 
A Myth to the Night

A Myth to the Night

Text Copyright © 2014 Cora Choi

Smashwords Edition

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# Part I

# Chapter One: Stauros Island

I will always remember the day I arrived on Stauros Island. It was six years before the massacre, and my thirteenth birthday had just passed. Before I left home, my father had told me to present myself to the monks of Stauros Abbey in a learned and dignified manner, for they were part of the Order of the Crane, the wisest and most scholarly order of monks in the world, and it was important that I make a good first impression. I had nothing else to offer. I was only a peasant boy without pedigree. Nor did I have any education, except for what I had taught myself.

"You're lucky that the head abbot has agreed to even take you in. Be grateful and learn well what they teach you," my father said.

I set off for the abbey in the autumn of 1609. My hometown was not far from Stauros Island so the journey only took half a day. As the sun was about to set, the turrets and flying buttresses of the abbey came into view. The sky was filled with a cascade of oranges, reds, and purples in the sky.

I was practicing a short presentation, talking to myself as I crossed the causeway of the Stauros Sea, not noticing the rising water around me which was threatening to flood the dirt path I was walking on. Only when I heard an iron gate screech open did I lift my head and realize that I was standing at the entrance of Stauros—the only opening in the stone wall that wreathed the island.

"Hurry, before the tide comes in!" warned a hunched-over servant in a brown-gray bonnet. An apron of the same color clung to her front. She held on to the handle of a small rusted lantern that creaked as it swayed back and forth in front of my face. I wanted to deliver my speech, but my nerves took over my tongue and nothing came forth.

"The new apprentice, you are."

She stated what I should've said. I just nodded. Her voice, grainy, blended in with the sound of the rushing waves behind me. She was too bent over for me to see her face, but from her voice, and the way she spoke, I surmised that she was older than my father, and that was indeed old. She pulled my sleeve and directed me through the pointed archway of the entrance and slammed the iron gate. She shut three more doors, two iron and one wood, before she turned to me.

"You came when needed. Abbot Pellanor has much work," she said. "He sits at his desk day and night reading about a certain myth—a kind of prophecy."

"Will I-I be helping him with this . . . this prophetic myth?" I asked, eager to know what my duties would be.

She tilted her head so that only one eye peered out from under her bonnet. She chuckled silently.

"Helping? I'm sure you'll be doing more than just helping." She turned away and started walking up a sinuous green-tinted cobblestone road. The unfamiliarity of my surroundings rendered me stiff. I stood where I was, and just trailed the road with my eyes seeing how it swerved all the way up to the looming abbey at the top.

"The Five Ring Road doesn't lead to hell," she reassured me and beckoned. I followed her silently, my eyes taking in every detail. As I walked further I began to relax. Vibrant flowers seemed to reach out to me as they swayed with the evening wind. They came in hues as dark as blood and as bright as the harvest full moon, their leaves and stems, a glowing emerald green. Some were covered with a light fuzz that looked as soft as velvet. Majestic trees stood facing the sea like alert sentinels, their maroon bark deepening to mahogany in the twilight.

We rounded a bend and I saw other boys my age, with short cut hair in plain brown cassocks. Each of them carried a book under his arm or in his hand. They were lost in discussions with one another, some of which I overheard. One quartet stood arguing about the land of origin of the headless knight. Another two were discussing Ravana, the legendary ten-headed king from India, and I wondered if there were equivalents found in stories from other areas of the world. I wanted to jump in and tell them what I knew about these myths and other ancient tales, too.

Many of them held up flaming torches that poured a copper sheen onto the path. As I passed by, all of them stared, and a few of them even nodded at me. I felt my steps getting lighter.

"Are these apprentices?" I asked, excited at all the new friends I might soon have.

"They are, and you will join them," said the servant. "They spend their days and nights reading the stories in the library, you too will have to memorize all the stories in the library and know them inside and out. And once you've finished, you will take on the duties of the monks of the Order of the Crane and travel to every town and village and share."

"Share what?"

"Stories."

"Why?"

"People need stories. They're like bread and water."

I didn't understand what she meant, but her comment forced me to recall a monk who came to our village square every full moon. My brothers and I would end our chores early to make sure we could hear his stories, for they were brilliant. Some of them were about finding buried treasures in deserts, or about heroes rescuing maidens in abandoned chateaus. My favorite ones were about phantoms helping living souls in need. When my brothers and I would come back from hearing the monk's stories we would often make up our own, using Stauros Island as the backdrop. My stories always had a character who haunted the island.

I was timid by nature, especially around strangers. But because it was my first time away from home, or perhaps because I suddenly remembered those stories, I boldly put forth a question.

"Does this island have any ghosts?"

The servant paused but didn't turn around. She began walking again and spoke in her withered voice that sounded like the Stauros Sea itself. "There's an old legend that says that the first person to inhabit Stauros Island was a ghost—a being who so loved the land and sea that he could not bear to leave it and go into the afterworld. He wanted to find a special place—a secret place—where he could always hear the waves and smell the fresh dirt beneath him."

"So there _are_ ghosts here," I said, my heart racing as my fantastical stories came alive before my eyes.

She ignored my comment. "He traveled to the edge of each ocean and to the peak of every mountain to find a piece of land that would be his eternal home. One night, he came to a small island surrounded by a turbulent sea. He waited until dawn, when he hoped the tide would recede. To his amazement, the tide didn't just wash back out to sea, it left a lump of sand that became a causeway connecting the island to the mainland.

"He discovered that the sea around the island did not follow the regular rules of time and tide. Instead of twice a day, low tide only happened once. By sunset, the water would begin rushing in and cover the causeway, separating the island from the mainland throughout the night. The waves would crash mercilessly around the island until dawn. By sunrise, the waters would start to calm down, the turbulence lessening little by little. In the afternoon, the causeway would show itself again.

"Enchanted by this mystery of nature, the ghost decided to build a monument on the peak to celebrate its uniqueness. Using the rocks and mud found around him, he built an odd labyrinth full of towers and winding stairs. When the first farmers began to settle the mainland a couple thousand years back, they saw this structure from afar and said it was the gateway to the spirit world. They believed that whoever entered it was leaving the material world for the spiritual one. The monument became more well-known than the island and was given the name Stauros—a cross between the living world and the dead.

"Another five hundred years would pass before the first members of the Order of the Crane would claim the island as the seat of their order and build an abbey around the ghost's monument. The monks began collecting and categorizing every book that contained a story worth reading. They soon carved out a library in the middle of the abbey that descended through the gut of the island.

"Thirteen underground floors now house books collected from every corner of the earth. Kings and wise men travel months, even years, to come and have a look at the great library. You will see. Stauros is the home of myths and legends."

She stopped. I looked at her, wanting to hear more. She looked back at me, waiting. "We've arrived," she finally said.

I saw that we stood at the foot of the giant medieval abbey. The stars, like diamond highlights piercing through the darkness, spotlighted the flying buttresses and traceries. A lancet arch yawned before me, framing an entry leading into a vast unknown, another universe waiting to be discovered. Two life-size carved statues of cranes stood on either side of the arches.

"The home of the Order of the Crane is now your home," she said. "You'll find Abbot Pellanor inside waiting for you."

# Chapter 2: The Demon of Stauros

Six years after my arrival on Stauros Island, I died. I was nineteen years old during the Great Massacre of 1615. Like all the other monks in the Order of the Crane, I had no time to escape the carnage that fell upon us one morning.

However, I had the foresight to save the book that I had written about the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear—a prophetic myth I had devoted my years to while studying under the head abbot. Regardless of the chaos and destruction that occurred in the last hours of my life, I was able to find a safe hiding place for my book in a cellar on the outskirts of the island. I was determined to keep the story alive. I believed that if I did, I would one day find the Slayer, the hero of the story, no matter how long it might take. Until I could find him, I knew I wouldn't be able to rest in peace. I couldn't leave the world of the living without knowing that the Slayer was there to fight on their behalf. Thus, after my death, I decided to stay on the island as a phantom, joining other phantoms who were already on the island.

After the massacre, the abbey and the island fell into the hands of our enemy, the Order of the Shrike. They lost no time in transforming the island into a university, turning the rooms in the abbey into classrooms. Over the next four hundred years, the island slowly developed into a small town. More buildings were constructed near and around the abbey to house the university's research laboratories and modern lecture halls. Around the outer edges of the island, residences were built for the students. Along with them came dining halls, as well as a few cafes and shops that nestled in tight spaces next to them. Despite these transformations that happened around me, my mission to find the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear never wavered.

Although I was invisible by day, anyone could see me at night. That was the magic of Stauros Island. There were phantoms all over the world, but it was only here on the island that we could be seen and heard. Night was when we would come to life, and be as solid and real as any living being. Although I didn't approach students every night, I made a consistent effort to seek out a sympathetic soul on the island. I would often set off to the old abbey—now Stauros Hall—and descend into the library to be among the studious, always with an eye out for someone who might be interested in the tale of the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear.

Most of the students I approached with the book turned away from me. At best, some of them would just flip through it, perhaps to humor me. Then one day, for the first time in a little over three centuries, my faith in completing my mission faltered when a student suddenly disappeared a few days after I'd approached him. And then another student vanished from the island only a few weeks after I had shown him my book. I believed that I had nothing to do with these missing students. But the trend continued. Although the students didn't immediately disappear after I talked to them—indeed months could pass before they disappeared—I couldn't deny that the common thread among them was me: I had asked all of them to read my book.

Everything began to unravel for me from the moment the first student disappeared. It happened in 1955. Up until then, no one had heard of the Demon of Stauros. Only names like James Dean and Elizabeth Taylor were on the lips of students. I was in the library looking for a student I had lent my book to, but I encountered his friend instead, the one student I should have never met: Parafron. He was holding my book in his hand. He said it was treason. He told me that I was a rabble-rouser and would pay for trying to undermine the power of the Order of the Shrike. I grabbed my book and fled. However, the next day the school authorities announced that Parafron's friend had disappeared. And I, the author of a book of demented lies, was responsible for his death.

"He's a demon, the Demon of Stauros Island," Parafron told anyone who would listen. Everybody believed him. From that day forward, that became my new name. However, I was just as distraught as anyone that Parafron's friend had gone missing. I tried to ignore the accusations, but during the next couple of years, another student I'd lent the book to went missing, and then another. In total, twelve students disappeared, all of whom I had asked to read my book. I could no longer deny there was a connection to me.

Before this mysterious phenomenon occurred, Stauros University's reputation had been impeccable. Stauros Island was small, but big enough to house a university with a student population of a little over a thousand. The elite school prided itself on its historical past, citing royalty and celebrity scholars as part of its long list of famous and influential alumni. But when the school's security was called into question and distressed parents began pulling their children out, the university found its reputation in jeopardy.

Consequently, they instated extreme rules. With the exception of graduation and the annual costume party, no one except school officials and students were allowed within the walls of Stauros Island. Uniforms became mandatory in order to distinguish the students from any outsiders who might sneak on to the island. With one slight misdemeanor any student could be kicked out of the school. Students in good standing couldn't leave the island until the academic year ended.

Ceremonies with odd rituals meant to purge the island of evil spirits were undertaken. Perfumed water and scented oils were splashed with a gold wand. Students and teachers followed a bearded man who swung a thurible, all of them chanting for the spirits to blow away like the smoke from the incense. The other phantoms huddled together and watched the spectacle from afar with concern and bewilderment. I could've joined them. But I didn't. I was riddled with guilt and watched alone. Even if I had not made the students vanish, their disappearances were somehow linked to me. After much deliberation, I decided not to approach another student until I knew this dark period was over. I held out hope that the missing students and the rumors about my being a demon would resolve themselves with time.

For forty years, I didn't speak to a living soul. I only observed them from afar. Time passed. Leaves changed from green to brown and back again, new students replaced the graduating ones and the world kept turning. At night when I was visible, I avoided everyone by staying on the rooftops where no one could see me, but where I could see everything.

One starless night toward the end of the twentieth century, as I sat on the rooftop of Stauros Hall, I caught a glimpse of an eerie fluorescent glow coming from behind the trees near Sora House, the freshman dormitory. The blue mist from the Stauros Sea had ensconced itself on the island and I couldn't see clearly. Capricious, like the autumn wind, the strange light would dim, then suddenly grow bright, and then fade away again.

I hadn't the slightest clue what kind of thing might be emanating a light like that. As I approached this mysterious light, I suddenly found myself standing before the loveliest creature I had ever seen in all my time on this earth. She sat on a bench, and on her lap, lay a small computer, which she told me was called a laptop.

As I talked to her, I noticed how her sweet, bright eyes would look at me as though I was a normal young man. She didn't cringe at my dingy cassock nor did she sneer at my outdated haircut. She smiled when she spoke. Her words were gentle and her voice sounded like swaying wind chimes. She comforted my lonely heart. Sweet Anne-Marie. _I tried not to give you my book, but why did you insist on reading it? Brave and bold, you thought you could defy the dark curse that took the others, but you couldn't._

We had only been together for eight months when she demanded to read what I had written about the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. I refused to let her read my book, telling her about the students who had disappeared. But she insisted that she would not vanish like the others and prove that I had nothing to do with their disappearances.

After much arguing, I gave in and let her read my book. The following day, Anne-Marie disappeared like the others. All was lost. The world no longer held hope, and my existence was a plague. I wandered the fringes of the island, looking for a hole in the ground where I could finally banish myself forever. While I kept telling myself I hadn't killed her, or any of them, paranoia pierced my skull and tainted my heart, and I feared the worst: What if I was an insane, cold-blooded murderer who couldn't remember my own crimes?

After I discovered Anne-Marie had disappeared, I searched for a place of self-exile. An unusually strong storm had arrived that night and I dragged myself along the medieval bulwark that encircled the island and protected the structures within it, especially when the tide was high. The mossy stone wall was also the last line of defense between the sea and the student dormitories. Sora House was the closest structure to the wall, so close that every once in while sprays leaping from the waves licked the sandstone.

The hall, replete with spires and pointing archways, stood at the end of the Five Ring Road, which coiled from Stauros Hall at the peak of the island and wended down and around linking all the structures to one another like a chaplet. Off to the side of the dormitory's grand entrance, hidden behind overgrown roots and weeds were a few wooden floorboards nailed into the soft earth. When I looked closely, I saw that it was the door to the cellar where I'd hid my book all those many decades ago.

I couldn't open the door at first, as it hadn't been opened for years, perhaps decades. The moaning wind threatened to pull me toward the wall that blocked the crashing waves of the sea. Wisps of saltwater whipped across my forehead and cheeks as I tugged relentlessly at the door. I managed to pull it ajar and quickly slipped in, shutting the rickety wood covering over my head. I found my feet hitting a series of stairs that, after two rotations, spiraled to the floor. When my feet touched the silent ground, and not even my own sound echoed back to me, I felt reassured—there wasn't a soul in that space that I could harm. Days passed in that cellar, one blurring into the next. I didn't have any visitors. I didn't have any desire to tell anyone my story. In fact, the thought of talking to someone, only to know that they, too, might disappear, was depressing, heartrending. As a result, my world consisted only of myself, night after night, month after month. I counted the passing of each full moon, the only time I dared to look out at the world. As soon as the silvery moonlight seeped through the cracks of the door, I'd climb up the iron spiral staircase, lean carefully against the door, press my eye to one of the narrow cracks, and gaze out until the sun rose—hypnotized by the moon's platinum warmth. The visits were not often, but they were regular. Although a silent companion, the moon was loyal and never failed to greet me for nineteen years. I gave up my mission and reconciled myself to staying to the end of the world in that dark, dank hovel.

However, destiny wouldn't let me surrender so easily.

# Chapter 3: The Roommates

"So, _this_ is where you keep the penthouse suite." The words came out of nowhere. I was startled to hear someone speak. I didn't know whether it was morning or afternoon, but the few rays of sunlight that peaked through the cracks of the cellar door told me that it certainly wasn't night. I heard several feet shuffle near the door. Then disgruntled voices seemed to mumble all at once. They were all male. I began to pace across the floor, distressed and helpless. Were they going to come in? Did I have cause for concern?

I walked to the base of the stairs but then backed away and paced from wall to wall. I approached the stairs once more, but anxiety gripped my heart and pulled me back again. I repeated this jittery dance several more times before I finally turned sharply and marched up the stairs, knees bent at right angles, feet flat on each step. Why were they here?

At the top stair, I squatted low, to avoid hitting my head against the cellar door. I tilted my head to the side, and pressed my ear to the door.

"Keep joking," said the grainy, aged voice of an older man. The scratchy syllables were pronounced with a short staccato rhythm. "You'll need that humor once you see your new room for the school year."

He continued to grumble as the sound of jingling keys filled the air. The voice and the unwelcoming tone were familiar, but I couldn't conjure up the face to go with it. His foreboding words were followed by a laugh that sounded like a cross between a squawking crow and a choking cat.

I took a step back. Your new room for the school year? Curiosity overwhelmed me, and I turned my head, to peer through one of the larger cracks in the door.

The narrow scope of my vision permitted me to see only the face of one boy—or should I say, young man. He was hovering over the edge of the cellar door, looking around at the others who were beyond my field of vision. He looked like a freshman, maybe 18 or 19 years old, the same age or a bit younger than I was when I had died. His skin was still smooth like a young child's, yet his eyes carried the hardened glare of a prisoner who had been given a sentence too harsh for his crimes. He focused on someone or something that was beyond the confines of that crack in the door, and it provided me the perfect opportunity to continue studying his face. The more I looked at him, the more his features looked familiar, although I knew this was impossible since I had been locked in the cellar since before he was born, and I hadn't seen a living soul in nearly two decades. I would've stood at the door for much longer had he not abruptly looked in my direction.

His stare caught me off guard and I stumbled backward, tumbling down a couple of stairs awkwardly. _Had he seen me?_ His eyes seemed to have looked through the crack right at me. Unless he was a phantom, too, there was no possibility he could see or hear me during the day. As long as the sun was out I was invisible to all living souls. A chill shuddered through me.

I wanted to run away . . . I could run away . . . It was day and I was transparent, anything could pass through me and I could pass through anything—although I never did. Regardless, even though I was dead and invisible, I still had the habit of keeping to the rules of the living and never walked through walls or passed through doors. As a result, instead of fleeing from the imminent intrusion, I continued to stand at the top of the stairs, silent.

"In the old days, they would've kicked all of you out for breaking the rules like you did," continued that old rough voice. "But rumor has it that a benefactor has stepped in on your behalf. Consider yourselves lucky."

The little pockets of light that peeked through the door, flickered as the bodies outside shifted this way or that. I looked from side to side as I tried to count how many there were, but I couldn't keep track of which flitting shadow belonged to whom. And I wasn't bold enough to look through the gap in the door again and count.

"Lucky? Is moving from the dormitory to the basement lucky?!" Despite trying to sound fierce, the young voice croaked at the end of the phrase. Surprisingly, I felt the corner of my lips turn up into a smile. My own voice often did that, especially when I found it impossible to contain my anger.

"Aren't there other students who break the rules?" The young man asked.

"Not as bad as you four have.

"Are we the only ones being sent down here?"

"The only ones—and probably the last ones!" snorted the older man.

The more he spoke, the more I disliked him. As far as I could tell, he only expressed himself through threats and derisive comments.

"They're separating the bad apples so they don't spoil the others," he continued. "Be grateful that you're still on the island and a student of this school. The chancellor wanted to send you four packing as soon as the tide was low enough and the causeway accessible. I'm sure your parents would've been thrilled to see you kicked out after the second day of classes. If any of you were my kids, I'd smack you until you were raw."

"Do you know who it was?" asked the same young man.

"Who?"

"The benefactor. The person who spoke up for us."

"No," said the old man. "How the hell am I supposed to know? Benefactors never show up here. Only their money does."

"Do you know why the benefactor spoke up for us?"

"No."

"Will we ever meet this person?"

I heard the old man sigh. "To hell with all your questions! All you should know is that you all were lucky. It's hard to get into this university, but it's not hard to get kicked out."

The old man grunted, and I saw the door shift slightly from the place it had been resting for years. I bit my lower lip as I moved down a few more stairs, away from the door. I heard him make another attempt to pull the door open, but it didn't budge. Only five stairs separated me from the door. If it burst open now, I would surely see all their faces. I looked up at the door, thrilled that I would no longer be lonely yet terrified.

"Door's locked," grumbled the old man.

"I never heard of a student being kicked out," said another student.

"Maybe not kicked out, but I've heard that some of them have disappeared mysteriously," said another young man.

Were they referring to the students who had gone missing? I gripped the iron stair rail tightly, frozen to the steps I was standing on. Neither standing on the ground nor near the door, I was suspended halfway as I waited for them to continue to talk. Time itself had seemed to stop as I waited to hear the rest.

"Most students who get into this school have worked their tails off and are usually sharp enough not to throw it all away like you troublemakers almost did. As for the ones who disappeared—it's been years since we've had a student vanish into thin air. And anyhow, that was because of the Demon of Stauros. He's a wicked one." The old man snorted.

"I'm not wicked!" I wanted to shout. I almost ran up the stairs and lunged at the door—but I stopped myself. I heard the rustling of keys and the scraping of metal against metal and realized the door was being unlocked. I stood still for a moment, not knowing what to do. Upon hearing the old man tell the others to move aside so that he could open the door, I immediately flew down the rest of the stairs, hid underneath the steps, and poked my head out cautiously to stare at the door.

The old man heaved loudly and the door creaked, but it wouldn't give. With the heavy rains in the winter and the salt from the sea winds oxidizing the hinges, the door was practically sealed shut.

He made one last attempt, swearing with the effort. Still no result. One of the young men stepped in. I could hear him putting all his strength into it. A second later the hinge croaked loudly and the door swung open.

"Holy mother of god," groaned one of the young men.

Light flooded the cellar, illuminating the moldy murky walls of my dwelling. I hadn't seen so much light for ages and the sudden exposure was overwhelming. Feeling like an escaped convict caught in a searchlight, I quickly dodged into a dark corner, the darkest one I could find. I tucked myself into a tight ball. I heard a few coughs accompanied by the sound of footsteps coming down the spiral staircase.

"Looks like no one's been down here for ages," muttered one of them, his voice full of dread.

"Go on, get in there. Dust and cobwebs don't kill," said the old man. "There's no light down there, so you'll have to use the lanterns. You'll find no sinks or toilets, either, so for a basic wash, use this water pump that's a few feet away from the door, and when nature calls, go use the toilets in Sora House, the dormitory that's sitting right next to you. But don't even think about moving back into the dorms. You all are living here until the end of the school year."

They started down the stairs. One by one, I saw their shoes, their pants, their shirts. One wore dark sunglasses and another had messy hair like a bird's nest. Those two mumbled constantly about the dreadful state of my Spartan abode. I couldn't disagree with them.

"What happens when it rains? Can we go into Sora House?" asked the same young man who had posed all the questions earlier. He was the smallest, yet he led the way down the stairs. He paused midway to turn and face the door, waiting for an answer. The sunlight reflected off his round spectacles.

"No, you stay here," the old man barked back.

When the first three reached the floor, they stood huddled at the base of the stairs like scared sheep.

"Well, go on and find a lantern and light it," ordered the voice from above. His large figure filled the small doorway blocking most of the light.

"Who wants to go?" asked the small one, his voice cracking with the last word.

"I will," said a fourth boy as he casually clunked down the last of the steps to the floor and joined the other three. From his silhouette, I could see that he was tall and thin. He walked with an air of cool confidence. Nerves that I never knew I had seemed to spring to attention as I watched him. He was the one who had stared at me through the door earlier.

"Thanks, Drev," the other three mumbled one after another.

Drev put down his duffel bag and held his hands out in front of him cautiously, taking small, hesitant steps that dragged along the floor.

I knew where the lanterns were, and I saw that he was going in the opposite direction. At this rate, it would take him forever to find one. I moved quickly, and despite knowing that he couldn't see me, I took precautions to be as discreet as possible. I stepped furtively, dodging all the spots where pockets of light revealed the swirling dust particles in the air.

I grabbed a lantern and brought it to where he was. I crept up gently and put the metallic handle right in front of his outstretched hand. Drev grasped it, and I let go.

He stopped. I felt that he was staring right at me. Although I was certain he couldn't see me, I took several steps back. He continued to stand there, still and silent.

"What's taking you so long?" The voice boomed from above. "Have you found anything yet?"

"Yes," he said quietly. His tone carried a trace of suspicion, and he continued standing there, facing me.

"Well, why the hell are you just standing there? Light it!"

"Here, man," said the one with dark sunglasses as he began rummaging through his sack. "I think I got a light."

Drev turned and walked back to where the others stood.

A second later the boy in the sunglasses emerged with a lighter.

"Thanks," said Drev. He opened the lantern door and raised the wick. The other student lit it and the flame flared up and then settled down, its light outlining their shadows against the musty walls. The tiny light seemed to bring the entire room to life. As welcoming as the flame was, I still felt awkward in its light and squeezed myself as far as I could into the corner behind the stairs, trying to avoid its radius.

The boys ventured toward the center of the room, the light revealing the dense dust and suspended cobwebs. They paused as they reached the yellowed bunk beds that caved in at the center. Dark stains on the sheets hinted that these beds might have been the final place their predecessors had slept in. The boys didn't take a step farther. With their mouths slightly open, they stood there stunned. They looked at each other but only found the horror of their reality reflected back at them. They looked up to their one escape route. But the old man standing at the top of the stairs provided no consolation.

"Enjoy your new room," he cackled, waiting a moment before slamming the door shut.

# Chapter 4: Drev

There they were, the four rebellious students, standing in my humble hideout. I watched them silently from my dark corner behind the stairs, wondering what their next move would be. They seemed harmless enough, and I even felt a kind of kinship with them, knowing that they, too, were being treated as outcasts of Stauros University. However, not having been around living souls for some time, I was still wary and kept my distance. I was certain they were likely to be more afraid of me than I was of them.

