lost count after the one-
hundredth bundle was tossed.
When the procession stopped, the last object to be carried in was a wooden spinning wheel. Fiery,
golden light from the setting sun filtered from the window above, and crickets chirped in time with
her heartbeat when the lord finally entered. His presence swallowed the room whole, demanding her
eyes on him. Obeying the silent command, she peered up at his towering frame and kneeled, trying to
appear smaller than she already felt.
“My Lord, please—”
“You are in no position to plead. I have heard enough pathetic apologies from your father, so one
more word from you, and I will cut out your tongue.” His words were like a fashioned knife, sinking
cold fear in her belly. She clamped her lips and hung her head. “The terms are simple. Spin all this
straw into gold by morning, and you and your father keep your lives. If you do not, your lives will be
forfeited. Am I clear?”
She nodded, staring at the specks of dirt on the ground, praying to disappear under its floorboards.
“Good,” he continued. “I expect this to be a lesson for the citizens of Fellwig. It will be a reminder
to them all not to deceive their lord. You two will be made an example in front of the village in the
morning when you fail.”
ed
His footsteps were surprisingly quiet for an imposing figure, and the door slammed shut behind
ne
him. When she could no longer hear him, she fell forward with her hands bracing her. Hopeless tears
e,
threatened to spill, but they did not fall—she willed them not to. If Lord Frederick would take her
le
life, she would not allow him to take her tears. Yet, thoughts of death, this impossible task—all of it
wormed emptiness in her mind.
th
Of all the occasions Papa claimed she was magical, she wished more than anything it was true
now.
ut
or
be By morning, she and her father would die. She knew it, and Lord Frederick was counting on it. If
rs,she allowed dread and panic to continue to eat her, it would drive her to madness, and that was the
last thing she wanted poor little Roger to witness before she died. He would be there, and so would
msAunt Floy and Uncle Ritter. They would all watch her and her father die.
he Cursing under her breath, she cast the image aside. No, she refused to give into insanity. She
upwhispered several prayers to Erus, hoping for deliverance. She must remain strong. But her body
esrefused to acknowledge her resolution, and her arms crumpled as she fell into a fetal position. If she
e-closed her eyes, maybe all of it would disappear.
“You sure know how to put up a fight.”
ry, Shooting up on her knees, her eyes darted around the room, but she couldn’t find the source of the
thlight, tenor voice. Did she lose her mind already?
er “Just look at you. You’ve given up,” the voice tutted. “Are you really that comfortable with dying?”
to Her heart rattled with her shaky limbs as she stood, wondering if this was some cruel trick on Lord
Frederick’s part. He might have left someone at the door to mock her all through the night to ensure
she did go mad before morning. But the voice did not seem to come from the door. No, it seemed to
necome from above.
ng Glancing up, she jolted back at seeing a figure sprawled casually on the windowsill. One leg
hisdangled as the other propped up so he could rest his arm there. Tight, brown leggings clung to his
bewiry legs, and a dark teal tunic with swirling, orange markings on the sleeves sat on his thin frame. A
hood shadowed the rest of his face, but she recognized him. The man who sent her the gold coin.
“You!”
er As soon as the word left her mouth, he leaped down like a graceful feline—toes first into a crouch.
heSpringing up, she backed into the wall, and he curtseyed to her. Not bow as men did, but curtsey.
“Yes, me.” His silvery voice rang pleasantly in her ears as he straightened. “The name is
ndRumpelstiltskin, but you may call me Rumple if it pleases you.” Without warning, he pulled back his
rshood.
er An impish, terracotta face grinned down at her. A curly mess of dark, reddish hair twisted around
ithis ears and piled on his head like a crow’s nest. The ends of it faded into a pinkish-white as if it
were bleached by the sun or harsh lye. Her eyes trailed to black makeup ringed around gray eyes
ueprotruding slightly from the sockets. Golden hoop earrings and clamps adorned his ears and
glimmered in the light. Further down, she stopped at his full lips, and something feral and
mischievous lurked in his smile as he watched her.
 If Yet, beneath the impish look, there was something enchanting about him, like a hook sinking its
hepretty barb into her mind, forcing her to stare. The impulse to draw closer, reeling her in, rather than
ldrun away from the stranger, frightened her.
There was no way he was human.
he Her hands only found stone behind her as she scrambled to put more distance between them and
dybreak whatever allure he had upon her. “What are you?”
he “Now that’s rude,” he huffed, but his light, lilting voice smoothed the sting out of his words. “I give
you my name, and this is how you respond? I think what you meant to say was: ‘greetings Rumple, my
name is…’” He waved a hand in a circular motion, encouraging her to finish the sentence.
he “Lynn,” she said without thinking, and her heart beat like a heavy drum up into her ears as she
inched toward the door, using the wall as her guide. Maybe if she pounded on it hard enough,
?” someone would come and aid her.
rd To her dismay, the floorboards creaked when she moved and gave her plan of escape away. The
regrin on his face melted into a smirk. His arm shot out to plant his hand against the wall, barring her in
toher tracks. He was so close she could feel his warmth radiating from his thin frame. Her heart sped at
the intimacy of it—of his tantalizing, sandalwood scent.
eg She eyed the length of his long arm. “What do you want with me? Are you here to mock me before I
hisdie? Did Lord Frederick send you?” she asked, but her voice cracked on the last vowel, making her
Asound like a whimpering dog. She cursed herself for not having more bite, but she glanced toward the
ground, formulating another plan.
The straw was an option—a means to protect herself, but she could not imagine being fast enough
h.to stab it in those large eyes of his. Even so, she would try if she must.
“And more importantly,” she persisted and shrank away as he leaned in. “What were you doing this
ismorning? What was the coin—this thing about?” she raised her marked finger between them.
his “So many questions.” He chuckled lowly and assessed her face with a curious glint. From this
close, she fought to look away, but her eyes remained steadily on his face, for it was impossible not to
ndstare back into those mesmerizing eyes. At first, she thought they were a gray color, but now she could
itdistinctly see a faint hue of green swirling like dancing leaves in the irises. She had never seen
esanything like them, and for a moment, she would have been more than happy to do nothing but gaze
ndinto them forever.
nd “No, you poor Mousekin,” he continued in a sing-song lilt, and her nose wrinkled at the pet name,
officially breaking whatever bewitching spell he cast on her. “I think you mean to blame the little frog
itsyou hurled around. Poor thing didn’t stand a chance against you.” He laughed.
an Her mouth twitched, almost tempted to replicate his contagious smile but forced them to dip into a
frown. “It wasn’t funny.”
