"Who's there?" Peter asked in an anxious voice.
A figure in a jet-black monk's habit that seemed to swallow up all light stepped a few steps out of the darkness towards them and slipped the hood off its head. The three looked into the eyes of an old white-haired man with a long full beard and the lines of many years on his face.
"I'm called Albert Bowlegs, my friends," he said and the corners of his mouth and his eyes formed into a happy smile as he looked at the three boys. Peter, John and Tom were immediately drawn to this old man's aura.
"What are you doing here?" asked Tom.
"That, my dear boy," answered the old man, "I should actually have to ask you. After all, you are the first to stray into this room to look at my collection.”
"She's not exactly big either," Peter remarked.
"And fake swords with glass stones, too," added John.
"The size is not what counts," Albert Bowlegs remarked, "what matters is the content, the meaning of the pieces. I've been on the road for three decades now, from museum to museum throughout Germany. No curator wanted to exhibit my collection. I could only persuade them with money and even then I was only assigned the last room in the farthest corner. But life has taught me to be patient.”
"What content, what meaning?" asked John.
“Now my friends, let me tell you a little story. This book here on the pedestal is The Book of Prophecies, recorded around the year 500 AD by a much wiser man than myself. He traveled all over the world and collected ancient prophecies from the local people, which had been passed down orally from generation to generation. This book is his life's work, the collected knowledge about future events in the world. On these two pages you will see the prophecy of the Star Riders, found in all cultures in one form or another. In this book he summarized the parallels that could be found in the various traditions.”
With increasing tension, the boys hung on his every word.
"So," he continued, "the Star Riders were three mighty warriors who lay on their white steeds in constant battle against evil. Their only weapons were three short swords, like these three you see here. They were so successful in their fight that evil seemed almost banished from the earth. One day, however, resentment and envy came over the people and they again began to wage wars, to rob, to murder. But the Star Riders did not come to their aid. Where they went remained a mystery. A seer prophesied that there would come a time when evil would take the final step in world domination. Then it will be that the Star Riders will return and save the world.”
Peter, John and Tom gaped in amazement.
“What exactly would happen,” he continued, “remained hidden. It was said that three new Star Riders would be found who would travel back in time from a distant future by ramming the vanished Star Riders' swords, point first, into their belly buttons."
"Then they're dead after all," Tom exclaimed in horror.
With a mild smile, the old man replied, "Well my friend, it's just a prophecy. And it often has magic and the supernatural woven into it.”
"Then it's all just a fairy tale," John said.
"So it seems, my friend," replied the old man, "yet this is the essence of tales from all over the world, which may yet be the truth."
"Why are they called Star Riders?" asked Peter.
"This is another mystery, it is said that always after a successful mission of the Star Riders, shooting stars can be seen in the night sky over their camp. That's why people called them Star Riders," answered Albert Bowlegs.
The three looked at him thoughtfully in silence.
"But now to your false glass stones on the sword handles, my friend," he continued, "they reflect the color of the eyes of their bearers. This is a sapphire, as deep blue as your eyes Peter. This is a tanzanite as light blue as your eyes Tom. And finally this one is an emerald, as bright green as your eyes John.”
Stunned and confused that Albert Bowlegs knew their names and had also woven them into this wild story, they stared at the old man.
Unnoticed, two dark figures had approached the four and now entered the room. They were the two secret observers from the hill, still wearing their black coats and hats. The four spun around and Albert Bowlegs stood protectively in front of the boys.
"What do you wish, gentlemen?" he asked, apparently knowing the answer.
"You know exactly what we want, old man," growled one of the two, "kill these three here before they can wreak havoc on the world."
“They would only bring disaster upon you and your kind. Go away and tell your lord and master to stay away from these children, otherwise he will have to deal with me,” said the old man with a firm voice.
A deep, unnatural laugh escaped the two figures.
"You didn't want it any other way, old man," came the growling voice again and the two each pulled out a large sword from under their coats.
"You know what to do, my friends," the old man called to the three boys, "take your swords!"
With these words he pulled a long, gnarled, narrow wooden stick out of his robe and Albert Bowlegs‘ fight against the two sinister men began. It was an unequal fight, a club against two great swords. But the stick withstood the massive blows of the sword bearers.
"What are we supposed to do?" John cried anxiously.
"Grab your swords first," exclaimed Peter.
And matching the color of their eyes, the three took up the short swords.
"Now what?" Tom asked excitedly, "Shall we fight these two guys?"
Albert Bowlegs was slowly losing his strength, a blow to his arm had already gotten him, blood spurted out of his wound in a thick whirlpool.
"The tip of the sword to the navel, my dear children, be brave, everything will be fine." With these words, Albert was hit hard on the right side of his head, then the sword of the other murderer disappeared into Albert's stomach. The disgusting laughter of the two echoed through the room as the criminal drew his blood-soaked sword from Albert's stomach and Albert collapsed.
Peter, John and Tom screamed like they had never screamed before.
"And now to you," growled the one from the other side of the room.
"I'd rather try what the old man said than get chopped up by these guys," Peter cried in panic.
The three looked at each other. With tears in their eyes, they nodded to each other briefly, placed the sword points on their belly buttons and thrust.
Then there was darkness.
Brother Albertus
The young monk sat alone by the campfire in front of his hut. His simple monk's habit was radiant white, unlike that of his brothers in distant Ireland, who always wore brown ones, and the material was not made of the usual coarse sheep's wool, but of the finest light linen, which was much better suited for this dry, hot region. If his abbot knew of such luxuries, he would surely have been in trouble. But it was the abbot who had entrusted him with this mission, so he should be allowed that little bit of luxury.
You could only rarely see that he was just 25 years old, since the many hardships and the often sapping weather had left their mark on his young face.
He had been traveling around the world for 7 years and, as he believed, had reached the end of his journey for the time being. He only wanted to stay one last week to finish studying the stars, which were particularly visible in this sparsely populated corner of the world. After that he wanted to make his way back home to Ireland, even though he knew that his home was no longer there alone, but encompassed the whole wide world.
He had settled here three weeks ago and built himself a thatched-roof