"I guess this is home now," said Drev. He stretched out his arm so that the lantern lit up the far corners of the cellar. Its amber glow fluttered as it hung in the air. The other three watched, their eyes following the lantern, their dismal expressions revealing all that they weren't saying.

"We all told each other our names when we were rounded up by the groundskeeper, but now that we're roommates, we might as well introduce ourselves." He looked around. "You all know that my name's Drev—short for Andrev. No one besides my mom calls me Andrev, though. I arrived yesterday. Got in trouble. And now I'm here in the cellar with all of you today."

The others nodded. There was an awkward pause. It seemed that no one knew what to do next. Drev turned to his right and stared at the young man with the sunglasses.

"Yeah, I'll go next, why the hell not," he said, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans that sagged crookedly on his hips. "You all know the name's J.P. and don't ask if the J stands for anything, as far as I know it doesn't stand for shit. Neither does the P. Like everything else my parents did for me, they didn't put much thought into my name and just grabbed two random letters. I guess they thought just naming me J was too boring so they added the P. That's how I like to think of it. I got here two days ago—and it was batshit from the get-go—orientation, classes, speeches from the chancellor. I don't know about you guys, but there's something weird about this school, you know, it's off."

"Off?" asked the boy with the round spectacles. He pushed up his glasses higher on his nose with his index finger and leaned in closer like he hadn't heard J.P. correctly.

"Yeah, _off_ , like a twitch in my ass, that I just can't reach," J.P. said with a wide grin that stretched easily across his thin face. J.P. had not taken off his sunglasses despite the darkness, and I wondered if he could see at all. The others chuckled at his crude remark, and it softened the gloominess of the room.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," said the boy with the matted hair, spiked and knotted in every direction. He grinned at the other three as he ran his hand through his hair, but his hand stuck. He struggled for a second to free his fingers from the tangles. "I mean when I came through the front gate at the stone wall, it didn't feel like a school, more like Satan's crypt. I actually turned around and wanted to leave with my parents, but my old man . . ."

He shook his head and sniggered.

"All I have to say is that I could kiss the chancellor's feet for sending us to this cellar, and not kicking us out," he said, his eyebrows arched. "If I got kicked out of here, my old man would kill me—KILL ME—we're talking first-degree murder. The only way I can leave this place is with a degree in hand. Otherwise, I can't go home." He tried once again to run his fingers through his untamed mane. His nervous hand successfully pulled back the wayward chunks of hair. He then trotted over to the bottom bunk of one of the two bunk beds. He bounced down on to it and a billowing cloud of dust mushroomed into the air.

"Max!" protested the boy with the spectacles. "Don't spread all this dust!" He coughed as Drev fanned away the dust with his hands and arms and J.P. took off his sunglasses to wipe them with his shirt. Although the dust settled down, the boy's coughs became hoarser and at the end of one, he released a prolonged gag.

"Irving? Hey, you okay?" asked Drev, walking over toward him. Max got to his feet and gently patted Irving's back as he was now bent over due to the severe heaving.

"Hey, man," said J.P. bending down to get a better look at the choking boy. "Need some water or something?"

"I . . . I . . ." gasped Irving, barely lifting his reddened face. "My . . . inhaler . . ."

"Quick, where's his backpack?" asked Drev.

"Here, I got it." Max, grabbed a red canvas sack off the floor.

"Get out his inhaler," ordered Drev, already reaching over and unzipping the front pocket. I watched as he pulled out an L-shaped contraption that was the size of his hand. He brought it over to Irving who was straining for air as he drowned in the dusty cloud that enveloped him. Drev shoved the bottom end of the L shaped object into Irving's mouth. He then placed a finger on the top end and pressed down. I was in awe of what he was doing. I was sure he was trying to help Irving, but I didn't understand how shoving an object into the mouth of a man gasping for air could help him. But it worked.

Irving, sat down as his breathing normalized. A long silence followed as the other roommates looked at one another, proud of their teamwork.

"Thanks, guys," Irving said.

"Don't mention it," said Drev.

Irving gave his roommates a sheepish smile as he cleared his throat. "I'm glad to meet all of you. I was afraid I was going to be sent off alone. As bad as this place is, I agree with Max, it's better than being kicked out—I can't be kicked out. No way, no how. My grandma" . . . he paused. The way he said, "grandma," with such a delicate, solemn tone, I expected him to cross himself in reverence. "My grandma . . . I'm all she's got—and she worked hard, real hard to get me into this university. If I got kicked out, it would kill her." He paused again, but this time to lift his round spectacles and dab at his eyes. The other three exchanged uncomfortable glances. Although not part of the group, I, too, felt a bit awkward with his dramatic display of affection. I was worried the others would chide Irving or worse, ridicule him if he carried on like this. I was relieved when he finally gathered himself together and continued talking.

"The fact is, I don't even know what I did to break the rules. I was just about to flip through a big old red book that someone had left on the table in the library in Stauros Hall when the chancellor came up to me and demanded to know why I had taken it from his room. I told him I hadn't taken it. He said I looked very eager to read what was in there. He acted like it was a crime. I told him I didn't even know what the book was about, that I was just curious. I saw on the title page that it was dated in the early 1600s and the author's name was funny—Hugh Fogg."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Irving had found my book in the library? Had it not disappeared with Anne-Marie? I was certain that Anne-Marie had been the last person I had handed it to. I wanted to hear the details and so I crept closer to the boys. I felt increasingly at ease as they continued to banter. Irving continued with his story.

"He started yelling at me, accusing me of stealing it from his office. He told me that the book was forbidden, that all the students who read it became victims of the Demon of Stauros. It was awful. He even threatened to call my grandma and tell her I was expelled. But luckily he only called Horace and told him to put me away."

"The groundskeeper's name is Horace?" asked Max.

"Yeah, Hulky Horace," Irving chuckled.

My knees nearly buckled underneath me. Horace! He was still alive. I thought back to decades earlier when Horace had spread those awful rumors about me, convincing even me that I was the cause of Anne-Marie's disappearance.

The world I had left behind me rushed back in. I felt myself being sucked into a vortex of sadness. I tried to fight it by gathering my thoughts and looking at the situation from another perspective. I had four new roommates now. Somehow fate had taken pity on me and sent me the company I so badly wanted but was afraid of seeking. I forced my attention back to them.

"I told Horace I had just started looking through the book," Irving said. "I hadn't really read anything. I didn't even get past the first page. But it wasn't any use."

Max put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Horace lives to see students punished," he said. "And the chancellor lives to punish students. What can I say—they make an excellent couple."

"So that's how you ended up here," said J.P. to Irving. "You picked up the wrong goddamn book."

"Yes, that's pretty much it," said Irving. "How about you guys?"

"I refused to wear this ugly dress," J.P. said. He held up the school uniform, a black hooded robe with the emblem of a silver shrike, the school's mascot, on the back.

"Why?" asked Max.

"Because I didn't work my ass off for the past thirteen years just so I could look like the grim reaper," replied J.P. He bundled up the uniform and threw it down on the floor. He then lay down, using it as a pillow. "And you, Max?" he asked. "Whaddya do that would've pissed off your old man?"

Max grinned, "I'll tell you guys later."

"That bad, eh?"

"Well, there's really not anything bad about it. I mean, it all depends on what you think is bad, actually. I mean, what is 'bad?' And what is 'good?' Obviously, here at this university, freedom to read what you want to read and wearing what you want to wear is considered 'bad.' But in my world, in a normal world, it isn't."

"I always wanted to have a goddamn philosopher for a roommate," muttered J.P.

I laughed out loud at his comment, since Max looked like the furthest thing from a philosopher. But I stopped abruptly when Drev spoke.

"You guys hear that?" he asked, standing still. His eyes focused forward, staring at nothing in particular. He was concentrating on hearing what was around him. I was sure he couldn't be referring to me. I looked at him and saw that his face stayed still while only his eyes carefully moved left to right and back again.

I moved backward, away from the four boys. Something about the way Drev stood alert made me feel like I had intruded on all of them. He continued to look toward me, making it seem as though my laugh had left a trail. I stepped behind the spiral staircase, and took two more steps until my back was against the wall. I moved to my left where I met another wall. I lodged myself securely in that corner.

All three of them looked at Drev, who continued to keep still.

"I don't think we're alone," he said. To my amazement, his voice was steady, without an ounce of fear. Instead, I thought I heard a slight hint of excitement.

His gaze settled on my corner. He lifted the lamp high. Already cramped, I tried to tuck myself in further.

"I didn't hear anything," said Irving, looking around frantically. "But now that you mention it, there is that legend of the Demon of Stauros."

"Damn the Demon of Stauros," said J.P.

"What's his story?" asked Max.

"Well, my grandma told me . . ." Irving began, then stopped short as he saw eyebrows raise when he mentioned his grandmother, probably afraid he'd start tearing up again. "It's an old rumor about an apprentice monk who used to live here when the school was still an abbey. The year was 1615 or something like that," said Irving. "He tried to overthrow the head abbot and take over the island in a rebellion. They killed him, and ever since, he took out his anger on the students. That's why it's against the rules to go near Stauros Hall after midnight, because that's where they say he's hanging out, ready to sink his fangs into his next victim."

Overthrow the head monk? Sink my fangs into my next victim? I couldn't stop myself from laughing out loud at the ludicrous image. I had never been in a rebellion nor had I ever sprouted fangs like a vampire. The years I'd been hidden away had obviously done nothing to improve my reputation.

"Yeah, we're definitely not alone here," said Drev, scanning the room. "You guys didn't hear that laugh either?"

"What laugh?" they asked.

I covered my mouth and looked at Drev anxiously. _He had heard me!_ The idea was alarming for it meant that he could probably also see me. I looked up and saw that the rays of daylight were still shining through the cracks in the door. It was midafternoon at the latest. And only at night could the students see and hear the phantoms. What was going on?

"There was a laugh," Drev said.

"A demonic one?" asked Irving.

"Yeah, like a Demon of Stauros one?" teased Max.

"No, it was almost like an echo," said Drev, looking around.

I cowered to try to make myself smaller. But I felt I couldn't escape his piercing gaze. He had an odd intensity about him that seemed to reverberate all around the room. I knew he was not going to give up until he found me.

I looked to my left and right, to see if I could sneak to the stairs without being seen. But there was no way. The light from the lantern reached the base of the staircase.

There was a long silence, and then Max turned to one of the beds in the bunk opposite from J.P. and began carefully brushing the dust off the mattress. I dropped my hands and relaxed a little bit—but it was too soon.

"Where you going, Drev?" asked Irving.

Drev had lifted the lantern and was now walking toward me, his eyes focused in my direction, although I knew it was still too dark in my corner for him to see anything there. I closed my eyes. I heard his footsteps coming closer. I tried to imagine that I was part of the wall, and that if I imagined hard enough it would become true.

The truth was I wasn't so afraid of them finding and attacking me. That mattered little, because I was already dead. I was afraid of making any type of contact with them. If I made an attempt to speak with them, would they disappear like the others?

Perhaps I pushed against the wall too hard, and the pressure of my ghostly physique was too much for the decaying structure to handle, because to my despair, a stone from the wall tumbled to the ground. It might as well have been a bomb.

Drev stopped a few yards from me. The radius of the light of the lamp shone just centimeters from where I stood. The light swayed timidly as the lamp hung limply in his hand.

"Who's there?" All four seemed to shout at once.

I raised my hands above my head as I had once seen in a movie that was shown at Stauros Hall. The policemen had cornered a villain, and just as it looked as though they were going to perforate his body with bullets, the villain raised his hands above his head and the policemen put their guns down. A powerful gesture, I thought at the time.

I waited, hands above my head, like a criminal waiting for his execution. But then a miracle happened.

"There isn't a damn thing there," said J.P., on his bed and rolling onto his side.

Irving went back to cleaning his bed. Max lifted an old broom that was hanging on a rusted nail and began sweeping the floor.

Of course. J.P. was right, there wasn't a damn thing there. It was still day. The sunlight leaking through the cellar door overhead was getting weaker, but it was not yet night.

I saw Drev continue to take a few more cautious steps in my direction. I was not worried. I was certain he couldn't see me. Furthermore, I was well camouflaged in the darkness that enshrouded the edges of the cellar. I continued to stand in the corner and watch him approach.

The radius of the light reached me. Despite the weak lighting in the room and the shadow cast by the lantern, I could see the color drain from Drev's face—he could see me!

"Hey, guys . . ." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't turn his head or blink, but kept those dark pupils glued to my face.

I gripped the walls at my side. I was mortified. And I was certain that he was too! I didn't want the others to know I was there—one was enough. With nowhere to run and no other recourse, I did the only thing I could do: I put a finger to my lips.

This gesture was another one I had learned from the movie, and I had always wanted to see if it would work. For a brief instant, I thought it wouldn't, for he just stood there with a blank expression. Then Drev turned his head slightly and squinted at me as though he had never seen such a gesture. The moments passed like hours as his scrutinizing squint bore through me, the look gradually giving way to a slightly softer, appraising stare. Finally, he gave a quick nod of his head. I loosened my grip on the wall, unsure of what would follow. We stared at one another, waiting for the other to lead. However, before either of us could take any action, Max's voice cut through the air. "Hey, Drev, can you hold the dustpan while I sweep all this muck onto it? We got layers of dust here."

There was a long pause before Drev answered. "Be right there, Max."

He didn't turn around right away. He lingered, and I could see that he was waiting for me to do something. I pulled my finger away from my lips, but couldn't find any words to say. Not having chatted with anyone for what seemed like centuries, I just stood there, mute.

But without knowing it, I must've smiled, because a second later, he smiled at me. Or was it a smile? Perhaps it was more of a hesitant, crooked grimace. I would later learn that Drev rarely smiled. Or rather, it would take a very special person to inspire him to smile.

# Chapter 5: Fear

That evening my new roommates came back from the dining hall, laughing and joking as they walked down the spiral stairs.

"Well, even though the housing situation is disappointing, the meals are definitely something to look forward to," said Irving.

"How many times did you go to the dessert bar, Irving?" Max laughed.

"Remember, it's a five minute walk to the nearest toilet—and Sora closes its doors by midnight," said Drev. "Like the other places on this island."

"Why midnight?" asked Irving.

"They don't want students roaming around past midnight—precautionary thing," said Max. "That's why if you go up the main road past the dorms and dining halls on the fifth ring, you'll see that all the bars and cafes are closed by 10:00 p.m."

"How about the library?" asked Irving.

"That closes at midnight," said Max.

"But if I stay until midnight at the library and it takes me an hour to walk down the Five Ring Road to the dorms, I'm still outside past midnight," said Irving.

"Exactly, Einstein, so the bottom line is don't be at the library until midnight," quipped J.P.

They all made their way to their respective beds. J.P., still wearing his sunglasses, picked up a book. Irving, using a small spray bottle, was wiping his lenses. Drev was making his bed after having aired out the mattress. And Max was fiddling with what looked like a small metallic board.

"Hey guys, so you want to know how I got sent to this underground prison with you? Check this out," he said, holding up the thin square board that came to life with a bright light.

I crept out of my corner to get a better look at it. It was almost like a miniature computer screen, but it was very small, the thickness was like that of a magazine, and it seemed to weigh nothing at all the way Max was holding it. Instead of typing on buttons, he traced his finger along the surface. I crept in closer, as the other three crowded around him. Knowing they wouldn't notice me with their backs toward me, I inched up to get a better look at Max's device.

"I downloaded a video from the site Intelleaks before my parents dropped me off at this crazy school a couple days ago. This video, it's wild. It's taken off a surveillance camera in a store, but the guy in it is absolutely nuts. See for yourself. It'll take a second to load up."

He held up the device so all of us could get a good look at the screen. Although I was behind them, a few feet away, I could see it clearly. I was enthralled. On that tiny screen, a clock appeared, its hands rotating quickly. I looked at Max to see how he was manipulating it, but he wasn't. He was just holding it up. I looked back at the screen and saw a black and white film emerge. The scene showed one rapidly moving object, everything else was still.

"See, that's the guy moving there. He's in a jewelry store and stealing stuff like a madman. But watch as the video goes on."

We all watched, and to my horror, the man on the screen thrashed about uncontrollably, knocking into the tables and shelves, grabbing items and throwing them onto the floor or into a large bag. His gestures were jerky and spastic, like a wind-up toy. The frantic pace with which he hurled himself around the store was more animal-like than human. At one point, he shoved his face into the camera and all of us got an unexpected up-close look at his rolling eyes and bloodied mouth.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Irving, cringing. He took off his spectacles and wiped them as if the image had sullied the lenses.

"No one knows. I mean, this video isn't supposed to be released to the public. The government's trying to keep it quiet," said Max.

"He's a crackhead, plain and simple," said J.P., peering at the screen through his dark shades.

"No, see, that's just the thing. He's not," said Max, his voice getting more excited with every syllable. "It happened in the morning, around 4:30 a.m. The guy who uploaded the video wrote that the feds came and shot the guy in cold blood. He was some big shot import-export business guy, and they don't know why—"

"You say you got this off of Intelleaks?" smirked J.P.

"What is Intelleaks?" asked Irving. I was glad Irving asked. I was curious myself.

"It's a website where people upload videos of crimes being committed or other things that are just wrong," said Drev, his eyes on the screen. "It's a kinda hub for the vigilante with a video camera."

"They should take it to the police! Why post it up here?" asked Irving.

"Because the police don't do anything. They never do." said Max. "Especially stuff like this that the government doesn't want anyone to know about. It's up to people like us to care and do something about it."

"Oh c'mon, Max," snorted J.P. "You know half that bullshit on there is made by jackasses living in their mom's backyard."

"This is not some bullshit!"

"How do you know?" asked J.P. "C'mon, man, get off of that government's hiding everything conspiracy crap. This is just some idiot with too much time on his hands."

His voice trailed off as Drev took the device from Max's hands and peered more closely into it. "Look, there's something weird around him."

All of them gathered closer to the screen, and I did too, as close as I dared. A dark shadow outlined the man's body. The shadow moved along with the man, despite his flurry of activity. Where before there had been no sound coming from the film, now I could hear white noise and a growl. I craned my neck to see better and noticed that Drev squinted his eyes as he studied the image in front of him.

"What do you mean?" asked Max, coming closer into the screen. "I don't see anything around him."

"Look! Don't you see that dark mist hovering over him?" asked Drev, looking at the faces of his roommates. Max scrunched his nose and pulled his face back from the screen. Irving and J.P. shook their heads.

"There's nothing," both of them said.

I looked at Drev. I knew he could see what I saw, but why couldn't the others?

Drev was silent for a long minute before shrugging his shoulders as though it didn't matter. Since Drev didn't pursue the subject any further, neither did the other roommates. They turned back to the screen and continued to watch. But I kept my eyes on Drev. He could see me and he could see what I, a dead man, could see, yet he was alive.

I pondered over how this could be, but no logical explanation presented itself. Many minutes passed. My new roommates continued to watch the character on the screen who continued to bounce off the shelved walls and roll himself on the floor. However, now there was an air of apathy around him, as though he were already dead and some invisible strings were tied to him and pulling him around.

"This is lame!" sniggered J.P. "It's gotta be a joke. I mean, c'mon!"

"It's not J.P.!" Max wagged his finger at him. "Don't you get it? Whatever's happening to the guy . . . it's unhuman! That's why the feds shot him. And they don't want the public to know about it because it's creepy as hell. You don't see it right now. But look, I'll move it to the end when the guy is on his last leg."

Max had forwarded the film so that it was showing the man at a more advanced stage. I saw Irving shudder. J.P. finally lifted off his sunglasses. Drev pressed his lips together, looking more serious than ever.

I wanted to gasp, but I was so close to all of them that I didn't dare. The man in the video had shrunk in size, while the subtle outline of the shadow had grown into a monstrous, diaphanous black. Before, it had seemed like the man was able to make some of his own movements, but I now saw that the shadow was controlling the man's every gesture, even twisting his facial expressions. The most disturbing part was the whispers, like a series of guttural groans and hisses.

"Can you guys understand what he's saying?" asked Drev, moving away from the screen.

"He's not saying anything," said Max. "There's no sound."

"Why? Are you hearing something?" asked Irving.

"Um, no," said Drev, shaking his head.

He was lying. I wanted to tell him that I heard the diabolical growls and hisses, too, but I didn't dare. I stepped away instead, retreating into the darker areas of the room where the four couldn't see me. The film had been disturbing. If it was real, it meant that this man had succumbed to some sort of evil spirit. Some sort of dark power had invaded his body and mind completely, in a matter of minutes.

There was an eerie familiarity to it all, and I wondered if I had read about this phenomenon before. I searched my brain and tried to place it in a story I had heard, but nothing seemed to fit.

"So this is what got you in trouble," said Drev, turning to Max.

"Yeah, but I didn't know it would. I had downloaded it while in my parents' car, before they dropped me off here. I was watching it while sitting outside of Stauros Hall when Horace suddenly grabbed me by ear and sent me to the chancellor's. When the chancellor told me that it was against the school's philosophy to watch videos uploaded on Intelleaks, I realized I had done something wrong. He yelled at me to delete it. I did, but I kept a copy of everything on a pen drive," he said, holding up a tiny piece of metal.

"I wonder what's so threatening about this?" murmured Drev, looking at the video again.

"The university is run by control freaks that don't even bother trying to understand why they do what they do," replied Max. "They probably just didn't like that one of their students was watching this stuff because it's controversial."

"Or just plain stupid," added J.P.

"Max, aren't you going to get into trouble if you have that on a pen drive?" asked Irving.

"No, because nobody knows—except you guys. But now you're all in the hot seat with me, so I doubt you'll tell anyone. I mean, just watching what I showed you would get you all in trouble."

"Great. Thanks," said J.P.

"Sure, don't mention it," laughed Max, as he tucked away the pen drive. Irving studied the video one more time before taking a deep breath.

"I think you committed the biggest transgression here," he said gravely.

"What?" asked Max. His voice was defensive, but his grin revealed how pleased he was at the accusation. "How's this a transgression?"

"Well, I mean, compared to what J.P. and I did, this is far worse," said Irving. "This video is terrible—"

"Hold on, before you start crowning Max as the worst, let's hear what gnarly mess Drev shat," said J.P.

All three roommates turned their eyes toward Drev. I followed them, just as interested.

Drev looked at them curiously. He then gave them that crooked quasi grin, the same one he had shown me earlier that day. I saw clearly now that it was more of an amused sneer.

"Someone sent me a letter," he said.

"Someone sent you a letter?" repeated Max.

"And that's how you got into trouble?"

"Something like that."

"What kind of crazy letter is it?"

"I'll show you."

# Chapter 6: The Letter

Drev did not speak as he reached into the pocket of a coat he'd hung up on a bedpost. He pulled out a crumpled yellow envelope, reached into its opened flap, and revealed a folded sheet of paper. A thick silence fell over everyone, but there was still a current of excitement that electrified the quiet room.

Drev smirked as he glanced at the eyes of his anxious roommates. I subconsciously smirked along with him but stopped immediately as soon as I realized that I was blindly imitating him. I shook my head and made an effort to be as stoic as possible. I wondered why I was so easily drawn to him.

"Well, let's see what's so threatening about this letter," chuckled Max, taking it from Drev's hand.

"Read it out loud, Max," said Irving.

Max scanned the letter. He raised an eyebrow and looked up at Drev.

"Is it okay if I read this to them?"

"Go for it," said Drev.

When all the wisdom of the world was burned, a dark curse came to take its place. Over time, it poisoned our minds and numbed our hearts until we could no longer hear the song we were all meant to sing. With only a dirge to keep our rhythm, we marched to our graves before we had even died.

Then you returned from the threshold of death, walking the winding copper streets of Stauros. The fog lay at your feet like a snake. Your eyes revealed the shreds of your torn soul and the vengeance seared in your heart. Even the Saboteurs feared you.

When you returned, the demons came back and took their rightful place. The angels removed their masks and revealed to the world who they truly were. And we remembered our song, still in the memory of our soul. We sang like the birds sing, not fearing who listened to us or what they thought.

I stood there, stunned. I had written those exact words in my book. Though I was not the one who had written the letter. It was clear that whoever had written it must have read my book.

"Damn, who the hell wrote that to you?" J.P. asked. I waited for the answer while I watched Drev climb onto his bed above J.P. He pulled off his shoes and threw them on the ground before finally responding.

"I have no clue."

I would've given both arms to jump in and tell them who I believed had sent it. I was sure that the sender was a supporter of the Order of the Crane and a believer of myths and legends, and I suspected that he or she was also searching for the Slayer. Did the sender think that Drev was the Slayer? I observed Drev in more detail from where I stood. There was nothing outwardly unique about him. If he were the Slayer, I would know. There would be a clear sign. There was absolute silence in the room for about a minute, and then Max spoke.

"You got in trouble just because someone sent you this letter? That doesn't make sense. They could've sent it to anyone."

"It was addressed to me," said Drev, as he looked down at his roommates from his perch, the palms of his hands resting on his knees. "And it doesn't make sense that any of us should be punished for what we did. It just shows how messed up this place is."

"Did the chancellor catch you reading it?" asked Irving.

"No, it was Horace," said Drev. "I wasn't aware that he was standing behind me while I read. He asked for the letter, and I handed it over to him. He read it, shoved it in his back pocket, and then got angry with me, asking who sent it, why they sent it, and so on. When I told him I didn't know. He took me to the chancellor's. By the time we got there, I had taken the envelope from his back pocket without him knowing. He searched for it in front of the chancellor but couldn't find it. Somehow the chancellor knew I had it . . ." He paused as his gaze darkened at the memory of the incident. "I don't know how he knew, but he kept asking me for it. When I didn't hand it over, he told Horace to 'get rid of' me. And that's how I came here."