“Oh, trust me, it was hilarious.”
nd Had he no compassion? Heat poured through her veins as she glowered. “Why did you do it,
though? To scare me? Why were you there this morning?”
ve “I do many things to amuse myself, and amused I was.” He shrugged, and her mouth opened.
my “It wasn’t funny at all,” she snapped. “I thought some stranger was trying to, I don’t know, buy me
into indentured service.” He did not try to hide the snickers bouncing in his chest. “Don’t laugh at
heme!”
gh, “Come on, you can’t laugh at yourself, Mousekin? It was funny, admit it.” Those white teeth flashed
at her with his eyes full of glee.
he “I can laugh at jokes just fine, but—” The events of the day reeled through her mind, reminding her
inof how not amusing it was to be sitting in a cold, drafty tower rather than in her warm, straw bed.
atHow she and her father would die in the morning if she couldn’t complete this task. “None of this is a
laughing matter, alright? Just tell me why you made this stupid mark in the first place.”
e I Instead of answering the question, he folded his arms and clicked his tongue. “Goodness, you are
eramusing. Prickly but amusing.”
he Fire stung through her neck and up her face, most likely painting them red as a tomato. Who in the
three hells did he think he was? “And you are insufferable. I don’t even know you, and you’re
ghinsufferable!”
“Just how I like it.”
his Her fingers grew white as she clenched them into fists. No one had forced her ire out in the way he
could, and she’d only known him for a few minutes. Lynn prided herself in being able to keep her
hishead clear and rational, but it must be his secret power to rile her anger so.
to “Your scary little lord didn’t send me, either,” he said suddenly. “I’ve come here to help you.”
ld Her jaw slackened, and all the pent-up heat evaporated at his words. “Help me?” she repeated
endumbly.
ze “Yes, as in, I know you’re going to die if you don’t spin all this straw into gold by morning. I’ve
come to do it in your stead.”
me, “What?”
og
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
dorther kamen. Im Süden brannte die Sonne gar zu fühlbar; auf
dieser Seite war das Zelt geschlossen, aber durch die Ritzen des
Zelttuches stahlen sich Sonnenstrahlen herein und ließen meinen
Rosenkranz funkeln, als ich mit den heiligen Gebetkugeln, die in so
heidnische Hände geraten waren, spielte. Die Temperatur stieg auf
+19,1 Grad. Sehr leicht gekleidet, schlummerte ich ins süßeste
Vergessen hinüber und verschlief Schagdurs Teefrühstück. Es war
friedvoll und sommerlich, der letzte Sommertag, den wir genießen
konnten. Ein kleiner Bach begleitete mit seinem munteren Rauschen
das Lachen und Plaudern der Tibeter.
Sie verstehen es, sich es auch auf Reisen angenehm und
gemütlich zu machen. Wenn wir lagern, haben die Offiziere eine
Schar Diener, die ihnen im Handumdrehen die Zelte aufschlagen.
Rings um diese werden Sattel, Riemenzeug, Beutel und Gepäck
hingeworfen und die Flinten auf ihre Gabeln gestellt, um nicht mit
dem feuchten Boden in Berührung zu kommen. Bei so schönem
Wetter sitzen alle im Freien und widmen sich mit Kennermiene dem
Essenkochen, der liebsten Beschäftigung des Asiaten. Sie sind
Meister im Feueranmachen und richten mit Hilfe des Blasebalges
einen lodernden Feuerstrahl gegen die Seite des Teekessels, so daß
das Wasser in erstaunlich kurzer Zeit ins Kochen gerät. Die Tsamba
wurde in kleinen Holzschalen, die unseren mongolischen glichen,
angerührt. Einige von ihnen kneten das Gericht mit der rechten Hand
und vermischen es mit Käse. Wenn sie Fleisch essen, halten sie das
Stück in der Linken und schneiden mit einem Messer kleine Bissen
davon ab. Anna Tsering benutzte hierzu ein englisches
Taschenmesser („Made in Germany“), das aus Ladak stammen
sollte.
Unter ihren Habseligkeiten waren viele verlockende Dinge, die
jedoch nicht in unseren Besitz übergehen konnten, weil dafür
unerhörte Preise gefordert wurden. Für einen Säbel, dessen Scheide
mit Silber beschlagen und mit Korallen und Türkisen besetzt war,
forderten sie 50 Liang (etwa 170 Mark), obwohl er nicht mehr als 11
Liang wert war. Eine Gebetmühle sollte 100 Liang kosten. Die
Gewehre und ein großer Teil der Lanzen gehörten, wie sie sagten,
dem Staate und durften überhaupt nicht verkauft werden. Wir saßen
stundenlang bei ihnen in ihrem Zelte, sie aber kamen nie zu uns;
wahrscheinlich hatte Kamba Bombo es ihnen verboten, weil ich
gesagt hatte, ich wollte gern möglichst ungestört bleiben.
Noch um 9 Uhr abends betrug die Temperatur +9,1 Grad, und um
7 Uhr am folgenden Morgen hatten wir +7,8 Grad.
Am 13. August sahen wir weiter keine Menschen als acht
Soldaten, die zu Pferd von Norden, wahrscheinlich von einer
Rekognoszierung, kamen. Sie hatten eine lange Beratung mit
unseren Offizieren, ehe sie weiterritten. Nun ritten wir über den
Satschu-sangpo, der auf den vierten Teil seiner Größe
zusammengeschrumpft war. Das Überschreiten lief ohne das
geringste Mißgeschick ab, da die Tibeter die Furtschwelle kannten.
Jedoch ging in den tiefen Armen das Wasser den kleinen Pferden
noch bis über den Bauch. Ehe die Reiter sich in den Fluß begaben,
entledigten sie sich ihrer Stiefel; am anderen Ufer wurde eine kurze
Rast gemacht, um sie wieder anzuziehen.
