Shadow in the Dark

by Antony Barone Kolenc

“Don’t let her go!”

  Joshua ran out to meet him. “You have to help Lucy!”

  Why him? He was the newest boy at the abbey; all he wanted was to go home. Is this the kind of thing he’d done back in Hardonbury, running from place to place rescuing girls in distress?

  Too out of breath to speak, he kept on until he reached the rim of the circle.

  “Lucy, Lucy, smells like a goosey,” one of the boys mocked.

  Six boys surrounded the black-haired girl—her soft, brown eyes moist with anger. She wore a dainty belt around a white, ankle-length tunic. A speck of a mole graced her pale cheek. She seemed about the same age as Xan.

  “I told you to let me pass,” Lucy said, her voice strong and crisp.

  The other delivery girl must have slipped out of the circle and fled back to the nuns, because she was nowhere in sight.

  “What’s going on here?” Xan said, barely able to talk as he huffed.

  “Well, well, look who’s here: our forgetful new friend, Sire Clumsy.”

  Of course, it was John, the leader of all the mischief. His muscular arm held a huge, croaking toad toward Lucy. She pushed his hand away.

  Xan’s interruption gave her a chance to escape. She bolted to the edge of the circle, but one of the hooligans grabbed her hair and yanked her back. She cried out in pain.

  “Stop this!” Xan said in his sternest voice. But why should John listen to him—a boy with no memory who’d quickly got tagged and bumbled like a fool?

  John laughed. “What’s the matter? I found this cute toad and wanted to show it to the delivery girl, is all.” He stuck the terrified creature in Lucy’s face again.

  “Let me out of here,” she said calmly.

  Xan tried to keep his voice as calm as hers. “Let her go.” Maybe someone at Hardonbury had taught him it was best to speak with reason when standing up to a bully.

  John didn’t move.

  Just then, the throbbing in Xan’s head flashed with light—maybe a memory: a scarred horseman in black, sneering down at a group of men with shovels and hoes. Then it was gone.

  A rush of anger pulsed from his head to his hands. If he’d had a stone in his palm he would have thrown it with all his might. The impulse overwhelmed him; his fists shot up in front.

  “Oh, really?” John said, dropping the toad. “So you want to fight then.”

  Lucy turned and ran. David stepped aside as she escaped past him toward the trail that led to the convent.

  Xan’s head cleared. He stared down at his fists. Why was he so filled with rage? John was a bully, true, but that had nothing to do with him. Except John had picked on an innocent person, and Xan suddenly hated anyone who used power to harm the weak. Maybe he’d seen such injustices at Hardonbury. His parents would know.

  Xan dropped his fists to his side.

  “That’s what I thought,” John said. Several boys snickered in the background.

  John stepped toward him. “Don’t look so grumpy. We weren’t gonna hurt her.”

  Xan shook his head and walked from the circle. “Only cowards pick on girls.”

  “Is that so?” John said. “Then come teach this coward a lesson.”

  Xan didn’t look back. All that mattered was waking up in the morning healthy enough to walk to Hardonbury with Brother Andrew.

  Suddenly Brother Leo stormed out of the dormitory with a paddle. Several boys scurried out of his path, but John stood his ground.

  “I saw all that from the window, you rascal,” the monk said, grabbing John’s arm and paddling at his backside three times hard. “Scripture says to discipline your body and make it your slave! Only with discipline will you be saved, you unruly child.”

  John fell to the grass, his eyes glistening, his face bright red.

  The monk pointed the paddle at the group. “Now, go get washed for the evening meal.”

  The others scattered around Xan, but Lucy stood on the trail to the convent, her hair dark as night. She was looking this way. Hopefully she’d seen John get punished for what he’d done.

  Perhaps he should check to make sure she was all right. He jogged down the path until he reached where she stood. She’d waited for him.

  For a moment, all he could do was stare—her eyes were more soft and her face more perfect than anything he’d seen in this new life of his.

