Shadow in the Dark

by Antony Barone Kolenc

  The prior looked to Brother Leo and Brother Andrew. “Shall we fetch the abbot?”

  Sire Roger held up a hand. “Not necessary. Perhaps this is a message best heard by you, Prior, and then passed on to your dear abbot after some reflection.”

  Xan kept his eye on Roger, who seemed tense. Maybe this had to do with Penwood Manor. That would explain why he wouldn’t want the abbot around, at least based on how the previous angry meeting at the chapter house had gone.

  “My lord is concerned—indeed, quite worried—about the safety of your dear abbey and its two manors. He knows how vulnerable you all are to the whims of evil men, such as these bandits, and he seeks to extend a warm hand of friendship to you monks.”

  Brother Leo was nodding, but the prior’s gray-bearded cheeks were like stone.

  “And what would Lord Godfrey like to do for us?” Brother Andrew asked.

  “He sends me to see about negotiating terms so that he can protect this abbey and its two manors—especially Penwood Manor.”

  Sire Roger paused to drink from his cup, his narrow eyes flitting between Brother Leo and the prior as he sipped. He seemed interested in how the two monks were interacting.

  “We should find out more about this offer,” Brother Leo said. “The danger here has—”

  The prior glared at the monk. “For the love of Eve, we are aware of your opinions on this matter, Leo. But I think Lord Godfrey would expect us to recognize his claim on Penwood Manor as part of this negotiation. Is that not so, Sire Roger?”

  Sire Roger placed his cup back on the wooden table and wiped his mustache. “That is so.”

  Perhaps the monks should consider negotiating, as Brother Leo suggested. These bandits were evil. If the abbot didn’t find a way to protect the abbey’s manors, Penwood could burn to the ground, and more peasants might die, like Mother and Father.

  And more boys might be orphaned, like Xan.

  “’Tis not my place to make such negotiations,” the prior said. “And our abbot is unlikely to be interested in such a discussion, as you well know.”

  “Do not answer too hastily, Prior,” Roger said. He gestured toward Brother Leo. “Talk about it with your wiser monks. Perhaps the abbot would listen if you all spoke with one voice.”

  The prior stood. “I will think on it, as you say. Now, I thank you for your visit, but the time for nones has arrived. Our Lord calls us to gather in the abbey church for our prayers.”

  “Oh my—give up Penwood Manor?” Lucy said. She and Maud sat on the edge of the fountain in the ring of bushes, next to Xan and Joshua. “If Lord Godfrey cares about our safety as much as he says, he shouldn’t force the abbot to do that.”

  “Yeah,” Maud chimed in, bunching up her eyebrows. “That’s not very nice.”

  The two girls had wandered up the convent path late in the afternoon, with a pair of older nuns eyeing them from a distance. The boys of the dorm had just finished a game of blindman’s buff, where they’d taken turns blindfolding each other and making the “blind man” tag someone.

  Thankfully, John was still off with David, searching for toads near the woodland stream.

  “Sire Roger didn’t know anything at all about Rummy,” Xan said. “That probably means the bandits don’t live in Chadwick. As bailiff, Roger knows everything that goes on at that manor.”

  Finding a link between Chadwick and the bandits had seemed a major clue yesterday, but now it felt like he wasn’t a single step closer to learning why those bandits had killed his parents. If Rummy had stolen the parchment from Hardonbury’s manor house—the most likely situation—then the parchment meant nothing at all as a clue.

  Xan sighed. “Maybe I’m not supposed to solve this mystery, after all.”

  “But you’re the smartest boy at the abbey,” Joshua said. “That’s why you’re being taught.”

  Lucy smiled. “You’re smart too, Joshua.”

  “So am I,” said Maud.

  The water in the fountain flowed peacefully around the striped fish.

  “I like this place,” Lucy said, turning her head westward. “It lifts up my soul.”

  Xan gazed in the same direction her eyes had focused. An autumn rainbow of red, yellow, and orange leaves dotted the woodland behind the granges.