Eine Strecke vom rechten Ufer entfernt wurde in einer Gegend
mit frischen Quellen und gutem Grase, die auf der Hinreise unseren
Blicken entgangen war, für die Nacht Halt gemacht. Bis hierher
hatten wir drei von unseren neun Tagereisen zurückgelegt, obwohl
hierzu jetzt vier Tage erforderlich gewesen waren. Morgen würden
die Tibeter uns also unserem Schicksale überlassen. Uns aber
wurde es wirklich schwer, von ihnen zu scheiden; wir waren auf so
freundschaftlichen Fuß mit ihnen gekommen, daß wir uns mit dem
Gedanken, ihre Gesellschaft entbehren zu müssen, nicht recht
aussöhnen konnten. Sie ließen sich jedoch nicht überreden, uns
noch weiter zu begleiten; sie hatten ihre Pflicht getan und konnten
gehen. Ich drohte ihnen damit, daß ich, nachdem sie abgezogen,
noch eine Zeitlang am Satschu-sangpo bleiben und dann doch nach
Lhasa gehen würde.
„Bitte sehr“, antworteten sie, „wir sollten euch nur an die Grenze
bringen, und das haben wir getan.“
Abends besuchte uns Solang Undü, Anna Tsering und Dakksche
zum erstenmal in unserem Zelte; sie wurden mit Tee und Rosinen
bewirtet. Da sie sich jetzt jenseits der Grenze befanden, glaubten sie
wohl, sich gewisse Freiheiten nehmen zu können. Dakksche war der
Greis, der einmal während unserer Gefangenschaft so gebieterisch
in unserem Zelte gepredigt hatte. Er ist eine gottvolle Erscheinung
mit seinem runzeligen, bronzebraunen, schmutzigen, bartlosen
Gesichte und seinem langen, dichten unbedeckten Haare. Er könnte
gut für einen heruntergekommenen Schauspieler aus Europa gelten.
Sobald er mich erblickt, streckt er die Zunge so weit heraus, wie er
nur kann, und hält die Daumen in die Luft, eine Höflichkeit, die ich
auf dieselbe Weise und mit solchem Nachdruck beantworte, daß
Schagdur sich beinahe totlacht.
Jetzt erst glückte es uns, auch einige Kleinigkeiten erstehen zu
können, wie einen Dolch, zwei kupferne Armbänder, einen Ring,
einen Löffel, eine Pulvertasche und eine Flöte, alles für ein paar
Meter Zeug, das neben chinesischen Porzellantassen und Messern
das beste Tauschmittel ist.
Die folgende Nacht schliefen wir fest, um uns ordentlich
auszuruhen, ehe die Nachtwachen wieder anfingen. Ich schlief
dreizehn Stunden! Als ich aufstand, fragten sie, ob wir hierbleiben
würden oder nicht, und da ich mit Bleiben drohte, erboten sie sich,
uns zu begleiten, bis wir Menschen träfen und uns mit neuen
Vorräten für die Rückreise versehen könnten. Wir ritten also bis in
die Nachbarschaft von Sampo Singis Lager, wo die Gegend G o n g -
g a k k und ihr Häuptling Dschangdang heißt.

Hinsichtlich der politischen und der administrativen Verhältnisse

erhielten wir recht unsichere Aufklärungen; es ist wohl
wahrscheinlich, daß die Sache tatsächlich auch nicht ganz klar liegt.
Es wurde behauptet, daß der Satschu-sangpo die Grenze zwischen
dem Lande des Dalai-Lama im Süden und dem im Norden liegenden
Reiche des chinesischen Kaisers sei, der Häuptling Dschangdang
aber von beiden Staaten unabhängig sei. Daß der Satschu-sangpo
als Grenze von Bedeutung ist, ging schon daraus hervor, daß die
Tibeter uns nur bis dorthin brachten und sich nicht darum
bekümmerten, wohin wir uns von dort begaben, sowie auch daraus,
daß Kamba Bombo gesagt hatte, für nördlich von diesem Flusse
begangene Diebstähle sei er nicht verantwortlich. Im übrigen wußten
sie von Tibets Grenzen, daß diese im Westen mit denen von Ladak
zusammenfielen, im Osten seien es acht Tagereisen bis an die
chinesische Grenze, und nach Süden sollte eine Reise von drei
Monaten (!) erforderlich sein, um nach Indien oder, wie sie sich
ausdrückten, Hindi zu gelangen. Tsamur und Amdo sind
dichtbevölkerte Gebiete im Osten, im Westen heißt das Land Namru.
Sobald wir gelagert hatten, wurden einige Reiter nach Westen
geschickt, wie es hieß, nach den ersten Dörfern in Namru, und am
Abend kamen sie mit zwei großen Schüsseln voll süßer und saurer
Milch wieder, die für den größten Teil der noch übrigen Reisetage
reichte. Dagegen nahmen wir nur zwei Schafe mit, obschon uns alle
noch lebenden angeboten wurden — sie wären uns während der
forcierten Märsche, die uns bevorstanden, nur hinderlich gewesen.
Auf jedem Lagerplatz werden Kundschafter in die Gegend
ausgeschickt. Sie statten bei ihrer Rückkehr Solang Undü Bericht
ab. Wahrscheinlich hat man befürchtet, daß unsere ganze Karawane
nach Süden vorgerückt sei, und man will nun vorsichtig sein und
aufpassen, daß wir uns nicht mit den Unsrigen zu einem
gemeinschaftlichen Angriffe auf die Eskorte vereinigen, um uns dann
nach Lhasa durchzuschlagen.
Eine große Yakkarawane lagerte in der Nachbarschaft. Sie war
aus Nakktschu, hatte Salz geholt und befand sich jetzt auf dem
Heimweg.
Der 15. August war der Tag der Trennung. Unsere Freunde
versuchten uns zu überreden, noch einen Tag zu bleiben, und gaben
uns die sehr verlockende Versicherung, daß am Abend einige Leute
aus Namru anlangen würden. Diese würden uns gewiß gern nach
dem Hauptquartier begleiten und uns nachts unsere Tiere hüten. Wir
zogen es jedoch vor, aufzubrechen. Solang Undü und Anna Tsering
rieten uns, Räuber, die sich nachts unserem Zelte näherten, einfach
niederzuschießen. Sie steckten augenscheinlich nicht mit
Pferdedieben unter einer Decke, denn sie hatten unheimlichen
Respekt vor der Wirkung unserer Schußwaffen.
Als wir Abschied nahmen, erbot sich Solang Undü, uns mit vier
Mann nach Sampo Singis Zelt zu begleiten; mit ihnen zogen wir das
Tal hinauf, dessen Fluß jetzt bedeutend zusammengeschrumpft war.