  She cast her gaze to the ground, and her cheek grew rosy red.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Thank you for helping me. Did that John try to fight you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m all right. Brother Leo took the paddle to him, anyway.”

  “Good. I’m Lucy, by the way.” Her smile chased all the pain from his head.

  “You can call me Xan. I can walk with you to the convent.”

  “That would be fine,” she said.

  They strode side by side in silence as the stone convent drew near.

  What could he say to her? Surely he’d never spoken with a girl as pretty as this one in Hardonbury or anywhere else. If he told her about his memory, she might think him dumb.

  “I haven’t seen you at the abbey ere today,” Lucy said.

  “I just got here. I . . . I was injured. I’ll probably be going home tomorrow.”

  She stopped walking. “Good for you. I’ve been here for months with no end in sight.”

  “Did you lose your parents, too?” Maybe she was just like him.

  She shook her head. “Father’s left me here ’til his duty is done. He serves the lord of my manor. Last year, the king called our lord to service, and Father had to travel away with him again.”

  “Your father knows King Henry? That’s amazing!”

  Lucy smiled. “Don’t sound too excited about the king, especially around all these monks here. You know, the king and the Church, they don’t get along well at all.”

  “Nay, I didn’t know that.” Or if he had known it, he’d forgotten it like everything else.

  “Anyway, Father doesn’t really know the king. He mainly cares for the noblemen’s horses.”

  “And doesn’t your mother miss you when you’re gone?” he asked.

  “She died when I was a baby.” Her eyes narrowed. “She was taking me to see her family in Sicily. That’s where Father had met her while traveling abroad. She got sick—a plague.”

  Lucy had shared so openly with him. She probably wouldn’t judge his flaws too harshly.

  “I don’t remember my parents,” he said. “To be honest, I can’t remember much of anything since the injury. I’m going to Hardonbury tomorrow to find them.”

  Just then, a woman stepped out the convent door, garbed in a black robe similar to the ones worn by the monks. A habit covered her head but not her youthful face.

  “Lucy,” she said, her lips turned down. “You know the rules.” Her voice was gentle but reproving. This must be one of the nuns who cared for the girls.

  Lucy’s cheeks flushed red again. “Sorry, Sister Regina. ’Tis a long story.”

  What rules had Lucy broken? “Did I get you into trouble?”

  She grinned. “We’re not permitted to walk alone with boys, but don’t worry. Sister Regina will understand when I explain it all to her.”

  She curtsied politely to him. “’Twas a pleasure to meet you, Xan. I hope you find your family tomorrow.”

  He waved as Lucy took Sister Regina’s hand and entered the convent.

  Perhaps it would be all right if he got stuck here at Harwood Abbey a few extra days waiting for his parents. There at least would be one friend for him to get to know better.

  “Boy!” An outraged voice echoed from the other end of the path. “Get yourself back here this instant or I will take the paddle to you.”

  It was Brother Leo. The old monk wasn’t joking, either. Even from this distance the heavy paddle in his hand was visible.

  Xan jogged back up the trail. If he were lucky, Brother Leo might forgive him for coming down here to check on Lucy instead of was
hing for the evening meal.

  Whatever his punishment might be, though, it will have been worth it.

  6

  Fear

  The dormitory had a sleeping area on the second floor, with low wooden beds lined in rows and stuffed with straw. Brother Andrew had said the dorm used to house novices—boys studying to be monks—prior to the plague that had brought all these other children to the abbey.

  Now the novices lived in a corner of the monks’ dormitory.

  Xan sat on his bed near a narrow window that overlooked the meadow. The others sat on their beds, too. After Brother Leo’s paddling of John earlier, the boys seemed ready to obey.

  The monk stood in the center of the room with a candle. In the dark of the night, the yellow flame cast shadows from his gruff eyebrows onto his wrinkled forehead.

  Xan’s eyes grew heavy with weariness. This day had started with him waking in the infirmary and angering Brother Leo, then touring the abbey with Brother Andrew, meeting all the boys and playing a game, then defending Lucy and getting to know her. After that, Brother Leo took them all to a light supper in the refectory before heading back to the dorm for night prayers.

