By the time the storm had passed, it was already dark, and so Sir Emeric, Fulk, and Shlomo had to stay the night in Caleb's home. Caleb hardly minded, but he had no extra beds. The three of them slept on their bedrolls on the dog-headed-man's floor.

But it was hardly a restful night. Shlomo lay awake all night with a terrible foreboding in his heart. Every time he closed his eyes he feared what might lie beyond his eyelids. Every time he opened them he imagined terrifying shapes in the shadows. He'd see faces looking back at him in the knots in the logs of Caleb's home. Sir Emeric's snoring sounded like fearsome beasts growling, and Fulk muttered in his sleep, his words often either threatening or frightened.

In the middle of the night, Shlomo felt the familiar pressure in his bladder, warning him that he should get up and take care of business now rather than risk falling asleep like that and then dream about getting up to take care of business.

He slowly stood from his bedroll, picked up his sword, and crept toward the door. Every step he took was slow and deliberate. He didn't want to see just how grouchy Fulk could really get if one woke him in the middle of the night.

Maybe the first time he murdered someone was because they woke him from a good dream, Shlomo mused.

The front door creaked, which caused Shlomo to open it more slowly, and just enough for him to slip out. The damp, cool night air invited him outside, as did a choir of crickets. An owl called out in the distance, and a raven cawed loudly before fluttering away.

Shlomo rubbed his tired eyes and walked a few paces away from Caleb's home. Not far from the front door, he found a tree and marked it, as he imagined Caleb was often fond of doing, his sword leaning against a stump to his right.

"Shlomo..." called a whispering voice in the darkness.

The Jew snatched up his sword and drew it from its sheath, not stopping to replace what he referred to as his "shmok" back into his trousers. "Who's there?" he hissed.

A beautiful woman with long, stringy dark hair stepped out of the shadows. She wore a black dress which had been either torn or tailored in such a way as to expose the flesh between her ample breasts and up her silky thighs. "Just a fellow Jew out for a walk late at night," she said with a sultry grin.

"You're that witch!" Shlomo said, the blade trembling in his hand. "Lillith... Louise..."

"Levanna," she said.

"Ah, who cares what your name is, nafka! Suffer not a witch to live, my rabbi always said."

Levanna smiled widely and nodded her head. "He did say that. I miss old Mahershala."

Shlomo raised a skeptical eyebrow. "How do you know Rabbi Mahershala? Or did demons tell you that name?"

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised you don't recognize me," said Levanna. "It was a long time ago. Ten years, I think?"

"Ten years since what?" Shlomo asked.

"The Pogrom," she said, her smile fading away to a bitter frown.

Shlomo's blood went cold. Indeed, it had been about ten years since his village was destroyed in a Pogrom because the Baron owed a debt to Rosenburgh that he could never pay off. Shlomo had left in a hurry with what few belongings he could carry, and he was never sure who all had survived the attack.

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"Who are you really?" Shlomo asked.

"Levanna is my real name," said the witch. "But back then I was just a girl. Nissa's little one."

A flood of memories rushed into Shlomo's mind when he heard Nissa's name again and thought back to the little, dark-haired girl who was always by that woman's side. Nissa was one of the village's widows, who'd lost her husband in a wood-cutting accident. Every man in the village checked in on Nissa and her daughter regularly. Some even proposed to Nissa, but she always told them her heart was too broken to move on and marry another man.

"You're..." now that Shlomo got a better look at Levanna's face, he could see Nissa in her features, but she had her father's cleft chin.

"You know your shvantz is still showing?" said Levanna.

Shlomo looked down, blushed, and returned the offending member to its proper place of concealment. "Sorry..."

Levanna stepped closer to him. "I was enjoying the view, actually, but decided to be polite."

Shlomo's heart raced, but he recalled the way this woman had manipulated both Fulk and Giradin with her lusty ways. "You forsook everything... turned to worshiping demons and false gods in exchange for power... but still care about manners?"

Levanna shrugged. "I have to care about something, don't I?" She chuckled, but her face turned dark again. "But, I haven't forsaken everything from those times. Revenge is still on my mind."

"Revenge?" Shlomo repeated. "You mean for the Pogrom? The Baron's long since passed away. They say a fever took him."

Levanna shook her head. "Please, you don't really think that's the end of it, do you? Tell me truly, how have you been treated since you've been a plague doctor? From what I've heard, there was a town where the people attacked you simply for being a Jew. They killed a priest, if memory serves."

Shlomo hesitated for a moment, then said, "They did, yes... but that was just one town. A town full of broken people looking for someone to blame for their suffering."

"And there have been other pogroms since then. I don't know if the Christians have told you, but they've been attacking Jews all over Europe. Destroying our homes... taking our money... slaughtering our men and raping our women."

Shlomo sighed. "Yes, such is the way of the Goyim. But, you don't understand. I was in the Vatican recently, Levanna. The Vatican! The Pope himself was friendly to me, and a man I consider a dear friend has just been declared a saint. The Church is trying to turn things around."

Levanna spat. "The Hell with the Church! Don't be a putz! All they need is one more crisis, one more little thing to get out of hand and they'll turn on us again, Shlomo. They'll kill us all."

"So, why not leave?" Shlomo asked. "If you fear the Christians so much, why not go to Israel. I hear the Muslims are actually treating Jews well since the Crusades ended."

"I told you," Levanna said, her eyebrows furrowing in rage. "I want revenge! Those damnable Christians took everything from us! Maybe you didn't see it, but they butchered the rabbi. Cut him to ribbons! And these momzers do things like this all the time! They accuse us of drinking the blood of Christian babes, but it is they who feast upon the blood of our people! Shlomo, they must be destroyed!"

Shlomo snorted. "Even if that's true, how do you propose to do that? No, if the Christians need to be destroyed, God will deal with them. Until then, we are to be kind to our neighbors."

"The Hell with God and his so-called 'plan'!" Levanna spat. "We were supposed to be his chosen people, but if he gave a damn about us he'd have stepped in long ago and done something!"

"Levanna..." Shlomo reached out to her, sorrow stinging his heart when he heard the hate that had grown in this young woman whom he'd known when she was still a girl. The world had been cruel to her, so she'd learned to repay that cruelty.

"Shlomo, I want you to come with me," Levanna said. "Leave the Crows and help me destroy Christendom!"

Shlomo shook his head. "Even if I wanted to, Levanna, how could we possibly do that?"

"I have a plan," Levanna said. "But I can't tell you unless you agree to come with me."

According to Shlomo, it was pity that stayed his hand. He told me he had the weapon ready and knew what he had to do. He already had his suspicions of just what this witch's "plan" was. But he kept remembering that laughing little girl he knew in his home village. Nissa's adorable daughter, so full of hope and promise. The world had made her into a monster, and she'd embraced darkness because she thought the light had forsaken her.

"You need to leave," he said. "Now! And you can never come back. Next time I see you, I'll be forced to run you through... I'm sorry, Levanna."