Einige Reiter, denen wir begegneten, kehrten um und kamen mit.
Auch diese waren entschieden Spione, welche die Unseren
beobachtet hatten und jetzt mit den lebhaftesten Gesten berichteten,
was sie gesehen hatten.
Sampo Singi war nicht zu Hause, aber sein Zelt stand noch da.
Hier machten unsere Begleiter Halt, ließen sich an einem Hügel
häuslich nieder und baten uns, die Nacht über noch hierzubleiben;
wir wollten aber jetzt Zeit gewinnen. Sie sahen uns über den ersten
Paß im Nordwesten unseres alten Lagers verschwinden und sind
dann wohl, wie ich vermute, zu Kamba Bombo zurückgekehrt.
 Neunzehntes Kapitel.
Die letzten Tagemärsche nach dem
Hauptquartier.

E insam und schweigend ritten wir nach Nordwesten weiter; wir

sahen keine anderen Geschöpfe als einige Schafherden und
Yake auf den nächsten Hügeln. Unsere Tiere waren kraftlos, aber
gemächlich ritten wir drauf los. Bevor es dämmerig wurde, mußten
wir Halt machen, damit sie noch eine Weile weiden konnten. Dies
geschah an einer kleinen Süßwasserquelle auf einer Wiese, wo
Argol in genügender Menge umherlag.
Auf einmal veränderte der Himmel, der uns bisher hold gewesen
war, sein Aussehen. Es wurde im Südosten dunkel. Eigentümliche,
unheimliche Wolken stiegen über den Bergen auf; sie waren
brandgelb und dick, wie beim Ausbruche eines Sandsturmes in der
Wüste. Das wird ein nettes Wetter werden, dachten wir. Der Wind
kam immer näher, sauste und pfiff, und dann prasselte der erste
Hagelschauer auf uns herab, und es wurde pechfinster wie in einem
Sacke.
Mittlerweile waren die Tiere vor dem Zelte fest angebunden
worden. Hier mußte strenge Wache gehalten werden. Durch dieses
Wetter wurde die Nacht ein paar Stunden länger als gewöhnlich, und
vielleicht betrachteten uns die Tibeter nun, da sie uns über die
Grenze gebracht hatten, nicht länger als Gäste, sondern als
vogelfreie Eindringlinge, die man ungestraft plündern durfte. Ein
unangenehmeres Wetter ließ sich nicht denken; um 8 Uhr ging der
Hagel in Regen über, der wie aus Mulden herabgoß. Man hört nichts
weiter als den Regen, der, vom Winde getrieben, gegen das Zelt und
auf die Erde schlägt und das Stampfen der Tiere und die
einschläfernden Schritte der Nachtwache übertönt. Man sieht die
Hand vor den Augen nicht, kein dunkler Umriß gibt den Platz an, wo
unsere Tiere zwei Meter vor der Zeltöffnung stehen. Es ist
unmöglich, eine Kerze zum Brennen zu bringen; es regnet ins Zelt,
es weht, heult und pfeift, und die Zündhölzer sind feucht. Man sitzt
zusammengekauert in seinem Pelze, der Oberkörper schwankt hin
und her, und vergeblich sehnt man sich nach dem Tageslichte, das
jedoch auf sich warten läßt. Alle Waffen sind geladen und liegen zum
Gebrauch bereit, und die Hunde sind bei den Pferden angebunden.
Von hier war es ein fünfstündiger Ritt nach unserem früheren Lager
Nr. 48, von dort sieben Stunden nach dem Lager Nr. 47. Erst im
Lager Nr. 44 waren wir zu Hause! Der Weg dorthin erschien uns
sowieso unendlich lang, und nun mußte der Regen den Boden noch
mehr verderben. Wir entbehrten die Tibeter sehr; es war so ruhig
und friedlich, solange wir sie bei uns hatten.
Gegen 11 Uhr ließ der Regen ein wenig nach, und ich ging
hinaus, um mich nach Schagdur umzusehen, der mitten zwischen
den Pferden und den Mauleseln unter seiner Filzdecke kauerte und
bis auf die Haut durchnäßt war. Er war jetzt gerade sehr aufgeregt
und bat mich, zu horchen, denn unten am Quellbache klinge es wie
menschliche Schritte. Ich hörte auch wirklich schleichende Fußtritte;
Schagdur nahm an, daß es ein Kulan sein könne, ich aber glaubte
nicht, daß solche sich so nahe bei den Herden der Tibeter
aufhielten. Als die leisen, schleichenden Schritte näherkamen und
Schagdur das Gewehr bereithielt, stellte sich heraus, daß es unser
Hund Malenki war, der unten an der Quelle getrunken hatte. Ich hielt
die Lage für ungefährlich, ging wieder ins Zelt, legte mich hin und
schlief wie ein Stock bis 5 Uhr, dann wurde ich geweckt und half bei
herrlichem Wetter beim Beladen.
Anfangs zogen wir östlich von unserer alten Route, und die
Kartenarbeit wurde wieder aufgenommen. Das Terrain war hier viel
bequemer, und wir konnten einen deutlichen Weg links vom
Gartschu-sängi einschlagen. Lange folgten wir hier der Spur eines
Reiters, der mit zwei Hunden erst kürzlich diese Straße gezogen
sein mußte, weil die Spur noch nicht verregnet war. Wer mochte er
sein, und wohin hatte er seine Schritte gelenkt? War er Mitglied einer
Räuberbande, die ihren Sammelplatz droben im Gebirge hatte?
Wurden wir vielleicht schon verfolgt, und warteten sie am Ende nur
eine günstige Gelegenheit ab?
Wir verloren jedoch die Spur und schlugen einen westlicheren
Kurs ein, weil in der bisher eingehaltenen Richtung drohende Berge
den Weg zu versperren schienen. Die Richtung wird nordwestlich,
das Terrain hebt sich, Kulane und Orongoantilopen, die wenig scheu
sind, treten wieder auf, wir ziehen sie dem Anblick bis an die Zähne
bewaffneter tibetischer Reiter vor.