  Through it all, his headache had persisted. Only a blessed sleep could take him away from it and heal his body for tomorrow’s journey to Hardonbury.

  Brother Leo read to them from his thin book—something about God loving everyone, even while they were sinners. Then the monk led the boys in prayer in a foreign tongue he called Latin.

  All the while, Xan held the abbot’s whittled cross in his palm. It didn’t help him remember any prayers, though. God was good, that much he knew. God had rules, too. Most important, God could do anything He wanted, which was a great reason to pray. God could help find his parents or get him back to Hardonbury, or even bring Lucy back up the abbey path.

  Brother Leo blew out the candle and finished his prayer in the dark: “Come visit us this night, O Lord, that we may rise at daybreak to rejoice in the resurrection of Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen.”

  Then the monk exited the door, speaking as gently as ever. “Sleep in peace, lads.”

  With the door shut, a single beam of moonlight shone through a crack in the wooden panel that covered the window and kept out the night chill. No one dared speak until the faint footsteps of the monk finally echoed down the stairs. Then some of the boys whispered to each other.

  Xan lay still. Tomorrow everything would be different. He might even find his memories, along with his parents. Earlier, there had been a flash of light in his head and a scarred man on a horse. If that had been a memory, it could mean something. Maybe more memories would come.

  “Xan.” A whisper. “Xan, wake up.”

  He opened his eyes. Joshua stood over him. How long had he been sleeping?

  “What’s the matter, Joshua?”

  “Come here.” He grabbed Xan’s hand and pulled him from the straw mattress. The cold wood on his bare feet shot chills through his legs.

  Joshua led him to a pair of beds, where John and David sat.

  “What’s he doing here?” John said.

  “Tell him,” Joshua said. “Tell Xan about the Shadow we saw.”

  This is what Joshua had been talking about this morning, but it must be a mistake. The angel of death might roam freely in dreams, but not upon the meadow of a holy abbey. Surely God wouldn’t allow that.

  “Aye, we saw it,” John said, turning toward a young boy who had pulled his covers up to his nose. John pointed at the child. “Maybe it comes for this one tonight.”

  The child whimpered, and his fear seemed to feed John’s meanness. “A dark robe,” he said in a creepy whisper, “gliding over the ground with a blade in its hand—like a ghost, searching for souls to cut away forever.”

  The child’s sniffles grew louder.

  Joshua’s head nodded up and down. “See, Xan?”

  Whether they’d seen a shadow or not, John was using this simply to terrorize the little ones. Why did he have to do that to them? These boys had come to this abbey for protection, not persecution. Xan might be leaving tomorrow, but at least he could help this child now.

  “Are you knotty-pated, John?” he said. “Use your head. If this scary shadow is prancing all over the abbey taking people’s souls, then why hasn’t anyone died yet?”

  John flashed a victorious smirk. “Ha! Someone did die the night we saw the Shadow. Remember, David?”

  David’s eyes widened under his dark curls. “Aye. ’Twas the night Father Joseph died.”

  Xan had no witty comeback to that bit of news. That must be what Joshua was trying to tell him this morning in the refectory, before Brother Andrew had interrupted. Unless this was a prank John and David were playing on him and the other boys.

  “Well,” Xan said. “I don’t know anything about any Father Joseph, but—”

  John laughed. “You don’t know anything about anything.”

  Xan didn’t respond. John wouldn’t bait him into a fight. None of it mattered anyhow. Tomorrow he’d be gone. For now, if the children could just see that one of the older boys wasn’t afraid, it might bring them some comfort. That might be all he could do in one night.

  Xan led Joshua back to bed. “Joshua, don’t you worry about all this. ’Tis probably just one of the black monks walking about the grounds. You’ll see. There’s nothing to fear.”

  “Oh, believe me,” John said, his eyes squinting. “Wait and see—there’s plenty to fear.”

  Xan awoke refreshed. Even his headache had gone, along with the unpleasantness of the night before. In the sweet light of day, no amount of talking about shadows could scare anyone.