"Why didn't you just hand it over?" asked Irving.

"Yeah, what's so important about this goddamn letter, anyway?" asked J.P.

"Don't you get it? It's a clue to what this place really is . . ." Drev began, but stopped as he saw the blank expressions around him. "What I mean is, this place is cursed, and I think the letter is someone's cry for help."

"What do you mean 'cursed'?" asked Irving, scrunching his nose up around his glasses. "Like the Demon of Stauros . . ."

"No!" retorted Drev. The others jumped at his sharp rise in tone. He let out a long sigh of exasperation. "Forget the Demon of Stauros—that Demon of Stauros story is probably something they made up. For all we know the faculty could've been making human sacrifices with students during the years when some of them went missing. I mean, think about it, students were disappearing on _an island_ , with no trace of their whereabouts. They blame it on a demon, then tell the public that they performed a ritual that has cleansed the island of this demon and now the school is safe. What kind of idiot believes that?"

"But everyone bought it," said Max.

"Yeah, everyone bought that story because everyone has been brainwashed," said Drev. "And while everyone is praising the glory of this school and how great it is, I get this letter yesterday—my first day here—that says this place is as close to hell as it gets and I figure this person is telling me the truth, and the truth is worth everything."

"Even worth getting kicked out?" asked Irving.

"Yes, Irving, it's worth getting kicked out and more," said Drev. He looked at the other two and they looked back at him nonplussed. J.P. took off his sunglasses and pinched the inner corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger.

"Didn't you want to attend Stauros, Drev?" asked Irving.

His question hung in the air for several seconds; the words suspended at first yet falling slowly like the dust that hung perpetually in the air.

"I got paid to come here," said Drev. "If it weren't for the scholarship money I wouldn't be here. I'd be working at my old job and making sure my mom and sister had a warm, dry place to sleep, and food on the table."

I saw his jaw muscles tighten and his knuckles turn white as he curled his fingers in deeper. He was now glaring at everyone around him, as though they had become his enemies when he had spoken those words. When no joke or insult was hurled at him, his shoulders eased down and his jaw loosened as he swallowed to clear his throat.

"This school is an easy ticket to _respect_. Everyone who graduates from here is automatically initiated into the Order of the Shrike. And everyone knows that anyone who's worth mentioning, or who's got power, is a Shrike. And I intend . . . to have power . . ." He stopped and his eyes narrowed, as he looked toward a dusty corner, away from his roommates.

"If you're not one of them, you're nothing and they treat you like garbage, throw you aside after they've used you. It's a shit world out there because they control everything. But I'm going to change that. I'm going to destroy them, destroy everything." He paused and looked at the letter in his hand. "And I'm going to use every clue to help me do it."

"What do you mean destroy everything?" asked Max, his eyes widening every time Drev inhaled to speak.

Drev was now staring blankly at the floor. The words flowed out of him in a low, stale rhythm—robotic.

"The banks, the government, the corporations, the organizations—the freak show that they've put us in and that we call, 'life.' We're not living, we're slaving—and I know what I'm talking about. I've worked a dead end job with a pathetic wage just to keep it together for my family. I could've made the decision to stay in that job and just tough it out—suffer in silence and all that crap—but I didn't want to end up like my dad . . ."

His last word echoed as his roommates continued to stare at him silently.

"Don't get chained," he said coolly, looking each one in the eye. "Fight it with all the blood that you're worth. If you ever surrender to their _fakeness_ and buy into that shit, it's all over. My dad did, and he died." Drev's gaze fell to the ground.

"I'm sorry," murmured Irving.

Drev cocked his head back and pressed his lips. No one dared break the silence. Drev held the floor.

"Let's call it a night," Drev said. He was blunt.

"Yeah, good idea. Good night," said Max, rushing the words together. He flung his hand behind him and turned down the lantern.

"Night," said J.P.

The room went black. A few minutes passed, deep breathing ensued, and then the snores came. I was relieved that they were asleep. I had started getting concerned about how I would keep out of sight, and despite enjoying their animated company, I was relieved to have the room silent and calm once again. A lot had happened today.

I gingerly stepped out of my hiding place but didn't get far. Just at that moment, Drev's bed creaked and I could make out the faint outline of his head in the dark. He was staring at me. I could feel that intense gaze cutting into me. Too stunned to move, I just stood there.

His sheets rustled and then his feet hit the ground. He groped his way over to Max's bed and lit the lantern. The flame flared. But instead of the usual amber glow, a scarlet light flowed out from Drev's lantern, and the eerie luminescence encompassed him. At that moment, he looked more fierce and frightening than any ghost or ghoul I had ever encountered. I squeaked as I choked back my horror.

He walked up to me and I moved backward until I was against the wall. He held the letter in his hand, his dark eyes looking straight at me.

There was a pause between us. I didn't dare speak. I couldn't find my voice. He leaned in closer and in a hushed, mysterious tone, he whispered, "You're the one they call the Demon of Stauros, aren't you?"

I stared back at him, silent.

"Aren't you?"

There was so much I wanted to say—how it had all been a mistake, years of false rumors, or, perhaps, my own madness—but nothing came forth.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile and he snorted, "I get it. There is a demon—a _real_ monster, but it's not you."

I gave a slight nod, my eyes never leaving his face. A wave of relief washed over me as he said those words. For decades, I had longed to hear someone tell me that I wasn't the Demon of Stauros.

Drev stared at me in silence for a few more moments, glanced behind him at his roommates who were still asleep, then turned to me once again and spoke.

"Follow me."

### Part II

### Chapter 7: Reentering the World

When I stepped out from the cellar, the fresh night air wrapped me in its arms and welcomed me back like an old friend. The wind, coming straight off the surface of the sea, was not cold but cool—a typical autumn night on the island. I looked at the violet sky above me and saw the full platinum moon. Its silvery beams highlighted the spires of a stone edifice that stood next to us—Sora Dormitory looked more like a medieval mansion than a student residence.

I turned my head away from the water and saw the great looming abbey at the peak. Stauros Abbey had changed very little during the nineteen years I had locked myself underground. I heard a twig crack and turned toward the sound. Drev was walking ahead of me. A few meters separated us. He stopped and glanced at me, as if to say, _Why are you straggling behind?_

Despite the fact that I was in the company of that Mephistophelian character, a feeling of relief swept around me. I closed my eyes slowly and inhaled the fresh air. Why had I not stepped out like this before? Even for just a breath of this crisp night air?

I turned around several times to feel the air whip around me but stopped when I saw Drev studying me with a hard stare. He didn't seem the least bit wary of me—in fact, I was certain that he was trying to decipher whether I was a phantom or a lost whirling dervish.

From the moment of my death, I had never taken orders from a living man until the moment when Drev had ordered me to follow him. The shock of being spoken to in that manner was enough to render me dumb and docile. I had just followed him without thinking to protest. But now that I had my senses together, I wanted to make sure he understood that he still had a life to lose, and I didn't.

"I am the defender of the Order of the Crane—the keeper of its secrets! Although the order has fallen and all the legends and myths it once protected have disappeared, there is one myth that has survived through the centuries: the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. It was I who kept it alive for over four centuries. Throughout that time, I have seen and heard more than you will ever experience in your meager lifetime." I spoke in the most authoritative voice I could muster. "And you, sir . . . you are just . . . just a . . ." I let those words come out of my mouth without thinking through what I was going to say. Moreover, I noticed I wasn't producing the effect I wanted. My words came out in barely a whisper. I hadn't spoken a word for years, and my vocal chords were rusty. He continued to stare coldly at me, waiting. I had to finish the sentence.

"You are . . . you are just a teenager," I finally forced out.

"So are you," he said flatly.

I certainly wasn't expecting this response. I looked down at my rough brown cassock, the very thing I had died in. My hair, as I casually put my hand on the top of my head, was still the stubble it had always been. I ran my hand down the side of my face—I was clean-shaven. I hadn't seen my reflection for decades. But perhaps he was right: besides the monastic garb, I probably still looked like the nineteen-year-old I'd been when I'd died.

We stood staring at each other in cold silence. Before I could open my mouth and declare who needed to show deference to whom, Drev spoke.

"What were you doing spying on us in the cellar?"

"Spying?" I asked, my voice cracking as I absorbed the absurd accusation. "You and your roommates arrived only yesterday. I've inhabited this island for four hundred years—and of those four hundred, I've spent nineteen in that cellar. That cellar has been my home probably longer than you've been alive."

At that moment, a wave crashed against the stone wall that protected the island from the turbulent sea. Light sprays of salt water tickled my face. I wiped my cheek with my sleeve. I saw Drev studying me closely.

"You're not dead. You're alive," he said. His words were slow, as though he were thinking at the same time he was speaking.

The strict rules that the university had enforced prevented most of the students from wandering the island during the late hours of the night. Most students, if not all, usually spent their four years at Stauros University unaware that there were phantoms who roamed the island and came alive when the stars came out. Drev had arrived yesterday, along with a hundred other freshmen starting their first day of university. I was most likely the first phantom he had encountered on this island.

"I, like all the other phantoms on this island, come to life at night," I stated. I saw that although his lips were parted in awe, he was not afraid. He had not been afraid earlier when he had ordered me to follow him out of the cellar. And although he had gone pale when he had first seen me, he hadn't fled or screamed for his roommates. Either he had seen many ghosts in his lifetime, or he just wasn't easily fazed.

"No one can see the phantoms during the day," I explained. I hoped this statement would prompt him to tell me how he was able to see me earlier, when the sun was out. Instead he scratched his head, looked out to the sea, and spoke.

"Phantoms are dead people who couldn't die in peace, right? That's why their spirit stays on in this world and doesn't leave with their body." He then turned to me. "They have unfinished business."

I didn't nod or shake my head, although what he said was true.

"What's your business?" he asked.

My business? I wish it were as simple as to call it "business." Where would I start? Would he know about a massacre that occurred four hundred years earlier? Would he listen to a story that I had tried to keep alive throughout the centuries? Would he care that I had been wrongly accused as a demon for decades? I inhaled loudly and looked up at the black-velvet sky. Fragments of memories from the Massacre of 1615 filled my head—the smoke from the burning books, the screams, the blood, the Order of the Shrike. I felt as if my skull might explode. No, I wouldn't tell him everything, just enough to answer his question.

"I chose not to rest eternally in the afterworld so that I could find the hero of a story that had been passed down through the centuries, a prophetic myth called the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear."

I might've just spoken in a dead language, the way Drev looked at me, baffled. For all I knew, after having been locked away all those years, the world might have already succumbed to the Shadow of Fear and I was a crazy ghost, speaking nonsense.

"The Shadow of _what_?" he asked, creases indenting his forehead.

I was aware that Stauros University enforced the reading of the history of the Order of the Shrike upon its first-year students. However, their history textbooks were anything but accurate, since the Order of the Shrike manipulated every textbook, film, or document in its favor. I knew better than to think the students would know the truth about the past, let alone know the Shadow of Fear.

"I know you know the Order of the Shrike. I heard you say you wanted to be a part of . . ." I paused as I remembered that Drev had told his roommates that although he wanted to destroy the Order of the Shrike, he was going to become a member because it was the only way he would be respected in the world. I found that statement repulsive and was hesitant to repeat it.

"Yeah, I'm going to be a Shrike." His voice was louder now that it was filled with confidence. He lifted his chin. "Everyone from this school will be when they graduate. That's why they come here in the first place."

Both of us were silent for a moment. As if he sensed my disapproval, he added, "You're a nobody if you're not one of them. They're the ones with power. They're mentioned all the time in the news. And you always see the presidents, CEOS, and anyone else who graduated from here wearing the ring with the insignia of the Shrike. And when I graduate, I'll get one, too."

"You would sell your soul for power," I grumbled as I turned away.

Drev stepped forward and examined me as if I were an alien specimen.

"I would gladly do so. Wouldn't you?"

There was a gleam in his eye. At first I took a step back, unprepared to answer his question; then I looked him in the eyes and stated a quiet "no."

My answer perturbed him, and he snorted. "It's because you're afraid of them, aren't you? All the better. The Order of the Shrike doesn't accept the scared and weak—"

"No, they just try to make everyone around them scared and weak." I snapped at him so quickly, I saw Drev pull his head back. "Are you really that blind? Don't you see the insanity that they've created? Think! That an order of a few thousand people can control millions—perhaps even billions now. Is that normal? No. It's not. It was never meant to be this way. They've been able to do so by enslaving people to fear. And you now say you want to join them!"

Drev stared back at me quietly. Did my words have an effect on him? I wasn't going to say any more. I wanted him to contemplate for at least a few seconds what it meant to be a part of the Order of the Shrike—that it didn't just mean having prestige and power.

"I don't want to join them to really be a part of them," Drev began in a low voice. "I'm going to join them to—"

"You're going to join them because you think you can defeat them at their own game?" I asked, sighing. Then, remembering his fiery monologue earlier, I added, "If you're seeking retribution for your father and . . ."

His eyes turned to black ice as he stared at me. I had stepped over an unspoken boundary. If I spoke further about his family, I was certain this conversation would turn violent.

"I may be the only being on this earth fighting against the Shrike," I said, steering away from the topic of his family. "But I've always stood by a code of ethics and never let my emotions lead me down a path I knew I wasn't supposed to take."

He stared at me. His jaw muscles tensed, relaxed, and then tensed again, but nothing came from his mouth. I saw his hands curl into tight fists.

"Revenge only creates victims, Drev. Coupled with anger, it will eventually strangle your soul . . ." I stopped. My words were useless; his anger had been fermenting inside him for too long. I exhaled loudly. "But perhaps that's why you want to join the Order of the Shrike. As you've seen, they've created a world that's soulless."

He was quiet, and I peered at him more closely. To my surprise, within a matter of seconds, he had transformed. Those daring eyes were now downcast. His proud head sagged. Up until that moment, we had looked to be nearly the same age, but now he seemed years younger than I was.

"There's no other way out without becoming one of them," he finally said, without looking up at me. "I'm not going to be a slave in their system—their jacked-up system, their government, their companies, their schools . . ."

"The establishment."

He stood still.

"I understand—"

"No, you don't," he cut in frigidly. "No one knows what I've gone through, or my family."

"I died," I said, before he could say any more. "Because I didn't see a way out and I didn't want to become one of them."

"They killed you?" He winced.

"No, I wouldn't let them have that glory, either. I killed myself," I said.

My answer had an effect on him. He went quiet. The last of the autumn cicadas began chirping a nocturne. For a minute, their song was the only audible sound.

"What's your name?" he finally asked, his tone softer than I had ever heard it.

"Hugh. Hugh Fogg," I said, offering my hand. But he didn't shake it; instead, his eyebrows pointed upward.

"You're the one who wrote that book, the one that got Irving in trouble."

"Yes. I mean, no. You see, I didn't know the book still existed. In fact, I thought my book had been lost forever. It's all strange to me as well. You see that letter in your hand?" I said, pointing to the crumpled yellow envelope. "Those are my words."

"You wrote this?" he asked, raising the fist that clutched it.

"I didn't write _that_ letter, but someone copied the last lines of my book and sent them to you. This person, whoever it is, must have at least read my book."

"You think it could be anyone at this school?"

"No. Everyone here has pledged allegiance to the Shrike," I said, shaking my head vigorously. "No. If they were to be caught saying words like that—"

"Words like what?"

"Words that describe the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. That's what that letter is about."

Drev took a step toward me, squinting as he asked, "What is the Shadow of Fear?"

"The Shadow of Fear is your greatest fears, coming together into a dark force and taking over your soul," I said, thinking back to a page in my book where I had even inserted a woodcut of a beast with a shaggy torso of a wolf topped with a decaying head of a vulture. I don't believe that's what it looked like, but no one had ever seen it, or at least no one had seen it and lived to tell about it.

"Like a monster or something?"

"No, like a shadow always hovering over you."

"Has it killed anyone?"

I pondered his question for a moment before I answered, "It has, but not directly."

The right end of his mouth pinched upward as he heard my cryptic answer. "Why hasn't anyone ever tried to get rid of it?"

"How can you get rid of your fears?" I asked. "You are always afraid of something, right?" Another wave from the roaring surf collided against the stone wall. Instead of a few sprays, a miniature waterfall fell upon us. Drev and I took a few seconds to shake off the excess water that had drenched us both.

"Let's move to higher ground," I said, walking toward the beginning of the Five Ring Road, which spiraled all the way to the top of the island.

"Look, there are stairs over there," he said, pointing to a crooked set of stairs that seemed to lead up the slope of the island. The first few steps were made of sandstone, flat, broad, and welcoming. The rest bent around a cluster of shrubs. They led in the opposite direction of the Five Ring Road.

Drev began walking toward it without waiting to hear my response. I had been locked away in the cellar for so long that I had briefly forgotten about the labyrinth that covered the island: a series of wayward stairways and pathways that looked like shortcuts but usually led nowhere—or sometimes somewhere dangerous. Only when he set foot on the first step did I recall that those particular steps dropped off the edge of a cliff. I rushed after him and yelled, "Don't!"

But Drev was already well on his way up those stairs, which led straight into the Stauros Sea.

# Chapter 8: The History of the Order of the Shrike

I grabbed the back of Drev's shirt as he was about to take the step that bent around the cluster of shrubs. I jerked him back with more force than necessary, and he stumbled backward, causing me to fall to the ground with him.

"God! What's wrong with you!" he said as he stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands and pants.

"I saved your life," I retorted. "Those stairs lead to a dangerous cliff. You'd fall right over the edge and not even know it until you were in the sea."

"Then why are those stairs there?" he asked, glaring back at me as though he thought I was lying.

"Because the Order of the Shrike put them there."

"Why the hell would they do that?"

"You know nothing about the island or the Shrike, do you?" I asked, shaking my head with disbelief. "Yet you come here and say you want to join them."

"Look, I didn't come here to discover the island. I came here for school. And so what if I want to be a part of them? You're dead—you don't know what it's like to try to survive in this world if you're not part of the elite." He paused to catch his breath. He was breathing heavily, indignant. He kicked a small stone by his foot.

"If you're going to join a group, don't you think you ought to know something about their past? Their history?" I asked.

There was a moment of silence before Drev asked in a sulky tone, "So, what about their past?"

I inhaled slowly. Part of me was overwhelmed at the task of telling Drev all that he needed to know about the Order of the Shrike, but another part of me was delighted that I had someone, a real living being, who wanted to hear all that I knew about them. I cleared my throat. "Well, we should start from the beginning, when the great Massacre of 1615 occurred and the Order of the Crane was brutally overthrown by the Order of the Shrike—"

"You said you were a part of the Order of the Crane, right?" interrupted Drev.

"And still am," I responded swiftly. "The Order of the Crane might no longer exist, but I still carry on their memory. And I will continue to do so until my time to leave this world comes."

"Okay, fine," said Drev impatiently. "So go on about the Order of the Shrike and the massacre."

"Right, where was I? Yes. And when the Order of the Shrike took over the abbey, they gutted the library and burned all the books that were in there. The characters in the books they burned didn't die when the pages were turned to ashes. Instead they became phantoms who haunted the island, looking for people to tell their stories to. The Order of the Shrike panicked and built a series of misleading small paths and stairways to deter the phantoms from heading to the abbey. That's what that staircase over there is about."

"But there's no abbey here," said Drev.

I looked up at the peak of the island, to where the outlines of the turrets and arches of the abbey were highlighted by moonlight.

"That's Stauros Hall," said Drev, following my gaze.

"Stauros Hall was once an abbey," I explained. "After the massacre, the Order of the Shrike took over and the entire island was transformed into a university. That's how the abbey was transformed into the main building of this campus."

Slowly, Drev took a few steps away from me. His head bent down as he stared at the ground. I could see him mulling over what I had just said to him.

"Why would the Order of the Shrike burn books? I mean, if they were going to turn this whole island into a university campus, what was the point of doing that?" He looked up at me and sneered. "I think you're confused."

"Their aim was not to burn random books; it was to burn the books that contained stories—myths and legends—that had been collected for centuries by the Order of the Crane." I walked over to him. Despite his surly attitude, I wanted him to know the truth. I wanted him to know about the Order of the Shrike's past. If, after knowing all of that, he still felt inclined to be part of the order, then so be it. But at least he would have made a clearly informed decision.

"What was so bad about those stories that they wanted to burn them?" he asked.

"Nothing. There was nothing bad," I said. "Just the opposite. They helped people. They helped people overcome their fears."

"What fears?" Drev asked.

"The same fears people have now. Don't tell me you aren't afraid of anything?" The last question brought back Drev's hard stare. I quickly tried to recover the lost amicable atmosphere.

"I've been around for over four hundred years, and although many things have changed, people's fears haven't—such as having enough money, fighting enemies, falling in love with the right person. There are more, but I'll spare you the list. It'll bore you . . . since, after all, you're afraid of nothing." I looked at Drev as I said the last phrase, but I don't think he heard it. His gaze was distant, and his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

"So, how did these stories help them?" he asked. He was blinking rapidly, as if his mind were racing with thoughts. "Like, if I knew some of these stories, how would they help me with my problems?"

"These stories were legends and myths," I began slowly, wondering what his problems might be. "They told of how people were able to find treasure in the sea or desert and feed their families for generations, or how people were able to find their one true love through discovering who they were and what they were capable of." I paused to see if Drev was following what I was saying. He looked up and squinted at me, as if what I was saying was impossible to decipher.

"But not every story can give the same solution," he said. "If I don't have enough money, how do I go off into the desert and find a buried treasure?"

"They're metaphors, Drev. By listening to how characters of myths were able to overcome their most terrifying problems—their demons and monsters—people knew not only that their fears were surmountable, but that they needed only to follow a similar path to get over what they were most afraid of."

"So why would the Order of the Shrike burn these stories?" he asked. The way he pronounced "the Order of the Shrike" had a grating quality to it, as if he wanted to spit on the name as he spoke it. I was pleased.

"Fear, Drev. The Order of the Shrike wants the people to be afraid. Without those tales, people don't know how to go forth to challenge their enemies, or seek waiting treasure in far-off lands, or even pursue the love that awaits every person in his or her lifetime . . ." I paused. The last phrase I'd spoken repeated itself in my head like a song verse. For a brief moment, I closed my eyes and could see Anne-Marie's lovely face once again. I then shook my head and forced myself to return to the conversation. "The people stay afraid. And then one fear feeds another, and ultimately they all lead to the Shadow of Fear, who crushes—"

"So it's through fear that the Order of the Shrike can control everyone and keep their power," said Drev, nodding his head, as though the pieces of an invisible puzzle were falling into place. He turned his face away from me, but I could tell he was chewing on the information I'd just fed him.

"So, if people aren't afraid, it's almost like the Order of the Shrike will be powerless. They'll be destroyed."

"Perhaps." I paused. "You could say that. There would be no way for the Order of the Shrike to blindly push people into conforming to their rules and ways. You see . . ."

But I couldn't finish. Past Drev, along the rocky walls of Sora dormitory, I saw a group of dark shadows coming toward us. There were dozens of them, their demonic silhouettes becoming longer and darker with every second. _Could it be?_ Drafts shimmied through the air like long, icy fingers. A chill shuddered up my back. _Are they the Saboteurs?_

The cold wisps of wind pierced right through me and seized my heart with panic. These lifeless yet life-sucking shrouds of darkness were now roaming the island, no doubt looking for the next young student to claim as their victim. I must've started shaking, for Drev peered at me, his eyebrows squeezing toward the center.

"Is _this_ the Shadow of Fear?" he asked.

"No, they're the Saboteurs," I barely whispered.

"Saboteurs?" asked Drev. "That was mentioned in the letter. What are they?"

"They're evil, nebulous creatures. They were created by the Order of the Shrike centuries ago, when I was still alive, to kill members of the Order of the Crane."

I shook my head in disbelief. The last time I had seen them had been in the library, the night before I had locked myself in the cellar. I was with Anne-Marie, telling her about the book I had written—the story of what happened to the Order of the Crane, and how one day the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear would put everything right. I saw the Saboteurs before she did, and, knowing what they were capable of, I immediately ran with her away from the library. We escaped them that night. And Drev and I could escape them tonight.

"We can outrun them," I said to him, although those words were meant more for me as I tried to convince myself that it was possible. Drev looked at me, puzzled. Without explaining, I turned to him, grabbed his wrist, and shouted, "Run!"

# Chapter 9: The Labyrinth

Drev and I scaled a steep, rocky path, specks of dirt flying into our faces as we grabbed shrub roots to pull ourselves upward. When we heaved ourselves up onto the Five Ring Road, I saw the long path before us. I sighed, disheartened.

"Look, we could take those stairs up there," said Drev, pointing to a long stretch of stone steps that shot off like a wayward tentacle from the Five Ring Road.

The stairway curved over a cliff and disappeared suspiciously. Wherever it ended could take us farther away from our destination.

"No. Remember what I said about the labyrinth," I said, walking rapidly along the cobblestone path.

"Oh, yeah, right," said Drev absentmindedly.

I began to run. Drev soon followed. We continued to run and exchanged not another word for several minutes. Drev noticed a smaller path, set with cobblestones, and was about to veer off the main course; once again, I grabbed the back of his shirt but this time was careful not to tug him backward.

"I want to see where it goes," he objected. He lunged forward and slipped from my grip. Reluctantly, I went on to the wayside path with him. The passage soon narrowed, and we were forced to slow down to a walk.

"I told you, these paths were made to confuse and prevent the phantoms from reaching the abbey—I mean, Stauros Hall. It's more than likely that this path will end abruptly, or you'll find yourself facing an abandoned shrine or a sinister statue."

"There's nothing scary about statues," said Drev, continuing down the path.

"The statues on this island aren't like statues you'd find elsewhere," I muttered. Drev didn't respond to my comment. Instead he paused in the middle of the trail and studied the rest of the path before him, as if wondering if he should continue.

"How come _you're_ not confused by this maze of pathways and stairs?" he asked.