Als das Gras immer spärlicher wurde, machten wir nach einem
Marsche von 34,5 Kilometer an einem Flusse Halt. Es war weniger,
als wir hätten zurücklegen müssen, wenn wir das Hauptquartier in
vier Tagen erreichen wollten, aber unsere Tiere waren erschöpft und
auch zu müde, um umzukehren und die üppigen Weiden, die wir
hinter uns zurückgelassen hatten, wieder aufzusuchen. Nur die
beiden neuen tibetischen Pferde sind munter und müssen besonders
festgebunden werden, damit sie nicht wieder zu ihren Kameraden
zurücklaufen.
263. Der Lama als Gehilfe beim Photographieren der Hirten. (S. 254.)
 264. Tibeterinnen. (S. 255.)

265. Die Nomadenzelte in der Bergschlucht. (S. 255.)

 266. Unser Lager am Jaggju-rappga. (S. 264.)
Vor den Leuten Wanka, der Leithammel, Jollbars, Maltschik und Hamra.

Der Tag war schön gewesen, nur mittags und während der
nächstfolgenden Stunden zogen dicke Wolkenmassen von Süden
herauf. Die Gegenden, denen wir uns nahten, werden immer kälter
und karger; hier sind keine anderen Menschen als höchstens
Yakjäger und Straßenräuber zu erwarten.
Die dem Aufschlagen des Lagers folgenden Stunden sind die
angenehmsten des ganzen Tages; man ist ruhig, kann sich bequem
ausstrecken, Mittag essen, plaudern und rauchen. Aber die
Dämmerung kommt nur zu schnell, und je dunkler es wird, desto
schärfer heißt es aufpassen.
Die Nacht war ganz klar und windstill. Fern im Westen zuckte
über dem Horizonte unausgesetzt ein Wetterleuchten, Donner war
aber nicht zu hören. Die Nacht ist so still, daß man sich vor dieser
Grabesstille fast fürchten möchte. Selbst aus ziemlich weiter Ferne
würde man auch das geringste Geräusch hören können. In einiger
Entfernung ertönt das dumpfe Gemurmel eines Bächleins, sonst
vernehme ich nur die Atemzüge der Tiere und meiner beiden
Reisegefährten. Der Lama spricht oft im Schlafe und ruft bisweilen
mit klagender Stimme Sirkins Namen, als brauche und erwarte er
Hilfe.
 17. August. Alle Hügel und Berge der Gegend sind ziegelrot,
denn die vorherrschende Gesteinsart ist roter Sandstein.
Sobald der Tag graut, dürfen die Tiere frei umherlaufen, können
sich aber auf unseren Lagerplätzen in der kurzen Zeit durchaus nicht
sattfressen. Sie grasen nur abends ein paar Stunden, nachdem wir
gelagert haben, und in aller Morgenfrühe. Wir lassen sie daher noch
draußen, bis es stockfinster ist, bleiben dann aber bei ihnen. Sie sind
den ganzen Tag hungrig und versuchen unterwegs Grashalme
abzurupfen; leicht ist es nicht, sie beisammenzuhalten, und ihre
kleinen Seitenabstecher verursachen uns Zeitverlust.
Heute ritten wir 9 Stunden und legten 40 Kilometer zurück, — es
geht nicht schnell. Etwas westlich von dem alten Wege kamen wir
durch ein Tal langsam nach einem Passe hinauf. Vom Passe geht es
langsam durch ein anderes Tal hinunter, das sich nach Westen zieht
und von senkrechten Wänden eingefaßt wird. Es zwingt uns, viel zu
weit westwärts zu gehen, aber wir können nicht aus ihm
herauskommen. Hier und dort zeigen sich Yake; es sind entschieden
wilde, obwohl es merkwürdig ist, daß sie sich in eine solche
Mausefalle hineinwagen. Wir stellten diesen Abend das Zelt auf
einen von Schluchten umgebenen Bergvorsprung, wo ein Überfall
für den Angreifer sehr gefährlich hätte werden können. Jetzt konnten
wir nicht viel mehr als 70 Kilometer von den Unsrigen entfernt sein,
und jeder Tag, der verging, vergrößerte unsere Sicherheit; nur der
Lama war der Meinung, es würde vielleicht noch schlimmer werden,
denn das Hauptlager sei möglicherweise von den Tibetern
umzingelt.
Der 18. August war für uns ein schwerer, anstrengender Tag. Es
kostete uns verzweifelte Mühe, über eine Bergkette
hinüberzukommen, die wir auf der Hinreise ohne Schwierigkeit
überschritten hatten.
Wir gehen über einen neuen Paß und haben linker Hand einen
See, der in einer Bodensenke liegt. Unsere Tiere sinken tief in den
aus rotem Material bestehenden Boden ein; man zieht sozusagen
über lauernde Fallgruben und Fallen hin, seit Jahrtausenden scheint
Schmutz und Schlamm von den angrenzenden Höhen in dieses
heimtückische Loch hinuntergeschwemmt worden zu sein.
Anstehendes Gestein ist nirgends zu sehen, alles ist weiches
Verwitterungsmaterial. Glücklicherweise war das Wetter jetzt gut; bei
Regen wäre hier nicht durchzukommen gewesen.
Unser Räubersee lag jetzt eine ziemliche Strecke rechts von
unserem Wege. Einige Maulesel waren vollständig erschöpft, und
zwischen 2 und 4 Uhr mußten wir auf einer dünn mit Gras
bewachsenen Halde rasten, um sie ausruhen zu lassen.
Unterdessen schlummerten und rauchten wir im Sonnenbrande. Die
Luft war ruhig, und das Thermometer zeigte +19,6 Grad im
Schatten; bei dieser Temperatur ist es hier oben so heiß, daß man
fürchtet, einen Sonnenstich zu bekommen. Bald darauf kam eine
Hagelbö, und wir waren wieder mitten im Winter. Es ging langsamer
und schwerer als je, nach dieser Rast wieder in Gang zu kommen.
Man ist ganz erschöpft von den verwünschten Nachtwachen und
den beständigen Märschen.
Einmal, als wir langsam nach dem Gipfel eines Hügels
hinaufritten, stürmte Malenki seitwärts nach einer anderen Anhöhe
und erhob ein wütendes Gebell. Wir glaubten, er habe Menschen
gesehen, und ich ritt ihm schleunigst nach und geriet dabei einem
Bären, der eifrig an einer Murmeltierhöhle kratzte, beinahe auf den
Leib. Als der Petz mich erblickte, sprang er auf und lief, von den
Hunden verfolgt, im Galopp davon. Die Hunde holten ihn bald ein,
doch jetzt machte der Bär Front und schickte sich an, Malenki eins
auf die Schnauze zu geben. Der Hund kehrte nun ebenfalls um und
kam zu uns zurück, aber Jollbars hatte noch einen langen Tanz mit
dem Petz, der auf so unverschämte Weise in seiner erwarteten
Abendmahlzeit gestört worden war.
