Numbers of figures began to drift from the shadows, and the pilgrims shuffled closer to one another. “Have no fear, any of you,” Oswald said as he smiled. “These are your brothers and sisters in the Lord. Some we have found; others have come to us by following our birds.”
“Your birds led them?” asked Frieda.
“Ja, sister. Our ravens bring those that are close by, but we’ve other birds that venture farther. We’ve a few small flocks of gulls, some free falcons, a few hawks, and one eagle. The seabirds seem to prefer flying in groups of three, the others in pairs or alone. They cover great distances, and whenever they come home crying loudly, it seems someone is always following!”
“They are of God then?” Friederich asked open mouthed.
“I believe it to be so. But some say it is simply that those in grave need search the sky for signs like mad fools, and when they see our birds, they follow.”
Wil eyed the villagers slowly moving closer to their fire. He grew wary.
“Now,” Friar Oswald continued, “you must meet my friends.” The man wrapped an arm around the first young man who came near. Like the others he was shy, but when asked by Oswald, he withdrew his hood. The pilgrims shifted on their feet.
“You must see past what you see, my dear guests. Look past the deformities and into the man’s eyes. See the warmth of a gentle heart.”
Maria walked to the young man and took his hand in hers. She looked up and smiled. Indeed, the poor wretch was badly disfigured. His face was extraordinarily broad and his eyes spread unnaturally. His nose was flat and turned upward, stretching his nostrils wide. His jaw was recessed and his ears misshapen. His shoulders were severely uneven. When he spoke, however, his voice was clear and kindly.
“Good Sabbath evening, little maiden,” he said softly.
“And to you, good sir,” answered Maria with a slight curtsy.
Oswald smiled and motioned for the others. Emboldened by the little girl’s kindness, they emerged from the shadows. They removed their hoods and stood before their guests, exposed for what they were. In various degrees, many were disfigured like the young man. They included a nervous huddle of dwarves, two hunchbacks, several suffering microcephaly, one called Spider-legs, two ferais, and others. A woman approached with a gift of bread and handed it to Tomas. The lad backed away slightly. Her face was covered in bumps as were her arms. She stooped and smiled gently, then reached a handful of twisted fingers toward the lad’s head and patted him lightly.
Conjoined twins made their way forward and presented Wil with a basket of mushrooms. “For you, young squire,” they said in unison.
Wil gawked. They were connected at the hip yet walked in perfect step with one another.
More came from the shadows to bow and curtsy. A few began to dance around the guests, singing nonsense to the air. Oswald quickly silenced them and addressed the company.
“We have found one another, and together we have built a village. We have woodsmen and a tinker, a potter, a silversmith, a saddler, a cobbler, and more. We raise crops on land we were given by the monks in Corvey. We have a swine yard and raise sheep. We’ve much to boast. The villagers elsewhere call this place ‘Abscheindorf’—village of discards! Can you imagine that? What fools! Discards? Indeed not! But now, my friends, come, follow me.”
The pilgrims listened to all of this in amazement. They stared at the villagers uncomfortably and walked closely together as the friar led them deeper into the village. The misshapen bodies of the folk were eerie to see in the yellow glow of the fires. It was true that the villagers seemed friendly enough, but some of the pilgrims could not help but shudder whenever they drew too close. “Two score or more,” mumbled Helmut. “It is like a night terror.”
“Actually, young sir, we are three score and four; by morning perhaps three score and five. Our dyer’s wife is to bear a child at any moment.”
“These people are married?” challenged Otto.
“Indeed, my son. They love as we love, they touch, they laugh, they eat and drink. They are very much like you.”
Finally the company arrived at a nicely built timber house. It was sturdy and well thatched. A low fire crackled in the hearth at the center of its long room, and straw was heaped about for bedding.
“Till the morning then,” said Oswald.
Still dazed, Wil’s company found their beds quietly. They said little but lay atop their straw wide eyed and anxious. It proved to be a long night for all of them except Maria.
Morning came with a happy cry from some young villager with gamboling eyes and a cleft palette. Seeing his smiling face in the first light of the new day gave the startled pilgrims pause, but they soon laughed with him as they followed him to the chapel for morning prayers.