"This labyrinth was made more for the members of the Order of the Shrike, to appease their guilty conscience, no doubt. None of the phantoms here are confused." I looked over my shoulder as I spoke, anxious about the Saboteurs approaching.

"You mean there are _still_ other phantoms on this island?" asked Drev, turning his head to look at me.

"Yes, I told you, they're the lost heroes and heroines of the books that were burned."

"I thought that was back then, in 1615."

"I died in 1615, and I'm standing before you now!" I said, exasperated. He began walking again and quickened his pace within seconds, as though the thought of other phantoms made him want to get through the path more quickly.

I huffed and puffed loudly behind him, exaggerating the urgency of the situation. Although we couldn't see the Saboteurs, I knew they weren't far. I walked quickly and soon passed Drev.

"You should hurry up," I said.

"How do you even know those shadow things—the Saboteurs—are going to harm us?" asked Drev.

I responded without looking behind me. "Because I've seen it!"

"You've seen them kill someone?"

"Yes! Well, no, I've seen them . . . I've just seen them . . ." The truth was, I had never seen them kill anyone. "They're a bad omen, and . . . and that's enough to stay away from them! Move faster. Why are you so slow?"

We were more than halfway up the island when Drev noticed the roses. He stopped suddenly, and I reluctantly stopped as well. He looked past me to a door on the second floor of a stone building that opened up just a few feet above a hedge of rosebushes. I groaned when he ran over to them.

"Hey, look. They're black and blue."

"Right." I looked at them sadly. After the fall of the Order of the Crane, the luscious flora that had inhabited the island had died, and all that had grown in its place were black and blue roses.

"But most roses are red or pink, right?" he said, continuing toward the shrub.

"The ones on this island come only in black or blue," I said, retracing my steps. I glanced over my shoulder. The Saboteurs were not visible, but we needed to keep moving. "C'mon, let's go."

Drev's hand reached out and plucked a dark blue rose. Despite the thorns, he grasped it tightly in his fist while I pulled his upper shoulder, dragging him along. As we traipsed into a more sequestered area of the island, the shrubs became denser and slowed our progress. I steered off the small path and headed toward the Five Ring Road. I could see the belfry of Stauros Hall. We were close.

When we reached the wide, polished road, my attention was immediately drawn to the second floor of Mizu House, the elite all-girls dormitory. The large stone _maison_ that towered three floors was the last building before the main stairway leading up to Stauros Courtyard, which then led to Stauros Hall itself. Upon careful observation, I noticed that the shutter of one of the French doors on the second floor was open and could see several girls moving about in the room. A girl in a white robe stepped out on to the balcony and leaned against the iron rail. She gazed at us and raised her hand, almost about to wave, but then pulled it back down.

I stood still, not knowing how to respond. I looked at Drev to see if it was a friend of his. He stared back at her, just as perplexed.

"Is it someone you know?" I asked.

He didn't answer, just continued to stare.

"Come on, then. Let's keep moving." I broke into a fast trot, as I saw we were nearing the steepest part of the island. But when I looked back over my shoulder, I saw Drev had not moved. He continued to stare at the girl, entranced.

Several voices from inside the room grew louder, and the girl immediately turned her back to us. Before walking away, she took one more glance over her shoulder at us and disappeared into the soft golden light.

"Let's go, Drev," I said. He ignored me and ran to the balcony. When he reached it, he tilted his head back while walking backward and forward, trying to peep into the room.

I heaved a long, tired sigh and hurried over to Drev.

"This is a girls' dormitory!" I said, as his eyes went past my head and toward the open window.

"I can't . . . I can't see her," he said, as the light from the room reflected in his eyes. His opportunity was cut short when one of the girls closed the shutter from inside. The light vanished, and the night became one shade darker. He threw the blue rose he was holding up to the balcony floor.

Although I wanted to keep moving quickly, I let Drev have another moment, realizing that, bizarrely, during that short span of time, he had developed some sentimental feelings for the girl. Without saying a word, I then beckoned him to follow me, and we continued up the road. I couldn't see it from where I stood, but I knew the Forgotten Cemetery was behind Stauros Hall.

When we reached Stauros Courtyard, so close to our destination, Drev stopped abruptly and said, "I think someone's following us."

I lifted one eyebrow and lowered my voice. "They've been following us this entire time. Did you think this was just a moonlight stroll?"

"No, I mean a person. I can feel someone's eyes on us, watching us," he said, squinting into the dark portico that surrounded the courtyard. He turned in place, looking around at all angles.

His confident tone forced me to look as well, but I was annoyed when I saw nothing. I didn't hear anything, either. Only the shuffling of our feet, turning in place, reverberated through the air. All seemed peaceful for a moment, but then I sighted those dark, macabre outlines of flapping jaws and thrashing limbs resurfacing on the facade of Mizu House. For a moment, I thought I even heard them calling out my name.

"Run!" I cried.

Drev looked at me. "Run where?"

"To the Forgotten Cemetery, behind Stauros Hall," I said, clutching his elbow as he dragged along.

"Why the cemetery?"

"Nobody goes there except me. It's probably because the deceased members of the Order of the Crane are buried there. Whatever the reason, it's the safest place on the island for you right now."

He planted his feet and jerked his arm away.

"Look, I don't like being chased. I'm sick and tired of running." His eyes continued to dart from one corner of the courtyard to another as he still searched for those elusive eyes. As much as I wanted to avoid the Saboteurs, I couldn't leave Drev to face them alone. I decided to stay and face the Saboteurs with him.

# Chapter 10: The Saboteurs

I first encountered the Saboteurs when I was nineteen, and still alive. At that time, the entire abbey was in a fragile state, with guards stationed throughout the island. For several months, many members of the Order of the Crane had been disappearing inexplicably. All the monks had been ordered to report any strange or sinister incidents. I had not yet encountered anything, until one night when I stayed in the library past midnight. Another apprentice and I were the only ones there. We were both under the tutelage of the head of the abbey, Abbot Pellanor, and were both bona fide members of the Order of the Crane.

"I am done for the night, Brother," I announced as I turned for the stairs. The other apprentice was sitting at a table. "I wish you well for the rest of your—" But the light in both our candles was suddenly blown out, along with the fire that burned in a silver tray in the center of the floor of the library. The darkness was blinding. At the end of the handrail of the stairway, there was a tray that held a flint stone and steel rock. I struck it several times, until I was able to light a piece of tinder and bring a flame back to my candle. As I did, I saw that the other apprentice was no longer in his seat. His books were there, but he was nowhere near them.

As I walked over to where he had been sitting, I saw a wisp of a shadow cross my field of vision, as if a swirl of black smoke had blown in, but there was no wind, not even a faint draft. I continued walking along the column of books, calling out his name, but there was no response. Instead, a dark, transparent shadow covered the glow of my candle, and my knees locked with fright.

I suspected the worst. As the blood rushed to my head, I ran through the stacks of books, searching for my friend. I caught a glimpse of him as he calmly turned the corner at the end of a row of bookcases. I followed him, calling him, but it was useless—he was in a trance.

The shadows swished swiftly past me but twirled and twisted around my friend, forming a diaphanous noose around his neck. They seemed to be pulling him down an aisle and then leading him around a corner. My defensive instincts alert, I followed him and swiped at the shadows whenever they brushed by, but it was pointless—my hand went right through them. After a combination of random left and right turns through the maze of stacked bookcases, I saw him walking toward a dead end. I believed I could catch him, but, to my astonishment, he seemed to walk steadily into the floor. I bent down and brought my candle to my feet and saw that the marble tiles had spread apart, revealing a staircase that led downward into an even darker realm. I descended.

The humidity in the air stuck to my face, and the sound of lapping waves echoed in my ears, as I struggled down the large-cut rock stairs. I extended the candle to my left and saw the walls glistening with moisture. I brought it in front of my forehead and saw a cavernous space extend before me. Drops of water from above brought me to the conclusion that I was in a cave, a hollowed-out area in the center of the island that opened out to Stauros Sea.

The descent down the stairs seemed miles long. When I reached the final step, I looked ahead and saw that the other apprentice was climbing into a bobbing box that was sitting in a silvery, shining path at the end opposite where I stood. I ran to him quickly, and when I was close, I saw that the silver was the moonlight reflected in a pool of water that flowed out of the mouth of the cave, and the box was actually a small wooden rowboat. My friend had already boarded the boat and, without oars or steersman, was slipping steadily out to sea. I called out to him, but he didn't turn back. He was never heard from again.

I immediately reported what I had witnessed to Abbot Pellanor. An investigation took place that very night, and it was discovered that there were secret members of the Order of the Shrike living among the members of the Order of the Crane. They had put a curse on all who followed the Order of the Crane, by calling forth the Saboteurs to chase and lure the members into the cave, where a boat would be waiting to ferry them to the World of the Damned.

***

I clearly remember the night I spoke to Abbot Pellanor about the cave. It would be the last discussion we would ever have as living beings. The traitors—the secret members of the Order of the Shrike—had just been escorted away by the guards, and it was just the abbot and I in his study. I paced agitatedly from his desk to the burning fireplace and back again. I stopped and stood facing Abbot Pellanor, whose tired eyes sagged with several layers of loose, ash-colored skin. "The World of the Damned . . . it's . . . it's a real world?" I asked, my ears barely recognizing my voice. I had thought I would never ask such a question.

"I've heard of the Saboteurs . . . they lure one's soul into empty darkness." I shook my head. "They're like ticks, mites creeping under the skin, implanting doubt, draining everything." I was babbling—mainly to calm my nerves, but also in hopes that the abbot would join in on my ramblings.

"Saboteurs," I continued. "Their nastiness, I know . . . and I know how they drain the spirit—but the World of the Damned?" I paused with my mouth open and shook my head once again. "Sir, the World of the Damned? How can that be real?"

His words came out haltingly compared with my rapid-fire spew. He drew out a long sigh. "Apprentice, I am sure that all your reading and writing on the Shadow of Fear has made you an expert on the World of the Damned."

"Yes, I've spent many hours reading about it and meditating on the subject, but I always believed it was a metaphor, perhaps a symbol of where the souls who surrendered to the Shadow of Fear were kept. I didn't believe the World of the Damned was an actual space in time."

"There are the living, the dead, and the living dead," Abbot Pellanor explained. "The living are souls encased in bodies. The dead are souls who have been released from bodies. And, as you said, the living dead are souls held hostage by the Shadow of Fear. They can't reside on Earth with the living, but they can't rest eternally with the dead. They stay in a parallel world called the World of the Damned. There are two ways to go to the World of the Damned—succumb to the Shadow of Fear or be ferried across the Stauros Sea. The Stauros Sea separates the World of the Damned from our own. It's the reason for the unusual tides. Low tide, the World of the Damned is inaccessible. High tide, the World of the Damned opens before us."

"Has this cave always been there?" I asked. I now stood still, stunned by what the abbot had revealed.

"Always."

"Why didn't I know about it until tonight? And how did those treacherous murderers know about it? Had we taken precautions earlier, we wouldn't have lost so many of our brothers!"

The abbot looked away.

"When the first members of the Order of the Crane arrived on the island, they discovered that the cave was a passageway to the World of the Damned. Realizing the potential danger, they built the abbey over the cavern and tried to keep the cave's existence as secret as possible."

I opened my mouth to speak, but the abbot already had the answer to my question.

"They could not get rid of the cave, for Stauros is a crossing of the living and the dead and everything in between. That is the nature of the island. We could only keep it a secret, and only the oldest monks were told. They passed the secret down from generation to generation. How those members of the Order of the Shrike discovered the cave and conjured the Saboteurs is a question I don't have the answer to."

"Can we rescue those who were lured there? Twenty of our members are gone. Including tonight, we have twenty-one members lost in that . . . that hell. They didn't do anything wrong. They didn't even give themselves over to the Shadow of Fear! We should gather a party and save them."

"No." The abbot's voice was stern. "No one has ever returned from the World of the Damned. To do so, one would have to defeat the Shadow of Fear, and you, more than anyone, know that only one being is capable of that."

"The Slayer," I muttered, nodding. Since the day I had arrived at the abbey, I had been assigned to record an official version of the tale of the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. For the six years I'd been at the abbey, I'd researched and pieced together what I believed to be the original myth of a brave young man who would conquer the Shadow of Fear and free people entirely from this menace. But the information was scarce and hard to come by. Although I had written most of the myth in my book, I had not yet finished it.

The abbot was quiet for a moment and then spoke. "Apprentice, you didn't fall under the Saboteurs' curse and get into the boat in the cave. Although you saw them, they could not lure you."

"No," I said, suddenly realizing that I could've been the twenty-second member to have gone missing. "I . . . I don't know why. I was in the library, the same as he was . . . probably the same as all of them were."

The Abbot nodded slowly as he scratched his chin for several seconds. Finally, he told me, "I put you in charge of boarding up the cave and sealing the passageway so that no one disappears again."

He walked abruptly out of his study before I had a chance to react.

The next morning, I followed my orders and the mouth of the cave was filled with large boulders. An extra layer of marble was laid on top of the library floor to cover the opening to the cave. I gave my testimony to seal the fate of the secret members of the Order of the Shrike. They were ordered to leave the island.

I had believed that they—the few bad apples, soon to be gone—were our only problem. But I was mistaken. There was an entire secret network of members of the Order of the Shrike throughout the world—all of them people of great wealth and power who aspired to have even greater wealth and power.

The day the condemned monks were to leave, a planned massive assassination of all the members of the Order of the Crane took place. Every member of the Order of the Crane died that day, including me. This attack would later be remembered as the Massacre of 1615.

***

I wouldn't encounter the Saboteurs again until nearly four centuries later. I had taken Anne-Marie down to the library, for I had hidden my book in a dusty corner where I knew no one looked. I handed it to her, and she began reading it immediately. Within minutes, the lights went out, and the same feeling I had had when I first encountered the Saboteurs returned. Anne-Marie flicked on a flashlight, and I saw a dark fleeting mist approach us. Images of the swirling shadows, the damp cave, and the World of the Damned flashed through my mind, and before Anne-Marie saw the black shadows herself, I grabbed her hand and raced up the thirteen flights of stairs. I didn't answer her questions, nor give myself time to think, about why or how the Saboteurs had suddenly reappeared. I held Anne-Marie's arm tightly as she clutched my book under her other arm and continued to run, even as pockets of blackness hit our faces, obscuring our view every other step. I swung my arm at them and shouted, but I never let go of Anne-Marie.

We made it out of the library and crossed through the main atrium of Stauros Hall. Only when we arrived in the courtyard did we stop to rest.

I had escorted her back to Mizu that very morning, but when I went to see her the following evening, she wasn't there. By the next day, the school officials had declared that she was missing. Had she gone back to the library? She wasn't so stupid.

A thousand possibilities raced through my mind, the same ones too many times. In the following years, when I worried that I might lose my mind thinking about what had happened to Anne-Marie, I forced myself to turn away from the time I lost her and to the moment when she had come into my world. Over and over, I relived the night I first met her.

***

Anne-Marie de Galard came from the illustrious de Galard family. Her great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was one of the founding members of Stauros University—an honorary master among the members of the Order of the Shrike. After the Massacre of 1615 and the eventual takeover of the abbey by the Shrikes, he spearheaded the movement to convert the abbey to a university in hopes of indoctrinating more people in the philosophy of the Shrike.

Aristocratic by name, the de Galards gained enormous wealth and political power over the centuries. They placed key members of their clan in government positions. They owned and operated the largest financial institutions in the world. Most important, they continued to maintain a strong influence at Stauros University, giving the school enormous financial support, as well as offering key positions in its elite institutions for its graduating students.

Every member of the de Galard family graduated from Stauros University—generation after generation, treated like the royalty they thought they were. One haughty heir after another would dillydally for four years on the island and leave without gaining one ounce of knowledge or wisdom. I dismissed them as arrogant good-for-nothings, and the fact that they were staunch members of the Order of the Shrike did nothing to soften my opinion of them.

However, Anne-Marie was different. She was, amazingly, the last direct heir of the de Galard family. How that came to be, I don't know. But it was said that they were ready to keep her in an incubator until she could marry and produce offspring. I suppose this type of protective attitude made her sick, and she rebelled when she came to the island. She refused to wear the uniform and dressed in dragging, shabby skirts, as though she were a pauper. She grew her hair out to her knees and then braided it, plaiting in flower stems and grass until some of the island sheep began following her, thinking it was their fodder hanging from her head. Of course, being a de Galard, she was exempted from any disciplinary action, and the faculty let her be.

By chance, I crossed her path one night. I had kept myself away from students for years—decades—by staying on the roof of Stauros Hall. But that night—one I will never forget—I dared to venture down and wander the island. It was the autumn of 1997, and I was contemplating whether I would find the Slayer before the millennium. I was searching the constellations for a sign, when the unusual glow of Anne-Marie's laptop, waxing and waning haphazardly in the distance, caught my eye. I walked toward it without thinking that there might be a student there. Then I saw Anne-Marie sitting on the ground, with a miniature computer in her lap. I was dumbstruck.

"Yes?" She looked at me, her eyes wide with fright. The lit screen of her laptop dimmed.

"Don't be afraid, miss," I said.

This was the first time I had addressed a young lady. Until then, all the students I had interacted with had been young men. The Shrikes had decided to let female students attend only a couple of decades earlier, and there were still far more men enrolled than women. Despite the chill in the air, I felt my cheeks grow hot. "Don't mind me; I'm just passing through," I muttered. Then I turned on my heels and walked away.

"Wait!" she called after me.

But I didn't stop. I kept walking. Her footsteps pounded the earth behind me. They grew louder and faster.

"Wait!" she said, breathless as she grabbed my hand. I swerved upon being touched and inadvertently pulled away. No one had ever taken my hand before.

"What's your name?" she asked, looking into my face.

No words came forth. For as long as I had been a phantom, no one had ever prompted me to give my name. Whenever I tried to introduce myself, most of the students glared at me suspiciously, but I saw warmth in Anne-Marie's eyes, and a glint of curiosity.

"I'm Anne-Marie. And you?" she said, her tone encouraging.

"I'm Hugh Fogg." My voice was barely a whisper.

Silence.

"You're not a student, are you, Hugh Fogg?" she asked slowly, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. My dingy brown cassock swayed lightly as I shifted from one foot to another, the sweat trickling down my back.

I shook my head. I knew what her next question was before she asked it. I decided to spare her the energy of saying it.

"I'm a phantom."

I expected her to flee. I was surprised when she stretched out her right hand to me instead.

"Pleased to meet you," she said.

I had never formally greeted a lady since I had died. I stared at her hand, momentarily confused. She was a girl. It would feel improper to shake it. The only thing I could think of was the _baisemain_. The gesture was outdated, but nothing else felt appropriate.

I took her hand and cradled it gently in mine, like fine china. I brought it toward my chest and bent my back halfway to meet it. I paused when I was close enough to inhale its soapy scent. My lips brushed against her skin.

"The pleasure is mine, my dear lady," I said.

She nodded to me with what I now recall was a coy smile.

And thus began our love affair.

# Chapter 11: The Phantoms

"Hey," said Drev, hitting my shoulder with the back of his hand. "Look!" He nodded toward a ragtag herd of headless knights, talking animals, winged maidens, orange gods and blue goddesses, and many more. I recognized my fellow phantoms, the lost characters of the myths and legends burned during the massacre. There were dozens of them from every story of every culture that had had a presence on this earth. They came up the road, passed Mizu, and approached the stairs to the courtyard, laughing and complaining all at once.

The shadows on the walls belonged to them. The Saboteurs had not chased us. I was relieved.

"Hugh!" they shouted.

"Shhh!" I said, raising my hands to indicate to them to lower their volume.

"He wasn't obliterated from the island," they murmured excitedly to one another. "He's here and looks the same. Where has he been all this time?"

"They know you?" asked Drev.

"Of course—I'm a phantom, just as they are. If it hadn't been for their company through the centuries," I sighed, "I don't know what I would've done."

The wild circus of creatures came rumbling up the steps toward us as we stood planted in the courtyard. Drev took a step back, then turned to me with a concerned look on his face and said, "I've never seen things like this before."

"Of course you haven't. Nowhere but Stauros Island can the lost heroes and heroines of myths and legends come alive."

His eyes grew wider as he stared at the crowd that was thickening around us.

"Are they going to attack us?" he asked me, sternness reentering his voice.

"No, they're not the Saboteurs," I said. "My mind jumped to conclusions when I saw the shadows—I was so worried about . . ." I didn't finish. I was certain if I said out loud that I was worried about that tough eighteen-year-old's safety, he would be more offended than touched.

"I was mistaken," I stated simply. "They're harmless. Understand that if they approach you, it's only because they want to tell you their story."

Drev and I stood there while a wrinkled man with a long, woolly white beard, dressed in a green robe, approached us.

"For a long time, you were gone." He grinned at me.

"Yes, Ahura Mazda. It has been nineteen years since I've been gone. I needed some time on my own." I bowed my head low to the ancient god of Zoroastrianism. As I did, more of the phantoms huddled around me so that Drev and I were completely encircled. I looked around and saw dozens of familiar faces, many of whom had stories that instantly came to mind.

"I told you he went underground after he got mixed up with that de Galard girl," said a woman with backward feet to a wolf with humanlike eyes.

"Who's that?" whispered Drev, tilting his head toward me, not moving his lips as he spoke.

"She's from India—a ghost who is always asking directions, trying to find her way back home. Her friend there is a werewolf."

I saw Drev's face freeze. I patted him on the back. "Remember, they're only here to keep their stories alive. There's nothing to be worried about."

"Indeed, he did disappear when that de Galard girl did," agreed the werewolf, nodding to the woman with the backward feet.

"That de Galard girl," murmured several among the crowd.

Others continued to conjecture about what had caused my isolation.

"I thought they ran away together!"

"No, Hugh's a phantom, so he can't go off this island—where would he go!"

"Who does he think he is? Incubus? Pushing himself on that poor girl that way— _quelle horreur_!"

"I think it was the other way around."

"Oh, please! Look at Hugh—what girl in her right mind would throw herself at him?"

"But she seduced him just the same, even if he is wearing that ugly cassock."

At that point, Drev turned and took a good long stare at me.

"No, it was Hugh who seduced her; you can never trust those apprentice monks to keep their desires under control, all those yearnings bubbling underneath the surface."

They kept talking, and I let them. I tried to ignore their comments as best I could.

"Anne-Marie de Galard _?"_ A man in a black cape with a face as pale as milk slithered up to my side. I recognized him instantly as a vampire. But Drev didn't pay attention, as he glanced over the vampire to look at the other phantoms in the crowd.

"Tell me, Hugh, was she as delicious as they say the de Galards are?" asked the vampire. This last question was too much for me, for it made Anne-Marie sound as if she were nothing but a mere tart. I had never liked vampires, and now that there was one in front of me, implying the despicable, I retaliated. I pushed him, and he took a few steps back, surprised. This sudden reaction on my part caused the rest of them to hush.

"Keep your filthy talk to yourself!" I shouted.

He hissed at me, baring his fangs. The crowd backed away a few steps, with a loud "oh!" I felt Drev's arm stretch across my chest to prevent me from taking any further action. "Let it go." His voice was tense. "It's not worth it."

"It _is_ worth it," I said, pushing his arm away and facing the entire crowd. "You are all wrong. And you're wasting your time allowing your minds to roll around in filth. Anne-Marie was a wonderful, honorable young woman who did nothing wrong. I—I am the one who wronged her . . ."

I choked at the end of the last sentence. A gasp went through the crowd.

"Then are the rumors true?" asked a man dressed in velvet and silk robes. A shining gold crown studded with emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds sat on his head, but my eyes went to his hands, which were hidden in soiled garden gloves. He must have stolen them from the school gardener. I saw Drev stare at his hands as well, puzzled.

"He's King Midas," I uttered discreetly. "Everything he touches turns into—"

"Gold," he finished.

I looked at him, astonished. "You know the story?"

"My nanny. She used to tell me a lot of stories; she said it was important to know them."

"Smart nanny," I said, impressed, wondering how Drev's nanny had heard of such lost tales.

"Hugh!"

I looked up at the man with the cursed hands.

"You killed the maiden, like you killed the others?" King Midas demanded.

"His touch is more poisonous than yours, Your Highness!" a voice yelled out from the crowd. A murmur rose around us, and a voluptuous woman with a Grecian robe, who was standing in front of Drev and me, dropped a glass of wine and pointed a trembling finger.

"He _is_ the Demon of Stauros!" she shrieked. The others followed her lead.

"She's right!"

"He is the Demon, and we knew it all along."

"He may have denied it. But the truth reveals itself!"

"No, I didn't kill anyone," I said, my head hanging. "I'm not the Demon of Stauros, as the school officials say. I don't know what took her, or any of them. It might've been the Saboteurs, but Anne-Marie and I escaped them—I know we escaped them—together. Whatever got her got all of the students. I wanted to protect her, but I couldn't . . . I failed, and now I will never see her again . . ."

I couldn't finish the story. I held my head in my hands in despair and then fell to my knees. I didn't have the energy to stand.

"What is he going on about?" asked one of them.

"Maybe he lost his mind, you know, all those years we haven't seen him," said another.

"You can't lose anything after you die," replied another.

I looked up from the ground and saw them turn to Drev for answers. He stared back at them, bewildered, and said, "I don't know what he's talking about, either. When I asked him if he was the Demon of Stauros, he said no, and I just took his word for it."

I nodded my head. I wasn't expecting any more from him. No one could understand me.

At that point, the crowd stirred. The phantoms lurched and shifted aside as some of them shouted, "Make way for Sun Wukong!"

Before Drev and I could look in the direction of the shouts, an overgrown monkey with a crown on his head sprang toward Drev. He bounced from one side of him to another, and then leaned in to sniff him. He made a few whimpers as he eyeballed Drev's face. Drev squinted back at the overgrown primate with suspicion, daring him to blink first. They stared at each other for several moments, and then the Monkey King turned to the rest of the crowd and spoke.