  “Do you think, if I asked God for the answer, that He’d give it to me?” he asked her.

  Lucy seemed in tune with God and faith and prayer. He, on the other hand, had just started learning the right words and begun muttering to God under his breath now and again.

  She giggled at him. “Of course He would.” Then her lips pursed together seriously. “But, like Sister Regina always says, you might not get the answer you want, or when you want it.”

  A stone flew through the air and splashed in the water, soaking Xan’s face.

  “Look! ’Tis Sire Clumsy and his lady, the fair Frog Face!” John’s voice rang from a bush.

  “Give her a big kiss, Xan.” That was David.

  Lucy’s cheeks turned red.

  “Leave us alone!” yelled Maud at the same time that Joshua shouted, “Go away!”

  John and David’s snickering faded as they headed toward the boys’ dorm.

  Lucy smirked. “That John of yours is almost as bad as Silvia back at the convent.”

  Maud stood on the ledge with hands on her hips. “Yeah, she’s always bossing everyone.”

  “Once, she almost scratched another girl’s eyes out,” Lucy said. “Sister Cecilia had to pull her off the poor girl, like she was a rabid dog.”

  “She does sound a lot like John,” Xan said with a laugh.

  “You haven’t been fighting with him again, have you?” Lucy said.

  He frowned. “When he goes right, I go left; if he looks one way, I look the other. And every time he walks by, he mumbles something—I don’t know what.”

  “He wouldn’t dare start a tussle with that Brother Oscar around,” she said.

  “Well, you see he’s got David turned against me now, too.”

  “Ignore them.”

  Lucy might be right. But ignoring wouldn’t work if John was going to throw stones and shove him into doors. Eventually they’d have to finish their fight.

  The way he’d tripped John’s feet the other day during that scuffle, it was as if he’d known exactly what to do. Maybe he’d been in a lot of fights while growing up in Hardonbury. And if that were the case, then his home might not have been all that different than here at the abbey.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “From now on, all my free time will be spent alone, studying words in the library and trying to figure out this mystery.”

  Lucy gazed at him. “You’re not alone, Xan. You’ve got God. And I’ll help you.”

  “Me too!” said Maud and Joshua at the same time.

  16

  Shadow

  That night, after Brother Oscar doused the candles, Xan lay on his mattress, hands folded under a sliver of moonlight. He made the Sign of the Cross, just as the monks did before their prayers.

  When will my memories come back, Lord? Must I wait a year to know what happened that day in Hardonbury, and to know what happened to my parents, and why? You can do anything—will You help me solve their mystery? Please help me understand why these bandits are after the abbot, and protect him. And Brother Andrew too. And the prior. And Lucy.

  He closed his eyes, yawned, and snuggled under the warm blanket the nuns had sent.

  Lucy had said God would answer his prayers, but not always when he wanted the answers. That kind of made sense. Maybe God made people wait for answers for His own reasons. If God knew everything, then maybe there were good and bad times to get answers. God would know when to give them. But what would an answer to prayer sound like? Hopefully not a creepy voice.

  A familiar feeling settled upon him again, along with that mist in his mind. From it came Mother’s hand, soft and gentle, with slender fingers. She touched his cheek and kissed his forehead. “Good night, m
y sweet boy,” she said. “Good night, Mother,” his own voice responded.

  Was that a memory to keep, or just a dream he’d made up and would forget in the morning?

  His warm blanket flew from his body, ripped away in one motion. Cold air rushed over his skin, leaving goosebumps wherever it touched.

  “Wake up, Xan!” The harsh whisper was so loud it couldn’t possibly count as a whisper.

  Xan jolted to his feet, shivering.

  Joshua stood there—hair sticking up on one side of his head—holding Xan’s blanket.

  “’Tis back! The Shadow!”

  Xan pulled the long-sleeved shirt over his tunic as he followed Joshua to the other window, where John was watching, David by his side. The cold floor burned at his bare toes.

  For a moment, it looked like John might pick another fight with him, even though Brother Oscar slept down the hall. Instead, John took a step back and gestured to the window. “If you’re not too scared to look, clumsy.”