Jetzt ging es verwünscht langsam vorwärts; es war nutzlos, den
Weg fortzusetzen, wir rasteten auf der ersten besten Weide. Der
Himmel sah noch immer unheildrohend aus, und die Wolken hatten
dieselbe rote oder brandgelbe Farbe wie das Erdreich.
Wieder folgte eine finstere, endlose Nacht, denn vor Tibetern und
Bären mußten wir auf der Hut sein. Die Sprache der Nacht ist
erhaben, nur nicht in Tibet, wenn man Pferde hüten muß. Von nun
an werde ich ein gewisses Mitleid mit unseren Pferdewärtern haben.
Wir sehnten uns nach dem Hauptlager wie zu einem großen Feste,
schon allein deshalb, weil wir dort nachts würden ausschlafen
können. Jeder von uns hat beim Wachehalten seine besonderen
Gewohnheiten. Ich schreibe, sitze in der Zelttür und mache von Zeit
zu Zeit eine Runde um das Lager. Schagdur sitzt in seinen Pelz
gehüllt mitten unter den Tieren und raucht seine Pfeife. Der Lama
wieder streift umher und murmelt mit singender Stimme Gebete.
Jetzt fehlten uns zwar nur noch 35 Kilometer, aber unsere Tiere
hatten, vom Hauptlager an gerechnet, bereits 500 Kilometer
zurückgelegt, und es war wenig Aussicht vorhanden, daß wir dieses
in einem Tage erreichen würden. Nun wohl, jedenfalls mußten wir so
nahe an den Umkreis, innerhalb dessen die Unsrigen die Gegend
bewachten, herankommen, daß wir uns für ziemlich sicher halten
konnten.
Wir schliefen am Morgen gründlich aus, um die Tiere möglichst
lange weiden zu lassen. Sodann ging es zu einem Passe hinauf, von
dem wir das weite, offene Tal, in welchem wir die erste Nacht geruht
hatten, zu sehen hofften. Doch jenseits des Passes war nur ein
Gewirr von Hügeln zu erblicken. Es war wunderbar, daß unsere
Tiere mit dem Nordabhange fertig wurden, der da, wo die Sonne
nicht eingewirkt hatte, aus lauter Schlamm bestand. Wir müssen zu
Fuß gehen und auf flachen Sandsteinplatten und Moosrasen
balancieren, sonst sinken wir knietief ein. Die Karawane sieht höchst
sonderbar aus, denn die Tiere waten so tief im Morast, daß sie mit
dem Bauche den Boden berühren; es ist, als durchwateten sie einen
Fluß. Wir steuern nach allen Flecken, die trocken scheinen, mühsam
und sehnsüchtig hin, um uns dort eine Weile zu verschnaufen und
die Lasten wieder zurechtzurücken. Die Hoffnung täuschte uns; noch
zwei ebenso greuliche Pässe waren uns beschieden. Hätte ich
hiervon eine Ahnung gehabt, so würde ich natürlich unseren alten
Weg gegangen sein, der wie eine Brücke durch ein Moor, in dessen
böse Sümpfe wir hilflos hineingeraten waren, zu führen schien.
Endlich erreichten wir mit erschöpften Kräften ein kleines Tal, das
nach unserem offenen Tale führte, dessen wohlbekanntes Panorama
ein erfreulicher, belebender Anblick war. Jetzt merkten wir, daß wir
beim Waten im Moraste den Spaten verloren hatten. Der Lama ging
zurück, ohne ihn zu finden, stieß dafür aber auf eine alte tibetische
Zeltstange, die uns abends beim Feueranzünden gut zustatten kam.
Rebhühner, Hasen und Kulane zeigen sich überall, und, wie
gewöhnlich, sind die Raben in diesem unwirtlichen Gebirge
heimisch.
Es war herrlich, wieder auf tragfähigem Boden zu reiten. Neun
Kulane leisteten uns eine Zeitlang Gesellschaft. Auf einer Anhöhe
rasteten wir einige Minuten, um die Gegend zu überschauen. Keine
Spur, keine schwarzen Punkte, die unsere weidenden Tiere sein
konnten, kein Rauch war zu sehen! Die Gegend lag ebenso still und
öde da, wie wir sie zuletzt gesehen hatten, und absolut nichts
deutete darauf hin, daß sich Menschen in der Nachbarschaft
befanden.
Obwohl die Sonne schon tief stand, schienen meine Kameraden
doch zu glauben, daß wir noch zu den Unsrigen gelangen würden,
denn sie ritten immer schneller. Die Tiere, die sonst gewöhnlich in
einem Haufen getrieben wurden, mußten hier in einer Reihe
hintereinander und mit Stricken verbunden marschieren, da das
Gras sie zu sehr in Versuchung führte. Schagdur leitete drei, ebenso
der Lama, und ich ritt als Treiber hinterdrein. Schagdur hatte einen
bedeutenden Vorsprung. Mein Reitschimmel, der mir den
gestohlenen ersetzt hatte und der, nachdem er kraftlos geworden,
durch eines der tibetischen Pferde ersetzt worden war, brach
plötzlich zusammen und blieb auf der Erde liegen. Man mußte
glauben, daß seine letzte Stunde gekommen sei; wie es schien, fing
er schon an zu erkalten. Der Lama schmierte ihm die Nüstern innen
mit Butter ein und zwang ihn, Lauch zu kauen. Große Tränen rollten
aus den Augen des Pferdes, und Schagdur sagte, es weine darüber,
daß es jetzt, nachdem es so ehrenvoll alle unsere Anstrengungen
geteilt, nicht zu seinen alten Kameraden zurückkehren könne.
Inzwischen schlugen wir Lager, und die Tiere wurden auf die
nächste Weide geführt.
Die Nacht verlief ruhig unter frischem, nördlichem Winde. Die
Hunde knurrten nicht einmal, und keine Feuer waren sichtbar.