"This is a living man!"

"Ahhh!" was the immediate response, as they crowded in on Drev. Beaming smiles formed all around him. Curiously, many of them began to whisper to one another. Their voices were low, too low for me to hear everything they were saying. However, I did hear the name Pamina being whispered among them.

I looked back at Drev and noticed that his hands had curled into clenched fists and his eyes had taken on a steely edge, so sharp it looked as if he could cut someone in two with his gaze.

"You're a living young man," observed the woman with backward feet, as her eyes evaluated Drev from his head to his toes. "We've been waiting for a living young man."

"Yes, I'm alive," he said, looking at the formidable crowd surrounding him. "But I'm not afraid to die."

The crowd stood still, cocking their heads to the side, confused at his words. Finally, a bearded, toothless druid moved to the front and spoke. "Who says you're going to die?" he laughed. "We are never in the company of a living person, since we don't want to scare anyone—especially the students. But you're here, unafraid—and alive! Let's celebrate!"

"We want you here with us," said a trio of nymphs with curly hair down to their waists. They grabbed Drev's arms and began pulling him. Drev reluctantly walked with them, and the crowd moved with him.

"How long have you lived here?" bellowed a headless knight in a gray cloak. He was on top of a gray horse, and beside him were black hounds with wagging tongues of fire.

"It's been two days." I saw Drev swallow after he answered. He didn't look at where the knight's head would've been if he'd still had one; he instead focused his eyes on the large red cross emblazoned on the knight's chest.

"He just came!" shouted the nymphs. "Let's show him around!"

"Yes!" screamed the crowd as they bumped one another and squeezed themselves closer to Drev. "Let's show him around!"

I watched quietly as they walked him down the Five Ring Road, away from the courtyard. I knew he would be safe with them for the time being.

I stayed behind to take a moment and look at Stauros Hall. Although it was the twenty-first century, the old abbey had not lost its medieval charm—the crenellations along the edges of the walls, the bartizans poking out from the towers, and the gargoyles grinning heinously from every corner. I could almost hear them whisper, _Come closer if you dare_. I suspected that within those dark ashlar walls the details to Anne-Marie's disappearance could be found: a torn bit of cloth from her dress, or echoes of her pleading for help. I shook my head. I wasn't ready to discover those details. It would only make me relive the nightmare.

I turned my back to the medieval edifice and was about to head down the road to where the phantoms and Drev were standing, when I heard a pair of feet shuffling along the cobblestones. Drev was right! Someone was watching us. There was another person here. A student, perhaps? I spun around and saw a white blur moving between the columns of the portico. How did Drev know? Even I hadn't been aware that someone was near.

"Come out!" I shouted.

Whoever it was stopped moving. I scratched my head, finding it hard to believe that I had not sensed a living soul near me. As a phantom, I should've detected its presence. I took a few steps toward the dark shadows of the portico but halted in my tracks when I heard a series of shouts and cheers. Among them, a voice sweet as cream called out to me. Her words seemed to melt right into my ears. I recognized Siren, one of the phantoms.

"It's Drev! Drev's the one!"

# Chapter 12: The Fight

I fought my way through the dense crowd hovering about Drev. There was a buzz about, and I heard "Slayer" being whispered by several of the phantoms that I was pushing aside. When Siren said "the one," did she mean that she and the rest of them thought Drev was the Slayer? If so, they were sorely mistaken. I knew the characteristics of the Slayer, and Drev did not qualify.

When I finally reached Drev in the center, I was surprised to see he had a young woman on his arm. She had porcelain skin and sleek raven hair down to her calves that swayed as she tipped her head from side to side.

"So you see, Drev, I will come to you when it snows," she said with a breathy voice. She looked at him adoringly, making it seem as though he was the only one there.

"In the winter, it snows here on the island—at the peak, not at the base where the Five Ring Road begins. I know that the first-year students' dormitory is at the base, so you will have to walk up for over an hour to reach the top. But I promise you, it will be worth it.

"When the snowflakes begin to fall, look for me at Stauros Hall after midnight and wait. I promise to show up right before the frost has iced your hair and the wind has sunk its teeth so far into you it no longer hurts." She smiled. "I will come to soothe you and make everything better."

I saw Drev's eyes soften into a mellow, doe-eyed look that forced me to look again.

I tried to place the woman in the myriad stories running through my head. Was she treacherous or virtuous? Was she an animal spirit transformed into a woman, or was she really human?

"Let him be," boomed a familiar voice. I glanced to my right and saw Ravana, his ten heads staring fiercely at the woman. "He's tired of your story, Yuki."

Yuki-Onna, the snow maiden! Her tale ended with the ominous: no man could resist her advances—not many were fortunate enough to survive them. Suddenly, I was afraid for Drev. I squeezed myself in between them and freed Drev from her clutches.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle." I coughed as politely as I could.

I saw Yuki glare at me, and I knew I would have to pay later. Although I was already dead, the thought of her having a grudge against me made my head light.

"There are many others you can seduce, Yuki. You don't want this one." I forced out a halfhearted chuckle. "He's not the easiest person to get along with."

"But there's only one Slayer," she pouted. She then immediately switched to a smile that curved like a crescent moon and leaned toward Drev. "There's only one, Drev."

"He's not the Slayer," I said bluntly.

"Take a look," said Ravana, handing me a crumpled, folded paper. I recognized it immediately as the letter that Drev had read to his roommates. I took it, scrunching my eyebrows at Drev.

"They asked me for a story," he said, shrugging.

"That's what they do," I said. "They ask everyone for their story, so they can then tell theirs. But this letter isn't your story."

"I didn't have anything—I mean, nothing as interesting as these guys have," he said, looking around him as he shook his head. "These guys have great stories."

Drev's jaw muscles clenched and his voice tightened. "And, well, I felt like I had to give them something interesting in return, so I read that letter to them. They all liked it."

"Those words describe the Slayer!" a voice in the crowd called. "Hugh, didn't you say something like that once?"

Many of them nodded, and I saw Yuki's eyes spark with a rekindled fire.

I spoke before the nonsense went any further. "It sounds like I said something like that, because they're _my_ words!" I pivoted 360 degrees on my heels, to make sure that the message spread to everyone. "They're from _my_ book that I wrote centuries ago. They don't have anything to do with him."

"Yes, they are _your_ words, Hugh—words describing the Slayer, the one you devoted your life and death to," said a Graeae. The hunchbacked woman pulled back the gray, stringy hair that covered her face, revealing eyes without pupils.

The Graeaes were one of the oldest and wisest phantoms on the island. Their unique power to see the future earned them a respect most of the phantoms did not easily give. I pushed out my chest and stood taller, for I had a powerful person as an ally. But she then lifted a finger covered in boils and directed it at Drev. "And your words describe him. He's the one. I can see his destiny—it's written all over his face!"

The crowd hooted, whistled, and clapped wildly. Yuki-Onna latched herself onto Drev's arm again. I stared at the old witch with my mouth open. She revealed a single-tooth smile to him. I saw distress spread across Drev's face. But he didn't move or make a sound. The hoorah died down gradually.

Despite having known these creatures for centuries, I always found myself having to explain why things were not what _they_ thought they were. There was a monstrous difference between us, even though we were all phantoms. They all had endings to their tales, but I didn't yet. Once I had my ending—which would culminate in my finding the Slayer—I would be free to rest eternally among the dead and no longer be a phantom. Perhaps that is what made me see things differently—more clearly—than all of them. I sighed and looked around me. Despite my arms weighing as heavy as lead pipes, I waved the letter above my head.

"These are my words. These are the last lines I wrote while I watched the Order of the Shrike murder my fellow members of the Order of the Crane and burn the books from the library. But just because someone reads it out loud—because he doesn't have anything else better to say—doesn't mean that he's the Slayer."

I looked at Drev, waiting for confirmation from him that there was no way he could be the Slayer, but he just stared back at me. I was flabbergasted. The crowd flung insults about my dimwittedness and mental instability. I groaned and held up my hand, signaling them to hear the rest of what I had to say.

"If he were the Slayer, I wouldn't still be here," I said, trying to make eye contact with as many of the phantoms as I could. "I'm different from all of you. I'm the only one who won't be a phantom for all eternity. Please recall, I was once a living man. But when I died, I chose to stay on as a phantom because I needed to find the Slayer—make sure he knew who he was and the duty that lay before him. Until then, I can't rest in peace.

"My story is unfinished. The moment I died and the deceased abbots of the Order of the Crane came to retrieve me, I made a pact with them that I wouldn't enter the afterlife until I found the Slayer. For I could rest in peace only after knowing that there was someone to combat the Shadow of Fear on behalf of the people. Once I found the Slayer, I promised I would immediately take my place in the afterworld. But, as you see, the abbots have not come for me, I am still here, and Drev is still Drev. And nothing has changed."

The party had taken on a somber tone. Loud whispers rumbled through the crowd as they continued to disagree about what I had just said. I didn't want to explain any further. I knew what I knew—Drev was not the Slayer.

"Hey!" shouted a grouchy voice. "Why don't you ask Drev if he thinks he's the Slayer?"

I didn't see who had spoken, but whoever it was directed his question at Drev. "Drev, do you think you're the Slayer?"

Drev looked at me, his eyes wide, as if searching for an answer. I kept a poker face.

"Slayer? I've never slain anything." He paused. "Besides school, the only thing I've ever done was work as a mortician's assistant."

"What's that?" asked the woman with backward feet.

"Did he say 'magician's assistant'?" came another voice, from the back of the crowd.

I exhaled loudly and rubbed my hand against my forehead before yelling, "Mortician's assistant!"

There was a breath of silence, until another creature blurted, "Is that what you are right before becoming the Slayer?"

"He's not the Slayer!" My voice cracked on the last word, but I continued to speak. "Will you all stop beating the dead horse already!"

I heard the crowd whisper to one another

"Careful. He's angry . . ."

"Temper, temper." Tongues clucked with disapproval.

"I think it goes back to when he was with that de Galard girl."

"What a shame! Still hasn't gotten over her."

I'd had enough. I thrust the crumpled letter back into Drev's hand. He scowled and shoved it into his back pocket. I wanted to get as far as possible from this insolent group, but before leaving, I warned Drev about pretending to be anyone but himself.

"You've got your own story," I spat out. "Why don't you tell them that?"

"What story?" he said, glaring back at me.

"Tell them how you want to be part of the Order of the Shrike—that's your story, right?"

A gasp went through the crowd as they took a few steps away from him. Yuki untangled her arm from his and backed away.

"Tell them how you think that's going to earn you the respect you want, because you're going to single-handedly bring down the system the Order of the Shrike has been working to establish for four hundred years!" I paused as I was panting. Drev's jaw muscles tensed to the point where he was shaking, but I kept going.

"Tell them how you came here with hate and spite, and that's the lens through which you look at the world—the same lens as the Order of the Shrike—yet you think you can destroy them. Ha!" I said, staring straight into his face, but he didn't let me look at him for long.

Before I knew it, I heard my face crack. A moment later, I was on the ground. There the cold, smooth surface of the worn cobblestone was an instant relief to my throbbing cheekbone. I couldn't make sense of what had happened until I heard Ravana's excited voice.

"It's a fight! C'mon, everyone, come closer! It's going to be a great one!"

I rolled my face upward to see what was going on and saw Drev standing over me, his head blocking my view.

"You're right, that _is_ my story," he growled, his black dagger eyes piercing into mine. "I hate this world and everything in it—especially you."

I then felt my robe being tightened as he grabbed fistfuls of cloth near my chest and lifted me off the ground. I may have been socked, but my senses returned immediately. As I was being hoisted upright, I found my footing, planted my weight, and plunged my fist into his gut.

" _Umpf!_ "

I heard the air go out of him, and he released his grip on my cassock. The blow sent him back a few steps, but he stayed on his feet. His chin was close to his chest, and his eyes were darting out from under his eyebrows, I knew he wanted blood. I pushed up my sleeves but kept my eyes glued to his face. I was ready, too, but the shouts around me were disconcerting.

"Charge him, Drev! Ram into his chest; that's where he's weakest!" bellowed a phantom in the crowd.

"Hugh's got bad knees," said another. "Aim for his legs!"

Others were heckling me in hopes of distracting me so that Drev could take another whack at my head.

Although I didn't want to lose my concentration, I couldn't bear it, and I turned to them. "Will you all shut up! Just shut up!"

My outburst did nothing but raise the volume on their rumbling. I turned back to my belligerent opponent, who was now squinting at me and moving slowly to his left. I, too, moved to my left. Left foot, pause, right foot. Left foot, pause, right foot. The shouts around us were becoming more cacophonous as the tension rose. Beads of sweat were dribbling down my face.

Then it all came to a sudden halt.

"Stop," said a calm voice. "You have both learned what you needed to learn from this. Stop."

Ahura Mazda stepped between Drev and me.

"It was Hugh's fault, sir," came a slimy voice from the crowd that I recognized as the vampire's. My blood began to simmer. "He was making a mockery of Drev's story."

"No one's story should ever be mocked," replied Ahura Mazda.

"He taunted Drev," said another voice in the crowd. "So Drev clocked him! I would've clocked him, too."

I opened my mouth to explain to the wise man what had really happened, but the Graeae stepped forward and began whispering to him. She spoke with her hand covering her mouth, so I had no idea what she was saying. I saw only old Ahura Mazda nod, grunt, or pull slowly on his beard and say, "I see."

When they were finished, Ahura Mazda walked over to me. I waited calmly—as calmly as I could—to be assigned my penance. But I grew nervous at the last minute and spoke up. "Th-they're all wrong, sir," I stammered, bowing my head at the same time. "He's not who they say he is. He's not the Slayer!"

His green robe swished to one side and then to another as he studied me with curious eyes.

"No, not now, he is not. With help, he will become the Slayer."

The response numbed me into silence, but not the other phantoms.

" _Yes!_ We'll _make_ Drev the Slayer!" shouted Sun Wukong, waving his arms wildly in the air, as though he had discovered gold. His enthusiasm was contagious, and a dozen others caught on.

"Yes! We can _make_ him into the hero of the story! Aren't we all the heroes of our own stories? We know how it's done."

"Works for me; as I see it, he's a living young man—that makes him the only one here qualified to be the Slayer!"

The crowd whooped their approval.

"You're all lunatics!" I shouted. "Either you _are_ the Slayer or you _aren't_. You can't take any random boy and make . . ." Their cries and shouts drowned my voice.

"And because he's a living young man, that also makes him qualified for you know who," added the woman with the backward feet. She winked, and the others nodded eagerly.

"Oh! Yes!" They all seemed to agree at once. I expected an explanation to follow, but there was none. Who was _you know who_?

"Onward! We'll take him to the Forgotten Cemetery immediately!" ordered the woman with backward feet.

I looked to Ahura Mazda for clarification but stopped when I saw Ravana and the headless gray knight grab Drev by his arms and half pull, half carry him up the Five Ring Road toward Stauros Hall on their way to the Forgotten Cemetery.

Why were they taking him to the cemetery? I was at my wit's end with this group of lunatics.

"Why are you going to the Forgotten Cemetery?" I finally asked. "No one goes there except me."

I heard the other phantoms snicker.

"How do you know?" asked Siren.

"Well, I've never seen anyone go there, and whenever I go there, there's no one there."

"It's been nineteen long years since the last time you were there, Hugh. How do you know it's still like that?"

"You mean others go there now?"

The phantoms exchanged glances with one another, as if they all knew a bit of information that I didn't. It was also clear they weren't going to tell me what they knew. I had to find out for myself.

I sighed and watched as they skipped and pranced up the road. The mob bypassed the stairs to the courtyard and maneuvered around the drab, twisted oak trees that blocked the Forgotten Cemetery from being seen from the Five Ring Road. I trailed behind them. It had been a while since I had gone to the Forgotten Cemetery. I braced myself to be reunited with the old abbot and the dead members of the Order of the Crane.

# Chapter 13: The Legend of the Crane and the Shrike

I hadn't been there in years, but, like the old abbey, the Forgotten Cemetery had stayed just the way I remembered. Thanks to the full moon, a silver sheen reflected off the crumbling grave markers and chipped crosses, giving the unkempt graveyard a polished tinge. The remnants of the walls of the tiny cloister that enclosed it had withered away to stumps and blended in with dead tree trunks that stood near them. The decaying frame where the main door had once stood was still intact, except now it was covered with ivy.

I walked to the edge of the graveyard, where the shades of the night were darker than in other areas. A large, unmarked stone that was the size of my head sat staunchly before me. The brown-gray sandstone with jagged edges looked as though the caprice of the winds had haphazardly rolled it there, but they hadn't. I had put it there. After I died and the massacre was over, I saw that the Order of the Shrike threw all the bodies into one mass grave. They covered it but didn't acknowledge the spot as sacred ground. Abbot Pellanor and dozens of other monks were buried there. My body was in there, too. I didn't want to draw attention to the area, but I didn't want those who had died in the massacre to be forgotten. I found the most inconspicuous grave marker possible—a simple rock—and placed it there. Despite raging storms and natural erosion, the rock had never moved.

From where I stood, I saw that Drev and three dozen or so phantoms had gathered near the center of the graveyard. Still sulking from my brawl with him earlier, I thought of just spying on them from the shadows. But I heard the terms "Slayer" and "Shadow of Fear" being thrown around, and I didn't want to be left out of the conversation. I edged closer, still staying out of sight.

"So, the most important thing to know about being the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear is that you carry on the pride of the fighting human spirit of recent millennia and even further," spoke a giant crab, claw waving toward the sky. "All their eyes, along with their hopes and wishes, are on your shoulders."

I snorted. What did they know of the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear except for the tidbits I had told them over the years? The old crustacean didn't even know where to begin telling the story.

"Karkinos, that's the least important thing for the Slayer," snapped a woman with a sheaf of wheat in her hand. "He first needs to know his mission. He needs to know who the Shadow of Fear is and how to defeat him when the time comes."

The crowd murmured in agreement, "Demeter is right."

Several phantoms turned their heads to where I was standing in the shadows at the edge of the cemetery. I crouched low to prevent them from seeing me. I didn't want to partake in this ridiculous attempt to _make_ a Slayer. If those fools didn't know where to begin, that was their misfortune.

"Let me tell him the story," roared a lion walking toward Drev with his head held high. I watched Leo twitch his tail, size up the audience, and then clear his throat. He had the velvety voice of a skilled orator.

"A long, long, time ago when all the animals were equal to one another, even original man, there was a strange creature called the Shadow of Fear. It lingered in the far corner of the world . . ."

"And, dear me, did it guard a great treasure!" erupted a tiny man with a red hat. He was no more than two feet tall and knocked a hammer back and forth in his hand as he talked. When Leo approached him, he began hopping from one foot to another as the lion raised his paw, ready to club him.

"It was the treasure they all wanted!" the little man continued as he taunted Leo. "No one could overtake the Shadow of Fear! Not bears, nor wolves, nor _lions_ like this oaf here!"

The impish creature screamed as Leo pounced on him. Thinking he had caught him, Leo looked underneath his claws and saw nothing. Then a small, pointy red hat danced a few yards away, chanting, "No one could overtake the Shadow of Fear, no one at all!"

"Why did they want to overtake it?" asked Drev.

A centaur stepped forward to answer, "Because, as the leprechaun said, it guarded a great treasure—the Light of Knowledge. And whoever had the Light of Knowledge would have the power to rule over all the other animals."

"And rule all nature," added a blindfolded woman holding gold balancing scales in her hand. "Original man was already predestined to obtain the Light of Knowledge, but he had to destroy the Shadow of Fear first. He didn't know what to do, and upon arriving near the cave where the Shadow of Fear stood guard, protecting the Light of Knowledge, he ran into two birds."

"The crane and the shrike," said two boys, who were identical twins. One had the medallion of the sun hanging on a thin string of leather around his neck; the other had the medallion of the moon.

"Tell him the rest of the story, Kuat and Iae—Leo is occupied," said Demeter. I looked and indeed saw Leo furiously chasing the leprechaun through the crowd.

Kuat spoke, the medallion of the sun heaving up and down as he took in deep breaths to make sure his voice carried into the crowd.

"The shrike told original man that many animals had died before him and he, too, without the strength of the bear, the fangs of the wolf, or the claws of the lion, would perish to the Shadow of Fear. The shrike told original man that he would help him. As shrikes kill their prey by dropping them onto sharp branches and impaling them until all their blood leaks out, so, too, would he drop his prey near the branch that hung over the edge of the cave. As the dying animal screamed and writhed, the distraction would be enough for original man to go past the Shadow of Fear and take the Light of Knowledge without confronting it."

"The crane stepped in, however," began the other twin. "He warned original man that if he listened to the shrike, even if he obtained the Light of Knowledge, he would be doomed to have the Shadow of Fear chase him until the end of time and, in essence, would never be free—but always running from the Shadow of Fear. He told original man that he, as he was, could overcome the Shadow. And that he had to overcome it. Or else, even when he had the Light of Knowledge, he would never be free.

"Original man nodded to the crane and promised to follow his advice, but as he approached the cave—"

Kuat cut in, "The shrike dropped a gangly lizard on the point of a sharp branch hovering over the mouth of the cave. Its cries brought out the Shadow of Fear—"

"The crane cried out a warning!" said Iae. "It told original man to strike the Shadow of Fear now, when it was distracted by the dying lizard, and then take the Light of Knowledge—"

"But the shrike said, 'This is your only chance to get the Light of Knowledge. Steal it now!'"

The two brothers were then suddenly silent, and not a single breath could be heard from the crowd, as all were listening intently. Finally, Drev spoke.

"Original man didn't listen to the crane. He listened to the shrike and stole the Light of Knowledge. That's why original man is always afraid, even when he's alone and there's no sign of danger."

"Drev knew the ending!" shouted the Monkey King, holding down his crown as he jumped. I moved out of the shadows to hear more. Despite my pride still being sore and my cheekbone smarting, I took a step forward toward the crowd, completely flummoxed that Drev knew the story.

"And the Slayer's job is to destroy the Shadow of Fear?" asked Drev. "To release mankind from being controlled by fear?"

The phantoms around him nodded, beaming.

"Drev was made for the job," declared Karkinos.

"I know the tale only because my nanny told it to me when I was little," said Drev. "But she never called the monster in the cave the Shadow of Fear, and she didn't mention that the two birds were specifically the shrike and the crane. I guess the Order of the Shrike is named after the shrike in this story, and the Order of the Crane after the crane?"

"The orders didn't take only the birds' names." I stepped in front of the crowd. "The orders represent the essence of the role that each bird played in the story."

Drev glowered at me for several frigid seconds before responding. He hadn't forgotten about our brawl earlier.

"So what does the Order of the Crane represent?" he asked.

"Like the crane in the story, they want to protect people and encourage them to fight their fears, so people can live freely."

"And the Order of the Shrike?"

"They let fear perpetuate itself and see it as a tool to control and manipulate the masses."

He looked away and stared at the ground for a few moments, then said, "So how can someone slay the Shadow of Fear?"

"Hugh studied that for years. He can tell you," said the blindfolded lady, her scales yo-yoing as she moved closer to me.

"I didn't write an instruction manual," I said sourly. "I wrote down a centuries-old tale—a prophecy—that there would one day be a young man who came from a long lineage of courage, intelligence, and honor. His noble blood would lead him into battle, and not only would he not shy away from the Shadow of Fear, but he would also directly challenge it. When it came time to slay the Shadow of Fear once and for all, only he would know the secret of how to conquer it."

"That's vague," said someone from the crowd. The others grumbled in agreement. "How's that supposed to help us?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"At least it confirms that I'm not qualified," said Drev, turning away from everyone and taking a step.

"Eh! Where you going?" asked the headless knight, blocking him.

"You can't leave!" half a dozen other voices shouted.

"Look," snorted Drev, as he leaned to one leg, exasperated. "I'm in no way noble or honorable or any of that stuff. I have no lineage, or whatever you just said. I'm just a poor kid who got lucky and came to this school. I'm a nobody. I'm not fit to be the Slayer."

The phantoms were silent. Drev turned his back to them once again and began to leave.

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Drev," called out Siren, her alluring singsong tone echoing in the night. "Not many students would've been as brave as you to stay with us tonight and listen to our stories."

Drev stopped, but he didn't turn around.

Siren continued, "You may say you're not the Slayer, but I think you're courageous, sincere—"

"And hotheaded," I added.

"Shhh!" hissed the other phantoms, glaring at me.

"If you knew about me and my family, you wouldn't be saying all these nice things," Drev said, turning to Siren. "You'd probably be embarrassed to have met me."

"I know that's not true, and I speak for all of us here," said Siren. "Tell us your story, and you'll see for yourself."

"My life story's a shit show," he growled, looking at the ground.

"No one's story is," coaxed Karkinos. The human-size crab scuttled sideways to Drev. He patted Drev's shoulder with his pincer. "C'mon now, we're good listeners. You can trust us."

All the creatures began eyeing Drev and nodding with encouragement. A few "don't worries" and "go ons" were uttered. Drev's eyes flitted from one face to another in the crowd and stopped when they met mine. I nodded, as eager as the rest to hear his tale.

Drev kicked his toe into a groove where the dirt was uneven. He took a couple deep breaths before lifting his head. I was certain he was going to tell these clowns, including me, to go to hell, but, to my surprise, he didn't. He began talking.

# Chapter 14: Drev's Story

Drev bit his lower lip as he scanned the cemetery, trying to find something to distract himself as he spoke. "My life is no fairy tale," he said. He spotted a large, round slab of cracked stone by his side that most likely served as the base of a statue, except the statue was no longer there.

