• He was immortal,
    she was five.

    He was the master of the Castle in the Black Forest,
    she was a peasant girl.

    He was a legend, the Black Swordsman everyone feared,
    she an orphan, ignored by everyone.


    They had never met before…
    Until faith thought otherwise…



    Prologue


    Yesterday, the elder told me this:

    ‘After the script was invented, there was a time when books symbolized power. And laughing or speaking was considered taboo.
    In the period that followed all books from that time were burned.’

    At that time I thought it was rubbish, just a silly story.
    But in the morning, when I saw Snow flowers blooming in the garden, it became clear to me. The question that had puzzled me for 15 years was finally answered.



    He was born in that age.
    Chapter One

    In 1920, the War for Ireland's independence was at his highest. Many Irish people were killed by the English army. My father was one of them, he and his little army of peasants fought against the English in the neighboor villages. But they couldnt stop them. Not long after my father's death, my mother died of grief. I was only five when this all happened.
    Rumors now reached our village that the English army was coming this way. If no one stopped them, we would all be lost. But who would stand up against them? Nearly all the strong men of my village and the surrounding villages were or severely wounded or death.
    What other option was left then just pray and hope? We could not let the young boys fight or the elders. It wasnt worth it, we would die either way.

    Four days away on horseback from my village lies the Black Forest.
    Another day on foot trough the Black Forest will take you to the ancient ruins known as the Demon’s Castle.
    I don’t know when but a rumour had reached our village, telling of a lone swordsman living in that castle. It was said he had uncommon features with black hair and pale skin. That he danced through the sky, handling his sword like the wind. And even in the dark, the starlight that reflected off his sword made it look like day.
    Among these rumours, was a rather peculiar one that said he wouldn’t accept money for his services but only rare books of a specific genre.
    Nobody really believed in that legend, but they wanted to believe it. But I, as a five year old, believed it. To me it was the solution to our 'problem'. Maybe that Swordsman could save us, I thought. All I had to do, was go there, give him a book and bring him to my village.
    I had already lost my family.Ii didnt want to lose my home, friends and live either.

    On the day of Harvest Festival, before the English attacked us, I grabbed a book and left my home. I ran as fast as my little feet could carry me through the fields, the Dark Forest visible at the horizon. I knew I couldn’t allow myself to stop, I didn’t had the time to take a brake. It was only a matter of hours, maybe days if luck was on our side, before the English Soldiers would arrive at our village and burn it down.
    I didn’t know after how long, but just before I reached the Black Lake, my feet gave away and I fell in the wet grass. My breath came out uneven and it formed little white clouds in the cold evening air. Then I saw it…The reflection of the black Forrest on the surface of the Lake, I forgot about everything , rolled onto my back and clutched the book to my chest, the wetness of the grass seeping through my thin clothes.
    Then I did something I never thought I would do….I gave up.
    I was at the end of my line, I didn’t have the strength to get up and go any further.
    I just closed my eyes and fell asleep.
    Or rather, fainted.
    ∞∞∞∞