  David moved over so both Xan and Joshua could see.

  “Where is it, Joshua?” Xan said.

  “Same place as last time.” Joshua pointed. “By the trees. See it?”

  Xan didn’t answer. In the dimness from a crescent moon, a dark, hooded figure almost glided through the mist, walking from the woodland trail toward the hedge.

  The back of Xan’s neck tingled. The shadowy figure was definitely holding something in its hand, though who could say what it was from this distance. It couldn’t possibly have been the scythe blade of the angel of death. Wouldn’t that be much more noticeable?

  John laughed nastily, while several of the other boys crowded the floor behind them.

  “Oh, Sire Clumsy, you are so, so smart,” John said. Then the bully imitated Xan’s voice, except he made Xan sound like a high-pitched girl: “Nay, John, there’s no such thing as shadows. ’Tis just your imagination, John. Oh, my!’”

  “Who’s it coming for tonight?” asked Joshua. “Another priest, like Father Joseph?”

  Several of the boys were talking over each other now. One child looked about to cry.

  John jumped on David’s mattress and addressed some of the younger boys, scrunched up in their beds. “The last time we saw it, who knows who it murdered at Chadwick Manor?”

  Everything was happening so fast, with a swirl of emotions inside Xan’s still-sleepy mind: confusion, anger, fear. John was going to make this the worst night ever for those poor boys.

  “Nay,” Xan blurted. “That guard died of a heart attack, John. ’Twas just a coincidence.”

  The chaos in the room suddenly crashed into complete silence.

  “What guard?” John said, looking genuinely perplexed for a moment. Then his face lit up. “Are you saying you’ve known this whole time the Shadow took another soul that night?”

  Oh, no!

  Xan had never mentioned the dead guard to anyone, not even Lucy. He’d really made the worst of things now. He’d just given John all the evidence he needed to terrorize the dorm forever.

  “So, John’s right,” Joshua said. “Whenever that Shadow shows up, it takes a soul.”

  Xan shook his head. “People die all the time for all different reasons. Just because there’s someone walking out there doesn’t mean any of us are in danger. ’Tis probably one of the monks.”

  Joshua didn’t look convinced.

  “So says the clumsy one without a memory,” John said, sniggering. “You’re so brave.”

  This was a disaster, and it was all Xan’s fault.

  There was only one way to fix this, but it was going to take the courage—or maybe the foolhardiness—to do the unthinkable. If he let that shadow-thing out there disappear again, as he’d done last time, John would make sure the younger boys would never sleep in peace.

  Fine, then. It needed to be done, and he was the only one who could do it.

  “Like I told you,” Xan said, taking his shoes out from under his bed. “Probably a monk.”

  “What are you doing?” squeaked Joshua.

  Xan slipped the shoes on his feet. “John dared me to go down the last time this silly Shadow showed up. Now I shall take that dare.”

  John stopped smiling. “You’re dotie,” he said. Was there a trace of concern in his voice?

  “Nay, you spoke truly, John,” he said softly. “I should have gone out last time.”

  For once, John was speechless.

  Xan cracked open the door. Brother Oscar was nowhere in sight, but snores spilled out from his nearby cell. He slid past the monk’s door and down the steps.

  Outside, the mist was getting thicker. His breath rose like wispy fog in the faint moonlight. Even with his shoes on, his feet in the wet grass felt as if they’d been frozen in a block of ice.

  This couldn’t possibly turn out well. If the Shadow were one of the monks, he might get in trouble, perhaps even a paddling. If the Shadow were an intruder, he might get attacked. And if it were the angel of death—still a possibility—he might lose his life. After all, two times the Shadow had been seen, and both times someone had died.

  All right, God, this may have been a bad idea. Can You help me out of this?

  His heart was beating almost loud enough for him to hear it. Yet, in the library beneath that painting, Brother Andrew had told him not to fear death.

  “Get your senses about you,” he said aloud, forcing himself to move through the mist.