 Als wir am 20. August aufbrachen, strömte der Regen nieder,
was uns jedoch wenig störte, weil der Boden jetzt beinahe überall
fest und tragfähig war. Sogar der Schimmel hinkte mit. Als wir die
roten Hügel in der Nähe unseres ersten Lagerplatzes, auf dem
Hinwege, passiert hatten, ertönten zwei Flintenschüsse und eine
Weile darauf ein dritter. Ein Yak stürmte nach den Hügeln hinauf. Wir
richteten unseren Kurs sofort dorthin und bemerkten bald zwei
Punkte, die sich im Fernglase nach und nach zu zwei Reitern
entwickelten. Waren es tibetische Yakjäger? Nein, denn es zeigte
sich bald, daß sie gerade auf uns zu ritten. Als sie nähergekommen
waren, erkannten wir in ihnen Sirkin und Turdu Bai. Wir saßen ab
und warteten, bis sie vor Freude weinend heransprengten, ganz
entzückt von der heutigen Jagd, — eine solche Beute hatten sie sich
nicht träumen lassen, als sie am Morgen ausgeritten waren, um sich
Fleisch zu verschaffen! Sie hatten nämlich nur noch drei Schafe. Für
uns war es ein besonderes Glück, so unerwartet in der Einöde mit
ihnen zusammenzutreffen; es wäre uns jetzt, da der Regen alle
Spuren ausgelöscht hatte, wohl recht schwer geworden, das Lager
zu finden.
Das Lager war vor einiger Zeit nach einem Seitentale südlich von
der Flußmündung verlegt worden und war dort so im Terrain
versteckt, daß wir es ohne Hilfe kaum hätten entdecken können. Wir
ritten sämtlich dorthin. Kutschuk, Ördek und Chodai Kullu kamen uns
entgegengelaufen; auch sie weinten und riefen:
„Chodai sakkladi, Chodai schukkur (Gott hat euch beschützt, Gott
sei gelobt), wir sind wie vaterlos gewesen, während ihr fort waret!“
Es war wirklich rührend, ihre Freude zu sehen. —
Bald darauf saß ich wieder in meiner bequemen Jurte und hatte
meine Kisten um mich, und mein schönes, warmes Bett war in
Ordnung. Wenn man es einen ganzen Monat recht schlecht gehabt
hat, weiß man es erst zu schätzen, wenn man sich wieder in
„zivilisierten Verhältnissen“ befindet. Sirkin berichtete, daß ein Pferd
verendet sei und die anderen sich noch nicht erholt hätten, daß die
Kamele aber bedeutend kräftiger geworden seien. Die Chronometer
waren stehengeblieben, weil Sirkin es aus Furcht, daß die Federn
springen könnten, nicht gewagt hatte, sie ganz aufzuziehen. Die
Folge dieser übertriebenen Vorsicht war, daß wir nun nach dem
naheliegenden Lager Nr. 44, unserem Hauptquartiere, von dem die
Reise nach Lhasa ausgegangen war und in welchem ich damals
eine astronomische Ortsbestimmung gemacht hatte, zurückkehren
mußten. Ein Zeitverlust von mehreren Tagen würde dadurch
allerdings entstehen, aber die Tiere, die wir mitgehabt hatten,
bedurften nur zu sehr aller Ruhe, die sie haben konnten. Es hatte in
der Gegend unaufhörlich geregnet; bisweilen waren jedoch kleine
Ausflüge gemacht und dabei einige Kulane erlegt worden.
Tschernoff hatte die Nachhut so gut geführt, daß er bei seiner
Ankunft am 2. August noch neun Kamele mitgebracht hatte; nur zwei
Kamele und zwei Pferde waren verendet; unter den ersteren war
mein Veteran von der Kerijareise im Jahre 1896.
Alle Leute waren gesund, und helle Freude herrschte an diesem
Abend. Sie gestanden, daß sie nach Ördeks Rückkehr für uns das
Schlimmste befürchtet hätten und kaum von uns hätten sprechen
mögen, sondern gewartet und gewartet hätten. Jolldasch heulte vor
Freude und nahm sofort seinen bequemen Platz neben meinem
Bette wieder ein.
Nachdem ich das Lager inspiziert und alles in bester Ordnung
vorgefunden hatte, mußte Tscherdon mir ein Bad zurechtmachen.
Der größte Kübel, den wir hatten, wurde mit heißem Wasser gefüllt
und in meine Jurte gebracht. Nie ist ein gründliches Abseifen
notwendiger gewesen als jetzt, und das Wasser mußte mehreremal
erneuert werden, hatte ich mich doch 25 Tage lang nicht gewaschen!
Und wie schön war es, nachher vom Scheitel bis zur Sohle wieder in
reinen europäischen Kleidungsstücken zu stecken und den
mongolischen Lumpen auf ewig Lebewohl sagen zu können!
Nach einem wohlschmeckenden Mittagsessen und Aufzeichnung
der heutigen Erlebnisse ging ich mit gutem Gewissen zu Bett und
genoß in vollen Zügen die Ruhe und den Komfort, die mich
umgaben. Das Bewußtsein, daß ich den forcierten Ritt nach Lhasa
ohne Zögern gewagt hatte, war mir eine große Befriedigung. Daß wir
diese Stadt nicht hatten sehen können, betrachtete ich weder jetzt
noch später als eine Enttäuschung; gibt es doch unüberwindliche
Hindernisse, die alle menschlichen Pläne kreuzen. Aber es freute
mich, daß ich nicht einen Augenblick gezaudert hatte, einen Plan
auszuführen, der kritischer und gefährlicher war als eine
Wüstenwanderung, und es ist ein Vergnügen, gelegentlich den
eigenen Mut auf die Feuerprobe zu stellen und die Ausdauer bei
Strapazen zu erproben. Mein Leben während der nächstfolgenden
Zeit erschien mir im Vergleich mit dem eben Erlebten wie eine
Ruhezeit. Was uns auch beschieden sein mochte, — solche
Strapazen wie auf der Lhasareise würden wir schwerlich wieder
erleben. Mir war zumute, als sei ich schon halb wieder zu Hause,
und ich ahnte nichts von den ungeheuren Mühsalen, die uns noch
von Ladak trennten.
Alles erschien mir jetzt leicht und lustig, sogar der Regen
schmetterte freundlich auf die Kuppel der Jurte, und der eintönige
Sang der Nachtwache lullte mich bald in den Schlaf. Ich war froh,
daß ich nicht mehr hinauszugehen und die Pferde zu bewachen
brauchte, und ich freute mich, Schagdur und den Lama, halbtot vor
Müdigkeit, in ihren Zelten schnarchen zu hören.
