Sainte-Eulalie-de-Cernon, France, 1195

Doctor John Dee was dead. His body had been run through more than a dozen times by knights who mistook him for a demon. He lay on the cold, stone floor where he fell, far from home, and even farther from successfully completing his mission. The pool of blood beneath and around his corpse was sticky and cold. There was no magic in any of the books in has vast library back in his own time that could help him. There was no future version of himself waiting patiently by the portal in the other place to come to his rescue by stopping the cruel deed before it happened. John Dee was dead, and all of creation held its breath.

In the banqueting hall at the far end of the castle the holy knights who had seen Dee to his end feasted around a large wooden table. Large fires roared in hearths at opposite ends of the room. Beeswax candles lined the walls and hung in holders of wood overhead, filling the room with a fine, choking smoke that stung the eyes and irritated the lungs. The warriors had arrived at the castle in bloodstained, battle-soiled clothing, that had been stained further when they dispatched John Dee. After carrying out their deadly duty they had changed into fresh tunics and that seemed to lift their moods as it removed all butchery in the Holy Lands, and in their own castle, from their minds.

When Dee had been discovered lurking within the walls of their castle they had been alarmed. The child they had returned from the Holy Lands to defend was now safe and they were satisfied to a man that they had carried out God's will by slaughtering the stranger.

"It is a simple rule," said one. "And it is sacred; almost. The man who delivers the final blow buries the body."

They all turned to face the youngest brother with expressions of deep sincerity about their faces. The young brother struggled to find words of protest. Suddenly, the room erupted with laughter. The young knight smiled.

"We are brothers," said another knight. "We share everything. The good things in life," he paused and raised his glass. "And the bad things in life. We will help you bury the intruder. Well, we will help to supervise you as you dig the hole and drop him into it. And be sure to make it deep. If he is a demon, I don't want him climbing out of his grave and running me though while I sleep."

"Do you believe him diabolical?" asked the young knight, sincerely.

"He concealed himself with very strong, dark magic," said the first knight. "If he is not a demon, he certainly knows demonic ways. Best leave nothing to chance. I will remove his heart and burn it. It would do no harm to take his head and bury it in a different place. Consecrated ground will blind his damned eyes to our world, and to the whereabouts of his own body."

The knights laughed again.

"And the boy?" asked the young knight. "If one demon has come for him, might others follow?"

"They will follow," said another. "That much is certain. And that is why we are here. To keep him safe."

"And what about the other boy?" asked the young knight. "The one from Bavaria? Are we going to bring him here?"

The knights laughed again, much to the annoyance of the sincere young man.

"The other boy is already here," a brother explained.

The young knight looked confused, and a little hurt. That something so significant had been kept from him made him feel less important than the others.

"Don't fret so, young sir," said an elder brother. "The other child is here. But he is not here in this time. His safety is for our descendants to worry about. It is our sworn duty to protect the child in our time. As long as we do that successfully then we will have protected the child that is to come."

The answer made little sense to the young knight, but a lot of what their order did made very little sense to him. If it wasn't for the miraculous deeds his brothers had revealed to him, he would have dismissed the dinner table chat as so much drivel. They continued with their meal. The dead stranger could wait until the morning.

In another part of the castle, not far from where the brothers were enjoying their meal, a young boy slept peacefully in his bed. Two brothers stood guard outside the child's bedchamber, and a priest sat in a plain wooden chair watching over the child from a corner of the room. The old priest never slept. Day or night. There were times when one eye closed while the other eye struggled to stay awake, but he never gave into the fatigue—driven on by a sense of sacred duty and a terror of what might happen should any harm come to the child. The eye that was frozen open as the child slept was struggling to cope as a single candle in the room, which sat on a table next to the child's bed, began to flicker and slowly die. The old man had somehow managed to find comfort as he rested on the purely functional chair. The woollen blanket draped over his frail body afforded enough warmth to induce in him a mild contentment.

As the flame from the candle flickered its last before dying, the old man sat up sharply. Between the last traces of spluttering candle flame and the empty darkness that flooded the room, the priest saw a face. It was a woman. The pale face was framed by long, black hair. Before the old man had a chance to call out for help, he was overcome by a mystical sleep. A dull glow from an unknown origin cut through the darkness. The woman was sitting on the bed next to the sleeping child. She stroked the boy's forehead with the back of her hand. She smiled. The child began to stir. The boy's face glowed. His eyes flicked open. He was alarmed, but only for a moment. The glow intensified until the light emanating from the child was more powerful than the unknown source of light that had been illuminating the room. The child stared at the woman, and the woman stared at the child.

Without saying a word, they spoke. The woman stood up. The child threw back the heavy woollen blankets and he got up from the bed. The woman held out a hand. The child took the woman's hand and the pair vanished.

In the same instant the pair appeared in the room where John Dee's body lay still on the floor. The child looked down at Dee and then back at the woman. He gently slipped her grasp and knelt beside the sorcerer. The boy's body began to glow once more. A gentle light to begin with. The intensity of the glow coming from the child grew until it was so bright and so pure that his skin became translucent and his skull and skeleton could be clearly seen. The woman stepped back. The child placed both hands on John Dee's chest. The boy threw back his head and he screamed. The sound was shrill, and chilling and it echoed along the stone corridors of the castle, alerting every man; those who were awake and those who had been overtaken by the tiny death of sleep.

The boy fell back onto the floor. His bodystopped glowing as he fell. He took on the appearance of a normal small child.He was dead. The woman moved forward, and she knelt beside the child. Shestroked his head. Tears welled in her eyes. The sound of footsteps runningalong the corridors of the castle were getting louder as the knights approachedthe room. The woman moved from the child to Dee. Her gaze shifted between JohnDee and doorway. She took him by shoulders and gently shook him. Nothing. Sheshook him again. Nothing. And again, with much greater force. John Dee openedhis eyes. As the first of the knights reached the doorway, the woman and JohnDee vanished.