BOB ABERNETHY: And now, our Cover Story: Kosovo, a year after the bombing stopped. This week at a closed-door conference in Washington, the government-funded Institute of Peace invited more than 40 leaders of Kosovo, Serb, and ethnic Albanians to talk about creating what the air war did not: a multiethnic government that can keep the peace.

At a cost of $2 billion, the bombing succeeded in driving most Serbs out of Kosovo, stopping their ethnic cleansing, but then the ethnic Albanians flooded back and started a bloodletting of their own against everything Serb. UN peacekeepers have not been able to stop it. Just this week, another Serb church was destroyed. But in spite of all the hatred and revenge and even with long odds against them, a few Kosovars are encouraging reconciliation. Our correspondent is Steven Erlanger of THE NEW YORK TIMES, reporting from Kosovo.

STEVEN ERLANGER: At the ancient monastery in Gracanica, Orthodox church leaders gather, as they have for centuries, to commemorate the Battle of Kosovo in 1389, the most important moment in Serb political and religious history.

One year after the second Battle of Kosovo won by NATO, church leaders are here to support Bishop Artemije, head of the Orthodox church here. Because he opposed Slobodan Milosevic years ago, he's one of the few Serbs with credibility among the Albanians. So Artemije and his aide, Father Sava Janjic, have become the West's main hope for finding some way for Serbs and Albanians to live together again. But theirs is a daunting task, symbolized by these empty seats.

Most of the Serbs who used to live in Kosovo have fled. Those who remain require NATO tanks and troops to travel outside their protected villages.

Father SAVA JANJIC (Serbian Orthodox Monk): We'll be going on the roads which are safe for us.

ERLANGER: A few days after the ceremony, Father Sava slips away in search of a good Internet connection. Today's route takes him through lightly traveled back roads to a barrier marking the end of the Serb enclave. Then he must go unprotected through Albanian areas before reaching a guarded sanctuary.

Father JANJIC: This can last up to an hour.

Unidentified Man: That's the magic nine.

Father JANJIC: That's seven messages. This is a -- people are forgetting me.

ERLANGER: Through his voluminous e-mail, Father Sava tells the world about his isolated flock. Sava's Web site, a great source of Kosovo news, also gives prominent play to complaints of mistreatment of Serbs, what the site calls "Crucified Kosovo."

As the Web page suggests, today's tragedies have deep roots. The Serbs ruled Kosovo in the 14th century, dotting the land with churches and monasteries. Kosovo, the Vatican of the Serbian church and its Jerusalem, became inextricably tied to how Serbs see themselves as a people. Then came the Battle of Kosovo. The Ottoman Turks, Muslims, beheaded the Serbian leader, Prince Lazar, and took control of Kosovo for 500 years. The story of Lazar became the central myth of the Serbian people; his death, a martyrdom; and Kosovo, the cradle of the Serbian soul.

Father JANJIC: Here we are on the Gazi Mestan Hill, which is the place where actually the battle was fought in 1389.

ERLANGER: Serbs eventually recaptured these fields in 1912, but, by then the population was largely Albanian and Muslim. When the Communists took over Yugoslavia in the 1940s, President Tito granted Albanians effective control.

President SLOBODAN MILOSEVIC (Yugoslavia): (Foreign language spoken)

ERLANGER: Slobodan Milosevic rode Kosovo and Serbian nationalism to power, but heavy-handed Serbian rule after 1989 produced an Albanian insurgency, and Milosevic reacted viciously. The Serbian attempt at ethnic cleansing stunned the West. NATO launched an air war last year, in part to protect Albanian civilians. After the war, the Albanians who had fled came back and took their revenge against the Serbs. NATO did little to stop them.

This is Decani, a 14th-century monastery. This courtyard seems tranquil now, but when I first came here at the very end of the war, it was anything but. It was full of hundreds of frightened Albanians. I first met Father Sava here. Father Sava had gone into the burning cities to offer these Albanians refuge from his own Serbs.

Today, Father Sava continues to seek forgiveness for those Serb crimes.

"Forgiveness," he says, "is the first and necessary step for reconciliation."

Father JANJIC: As a Christian, you know, we all used to say hundreds of times a day, "God, forgive. God, forgive." And why shouldn't we say this in front of other people if we say that in front of God so many times? Why should it be so difficult? That's something which we all have to learn. It's so simple, but it's so strong.

ERLANGER: And so difficult. Under heavy guard recently, Father Sava visits a grim housing project that is home to most of the roughly 200 Serbs left in Pristina. It is a surreal place. Ten yards away is an apartment building of Albanians. The children never mix. The adults do not speak. British fusileers keep the peace. On this day, they are on high alert for snipers. Security for both Serbs and Albanians, especially those who favor accommodation, is a major problem.

Unidentified Man #1 (Through Father Janjic): If there were no KFOR, we would not stay here a day. Thanks to KFOR, we are still alive, and we still exist here.

ERLANGER: Do you believe in the message of peace and reconciliation that the church is trying to express?

Unidentified Man #1 (Through Father Janjic): Absolutely. Absolutely. And we should -- when the time comes to live together. No matter what happens, we have to live together. There's no other way. There is no other way.