  Brother Leo escorted the boys to the refectory for a meager breakfast of berries and bread. Then Xan swept the dormitory while the monks completed their morning prayers.

  Brother Andrew finally arrived, ready for the first step in their plan.

  It was too bad the monk had to spend an entire day going back and forth to Hardonbury on account of him. Surely Brother Andrew would be glad to get back to his prayers once Xan got back to his parents, or whoever might take him in at Hardonbury today—maybe an uncle or cousin.

  The monk led Xan along a path that scaled a small hill and plunged into the woodland heading toward Hardonbury Manor. The leaves on the trees were already changing—red, orange, yellow, and brown. From this distance, the tall abbey church stood as a beacon in a sea of color.

  “You cannot see it from here,” Brother Andrew said, pointing over the distant trees, “but through that forest lie the two villages ruled by our abbey—Penwood Manor and Oakwood Manor. They help sustain Harwood Abbey with food, clothing, and other necessities.”

  After a brief rest, they journeyed into the woodland, following a slender trail that wound under the shadows of trees. As the trail narrowed, the trunks pressed in on all sides.

  For a moment, it sounded as though something had rustled the branches to their left. Maybe it was just his imagination. Brother Andrew didn’t seem to notice, talking cheerfully about the history of the abbey and how it had acquired its two prosperous manors.

  “The only problem,” Brother Andrew said, “is that when an abbey gains too many riches, ’tis difficult to keep an attitude of prayer and sacrifice. Some monks fall away.”

  A branch cracked, again to the left.

  Something must be there. It must be watching Xan, wanting to hurt him. Hunting him, like in his nightmare when his foot had been stuck in that hole. He’d known that creature was coming for him, too.

  Still, Brother Andrew was lost in his words: “That is why monks must live apart from the secular world. We must avoid its temptations and greed, supported by our religious community.”

  If only the monk would stop talking long enough to listen.

  “Brother, stop!”

  The monk’s face widened with surprise. “Is something amiss, Xan?”

  “Aye. It feels like—” He scanned the greene
ry for movement.

  At that moment, an animal crashed through the brush and raced toward them with a foul snort. Its short legs held the weight of a massive humped body upon them.

  “Boar!” shouted Brother Andrew, pushing Xan out of the way.

  The breath rushed from his lungs and he coughed. An anxious pain shot through his chest.

  Nay! Now Brother Andrew was in the creature’s path.

  The boar charged—gray, hairy, and filthy—lowering its two pointed tusks.

  “Watch out, Brother!”

  As large as a wolf, it gored at the monk’s black robe and knocked him to the dirt.

  “Up a tree,” the monk cried, as the boar circled round for a second charge. “Hurry!”

  Xan grasped a low-hanging branch and pulled up his feet. Sharp tusks passed below.

  This was like the boar in his dream, except that one had possessed a hideous, malformed snout.

  Another light flashed in his mind: a scarred man with a malformed nose holding a sturdy mace. Just as quickly, the memory faded, if that’s what it was.

  “Boars are unpredictable creatures,” Brother Andrew said, striding to a tree and swinging his legs onto a low branch. “Jude’s folly, it may be feeding in this area today.”

  The boar disappeared into the foliage, its din of smashing leaves and branches echoing in the distance. The forest grew quiet.

  Brother Andrew slid down and took a thick, dead branch into hand. He stood very still—branch at the ready—awaiting another attack. A long moment passed.

  “Come now,” the monk said. “We must move away quickly from this area.”

  Xan jumped down from the branch, and the pair doubled their pace along the path.

  The boar must have given up. The sense of danger was lessening with every step.

  “Brother?” Xan said, when it was safe. “I . . . I think I may have seen things . . . things that happened. Maybe memories.” He described his two flashing visions.

  “Excellent. See how God can bring good even from a boar’s wrath. Our prior, Father Clement, says your memories may come back slowly at first, but one day the rest will return in a rush, like a thunderstorm. That is how it happened for the monk he knew.”