Over the years, long, wiry, gray-green ivy had woven itself all around it, like a protective seat cover. Drev pulled at it with all the frustration and anger he couldn't express in words. The branches popped and snapped, sending wooden chunks flying past him. He continued to tear away at the ivy until the flat, smooth stone top revealed itself. Drev then sat on its surface. Demeter sat on one side of him, Yuki on the other. The rest of the group crowded around him, eyes wide with anticipation.

What did they like so much about him? Certainly, he carried a magnetic aura. I'd felt it the first time I saw him. But he was also angry and cynical—two characteristics repulsive enough to negate anything positive about him.

"It's the hero of the tale who determines if there's a happy ending or not," encouraged Demeter. The other phantoms nodded.

Drev sat silent for a few more seconds, as though pondering her words. I thought he wouldn't continue, but he spoke. "I'm not sure exactly where I was born. I was adopted. But it never bothered me, not knowing. My parents loved me—I think as much as any parents love their kid. And we were well off—at least when I was little. My dad was a landscaper. My granddad passed down the family business to him. And my mom helped my dad.

"Money was good back then. Since my parents were both busy, they hired a nanny to look after me, the one who told me the story of the crane and the shrike. She looked after me until I was in kindergarten; then my parents adopted my younger sister. My nanny left when my mom decided to stay home to look after both of us.

"I lived a great life—I mean, there were no worries. I went to school like the other kids, and when I was about twelve, I started helping out my dad after school. I really liked it. It was cool riding with him in his truck."

Drev halted and looked at the ground. I could never have imagined him crying, but at that moment, I think he was fighting back tears. He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened—clearly a nervous habit of his.

He lifted his chin with a defiant air. "But then when I started high school, everything headed south. People in our town were losing their jobs and then losing their homes. Before we knew it, my dad didn't have any more customers. People who had lived in our town for generations were packing and leaving. My dad traveled farther and farther out of town to find work, but it was the same everywhere.

"He and my mom started arguing. My dad started drinking. Nothing got better." He paused and stared blankly in front of him, as though he could visualize the scene he had just described. "And then one night, I went downstairs to get a glass of water. It was real late, but my dad was up. He had half a glass of whiskey in his hand, and he said, 'Drev, a man's gotta know when he's worth more dead than alive.' I thought he was just drunk. I took the glass out of his hand and told him to get some sleep. I went upstairs, sad but angry, too, that he didn't have the self-control not to get drunk when things were already tough for us. But had I known that was the last time I was going to see him, I would've stayed up with him all night, probably would've had a glass with him."

"Oh!" cried Aphrodite, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. She had broken her wineglass earlier, when she had accused me of being the Demon of Stauros, but she was now holding it, intact, in her right hand while wiping her tears with her left. Drev stopped.

"Ignore her; go on," said someone in the crowd.

"What happened?" asked the werewolf.

Drev sighed and looked at the ground. "He got into his truck that night—there was a snowstorm. His truck flew over the divider and ran head-on into a big rig. My mom told my sister and me that it was an accident. But I knew it was suicide, and I knew he had done it to leave us with some money, his life insurance."

Drev's voice changed, almost as though his throat were constricted and he now had to force his words out from his belly. "But it didn't work out how my dad planned, because the insurance company also claimed it was a suicide. They made it sound like my dad was trying to cheat them by killing himself like that. They didn't even pay enough to allow us to have a proper funeral for him.

"Then everything followed that pattern. The credit card companies came after us, right after his funeral, to get what my dad owed. And still those greedy bastards kept mailing applications in my dad's name. Then the people from the bank showed up to evict us from our house. Their reps told my mom that if she didn't throw away her own stuff and clean up the house, they would make her pay for a cleaning service. It was like we weren't human, we were just these things in their way, and since we didn't have any money, they threw us out into the street like garbage."

His voice wobbled with emotion at the end of the last word, and he took a moment to regain his composure. The phantoms and I all held our breath, for Drev's face was trembling with rage. Not only was his voice tense, but every fiber in his body seemed poised to burst. I would have moved even farther away from this outraged boy, but, for the first time, I saw him differently.

I was no stranger to anger and rage. I felt indignant at what the Fates had thrown in my path, too. And yet, over time, I had changed my attitude—I had focused on what I could do to make my situation bearable. I didn't hold on to my anger, as Drev did. I couldn't, for doing so would force me to become stagnant and feed my soul all the bitterness from the anger that was festering within me.

Once I let go of the anger, I went through a period where I felt pain, but that pain passed with time. Soon I had freed myself from that spiral of hate and anger. And now, watching Drev and hearing about his past, I saw that his anger and hate were more of a facade. He was in fact fearful of feeling the pain that inevitably comes after anger. He wasn't afraid of ghosts or vampires or headless knights. He was afraid of his heart suffering.

I saw him open his mouth to speak again. I moved closer, despite seeing how tense he looked. A battle was raging inside him, but as long as I didn't provoke him, there was nothing to worry about.

"With no money and no jobs in our town, we moved out to the coast, where there was a large city, so my mom could find work. We lived in this nasty, filthy hotel, and I went to a school where everyone hated my guts, because I was the new kid. I was beaten up every day. I hated it so much.

"Within a few months of moving to the city, I turned sixteen and began looking for a job. There was a mortuary two blocks from our hotel, and even though no one else was hiring because the economy was in a shithole, this place was hopping. Sebastian, the owner, hired me on the spot, because he needed to clean and dress up two bodies by that very evening and he wasn't going to make it. I was worried about him being my boss, because he looked crazy. He wore two gold watches on each arm and had a cheesy old sports car he parked in front of the mortuary, with the license plate GDIGGER.

"I told him I'd see the work first. So I went to the back of the mortuary, and the first thing I saw were the ghosts of two old, dead ladies, standing beside their corpses. I had seen ghosts before, but I had never told anyone. I always ignored the ghosts, and the ghosts always ignored me. But these two didn't.

"They started talking to me right away, telling me how they wanted me to prepare them for their funeral service—the last time their family and friends would see them. I did what they asked me to, and it paid off. Their family members gave me huge tips, telling me they had never seen their grandmother/auntie/mother/sister look so beautiful, like I had brought them back to life.

"I saved that tip money. And I kept working and saving for the next two years. I eventually saved enough in tips to secure a deposit on an apartment for my family in a decent part of town. I kept the rest of the money I earned, in case I decided to go to college. But I didn't really want to go, because I didn't want to leave my sister and mom behind. Besides, I was making pretty good money with all the tips I was getting. It seemed like every year—no, actually, every month—more and more bodies kept coming in. Sebastian tried to tell his customers about other mortuaries—something I thought he would never do. The thing was, we could barely keep up. It was weird, because some of those bodies didn't have ghosts—and the ones that didn't, oh my God." Drev paused, as he closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know what drugs they had been doing, or what kind of thugs they had run into, because they came in with their eyeballs hanging by a vein from their sockets and their brains spilling out of their heads. Even Sebastian would tell me he had never seen anything like them. I hated dressing those bodies. There was something sad about them, like they hadn't died properly."

"What do you mean?" I asked, stepping closer. "Like they were tortured?"

"No, not tortured," began Drev, looking away. "Actually, yeah, a lot of them looked like they had been tortured, but like they had tortured themselves, maybe. They were bruised all over and really badly beaten up. There was something heavy about them, too, like a rotting energy. A lot of their faces were twisted like they'd been screaming in pain until the moment they died."

Many of the phantoms frowned, and a few grumbled about how odd the world was becoming as people lost their way in life. I mulled over what Drev had said and wondered about what kind of person would die looking like he had been torturing himself. Suddenly, a floating piece of a puzzle in the back of my mind snapped into place—the man in the video that Max had shown his roommates!

"Did they look like they had been possessed by an evil force?" I blurted.

Drev paused in his story and shot me an inquisitive glance. I could tell he realized I'd seen Max's video. He understood what I was referring to. He looked to the ground and said, "I don't know what happened to those people, but whatever it was, it was like you said." He nodded at me. "It seemed evil."

He let out a long sigh before continuing. "It was bad enough that these people looked like they had been tortured, but what made it worse was that not one of them had a ghost. Usually after a wake, the ghosts of people who had died normally walked out with their bodies when they were being carried to their final resting place. They stood next to their bodies until they were cremated or buried, and then they disappeared. It was bad enough that they looked like that they had been through hell while they were alive—but for a body not to have a ghost next to it made me think that not only did their body die, but their spirit did, too."

Drev grabbed his forehead and looked at the ground, speaking in a quieter voice.

"One of those ghostless bodies was a girl about my age. She came in as a Jane Doe. But right away, I saw that her corpse was in good shape. She wasn't like the others who didn't have a ghost. She hadn't scratched out her eyes or ripped her body into shreds. It looked as though she had just drowned in an accident or something. But I was still disturbed that her ghost wasn't by her body. It gave me the feeling that even though her body didn't look like it had been tortured, she had died in a way that had killed her soul, her spirit.

"'She belongs to nobody,' Sebastian had told me. 'So put her in the metal box. We'll dump her with the other unknowns in the mass grave tomorrow.' But I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was bad enough that no one knew who she was, but to send her off like a piece of trash—I couldn't do it.

"After Sebastian left that night, I stayed with the girl. She had been in the ocean and washed ashore, but her body wasn't in a state of decomposition. She almost looked as if she could still be alive. She was a really pretty girl. I washed her hair, sponged away all the dirt from her skin. I looked in the chest of extra clothes we kept in back and put her in a fresh dress.

"When they brought her in, there was a dark blue, withered rose tangled in her hair. I figured she must have braided it in before she died. I was able to comb it out of her hair, and I placed a fresh red rose in her hand."

"A blue rose?" I asked. I couldn't believe this. I saw the other phantoms shake their heads slowly, as though the coincidence was too uncanny.

"She must've been a student from Stauros!" I said. "Blue roses grow only here—on this island."

Whispers were flying all around me, as it seemed that everyone found this to be an exciting piece of news. I was more perplexed than excited. Had another student disappeared from the island? Maybe this girl was solid evidence with which I could prove once and for all that I was not the one who had made all those students disappear—I was not the Demon of Stauros.

"Certainly there would have been headlines about her if she were a student from here," I mused.

Drev paused before he shook his head. "No. She was basically a Jane Doe whom no one claimed, a girl without any clues about her life, except for the blue rose."

"Oh," I sighed. The flicker of hope vanished.

Drev continued with his story. "So instead of doing what Sebastian told me to do—putting her in the metal box to go to the mass grave—I brought out the cherry oak–wood casket with silk lining, the most expensive casket we had, and put her inside. Then I asked a homeless man who was always reading scripture on the street corner to come in and say a prayer on the girl's behalf. He did a good job, and I thanked him with a bottle of whiskey from Sebastian's liquor cabinet.

"After the viewing—the viewing being just me and the homeless guy—I arranged for her to be taken to the crematorium. It was early morning by that time, and Sebastian never came in until noon. I put the bill under the name of the mortuary and then quit that day."

There was silence all around. None of us so much as blinked. Many in the crowd were waiting for Drev to continue, their mouths hanging open. I felt a shudder go up my spine when I heard the familiar voice of the Graeae crack the silence: "Find Pamina and bring her here."

Others in the crowd immediately began chatting excitedly, and the name Pamina was on everyone's lips.

Who is Pamina?

They had whispered that name earlier. Everyone seemed to know who she was except me.

Drev didn't seem to notice the excitement around him and continued to talk. "I never spoke with Sebastian again. I quit right then, a week before leaving for Stauros.

"I had always studied hard, but when my dad died, I studied like crazy. It helped me keep my mind off of the problems at home. And when I started working, I never went out. My life was school, work, and then homework. Plus, it's not like I had friends to hang out with anyway.

"At first I didn't think I'd get into Stauros. I mean, kids go to special elementary schools from the time they're five years old to get themselves prepped for this school. I didn't do that, nor did my dad have clout, and besides, he wasn't even around anymore." He frowned but kept speaking. "I didn't want to apply, but my mom wanted me to try. So I did. And I got in."

When he stopped talking, we stared at him, waiting for more. I realized he was finished when a few of the phantoms started clapping. Soon the others followed suit, and then some began cheering for him. Demeter even got to her feet and turned to face Drev and applaud him. His face turned bright red, the most colorful object in the graveyard.

"That's an incredible story!" they shouted.

"If that doesn't show bravery and honor, I don't know what story could!"

"To think he was ashamed of his story!"

I clapped, too, despite myself. I'd had no idea of the journey Drev had taken before he'd come to this island. I was amazed at how different he looked to me after I knew all this about him.

He gave us a reluctant grin. His lips were pale and his shoulders drooped. I saw that telling us about his past had drained him.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "Thanks for listening."

"We would hear it again if you wanted to tell us again," said Karkinos.

"No," said Drev. He shook his head. "Once is enough." He got to his feet, and suddenly, everyone bombarded him with questions: How many dead bodies did he take care of? Did he meet any crazy phantoms? Were the ghosts grateful that he sent them off in such a dignified way?

"He's tired, can't you see?" I said, pushing through the group that had circled around him. "Remember, he's a student here. He has classes tomorrow."

"That's right, I do," said Drev, looking relieved that I had given him a way out. "I appreciated your company and meeting you all, but I gotta go." He took a step forward to get out from the crowd, but they cried out.

"Don't let him leave! Not until he meets Pamina!"

The phantoms turned to one another and nodded, whispering, "Yes, Pamina!" They suddenly squeezed together, blocking him from passing.

"Sorry, but can I get through?" Drev asked, raising an eyebrow.

They encircled him even more tightly as they said excitedly, "The girl you spoke of—she's here."

"The pretty girl, she's our Pamina."

"She has been looking for you, and you've come for her!"

"Wh-what?" asked Drev, his eyes darting frantically from one phantom's face to another.

I looked at the faces around me to see if they were playing a prank of some sort, but everyone was looking intently at Drev. Only Anansi, the great black widow, stirred. Two of his eight eyes stayed on Drev, while the other six looked over the heads of the crowd as if searching for someone or something.

"C'mon now," I sighed, exasperated. These characters never seemed to follow any logical course of thought. "Just let him go. It's been a long night for him."

"No, he's staying," said the werewolf, his wild eyes flashing from me to Drev. "It's clear from his story about the girl that he's the one Pamina has been waiting for."

"Who is Pamina?" My last drop of patience had evaporated, and the sternness in my voice was sharp enough to halt their excited whispers.

"You'll soon find out," retorted Siren, with an even sharper tone. "She's coming now."

"Pamina has arrived! Make way for her!" a voice shouted, and several phantoms began to move.

Up until that moment, I had taken none of them seriously. I had always thought of the other phantoms as a pack of lighthearted fools who had no purpose to their existence other than to tell their stories over and over again, caring little about others and what happened to them. But when Demeter walked through the crowd, her arm around a frail girl in a white dress, clutching a blue rose, I began to see that I had underestimated them.

"Dear, don't be afraid," said Demeter.

"He has come for you, Pamina!"

So this was Pamina! She walked with small, hesitant steps. Her pale skin seemed to reflect a bluish light that came from nowhere. The girl looked ethereal—too fragile to be in this world. Her body was as thin as the hair that blew gently around her face. She moved through the crowd of phantoms toward Drev, cautiously. Her eyes were cloudy with a haze of worry. She stopped midway through the crowd, as if uncertain whether to come any closer to him. The phantoms reassured her as best they could.

"Pamina, why are you being so shy?"

"Precious, this is your prince—the one you've been waiting for."

_Her prince?_ I looked at Drev to see what his reaction was. He was mesmerized. He blinked several times, but his eyes never left her face. There wasn't a smudge of surprise in his eyes, only a look of awe, as though he had witnessed a miracle.

"You're her," he finally uttered.

At first I was at a loss for words, but then I found my voice. I was curious. "When you threw the rose to her on the balcony earlier, at Mizu, did you know she was the girl you took care of in the mortuary?"

I thought he hadn't heard my question, for he didn't even shift his gaze. But soon his eyelids fluttered as he lowered them and said, "I didn't know it was her. But when I saw her, something came over me, and I wanted to give her something. I had the rose, so I just threw it to her."

He looked at the phantoms, who'd now reverted to their chatter about his being her protector, her rescuer—the one she had been waiting for.

Pamina stopped a few yards from Drev, and the crowd quieted. Given his sour attitude toward everything else in life, I expected a negative reaction from him. I was stunned when he walked over to her, leaned in, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Ah!" gushed the delighted spectators.

Pamina's eyelashes fluttered a few seconds as she looked away from everyone. When she regained her composure, it was clear that Drev's kiss had emboldened her.

"It seems like . . . ," she said, leaning toward him and peering into his face carefully, "I've met you before." Her voice was as frail and delicate as she was.

Drev stood motionless for a moment, then said, "Yes."

"You gave me this rose earlier," she said with a small smile.

Drev swallowed nervously several times before finding his voice: "Yes, but that wasn't the first time I've given you a rose."

# Chapter 15: Pamina

Pamina brought the blue rose close to her chest and lowered her eyes. "When did you give me a rose before? Was it blue like this one?"

The phantoms, including me, swung our heads in unison, anticipating Drev's response. The girl had no recollection of Drev, so she didn't know the care with which he'd treated her upon her arrival at the mortuary. Would he tell her about it now?

His eyes searched her face. When he spoke, his tone was serious, but his words were sweet. "I gave it to you in a dream, and the rose was red, like the color of your lips."

The situation now went from surprising to bizarre. The gentleness in his voice and the flirtatious way he kept peering into her face were completely out of character for what I knew of him, which, admittedly, was little. Was he really this smitten with her? Or was there something else? After all, he had felt sorry for her in the mortuary, and she _did_ represent a tie to his old life. When I looked around, though, it was clear that I was the only one doubting Drev's intentions.

"Listen to those words—pure poetry."

"He already gave her a rose!"

"He's a genius!"

Contented sighs hummed through the crowd of phantoms, and a few of them even giggled. However, I was not in the mood to join in the giddy affair. There was another disturbing aspect to this scene: What pressing reason would Pamina have to come back as a phantom? Clearly, she had drowned in the Stauros Sea. Her body had washed up onshore and ended up in the mortuary where Drev had worked.

I maneuvered through the dense crowd to get closer to the two, only to bump into Sun Wukong, who was directing some of the phantoms to certain areas of the graveyard with specific orders.

"What are you doing?" I asked. The monkey was always in the midst of concocting a crazy scheme.

"Creating a mood," he replied, his eyes halfway closed, his mouth in a dreamy smile.

I looked back at Drev, still standing with Pamina. The crowd had moved away from them, finally. But just then, a life-size grasshopper in coattails hopped right up to them. He began rubbing a tune out from his violin and danced around the two as he serenaded them. His companion, a ginormous ant with a sweatband around its head, was busily brushing away the dead branches and leaves near them. Siren had grabbed her two other sisters, and they were humming in harmony with the grasshopper's tune. To top it all off, Anansi, the giant spider, was busily weaving a sparkling, large web that hung from a bare, gnarled branch of an old, weather-beaten oak. It draped like a curtain, shining and glimmering in the light of the night sky.

The headless knight had spread his gray cape over the round slab of stone that Drev had cleared away earlier. Karkinos and Leo were now pushing and nudging Drev and Pamina to sit down. I had so many questions, and walked toward them. But, not wanting to look obtrusive, I pretended to help the ant, who was brushing away dead bits of ivy.

"Were you a student here?" Drev asked Pamina. They sat with a foot of space between them, still facing each other. The grasshopper leaned into them as he delved into a climatic trill on his violin. They didn't speak until he finished.

"I came here when I was little," she said. "My parents died in a car accident. My great-uncle is still the chancellor here, the only family I have."

"You're the chancellor's grandniece?" asked Drev. His eyes widened, and he frowned. I waited for him to make a remark about how her great-uncle had condemned him to the cellar, but he didn't.

"Mm-hmm."

"How old were you when you came here?" asked Drev.

"Four."

"You grew up on this island? Alone?"

"Um . . ." There was a pensive silence as she chose her words slowly. "Everyone you see here, they're my family." She gestured to all the phantoms buzzing about as they transformed the graveyard into a romantic paradise. "I love them, and they love me. They've always watched out for me, telling me stories to explain why things are the way they are. From the first night I arrived here on the island, they took me in."

"You weren't frightened of them?"

"Well, no . . . I was so lonely back then, and I missed my parents. My great-uncle, he means well, but it's not easy to be close to him."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Drev inserted hurriedly.

Pamina nodded and continued, "My first night at Stauros Hall, I ran out . . . I just wanted to run away. I got lost and ended up here, in this cemetery. And that's when sweet Ahura Mazda found me and introduced me to everyone. I told my great-uncle about them the next day, thinking it was good news, but he told me I was full of lies and that if I ever spoke of any of this again, or went outside at night, he would throw me in the old dungeon in Stauros Hall."

"But you didn't listen to him," Drev smirked.

"No." She chuckled. "But now, with the way that I am, I'm afraid to approach him. I'm sure he's worried about me, wondering what happened to me. I've been missing for over a week."

There was a heavy silence between them, before Drev carefully asked, "What happened to you? Were you trying to leave the island?"

She nodded.

I saw Drev take in a deep, cautious breath before he asked, "Did you try to swim away?"

"Swim? No, I don't know how to swim." She stopped and inhaled deeply. "I never stepped a foot off the island after I arrived. My great-uncle forbade it. But a couple of weeks ago, I told him that I wanted to leave the island and go to a university elsewhere, and he said he wouldn't let me. He told me I had to go to Stauros. I wanted to run away. I then came across an old book that was about a myth—a type of prophecy—and in the tale, I found a description of a cave in the library. I went down there and saw a boat. I boarded the boat and . . ." She stopped again and looked at her hands resting in her lap.

I couldn't believe what I had just heard. The book she was referring to had to be mine. If so, the cave she was referring to was the one the Order of the Shrike had used just before the Massacre of 1615. The cave had been boarded up centuries ago. How could she have gotten in there?

I stopped helping the ant and moved in closer, not wanting to miss one word of what she would say next. She fidgeted nervously with her fingers, before saying in a quieter voice, "The next thing I knew, I woke up on the floor of the library. I went outside in the daylight, and nobody could hear or see me. Not even my great-uncle. But the phantoms, all of them could—and that's when I realized that I had become one of them."

I sank down onto the round stone next to Pamina. "You said you read about this cave in a book? What color book?"

"A b-brown book," she stammered, looking at me with frightened eyes. "Sort of red."

"And the title?"

"The title was _The Slayer of the_ —"

" _The Shadow of Fear_ ," I interrupted. As I strung together what Pamina had said, a veil of horror fell over me. She had become a phantom by going into a cave that she had read about in my book. My book had led her to her death!

I stood up suddenly, as revulsion surged through my body. I wanted to ask more questions, but I had a lump in my throat that prevented any words from coming out. I continued to stand there, speechless, until a hand grabbed the back of the collar of my cassock and two other hands grabbed my arms.

"You're ruining everything!" Ravana said through gritted teeth. He dragged me away from Pamina and Drev.

"You two carry on," the werewolf said, as I was dragged away from earshot. "Pretend that Hugh was never here. Ha! Like he doesn't exist. Grasshopper! Quick, a melody fit to be Cupid's anthem!" The grasshopper pounced before the couple and filled the air with the werewolf's request.

As soon as Ravana had wrestled me a safe distance from the pair, a half dozen other characters circled around and began scolding me.

"Don't you understand that she needs Drev?"

"Without this chance, the poor girl might be lost forever!"

"What are you talking about?" I replied. "Why are you yelling at _me_? I only asked a few questions."

"Wait! Be quiet!" said King Midas suddenly. The phantoms turned their heads to Drev and Pamina. I looked in the same direction. The two had scooted closer together, and Drev was now holding Pamina's hand. A few phantoms clasped their hands together delightedly.

"Is it time?" gasped a humanlike creature with a blue face and two horns coming out of its head. It held three blue lanterns in each hand.

Sun Wukong sprang up out of nowhere in front of the horned creature.

"You're on time, my friend. Start hanging the lamps here and here and here," ordered the Monkey King, pointing around the cemetery with a stick, like a symphony conductor with a baton. "Where is Yue-Lao? He needs to tie Pamina and Drev together. Now."

"He's sleeping," said the blue horned creature as he hung his lanterns.

"Wake him up! This is the most important job he's had for centuries, and he's not alert! What is this?" the Monkey King asked nervously.

"You!" Sun Wukong turned to me with a dozen thick, rounded red sticks that smelled of gunpowder. "Set these fireworks off when the last blue lantern is hung; then Yue-Lao will tie a red string around the two kids' hands that will bind them to one another forever."

The Monkey King then turned to the rest of the phantoms and said, "Everyone say your good-byes and well wishes to Pamina now." Sniffles and flat-out wailing erupted all around me.

"What is happening?" I asked, tucking the firecrackers under my arm. "Where is Pamina going?"

"Pamina's like you, Hugh," said the giant primate as he busily prepped more fireworks. "Poor thing's a phantom roaming this earth, searching for the ending to her story, so she can rest in the afterworld."

"Yes, I already know! But what pressing issue would bring her back to this world? Surely her mission couldn't be on par with mine," I said. Finding the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear was imperative—for all humankind.

"She died before she could find her true love," continued the Monkey King.

"Her reason for coming back was to find her true love?" I winced. The idea was ludicrous; then every unhappy young woman who died without finding true love would be haunting the world. "How does that become a reason for coming back to this world as a phantom?"

"Don't be condescending," chided a woman dressed in a gown of silver and gold threads. The hems were embroidered with tiny pearls. She wore a sparkling tiara on her head. "That's all she wanted in the end—to find the love of her life so she wouldn't feel so alone anymore, poor girl." Her tiara threatened to slide off as she set down a large box of fireworks.

"More?" asked Sun Wukong, cringing.

"The God of Fire brought them over," said the woman, brushing the dust off her hands. "He says there won't be another occasion for us to use them for at least the next several centuries."

