Henry recovered quickly.

When Father Francis came back to the house, he was amazed to see a sleepy Henry standing nonchalantly in front of him. For fear of something amiss, Andrea quickly hurried the young man back to bed. The parish priest – still speechless – followed after her.

Martin didn't look up, continuing to sharpen his sword.

Henry was confused.

Father Francis spent the rest of the morning saying more prayers. He also dowsed Henry in holy water – recently blessed from the trough outside the tavern. Andrea continued to mutter prayers under her breath. For some reason, Martin simply went about his daily routine, not saying a single word about the entire affair.

But Henry had no idea what was happening.

"Ma! What are you doing? What is Father Francis doing here? Why is he – ah, why is he splashing water on me?!"

"Oh, Henry my boy…don't you remember? You were bewitched by the Devil last night, you were all feverish with craze last night!"

"Hush! Silence! Um…Pater noster qui es en caelis sanctificetur nomen…nomen tuum adveniat regnum tuum fiat voluntas…"

Henry simply did not remember anything from the previous night.

By the afternoon the priest saw no point in continuing. Young Henry was not only well and in the right mind – he was also complaining incessantly. Even Andrea, seeing her son's childish annoyance, had to agree.

"Very well, now…keep him inside the house for a couple more days. Say the Lord's prayers constantly, and…umm, stay home. Alright?"

And with that, Father Francis quickly hurried back to Rovna.

Henry was imprisoned by his mother for several days.

At first, Henry was very annoyed that he couldn't leave the house and go see his friends (and sweetheart) at the tavern. But then he took solace in the fact it also meant his father couldn't send him on errands. And he also didn't need to help at the forge.

But then he remembered that his father was forging a new sword for Sir Radzig.

Last he remembered, Martin had finished forming the blade and the tang. Now he was in the final stages of hardening and quenching the blade. Soon he would only need to wait from the crossguard that was being engraved in Sassau.

Henry sighed and stared outside the window longingly.

He could hear his father's hammer ringing in the distance. Sometimes he could catch glimpses of the blade glistening in the sun.

The young man stood up from the bench in the living room – where he was confined – and stretched his shoulders. He tried to remember what Sergeant Vanyek had taught him about sword fighting.

Henry looked around and found a broom of the appropriate size and length.

Hmm, two hands on the grip. Right.

Right foot forward…or was it left? Both?

Body to the side, right? Definitely not front-facing.

He felt very sheepish to be holding a broom like a sword at his age. It was as if he was a little boy playing at being a knight.

Umm…

Now what?

Arms back, right hand on the up the grip, left hand on the pommel. Cross wrists and bring the blade up the cheek, point forwards at an angle – low enough to guard your center.

Left foot forwards, knees slightly bent, right knee bent ready to push forwards. Center of gravity slightly below your chest.

Blade's edge up, thumb on flat of the blade for extra leverage.

Key stance.

Left swing – blade overhead, cut downwards from right line.

Thrust – both wrists twist forwards, point to center. Prepare for bind and after guard. Most obvious avenue, but also most efficient.

Right swing – blade overhead, feint for right line but stop mid motion, restart, and downwards false edge cut.

Prepare to bind and wind, don't stop moving. Grapple if it comes to it.

Remember, a fencer binds, a knight grabbles and a witch –

"Woah…"

Henry was amazed at how smooth his movements were. For some reason his body felt lighter, nimbler, and more fluid than he remembered. Was he always this…fit? A sense of childish pride welled up inside the young man's chest.

All of the training with Sergeant Vanyek must be paying off!

The wooden broom, despite its end-heavy shape, felt natural and quick in his grip. However the more Henry swung it around in the air, the dirt came flooding out of the branches. Soon the living room became engulfed in a simmering layer of dust.

"Bloody hell," Henry said between coughs, "I overdid it."

That's when Andrea opened the door.

"Henry! What in the Lord's name are you doing!?"

"Uh-h, nothing ma! I'm just sweeping –"

"For the love of Christ, put that broom away! How old do you think you are? God help me, when will you grow up!?"

In the end, it was Martin who managed to end Henry's quarantine.

Ever since that night, Henry's father had been uncharacteristically quiet – not that he was a man of many words to begin with. He made no comments about the priest's actions or the cause of Henry's spell of confusion.

Instead, he simply went to work every day and came home to sleep. Occasionally he would make some small talk with his wife about daily matters in Skalitz, but otherwise he remained quiet.

In any case, his silence was well compensated. Every night at dinner, Henry would whine to his mother about his imprisonment at home. He would complain about being bored at home. On the other hand, Andrea would always bring how the young man's crazed actions during the night he went missing.

"It was as if you were possessed by a spirit, Henry. You were swinging your hands around like you were fighting for your life! God forbid, what happens if you do that in the town square?"

"Maaaa…you're exaggerating. Surely I wasn't that bad…I'm fine! I guess I just…"

Andrea huffed and crossed her arms, waiting for her son's feeble excuses.

Suddenly, Martin spoke up.

"Do you remember anything, Henry?"

His voice was low and serious. So much so that it startled Henry when he looked across the table and saw his father's piercing gaze staring at him.

"Well…I don't know father. I don't remember how I got home when I woke up. It's almost like I blacked out after too much beer…"

Andrea rolled her eyes. But before she could start chastising him, Martin continued his questions.

"Were you drinking a lot that afternoon?"

"No, Pa! I wasn't! I swear, really. I didn't even go the tavern, you can go ask Bianca."

"Did you eat anything? Mushrooms? Herbs? Some plants can make a man see ungodly visions. We did find you chewing on grass that night…"

"Well…I don't remember doing that. Maybe later…when I couldn't remember, but otherwise…really Pa, I wasn't –"

"What's the last thing you can remember?"