  He took cover at the corner of the hedge—the last place he’d seen the Shadow. Even though the wind was cutting like icicles, sweat clung to the inside of his tunic.

  Just then, a branch cracked. A figure moved from the other end of the hedge, but it was not creeping near the trail to Lord Godfrey’s estate. It was heading up the hill toward the abbey!

  This was the closest he’d ever been to the shadowy figure but, in all this mist, he could barely make out more detail than from the window. It was dressed in a robe of dark, woolen material, the same as the monks wore. Its cowl hung so low over its head that it was impossible to tell from this distance if there was even a face beneath the hood. The angel of death in his nightmare had reached with bony, skeletal hands. This figure didn’t seem to have any hands at all, unless they were tucked inside its robe.

  Yet an object was at its side, so it must have had a hand of some sort to grasp with. Its body was blocking the object, but it appeared to be long and narrow, round and thin—a staff or reed of some kind, like the one he had seen on Brother Leo’s bed that day he’d first met the monk.

  Xan’s paralyzed legs wouldn’t move to follow it. John was right: he must be a dotie fool to do this. What if this were that bandit, Rummy? The young boys might find his dead body crumpled in a heap on the meadow in the morning. Then they’d have nightmares for all their days.

  Except if he went back without discovering the truth, they’d have nightmares anyway.

  The hooded figure reached the top of the grassy hill—limping slightly, as though in pain—and headed into the granges.

  There was no use debating anymore. Xan couldn’t go back to the dorm now without completing his mission. A crowd of young boys probably were pressed around the window slits, watching his every move. They were counting on him.

  He followed the shadowy figure from a distance.

  “’Tis just a monk,” he whispered. Of course it was. Then why did he feel compelled to convince himself of that fact with every step? John’s stories for little boys had spooked him, too.

  Yet the evidence was against John. The Shadow didn’t even know it was being followed. And why would a robed angel walk around taking people’s souls, anyhow? With so many people dying everywhere, the angel couldn’t possibly expect to collect all their souls on time at that speed.

  The Shadow left the granges and followed the cobblestone path that led around the abbey complex. No angel would follow a path like everyone else, but a monk or a bandit would. And what kind of angel would be limping in pain? That was just nonsense.
>
  Xan followed it past the abbey church and chapter house. He arrived at the monk’s dormitory just in time to see a remnant of the Shadow’s robe pass inside the door.

  Now what? He reached the door. If he opened it, he would alert the Shadow to his presence.

  He ran to the nearby window that led into the small supply room next to the infirmary. He pulled himself up over the edge, squeezed through the opening, and dropped to the floor inside.

  He tiptoed into the hallway. Moonlight barely penetrated the dorm through a far window.

  The Shadow’s footsteps receded down the hall, along with the swishing sound of its robe.

  Xan glanced behind him. A watery trail of footprints glistened on the stone floor in the faint light. Just as his own miserable feet were soaked with the chill dew from the grass, so also the Shadow’s feet had left wet marks. What would John say to that? Angels didn’t leave footprints.

  He followed the wet marks through a second hallway.

  The sounds suddenly stopped ahead, around that next corner.

  He paused to listen. His heart practically stopped beating. He tiptoed ahead and peeked around the corner. There was the Shadow, standing still in front of a cell door. Perhaps it had heard his steps behind it.

  Without further delay, the Shadow opened the cell door and passed inside.

  But which cell?

  He counted the doors. Brother Leo had taken him through this very hallway and stopped to open a door—the same door the Shadow had just entered.

  “That’s Brother Leo’s cell.”

  So, the Shadow was Brother Leo? But why had Brother Leo been walking about the abbey at this hour, all by himself? Maybe this was some strange habit of the old monk.

  He crept to the door and listened, but the cell had become as silent as a tomb.

  One fact was certain: he was not going to knock on the door and ask Brother Leo to explain himself. He’d be safer tapping an angel of death on the shoulder than disturbing the grumpy monk.

  He headed back through the abbey complex, over the granges and meadow, and up the stairs of the boys’ dormitory. As he entered the main room, one child yelped in terror.