Am folgenden Morgen konnte es keiner übers Herz bringen, mich
zu wecken; wir kamen daher erst mittags fort. Wir ritten auf den
Hügeln am rechten Ufer des Flusses. Die Wassermenge war jetzt
ziemlich ansehnlich. Auf dominierenden Höhen hatten meine Leute
Steinpyramiden errichtet, die von fern Tibetern glichen. Der Zweck
der Steinmale war, uns bei der Rückkehr den Weg vom Lager Nr. 44
nach dem neuen zu zeigen. Wenn die Tibeter die Pyramiden
erblickten, würden sie gewiß glauben, daß wir eine Heerstraße für
einen Einfall bezeichnet hätten und daß bald eine ganze Armee
unserer Spur folgen würde. In einem Nebentale verriet ein großer
Obo, daß die Gegend nicht selten besucht wurde; wie gewöhnlich,
war er aus einer Menge Sandsteinplatten errichtet, in die die Formel
„Om mani padme hum“ eingemeißelt war.
Wir ließen uns jetzt an derselben Stelle wie damals häuslich
nieder. Das Gerippe des hier gefallenen Pferdes war von Wölfen
vollständig reingefressen. Hasen und Raben kommen in der Gegend
besonders häufig vor. Eines der letzten Schafe wurde
geschlachtet. —
Die Reise nach Lhasa erscheint mir jetzt wie ein Traum; hier sitze
ich unter denselben Verhältnissen wie vor einem Monat, die Jurte
steht auf demselben Erdringe, die Beine des Theodolitenstativs in
denselben Löchern, der Fluß rauscht wie damals; es ist, als könnten
nur ein, zwei Tage vergangen sein. Alle jene langen, unter Wachen
und Sorge zugebrachten Nächte sind vergessen; es war nur eine
flüchtige Episode, eine Parenthese im Verlaufe der Reise! —
Jetzt folgten einige Tage der Ruhe, in denen meine Geduld
jedoch sehr auf die Probe gestellt wurde. Es regnete und schneite
unaufhörlich, und ich hatte keine Gelegenheit, alle die
astronomischen Beobachtungen, die ich gern machen wollte,
vorzunehmen. Und dann sehnte ich mich auch danach, wieder nach
Süden aufzubrechen und bewohnte Gegenden aufzusuchen, wo wir
die uns nötige Hilfe erhalten konnten, denn es war schon jetzt
ersichtlich, daß unsere Tiere nicht mehr weit kommen würden.
In der Nähe des Lagers wurde mir ein Platz gezeigt, wo Turdu
Bai und Tscherdon am Tage unserer Abreise eine Gesellschaft
tibetischer Jäger überrascht hatten. Diese Helden waren so
fassungslos gewesen, daß sie Hals über Kopf Reißaus genommen
und siebzehn Packsättel, ein Zelt und den ganzen Fleischvorrat, aus
dem ihre Jagdbeute bestand, im Stiche gelassen hatten. Alles lag
noch da, bis auf das Fleisch, das sich Wölfe und Raben zu Gemüte
geführt hatten. Man kann sich die tollen Gerüchte denken, die in
Umlauf gesetzt werden, wenn solche Flüchtlinge wieder bewohnte
Gegenden im Süden erreichen. Sie übertreiben natürlich ihre
Beschreibungen und behaupten, daß eine ganze Armee von
Europäern ins Land gedrungen sei. Das hatten wir in Dschallokk ja
selbst gehört.
Während meiner Abwesenheit war gute Disziplin gehalten
worden, aber nach meiner Rückkehr wurde sie noch mehr
verschärft. Alle unsere Tiere hatten ihre Weideplätze in einem Tale,
das einige Kilometer vom Lager entfernt war. Tschernoff ritt einmal
nachts dorthin und fand die Wächter schlafend. Er gab einen
Flintenschuß ab, durch den alle aufs fürchterlichste erschreckt
wurden. Die Schläfer wurden gebührend heruntergemacht und
beklagten sich am folgenden Morgen bei mir, doch statt daß ich mich
auf ihre Seite stellte, bekamen sie ein neues Gesetz zu hören, das
ich im Handumdrehen erließ: „Wer künftig auf seinem Posten
schlafend angetroffen wird, wird mit einem Eimer kalten Wassers
aufgeweckt!“ Jede Nacht sollten sechs Muselmänner, je zwei
gleichzeitig, abwechselnd Wache halten, und die Ablösung sollte
unter Kontrolle des diensthabenden Kosaken vor sich gehen. Die
vier Kosaken waren also der Reihe nach für den Nachtdienst
verantwortlich. Die Muselmänner hatten über die Tiere zu wachen
und die Kosaken dafür zu sorgen, daß die Muselmänner ihre Pflicht
taten. Infolge der letzten Abkanzelung wollten Mollah Schah und
Hamra Kul wieder einmal nach Tscharchlik zurückkehren, beruhigten
sich aber, nachdem sie den Wahnsinn eines solchen Unternehmens
eingesehen hatten. Derartige Reibereien sind in einer großen
Karawane, in der Geschmack und Meinung nach den christlichen,
muselmännischen oder mongolischen Anschauungen und
Lebensgewohnheiten der Betreffenden wechseln, nicht zu
vermeiden.
Tscherdon wurde zu meinem Leibkoch ernannt, Schagdur sollte
sich eine Zeitlang ausruhen; der Lama war niedergeschlagen und
nachdenklich und wurde von jeder Dienstleistung dispensiert, bis wir
wieder auf Menschen stießen. Dem alten Muhammed Tokta, der
schon lange kränklich gewesen war, ging es seit einer Woche
schlechter; er klagte über Herzschmerzen. Es wurde ihm geraten,
sich ganz ruhig zu halten. Im übrigen herrscht im Lager die beste
Stimmung, und die Kosaken sind besonders zufrieden. Sie haben
eine Balalaika, eine dreisaitige Zither, gemacht, und mit dieser, einer
tibetischen Flöte, einer Tempelglocke, improvisierten Trommeln, der
Spieldose und Gesang wurde am letzten Abend unter strömendem
Regen ein wenig harmonisches Konzert aufgeführt, das jedoch
großen Beifall fand.