Andrea touched Martin's shoulder lightly.

"Come now husband, no need to ask so many questions. You can see Henry's tired."

Indeed, Henry was clutching his head slightly and furrowing his eyebrows. The young man was trying his best to remember.

"I think…I think in the afternoon…I was going to the woods. But I can't remember why…"

"Henry dear, Theresa the mill maid did say she saw you walking towards the woods. She said you were…fixated."

The living room fell into silence at those words. The parents glanced at each other and watched their son trying his best to remember. But the more he furrowed his eyebrows, the more difficult it seemed for his mind.

He didn't tell them, but the more Henry tried, the more his headache grew.

"I think I remember now. But please don't tell anyone, okay?"

"You can tell us, Henry."

"Tell the truth, son."

He swallowed nervously. Henry knew that his freedom in the coming days depended on this moment. He needed to convince them that he was fine.

So he lied.

"Recently I saw some rabbits hopping about the edge of the forest. So I decided to make a small trap. I was going to check it that afternoon…but I think I slipped and hit my head on a rock. I was, um…confused."

A heavy silence descended on the dinner table.

Hunting hares, whether via trap or bow, was considered poaching. Especially in the woods so close the Sir Radzig's castle – the game in nearby woods was legally considered the lord's property.

Henry was poaching.

And poaching was a serious crime.

It only took a moment for it to sink in before Andrea began scolding her son in earnest. She even began hitting his shoulders with her hands to drive her point home. And as all sons being scolded by their mother, Henry wilted under her anger.

"What on earth were you thinking!? Why would you do such a thing! God forbid, where have I gone wrong in raising you?! I did not raise you to become some footpad poacher! You should thank your lucky stars that we found you, or you'd be in the stockade! Not even a good lord like Sir Radzig will take kindly to law-breakers. Are you listening?"

"Yes, Ma…" Henry muttered as he tried to shield his shoulder from her blows.

Martin said nothing and silently stared at the pottage in the wooden bowl. He was deep in thought.

After some time, when Andrea had finally calmed down, he spoke up.

"Alright son, I suppose you've recovered enough to work again. I'll need your help around the smithy, especially to finish Sir Radzig's sword."

Henry felt the entire weight of his father's eyes resting on him.

"But you need to stop wandering into the woods again. Stay away from the forest. Do I make myself clear?"

The young man swallowed nervously.

"Yes father," he murmured, "I will."

Henry knew that his father didn't believe in his lie about the rabbit trap.

That night, after dinner, Henry had a hard time falling asleep in the living room.

As he rolled around on the bench, he told himself it was because he had gotten used to sleeping in the bed. There was only one bed in their house – a low wooden bedframe filled with stray mattresses. It had enough space for two, so usually, his parents slept in them.

But when he came home that night, Andrea had placed her sick son in the bed, hoping that it would help him recover. However, now that they've deemed him well again, he was back to sleeping in the living room.

Henry wasn't complaining anyways.

He was used to sleeping on the bench. In any case, he did prefer the wool cloth – placed over the bench as bedding – over the feel of prickly hay. And it was warmer in the living room.

Not that it mattered, because it was early spring and the nights were not cold.

But as Henry tossed about the bench, he realized that it was the bench or the warmth or the dinner that was keeping him awake. It wasn't even about the idea of him finally leaving the house tomorrow.

Instead, he was thinking about that afternoon.

Henry was thinking about why he ended up in the woods that night.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember what events that afternoon led him to walk into the woods as the sun began to set. Maybe he should go ask his friends, Matthew and Fritz when he sees them tomorrow. Maybe they saw him that afternoon.

What was he doing anyways –

Stop thinking about it.

The more you focus on it, the harder it will be.

As his mind wandered around, Henry felt the headache subsiding from his temples.

He stared at the moonlight flooding into the living from an open window. Idyllic dust floated across the air, illuminated by the shadows of the smoldering fire.

Henry wondered about what he was going to do. Tomorrow he would help his father forge Sir Radzig's sword. But what about after that? Spring would come, and everyone would be busy planting the crops. There would be a lot of work for the smithy.

And after that?

Summer? Fall? Winter?

How many more seasons will he spend working in the smithy? How many more years will he spent working in Skalitz? Will he never leave this town?

Once, Martin had taken Henry to Kuttenburg. He marveled at the large stone walls of the city, the towering gates and the sprawling neighborhoods. Henry was amazed by the sprawling rows and rows of houses. He could not even see any hint of the mountains in the distance.

Martin told him that Prague was an even bigger city.

Henry couldn't even imagine what Prague would look like.

He reached out his hands in the darkness. His eyes traced the outline of his fingers. As he slowly moved his fingers about, he thought back on the how he swung the broom around earlier that day.

A small smile spread across his face.

I'll show Sergeant Vanyek what I can do tomorrow.

With that final thought, Henry closed his eyes contentedly and let out a deep breath from his chest. As he covered his eyes, Henry felt his mind finally sinking into the depths of slumber.

A mental block in memory.

The more the victim tries to remember, the harder it is.

Relax the mind and it comes naturally.

Just before Henry drifted off to sleep, he remembered it.

It was only a moment that came back, a brief glance of time flowing by. It was a tiny shard of crystal from the shattered glass. But it spoke true.

For the briefest of moments, Henry remembered it clearly. But he did not realize what it was until a lot later. It was something that he had heard all his life but never recognized.

That afternoon, as he wandered into the woods with blank eyes, Henry heard something. Something that was hauntingly familiar and yet also…foreign.

What was it?

He rubbed his eyes sleepily and turned over.

Wasn't it…

Henry fell asleep.

Vesemir did not.

It was singing.

He heard singing.