"So, then, are you saying that Drev is . . . is her fairy-tale prince? Her Prince Charming?" I asked hesitantly. "I thought all of you were going to make him the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear."

The Monkey King scratched his ear and then his chin, clearly contemplating my comment. After several seconds, he responded simply, "He can be both." He then turned to the woman. "Look, Cinderella, take this box of fireworks back to the God of Fire; if we try to set all these off, it won't be a celebration. They'll think we're starting a war."

Cinderella picked up the box and left.

"Both? How can he be—" I stopped myself. There was no point in pursuing the topic. "So what's going to happen? Does he have to be dead, too, to join her?"

Sun Wukong scratched his chin again. "Good question. I don't know. But we'll soon see."

"What do you mean?" I asked, not believing my ears. "And how do you know he's her . . . her prince?"

I felt a rough garden glove on my shoulder.

"We don't know. We're _making_ him her prince," said King Midas, winking at me.

"You're all insane!" I wanted to run to Drev to warn him of the phantoms' plan, but I stopped when I saw him completely captivated by Pamina.

"If he's truly the one for her, death won't matter to him at all," said King Midas, as though such a comment would be comforting.

I shook my head. I had to tell Drev—he at least needed to be warned of what awaited him. He had no idea that he was about to become the victim of a dead girl's amorous longings. If he later chose to die and be with Pamina, then so be it. But at this moment, he needed to know what might happen to him.

I began marching over to where Drev and Pamina were sitting, when shouting rose from behind me.

"Where's Hugh going?"

"Quick, wrestle him to the ground!"

Within seconds, Ravana had pinned my arms behind me and was dragging me back.

Sun Wukong saw the ghost with the blue lanterns hang the sixth and last lantern. The Monkey King then turned to me to give the cue for the fireworks, but when he saw me disheveled and struggling as Ravana's prisoner, he called for the leprechaun. The leprechaun hopped over to where I had dropped the fireworks. The excitement of the night had rendered him spastic, and I watched with terror as he lit a match and brought it over to the fireworks, lighting them frantically one after the other.

"Not at the same time!" shouted Sun Wukong. But it was too late. The leprechaun screamed as the explosives shot into the sky. Bursts of reds and greens and oranges and blues bombarded the heavens in rapid-fire succession. The match-made couple sitting on the stone, holding hands, turned their faces toward the sky, their mouths open in wide smiles. As they did, sleepy Yue-Lao crept up behind them and stealthily wrapped a red string around the wrists of their interlocked hands, tying their fates together with that simple thread.

Drev turned away from the light show and looked at his hand clutching Pamina's, but the string had already become invisible. He must've felt something, though, for he rubbed his wrist with his other hand for a few seconds before turning his attention back to the night sky.

I held my breath and the phantoms stared anxiously at the couple, as if they would be the next to explode in a blast of colors. But nothing happened. Pamina continued to sit, holding Drev's hand. When the night faded back to its original violet hue, the couple faced each other and continued talking.

I sighed with relief and turned to look at Sun Wukong, who was scratching his head and muttering to himself. Many of the phantoms, disappointed and disheartened, began walking away from the Forgotten Cemetery altogether. I had nothing to say, either, but I stayed, wondering if I should warn Drev that he might have to die if he pursued this relationship with Pamina.

"They don't need a chaperone, Hugh." I felt a familiar hand pat my back and turned to see Ahura Mazda beside me. "Their story is unfolding as it should."

Several seconds had to pass before Ahura Mazda's words had an effect on me. Then, for the first time that night, I let my shoulders relax. I let the two be as they were and turned my mind over to my own circumstances and how much they had changed within the last twelve hours. A new chapter of my journey had begun. Where was it leading?

# PART III
# Chapter 16: The Night of the Dead

By the first of November, autumn had nearly withered away. Two months had passed since the beginning of the year. Toussaint, All Hallows' Day, had arrived with a winter chill, weaving itself into the air. Only a few dry, bronze leaves clung feebly to the bald branches, the wind threatening to carry them off with each gust. Despite the dreary weather, preparation for the largest party of the year was taking place.

I sat atop Stauros Hall during the day and watched as decorators with colorful lamps and bolts of cloth hurried up and down the Five Ring Road. Caterers pushed enormous carts of food up the hill, leaving their trucks at the entrance of Stauros Island. When the bell rang to signal the end of class, I watched the students file out of the old abbey and into the laboratories and reading halls on the second and third rings of the Five Ring Road. Many of them paused to observe the workers who had come to set up the spectacular soiree that was happening that night.

Having locked myself away for nineteen years, I found it necessary to find some time to be alone. The rooftop was the perfect location—no one near me, and the world stretched out beneath. My constant companion was the wind, which I at first welcomed. But with each passing day, as the air became colder, the wind became more coarse and biting—and mysteriously nauseating. Its scent, normally a blend of dirt, grass, and seawater, was replaced with an odorous jumble of mold, sewage, and rotting flesh.

On the day of Toussaint, the odor was so dense and pervasive I couldn't think about anything except the source of the smell. What could it be? There was no news of a war or a plague. I paced back and forth along the Stauros Hall roof, secure in the knowledge that no student except Drev would see me.

"Hello." I heard a small voice calling from the open window of the north tower. The tower was like an extended turret stretching out of the main building, and its window opened onto the roof. The arching aperture had been crudely carved from the stone that formed the cylindrical tower. The gap was large enough for a small young woman to step through easily.

"Pamina!" I said, surprised to see the girl standing there. However, I immediately opened my arms to show her she was welcome to join me. "I didn't expect you to come up here," I said, taking her hand and helping her step through the arched window so that her head wouldn't hit the tracery at the top. She was wobbly as she took her first few steps onto the roof. I saw her eyes widen when she looked down and realized the deep drop that yawned before her. I encouraged her to sit. She did, and I sat next to her.

"I saw you from the courtyard." She smiled shyly. "I'm waiting for Drev to finish class. We're going to go to the Toussaint celebration later tonight. I didn't want to wait alone, so I-I thought I would join you."

"And you were right to do so," I said. Pamina and I rarely saw each other. Whenever I saw her in passing, which was always with Drev, I greeted her. I assumed she found out whatever she wanted to know about me from him. And all that I knew about Pamina was what the other phantoms had told me that evening when I'd first met her. Since the first night they'd met, in the Forgotten Cemetery, Drev and Pamina had been inseparable. I had been anxious about what would happen to Drev after that, for the phantoms had told me he might risk losing his life. However, my worries had subsided over the weeks and been replaced with a sense of relief. Drev looked happier and was livelier than ever. Although I barely saw him, since he was in class during the day and spent every evening with Pamina, the rare occasion when I did see him, I noticed that his sneers had turned into sincere smiles and his greetings were nothing but friendly. I silently applauded Pamina for civilizing him.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked.

"Smelling the wind."

She giggled.

"No, really, that's what I've been doing these past several weeks. There's an odd stench. Can you smell it?"

She was still, and I watched her inhale deeply several times. After a few seconds, she just looked straight ahead.

"You don't smell anything?" I sighed, perplexed.

"No, I know this smell well," she said, her forehead scrunched up in consternation. "When I was alive and lived in Stauros Hall, my room sometimes smelled like this."

"Good God! What was in your room?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said. She took a lock of her hair and wrapped it around her finger, her eyes downcast. Her voice quieted. "But this was the smell. I would notice it if I woke up from a nightmare. I had night terrors, and I'd wake up crying and sweating. I couldn't stand it, and even though my great-uncle's room was right across the hall, I . . . I couldn't rely on him for comfort. So the only way to get away from it was to run out of Stauros Hall."

"I don't understand," I said. "It smelled like this after a nightmare?"

"I didn't understand it either, until I told Ahura Mazda about it. He told me it was the smell of fear and that I could stay with him and the others as often as I needed to. After that, whenever I was scared, I always sneaked out of my room and slept in the Forgotten Cemetery, with the phantoms keeping me company."

The stench of fear! How could I have been so dense! I stood up again and looked out to the mainland. Where was the Shadow of Fear? Was it spreading this odor of decay?

"Hugh, is everything okay?" Pamina asked, jolting me from my thoughts.

"Fine. Everything . . . everything is fine. Apologies if I startled you, my dear Pamina," I said, trying to keep a controlled exterior, but sharp pains of panic were bursting inside my skull. I ran my hand over my face several times, before clearing my throat and saying in a low, gentle voice, "Tell me, Pamina, what nightmares did you have? What were you so afraid of that would make you cry in the night?"

"Being alone." Her sad eyes looked straight into mine. "I was so afraid of being alone, of dying alone. My great-uncle always used to tell me that we arrive in the world alone, and when we leave, we must leave alone. But I was so scared of being by myself—"

"Pamina," I stopped her. Suddenly the perplexing question of why she was still a phantom, something I had been mulling over for the last couple of months, came to my mind again. I had thought that after she met Drev, her wish to find her prince would be fulfilled. I was still racked with guilt that my book had led her to that cave. I wanted to avoid speaking about the topic, but I had a feeling that the way she had died would reveal why, after meeting Drev, she was still roaming this island. It would also explain why Drev had not died, as the other phantoms had mentioned. Until now, the simple conclusion I had made was that Drev was simply not fit to be the love of her life, but now I knew that there had to be something more to Pamina's story than just finding her true love.

"Pamina, can you explain to me again how you died? Do you recall what happened when you entered the library?"

She looked at me, her eyes large and wide. "I sought out the cave you wrote about in your book."

I sighed. My wretched book!

"Pamina." I swallowed with an audible gulp. "If it doesn't pain you, could you tell me how you came across my book?"

The question, among others, had been niggling at me since the night I had met her. I clearly recalled having given the book to Anne-Marie years ago, on the night we had encountered the Saboteurs. We had been reading it together in the library when they had suddenly appeared. She and I had escaped the Saboteurs, and I had let her keep my book. Two days later, the school had declared that she had disappeared, and I'd assumed the book had disappeared with her. But now I wasn't so sure.

"I saw the book locked in a large glass cabinet behind my great-uncle's desk in his office," she said. "I would secretly open it and read the book whenever he was away at meetings. You wrote in your book that the cave was a passageway to . . . to . . ."

"It's called the World of the Damned."

"Yes, but I wanted to leave—leave the island. I thought when I was in the boat, I could steer it away from heading into the World of the Damned." She shook her head. "I felt that it was my only chance." Her shoulders dropped as she stared far out to the mainland, perhaps still wishing to see the world beyond the island.

"I had seen pictures and movies and had heard stories. The world out there—I still imagine how beautiful it is." She smiled. "I have vague but wonderful memories of the world outside the island. They're from when I was younger and my parents were still alive. The memories are faint, like fading photos, but I remember how happy I was before I came here to live with my great-uncle." She looked as though she might cry, as she looked toward the horizon. "I thought going to a university somewhere else would give me the perfect chance to leave Stauros. But my great-uncle forbade it. And so I tried to run away." She paused, blinked a couple of times, and said, "I didn't know how I could run away."

"So that's when you remembered the cave that I wrote about in my book—and thought of it as a way to escape," I said.

She nodded slowly. "When I started looking for it, I found the cave easily—it was easy to get to. Once I was inside, I saw the old rowboat. It was small, perfect for maybe two or three people, and there was a carved figurehead at the bow—it was a shrike looking out toward the mouth of the cave. It looked enchanting, like out of a fairy tale. I climbed in, but there wasn't an oar or anything to make the boat move, and yet it started moving anyway. Before I knew it, I was at sea and I couldn't see beyond the shrike. The fog was so thick. The boat kept moving. I couldn't control it. I became scared . . . so scared."

She covered her hand with her mouth as her tears flowed profusely. I felt only empathy for her. My memory of having gone down in that cave—even though it had been hundreds of years ago—was still fresh in my mind. As Pamina continued to weep, I wrapped my arms around her and rocked her gently until she calmed down. I wanted to keep talking to her to allay any fears she had, but my mind was busy piecing together parts of a mystery, pieces that had scattered throughout the last fifty years.

I now knew that the students who had disappeared from the island—the ones whose disappearance I had been blamed for—must have vanished through this cave. The question of who had reopened it, and for what reason, remained unanswered. Nevertheless, I was certain that whoever had reopened it had done so knowing that the students would find the cave, board the boat, and never be heard from again.

All those victims were connected by the fact that they had been students whom I had approached, wanting to tell them about my book, about the myth of the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. However, unlike Pamina, most of them had not even opened my book, let alone read it. So how had they all been lured to the cave if some of them probably hadn't even known of its existence?

"And then it happened, like you wrote in your book." Pamina hiccupped as she tried to keep her sobs at bay. "You wrote, 'The fear manifests outside of the being like a shadow ready to swallow the victim body and soul.' I felt the Shadow of Fear creeping up on me. . . ."

She teared up again.

"Pamina," I said gently, "you don't have to go on if you don't want to."

She brushed away the tears with her delicate fingertips. "I-it's just that I haven't spoken about what really happened to anyone. I told the other phantoms only that I fell off the boat. They never ask me any questions, but I think someone should know, because it was terrible and scary. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. The truth is, the Shadow of Fear wasn't beating or pulling at me. It _was_ me. I realized that I was pulling at my own hair and ramming myself into the sides of the boat. . . ."

As much as I had researched the story about the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear, I had never imagined that the Shadow of Fear forced its victims to kill themselves!

Pamina stopped, for I failed hopelessly to remain poised. My mind was like an overturned beehive: a gazillion thoughts swarmed in my head and stung me with one realization after another.

That stench in the air was no longer a mystery. It was evidence that the Shadow of Fear was at work. Although its victims tore out their own hair and beat themselves to death, the Shadow of Fear was nevertheless the murderer. Instead of incriminating fingerprints, it left behind only a rancid smell of fear as the victims' terrors consumed them entirely.

There were probably hundreds, if not thousands, who, like Pamina, had suffered at their own hands. Drev's words of how the mortuary was the only business that was booming repeated in my head. My thoughts turned to those ghostless bodies Drev had talked about, and how they'd arrived twisted and battered. I now understood that they, too, were victims of the Shadow of Fear. Drev had been right when he'd said they looked like they had tortured themselves. According to Pamina, that was exactly what happened when the Shadow of Fear overtook its victims. As for their being ghostless, it was clear that their spirits would be forever condemned to the World of the Damned.

I covered my ears as Drev's words repeated mercilessly in my head. I needed it to stop.

I felt a cold hand over mine and saw Pamina's bright eyes.

"Thanks to your book, I knew that the Shadow of Fear takes a person's soul to the World of the Damned—and I knew that I couldn't give in to the Shadow. So I challenged it instead."

"You challenged it?" My voice cracked with incredulity. "How?"

"The old-fashioned way," she answered matter-of-factly. "My memory is loaded with stories the phantoms told me over the years—the ways the heroes of those stories battled against their demons. I grew up hearing firsthand how goddesses and queens bravely slew witches or baby-eating goblins, and I knew I just needed to follow in their footsteps.

"At first I struggled in the boat, unsure of what was happening, but I tried to control my arms with all the strength I had. And then I tried to remain calm, even though the Shadow of Fear was hovering over me. I was still scared, but I tried not to show it. I just kept repeating to myself what the headless knight once told me: 'Face what you're afraid of. Courage comes after.'

"I faced the Shadow of Fear, telling it that I wasn't afraid of it, that my fears didn't have control over me. Before I knew it, I felt my body relaxing, I regained control of my arms and legs, and I could feel the Shadow of Fear backing away.

"But the moment it left, it created a strong blast of wind and rocked the boat, and I accidentally fell over the side. I couldn't swim, and I knew it was the end for me. But even then, my fear of dying was nothing compared with my sorrow over dying alone.

"It was terrible." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I remember splashing in the water; it was so cold. Then I felt as if I were being pulled—pulled downward. I gave up."

"And so you drowned," I said softly. "I'm sorry."

She gave me a half smile. "It's more painful to think of it happening, I guess. All I remember is, everything just went black. But then, after, I felt a warmth—a soft, calming energy—come to my side. I felt as though I weren't alone, as if arms had wrapped around me. And everything came into vision, like I had opened my eyes. And it was then that I saw phantoms."

"The phantoms? Like Ravana and Siren and the headless knight?" I turned to her, shocked. "In the sea?"

"No," she said. "Phantoms who live only in the sea and whom you can see only if you go into the sea—like Poseidon, Oya, and Ma-tsu—and dozens of others."

I paused to consider what Pamina spoke of, as I had never even considered sea phantoms. Finally, I nodded slowly. If there were phantoms on Stauros Island, I couldn't see why there wouldn't be phantoms in the Stauros Sea.

"They asked me what was wrong," she continued. "I told them that I had drowned—died alone. I knew I had to accept my fate. But if there were one wish that I could ask from the sky, the sea, the earth, the stars—all that was greater than I—it was not to let me be alone forever in death. I couldn't bear, right up until I was dying, that there wasn't a real person with me. I had been alone for too long. Ever since my parents had passed away. And I couldn't—I just couldn't—die alone, nor be alone forever after death. That was too much to bear.

"The next morning, I was in the library—like this." She held up her hands as if they were covered in mud. The tears rolled down her cheeks once again, and I wrapped my arms around her.

I imagined that, upon hearing Pamina pleading, the phantoms around her came to her aid. Poseidon was the mighty sea god in the ancient Greek world, while Oya was the goddess of the Niger River, who also guarded the underworld. Either one could manage to salvage a spirit from the dead. Although their powers were notorious, their generosity wasn't. I suspected Ma-tsu, the ancient Eastern sea goddess who forever came to the aid of fishermen and sailors, convinced them to allow Pamina to come back to the island as a phantom so that she could find someone who was willing to accompany her through death and to the afterlife.

Although I was relieved to learn that Pamina had not fallen to the Shadow of Fear, her story was nevertheless disconcerting. For now I knew that she wasn't just searching for someone to kiss her and tell her he loved her; she was searching for the one thing she had yearned for as she died—someone who loved her enough that he would readily join her through death and rest with her eternally. I was more than certain that Drev wouldn't take to the idea happily. But would any young man?

I looked at this petite, fairylike creature leaning against me, a woman completely helpless against all the viciousness in the world. I chided myself for having thought of her reason for returning as a phantom as ludicrous. I could see how she could never rest eternally if she were alone. But who would be willing to fulfill her wish? Between the two of us, I stood more of a chance of fulfilling my goal than she did.

"And you, Hugh?" she said, lifting her head away from my chest and looking at me. "Do you know how you became a phantom? Drev told me that you were once alive, like me."

"I consciously chose to become a phantom."

"Why?"

"To find the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear, the one person who will put this monster down once and for all. It was my life's goal. Now it's an obligation I must fulfill before leaving this world."

"You really think there is a Slayer? Like the one you wrote about in your book?"

"I know there is, Pamina. And I can't rest until I find him and know that he is battling the Shadow of Fear."

Pamina was silent for a long, philosophical moment; then she looked out to the mainland and sighed. "I hope you do find the Slayer. He'll do more than just destroy the Shadow of Fear. He'll set everyone free."

As I was thinking about what she'd said, I saw a stream of students filing out into the courtyard from Stauros Hall. Classes had ended. I gave Pamina a squeeze.

"I think Drev will be out now," I said as cheerfully as possible. She shifted away from me and toward the edge of the roof. She squinted at the crowd below, drying her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Oh!" she said suddenly, backing away.

"What's wrong? What is it?" I asked, scooting myself over to where she was.

She turned to me, shaking her head like a frightened child. "My great-uncle. He's down there."

I myself had never seen the chancellor. Curious to know what specimen of a fiend would banish four students to a cellar and cause his grandniece to perpetually fear him, I looked down into the courtyard.

"Pamina, it's daylight. He can't see you," I reassured her. She nodded, but the fear in her eyes was still there.

A white-haired man in a maroon velvet robe with a silver shrike embroidered on the back was standing in the corner of the courtyard farthest from the entrance to Stauros Hall. He stood with two men dressed in identical black suits and wearing large sunglasses that made them look like flies. They were far removed from the clusters of students at the other end of the courtyard. Pamina's great-uncle had his head lowered, while the two men on either side stood close, relaying information discreetly, without gestures or any other movement.

Students continued to file out into the courtyard and then spill onto the Five Ring Road. I saw Drev among them. His smooth, slow strut was highly distinguishable among the students who were scurrying away to get ready for the soiree that night.

Suddenly, the white-haired man lifted his face to the sky, his mouth wide open. It seemed as if he'd just heard devastating news. His face had aged, but that sinister profile was too familiar. At first I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and edged closer to where the roof ended.

"Hugh, careful," said Pamina, tugging my shoulder.

I put my hand over hers and asked, in a voice as steady as I could muster, "Pamina, what is your great-uncle's name?"

"Parafron."

I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw. I couldn't believe that life could be so unfair. How could that scrawny student who had wrongly condemned me as the Demon of Stauros so many years ago now be the most powerful man on the island and one of the most influential men in the world?

## Chapter 17: My Friend Ankou

Thousands of years ago, before the Order of the Shrike and before the Order of the Crane, when the art of storytelling and story listening was still celebrated and the dead were honored, the souls that had died during the previous twelve months would come to life one last time on the night of Toussaint to eat, drink, and dance with the living—a grand celebration of life together with death. Although the stories and dead heroes were forgotten, the tradition of the living dressing up to spend an evening with the dead was still celebrated.

Even now, on Stauros Island, Toussaint was the only night students were allowed to stay out past midnight. It also happened to be the only time the school opened its doors to the outside world. As a gesture of goodwill to the people on the mainland, the school had a tradition of inviting them to the costume soiree. The only obstacle that stood in their way was how to cross the Stauros Sea after the tide came in. The school never offered a ferry, and all the boats docked on the mainland belonged to fishermen who couldn't care less about attending a party thrown by elite snobs. As a result, hardly anyone from the surrounding villages ever came to the grand fete.

However, the mainlanders were never missed. The phantoms readily took their places, for Toussaint was the only time of year the phantoms could mingle with the students without looking conspicuous. Toussaint also happened to be the only night when the keeper of the graveyard and the collector of dead souls, Ankou, took a holiday. Ankou was an unsocial phantom and never sought the company of others. He was always present in the cemetery but preferred to be hidden among the dust and shadows. Although nothing out of the ordinary ever happened in the Forgotten Cemetery, none of the other phantoms was willing to cover Ankou's duties the night of Toussaint, since they all wanted to attend the celebration. After the night the phantoms first saw me with Drev, one of them suggested that _I_ fill in for Ankou, since I never went to the celebration. However, I had no intention of taking on the role of the grim reaper that night, or ever.

When the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon, I wanted to make myself scarce. I had climbed down from the roof of Stauros Hall and was hoping to take a back-road trail to avoid running into any students or phantoms. The day had overwhelmed me with urgency, disappointment, and hopelessness. By sunset, my mind seemed to have become an oversaturated sponge, and I was desperate to go to a secluded place and release all that I had soaked up.

"Hugh!" A voice like the winds of a hurricane hit me as I crossed through the Forgotten Cemetery.

I turned and saw a dark figure sitting in the driver's seat of a fifteenth-century, blue-gray wood cart drawn by a skeleton horse. At first I couldn't recognize the character, and studied him for several seconds. Only when he withdrew his gigantic scythe did I realize I was facing Ankou.

The threadbare shreds of his gray wool cape fluttered in the wind. His wide-brimmed black hat covered his face in shadow. The iron blade of his scythe curved over his head, reflecting a malicious gleam from the light of the full moon. I was surprised he'd said my name, for I had thought he never spoke—at least, in all my time on the island, I had never heard him speak.

"Ankou!" I managed a smile. "Enjoy the evening!"

I kept walking, hurrying to avoid him. I already knew what he wanted to ask. Unfortunately for me, Ankou was quick. He whipped his horse, and in a flash his ghastly mare was flaring her nostrils a few centimeters from my face. I looked up as he slid off the driver's seat and walked over to me. There was no room for escape.

I had heard many stories about Ankou, none of them pleasant. I decided to spare both of us any exchange of explanations or odd silences and surrendered to his assumed request. "All right, Ankou. I'll stay in the Forgotten Cemetery until dawn and look after the graveyard for you. I wanted to have a quiet evening anyhow, and I suppose there's no better place on the island than this graveyard."

I expected him to turn back to his cart and ride off, satisfied that everything had gone smoothly. So I was appalled when he pointed to my cassock with his scythe. He then pointed to his own grisly rags. The message was clear—the grim reaper wanted to dress up as me.

"Are you joking? You want to wear this to the party tonight?" I asked, pointing to my cassock. "While I wear your clothes?"

He was still, and I interpreted his response as a yes.

I let out a long sigh and looked up at the sky. I turned back to Ankou when I heard him stomp the butt of his scythe into the earth out of impatience. I didn't see any way out of the predicament, and his scythe looked more menacing by the minute. Even though I was dead, a swift swipe from him would have me hemorrhaging with pain until morning. I conceded.

Ankou took off his cape and then his hat. Upon seeing his face for the first time, I winced and gasped with horrified awe. I saw a blue-purple, bloated blob with worms and pus pouring out of the dozen holes that riddled it.

"My cassock has a hood," I coughed, preventing myself from gagging outright. "You better wear it."

***

Sitting atop Ankou's death cart and holding the reins of his phantom horse was a pleasant change. I felt as if I was in a private seat, a space no one would dare enter. And although I was, at first, afraid that Ankou's clothes would carry a miserable eau de toilette of centuries of death and mourning, I was pleased that they smelled like fresh overturned earth.

As I was beginning to adjust to my role as substitute graveyard keeper, I heard a scuffle ahead in the hedge of oak trees that separated the Forgotten Cemetery from the Five Ring Road. I stayed still to see who it might be and was shocked to watch a boy in a lion's mask tumble out and roll until he hit a crumbling tombstone. His mask flew off, and I recognized him as Irving, one of Drev's roommates from the cellar. He lay on the ground. I saw blood on his forehead. He didn't move. I was about to flick the whip and ride out on Ankou's cart, when I saw J.P. and Max burst from the same hedge and run toward Irving.

A few seconds later, from among the dark spaces between the trunks of the oak trees, a pack of five snickering students, all wearing the same brown bird's mask that resembled the face of a shrike, walked toward Irving. I immediately raised the reins of the horse, ready to charge.

"Hey, faggot!" one of them yelled as he walked up to J.P. "Now that your friend is down, are you going to write the paper for me or aren't you?" Max hovered over Irving, making sure his friend wasn't badly hurt. I prayed for Irving to get back up on his feet and face down his aggressors. But he was as still as an opossum.

"Back off, assholes!" yelled J.P., his sunglasses reflecting the light of the moon.

"Irving! Hey, Irving!" said Max, as he tried to help his dazed friend sit up.

"Looks like Grandma's little boy couldn't take the tumble," jeered the same masked student, who seemed to be the ringleader for that pack of thugs.

Max swiftly turned on his feet and gave the student a shove. The attack sent his adversary back only two feet, but he exploded with rage, head-butting Max's chest, propelling Max back five feet and onto the ground. J.P. wasn't in a better situation, for one of the other goons pinned his arms behind his back while his friend freely jabbed at J.P.'s face.

I wasn't eager to expose myself to any more students. Drev was enough. However, I knew what the outcome would be if there were no supernatural intervention.

"Get going!" I said, cracking the leather whip on the ivory bones of the horse. Despite her feeble appearance, the mare had the strength of a dozen stallions, and I felt as though the cart itself were being lifted off the ground and through the air. In half a breath, we were in the middle of the fight. I jumped off the cart, wielding my scythe at the bewildered masked punks.

"Holy shit!" I heard them shout, as two of them fell to their knees and crawled back toward the oak trees.

"How the hell . . . ?" began the one who was holding J.P.'s arms. I kicked him in the shins without saying a word. He yelped as he fell to his knees, letting go of J.P., who stared at me, stunned.

"I wanna see who this shithead is," said the leader of the gang. He grabbed my hat—or Ankou's hat—and tried to pull it off. But J.P. had come to his senses, and, for some odd reason, instead of punching his attacker in the face, he decided to humiliate him and pulled down his pants. The other boy shrieked. As the boy bent down to pull up his pants, J.P. took the opportunity to kick his butt with a loud thud. The blow sent the boy sprawling. He then jumped up and ran away, with his pants around his knees. Max had gotten the upper hand with a boy he was fighting and knocked him down next to Irving, who by now was sitting up, looking around, dazed yet anxious. His two friends knelt by his side.

"Hey, you all right?" Max asked.

"You put up a good fight there, pal," said J.P.

Irving shook his head a couple of times, before saying, "I suppose they'll attempt to write their own term paper now."

Max and J.P. chuckled at Irving's remark and helped him to his feet. They then looked over at me, their faces grim.

"Hey, man, thanks for your help," said Max. His voice quavered.

"Yeah, thanks. Our asses would've been beat if you hadn't come," said J.P., swallowing nervously.

I took off my hat and saw their wariness vanish as they most likely saw someone they thought was the same age they were—just another student.

"Glad I could be of service," I said, as cheerfully as my voice permitted me. Now that the air of mystery was gone, they grinned, and all three of them walked over to me.

"I'm Max."

"Name's J.P."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Irving."

I shook hands with each of them and said, "I'm Hugh. Good to meet all of you."

A moment of odd silence hung in the air, before Irving asked, "Are you going to the party, too? That's a wicked costume you're wearing."

"Yeah, and that horse and wagon are pretty wild," murmured Max, looking over to where I had left Ankou's mare and cart.

I could pass off my odd attire and scythe as part of a costume disguise, but I couldn't explain the moving, breathing skeleton horse. I tried to distract the three by changing the subject.

"Who were those guys? And why did they come after you?" I asked.

Irving shifted his weight to one foot, embarrassed. But Max opened his mouth readily. "Aw, they're a bunch of legacy kids."

"Legacy kids?" I asked.

"Yeah, those are the kids whose entire families have gone to this school for at least the last four generations."

"They're not like the scholarship kids, who got in through merit," added Irving. "And they're not jocks, either."

"They're just self-entitled bastards," said J.P.

"I see," I said. I turned to Irving. "Have they been giving you a hard time since school started?"

"They bully everyone," sighed Irving. "Not just me. But the chancellor turns a blind eye to it all, because their parents usually hold some position of power in the Order of the Shrike."

"Or they're just filthy rich," added J.P.

"Which also means they're probably devout members of the order," said Max.

I shuddered, thinking about the Order of the Shrike's power with impunity and about how its future leaders were no better than hooligans. It came as no surprise that the Shadow of Fear was on an unobstructed rampage, and that people not only were full of fear but had no hope for the future.

The bells in the tower began caroling out the old tune that had become a hit at the turn of the century, "The Chimes of Normandy." The song indicated that the doors to Stauros Hall were now open and the party had begun.

"C'mon, Hugh, let's go," said Max, as he and the other two turned toward the oak trees to head out of the Forgotten Cemetery.

"Supposedly, they've brought in macarons and tarts from the best baker on the mainland," Irving said, beaming and rubbing his hands.

"And there's going to be some good imported beer there, too," said J.P.

I wanted to go. Not for those reasons, however. I was now a part of their fold, their friend. Although I had wanted to be alone earlier, I now didn't want to lose their company. I looked over at Ankou's horse standing nobly in the graveyard, keeping to her duty. I figured she wouldn't go anywhere, nor would she be capable of telling Ankou that I had abandoned my post and joined the party.

An hour at the party couldn't hurt, I thought.

"Fine. Let's head off," I said to them. I looked back at the horse staring at me from the middle of the cemetery. "I'll see you later, old girl."

I spoke too soon. I would never see Ankou's horse again, and this Toussaint soiree would be the last one I would attend.

## Chapter 18: The Fifth Roommate

I continued to hold Ankou's black, wide-rimmed hat and scythe all the way to Stauros Hall. Max, J.P., Irving, and I were headed toward the open doors of the old abbey when we heard a shout behind us. All four of us turned toward the courtyard, where we heard Drev's voice.

"Hey, over here!" said Drev, standing with Pamina. I was surprised to see that he had made the effort to wear a costume. Although he sported only a black nineteenth-century waistcoat, I still gave him credit. Pamina, on the other hand, looked like she had received a helping hand from the Chinese goddess Tin Hau. The red silk robe that fell beneath her feet and the gold threads braided into her hair made her stand out from the crowd. The four of us had begun walking over to them, but I took a moment to pause in my tracks and admire her from a distance.

"That's our other roommate," Irving explained to me. On our walk over from the Forgotten Cemetery, we had begun to get acquainted. He had told me the story of how the four of them had ended up in the cellar. Although I already knew the details, I pretended that I was discovering the information for the first time.

"That girl over there is his girlfriend," said Irving. "We haven't met her yet. Isn't she pretty?"

"Hmm, not bad," I replied, pretending to crane my neck to get a better view of Pamina.

"He's a lucky bastard," chuckled J.P. "And he knows it. That's why he never brings her around, just keeps her to himself."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"We've seen Pamina only in passing," explained Max.

"And only at night," added J.P.

"We thought he was making her up for a while," said Irving. "I mean, we never saw her in any of our classes or at lunch in the dining halls. And she's never with him during the day."

"She's a mistress of the night who appears only with the moon," Max murmured whimsically, as though he were beginning a fairy tale.

"Shhh!" said Irving, as we approached Drev and Pamina.

"Hey, what took you guys so long . . ." Drev's voice trailed off as his eyes landed on me. I gave him a hearty grin and winked at Pamina. She giggled.

"This is Hugh," said Max. "Hugh, this is Drev."

"Nice to meet you, Drev." I grinned and stuck out my hand. I hoped he would play along. After all, what did he have to gain by telling his friends that I was a phantom he had discovered in the cellar where they lived?

His face was expressionless, and his eyes scanned my disguise. After a few long seconds, he shook my hand, but he didn't return my smile.

"Hi, Hugh. I'm Pamina. Nice to meet you," she said, pressing her lips together to hold back her laughter.

"And you would be Drev's lovely lady friend!" I said, taking her hand.

Pamina smiled shyly, turning her gaze to the ground. I could see Drev clenching his jaw out of impatience. I was enjoying myself thoroughly.

"And it's true!" I exclaimed. "You're as beautiful as they say you are—actually more so." I threw the other roommates a raised eyebrow and knowing look as I leaned over and kissed a surprised and delighted Pamina on the cheek. That gesture opened the door for the other three, and they fell over each other to introduce themselves to her. Their eager voices melted together as each one struggled to say something wittier and more endearing than the last. I watched, highly amused, but was annoyed when I felt a hand grab my elbow from behind. I turned and saw Drev's stony face. Now that his roommates were distracted, I was certain he wanted to get to the bottom of things.

"How did you meet these guys?"

I didn't like Drev's interrogative tone. It had a patronizing, even menacing, quality.

"Long story," I shot back.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"Even longer story."

"Did you tell those guys who you are?"

"They know I'm called Hugh . . ."

"No!" growled Drev. "You know what I mean—do they know that you're dead, that you're not alive?"

"No," I said, miffed. "Why is that important? They like me as a friend. That's all that matters. Are you going to tell them that Pamina's not alive?"

Drev gave me a cold, hard stare. I was about to add another rebuttal, when I heard a voice behind me say, "He's over there! That one with the scythe!"

I spun around and saw the thugs from earlier with the groundskeeper Horace and the chancellor Parafron. They were walking quickly toward us.

"What's going on?" asked Drev, looking at me.

"We sort of got in a fight with them," said Max, coming to stand next to me as the accusers walked up to us. This time they didn't have their masks on and looked more villainous than ever.

"You! I've never seen you around!" bellowed Horace, his massive bulk towering over me.

"Really? I've been around for ages," I replied calmly.

The chancellor poked his head out from around Horace's girth. He opened his mouth to deliver what I guessed could only be an acerbic speech. However, when I looked straight into his dull, glassy eyes, a light flickered briefly in them, revealing that he recognized my face. He stopped for a short moment and stared at me, his mouth agape. I, in turn, stared at him. His dry, gray lips pursed together. I could barely hear him as he said, "Philos."

I drew my head back with disgust. Philos was the first student who vanished from Stauros Island, back in the late 1950s. He was Parafron's friend. After his disappearance, Parafron had fabricated a wild tale that I had come to them in the night when they were studying in the library. Parafron had announced to the public that he had witnessed me grab Philos and whirl around the library like a black tornado until we both evaporated into thin air.

The truth was that I approached Philos that night to ask for my book, which I had lent to him. To my surprise, Parafron was sitting next to him and holding it in his hand. Philos looked petrified—a hundred times paler and shakier than when we'd met once before. I asked Philos what was wrong, but he didn't respond. Instead, Parafron insolently accused me of writing lies. I had included details in my book about the Order of the Shrike and how they had secretly murdered members of the Order of the Crane by luring them to a cave. I told Parafron that all of it was true, that there was a cave under the library, just I had written in my book, but it had been boarded up after it was discovered.

I wrangled with Parafron for a few minutes before snatching my book away. I remembered feeling very uneasy, for he was bold and intelligent, but the gleam in his eyes told me his thoughts were of the malicious sort. I remember turning to Philos and telling him to find better company. When I left, Philos was still shaking.

The next morning, at daybreak, Parafron came running out of the library in hysterics. He said Philos had been abducted by a demon—a medieval monk who was once known as Hugh Fogg. As he told and retold his story, he coined the term "Demon of Stauros" and slapped a label on me that I had to bear for more than fifty years.

"Philos," Parafron rasped, a little louder. His eyes were still glued to my face. I scowled and was about to tell him that he knew quite well that I had nothing to do with the disappearance of Philos, when the whiny voice of a student screeched by my ear and forced me to look away from Parafron.

"He swiped that thing at us!" It was one of the legacy students. He pointed to my scythe. "It could've cut my arm off."

"Go on and keep pissing all over yourself, idiot," retorted J.P. "Your arm's still there."

"If you had left us alone, we wouldn't have had the fight in the first place," said Irving, his rising temper apparent in the tremor of his voice.

Then a boy with four piercings in each ear and a severe case of acne concentrated on his nose stepped forward. He stuck his face out, his chin pointing at Irving.

"Oh! Does Grandma's little boy feel bad he got picked on?"

I recognized his voice as that of the leader of the pack—the boy who had screamed when J.P. had pulled down his pants. I was about to shoot back a clever retort, but Drev's fist was quicker. A loud smack reverberated through the night air. The blow sent the bully reeling backward, toppling over Parafron.

"All right, game over!" shouted Horace, as he grabbed my arm and then Drev's. A series of shouts came from the three roommates. Their words bounced away from Horace's ears with no effect. Only when Pamina's voice rang out did the groundskeeper shudder to a halt.

"No, Horace. It's not their fault. Please!"

Horace turned around. "Pamina?"

Pamina had been standing behind all of us the entire time, and no one had seen her until now. She moved in front of Horace and put her hand on his arm.

"It's you, Pamina! You're here!" he cried out.

The ogre was elated and immediately released Drev and me so he could open his arms to embrace Pamina.

"Jesus, Mary, Joseph! Where have ya been?" Horace's ear-to-ear smile revealed only four teeth. "We've all been so worried . . . did ya know that? Where'd ya run off to? We gave up hope, we did. You know how long it's been—more than two months. And I crossed out those days—put down black _X_ 's. Two months of black _X_ 's. Two months of no Pamina. . . ."

Horace continued to ramble on, and, despite my dislike of him, I couldn't help but admire his show of affection for Pamina. As she listened to Horace, tears rolled down her cheeks. She nodded silently as the groundskeeper blabbered away, brushing away her tears from time to time.

I looked over at Parafron, who had recovered from his fall. Unlike the groundskeeper, he didn't greet his grandniece with open arms. In fact, Parafron looked absolutely mortified to see her. His face was as white as ivory, his mouth an upside-down V. His eyes darted to my face.

"She's become one of you," he barely whispered, his breathing labored. Before I could react, he turned his head with an abrupt, mechanical jerk. Facing Stauros Hall, he began to walk in that direction, his movements swift and rigid.

"Hey, Chancellor!" shouted one of the legacy students. "Wait! What about these guys? What about the guy who socked Tyler?"

Parafron continued to walk away, as if the student's words had never penetrated his ears. I glanced over at Tyler and his friends, who were seething with anger. Drev and my other three friends walked over to me. Pamina was engrossed in Horace's conversation. I continued to watch Parafron. He was terrified of his grandniece. But why? At the very least, wouldn't he want to take this opportunity to find out how she'd become a phantom? Unless he already knew.

I recalled the details of the conversation I'd had with Pamina earlier that day. She said she had read my book, and that she'd found it in a glass case behind her great-uncle's desk. Parafron was a clever man, and I doubted he wouldn't have known that his niece was reading the book. He knew she wanted to leave the island desperately. And if she were to read about a hidden cave where there was a boat . . .

I was suddenly distracted from my stream of thoughts by the ringleader bully, Tyler, who staggered over to one of his friends, grabbed a handkerchief, and shoved it up his nostril to clog his bloody nose. He caught my eye and sneered at me.

"Chancellor, my father is going to hear about this!" said Tyler's friend, raising his voice to a scream. His threat was pointless, for Parafron had already entered Stauros Hall. Apparently not used to being ignored, the brat continued to complain while throwing venomous glances in our direction.

I'd had enough. I put Ankou's hat back on and swung the scythe toward Tyler and his friends, who backed away with a gasp. The hat, the scythe, the whole costume inspired me to mimic Ankou's howling voice the best I could. I was proud of the result. "The next time we meet shall be in the cemetery!"

The blood drained from their faces. They jumped to their feet, scampered from the courtyard, and ran down the Five Ring Road. I heard laughter around me and saw my friends, including Drev, smiling.

"C'mon, let's get to the party before all the macarons and beer run out," Max said.

I nodded.

We walked over to the entrance of Stauros Hall. I had Drev and his friends go ahead of me while I pretended to wait for Pamina and Horace, who were trailing behind. Horace continued to jabber on as Pamina patiently walked beside him, listening. I followed them into Stauros Hall and continued right behind them, across the atrium. As they entered the main foyer, joining the rest of the students and phantoms, I slipped away up the staircase.

I wanted to know where Parafron had disappeared to. There was no doubt that he knew Pamina had gone down into the cave. He'd probably never even searched for his grandniece when she went missing but had simply dismissed her as another lost soul of the World of the Damned. The shock on his face when he'd seen her had revealed all that, for he'd looked as though he couldn't fathom how she would have returned.

One thought led to another, and I deduced that if he were so cold-blooded as to send his own flesh and blood to the World of Damned, then it wouldn't be hard to imagine him sending other students—even his friend Philos! My rage was barely containable.

I now had a pressing question I needed answered. Why had he reopened that cave? I was sure Parafron was the culprit. Before Philos's disappearance, no student had ever gone missing on the island. No one could ever know about that cave under the library unless that person had read my book.

And why had I written about the cave in my book? I sighed and let my shoulders sag. Had I known my book would lead Parafron to open that cave, and that a poor, lonely soul like Pamina would think it was the only way to leave the island, I wouldn't have written it.

My book's purpose was to preserve the story of the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. In the last chapters, however, I foolishly recorded the rise of the Order of the Shrike and their attempt to assassinate members of the Order of the Crane. This was meant to show how the Slayer was needed more than ever. I had never imagined that including details about the Saboteurs and the cave would inspire someone, hundreds of years later, to restore the cave and reopen the entrance to the sea. Then again, I had never imagined that the Order of the Shrike would rule the world.

I had to destroy my book. It was harming people instead of helping them. I looked around, wondering where Parafron had disappeared to. Stauros Hall was massive, with a wide foyer where large staircases sprang from each of the four corners of the room. They led up to multiple floors. I wasn't keen on the idea of searching for Parafron up and down these halls, but he had the book. If only I had realized its danger earlier.

Regardless, now was better than never. This was an opportunity I couldn't waste. I would make Parafron confess that he had purposely opened the cave to make certain students disappear. With his confession, I was certain that I would also learn about his motives.

# Chapter 19: The Massacre

Leaving the party behind in the foyer, I climbed the steps to the second story of Stauros Hall. I decided to begin my search for Parafron here. The second floor was eerily quiet compared with the floor below, where the soiree was taking place. For someone like Parafron, who most likely didn't want to mingle with others, this was a good hiding place.

The festive lights and music faded as I reached the landing at the top of the stairs. I was seething as I thought of what I would do once I found Parafron. However, the moment I turned down the long, dark corridor that had once led to the private quarters of the senior monks, I found my knees locked and my stomach turning inside out. I hadn't walked down this hallway since the day of the Massacre of 1615.

The long, narrow passage held an air of sinister familiarity. Successive arches, stretching horizontally across the vaulted ceiling, loomed before me now as they had back then, creating the ominous sensation of entering the rib cage of a whale. I looked down at my feet and saw the same large cut blocks of stone I had walked on the morning right before I died.

On the day of the massacre, I woke to screams. It was hours before sunrise. The entire island was in chaos. Wails and howls filled the air as members of the Order of the Shrike clubbed and knifed the members of the Order of the Crane. I could smell asphyxiating smoke from the large fire in the courtyard, where the Order of the Shrike was burning books from the library.

The Order of the Shrike wasn't just murdering the members of the Order of the Crane; they were destroying every trace of that order's existence. Any book that mentioned the order, or any story that the order had cataloged and stored, was being burned. I held my book more closely to my body. Its pages contained more than a story. It was a prophecy that told of the coming of a hero who would protect everyone from the Shadow of Fear. For the members of the Order of the Crane, it was a sacred tale that heralded a time when people would be freed from their worst fears. Many believed that the tale was more than a myth—that the Slayer _would_ come. I was one of those believers. I was willing to wager my soul that he would arrive one day, no matter how far in the future, and would fight for his fellow brothers and sisters, for all of humankind. Therefore, even if I died, that book had to survive. Future generations had to know the story in order to recognize the Slayer and support him.

I was desperate to find a safe place for it! But where?

If anyone could help me, it was Abbot Pellanor. I was determined to find him. I stayed close to the walls, hearing the thuds of desks and tables turning over in other rooms. Shrieks of terror would follow. Every hair on my head stood on end as I kept my wits about me. Several times I had seen members of the Order of the Shrike approaching, and I had managed to hide myself behind a statue or run into a room with an open door and hide behind it.

However, as I began to make my way from one end of the abbey, where the apprentices were housed, to the other, where the older monks had their quarters, I saw three young monks from a distance carrying bloodied knives. They saw me and ran. I turned the other way and saw two others, who were carrying a rope and a large rock.

I was trapped. I feared it was the end for me. To this day, I believe providence gave me the grace to see the door of the prayer room slightly opened. The abbey was full of secret passageways—shortcuts to get from one part of the building to another. Not many monks knew about them, but I did. I knew the prayer room housed an entry to a secret shortcut.

I rushed into the room and ran to the opposite end, where an altar was set against the wall. I put all my weight against one end, and it lurched aside, revealing a small hole in the wall behind it. I crawled in. I then turned around and pulled the altar back to where it had been so that the hole was covered completely.

Immediately, I heard footsteps pounding, and then echoing throughout the room.

"I saw that bloody rat come in here!"

"I saw him, too! Where the hell is he?"

Curses and threats bounced off the walls as chairs were overturned, but I was too busy making my way through the passageway to care.

The secret shortcut had a set of stairs that led upward two floors, to the roof. Those stairs also led downward two floors, all the way to the old dungeon. I went down. I had descended only a few steps when I came across a confluence of several narrow hallways. I chose a hallway that eventually led to an exit that opened up to the corridor leading to Abbot Pellanor's room.

I exited the secret passageway by pushing a life-size statue of Demeter away from the wall that covered the tunnel I had crawled through. I stepped into a wide-open corridor—the very corridor that I was walking in now, four centuries later. As I pushed Demeter back to cover the hole, I kept looking to my left and my right to make sure that I was still alone. I was relieved that I didn't see any sign of the members of the Order of the Shrike. I exhaled slowly and headed down the hall in the direction of the abbot's room.

When I neared his room, I was horrified to see that my pursuers had already passed through. A streak of fresh blood was splattered across the door of the abbot's room. Expecting the worst, I pushed open the door and entered. I saw the headless body of the abbot strapped to a chair with a thick rope. The Order of the Shrike, those murderers—they had already been here. His back was to me. I trained my eyes to the floor, looking to see if I might find the rest of him, and, sure enough, I did. Lying a few feet away from me was his severed head, its lifeless eyes wide open, staring into mine.

My knees gave way. My book clattered to the floor, but the sound was distant. _This is the end of civilization_ , I thought. _All sense of decency was gone._ _This is how centuries of culture, of wisdom—the history of the human spirit—will end._

I crawled over to where the abbot's head lay. Without thinking about what I was doing, I began to wipe his blood off the floor with my robe, tears falling as I did. I reached over to his head and closed his eyes with my fingers. With both my hands shaking, I carried the head, dripping with blood and loose flesh, to the bed and placed it on a pillow as gently as my trembling hands would permit me.

I heard footsteps pounding and then halting at the door. I looked away from the bed and saw a fellow monk, an apprentice my age, who was wearing the same robe as I, but instead of making a sober expression, he jeered at me. I knew he was a traitor.

From behind his back, he withdrew a knife with a large, rectangular blade, the type I'd seen butchers use. I was too numb for even one fiber in my body to tremble. Instead I dashed toward my book and picked it up, and as he tried to bring the meat cleaver down upon me, I smacked the side of his head with the book. I continued to beat him until the weapon dropped out of his hand and to the floor. I picked it up. I stood over him as he cowered on the ground, his arms over his head.

"Untie Abbot Pellanor's body from the chair and lay it together with his head on the bed," I ordered.

He nodded, still shaking.

Instead of fleeing from the room immediately, I spent a few precious seconds to make sure he performed the task. As I was stepping out the door, I took one more glance at the abbot. The other monk was carrying his body toward the bed. As he hoisted it underneath the abbot's head, a limp arm fell into my view. I saw blood all over the hand—fingers bent, bloody, and twisted out of shape. Whoever had murdered the abbot had also tortured him by pulling out his fingernails and breaking his fingers one by one. The other monk glared up at me, as if to say, _There. Satisfied?_

I dropped my book and ran over to the side of the bed. Drawing on all my strength, I smashed my fist to his nose and knocked him to the ground. I put the cleaver under one arm, then took the edges of the thin, worn blanket on the bed and wrapped the abbot all the way to his neck, so it seemed as though his head had never been severed from his body. I paused to whisper a prayer of good-bye, tears stinging my eyes.

Gripping the cleaver, I then turned to the monk, now cowering in the corner. I raised the weapon to bring it down upon his neck. The sweat on my forehead dripped into my eyes, stinging them. Sweat and tears flowed down my cheeks. The pounding of my heart throbbed through my temples. I couldn't see the monk's face. It was a blur. If I brought down the knife, I would feel no remorse—or would I?

I turned away, grinding my teeth as angry tears slid down my cheeks. I walked toward the door, still clutching the knife. Quickly stooping to the floor, I grabbed my book with my free hand before I left the room. I staggered down the hallway, but I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Abbot Pellanor had been both a teacher and a father figure to me. He was the leader of the Order of the Crane—what would happen to the order now? How fragile my world was that it could collapse in that one fleeting moment. What would the future be like if there was still any future at all? I tripped and fell onto the ground, my hands and cheek against the stone blocks.

I lay there for a minute, hopelessly desensitized. The shrieks, the blood, the curses—they all mingled with the black smoke from the conflagration raging in the courtyard.

I saw my book a few feet from my face. The cleaver was beside it. _Even if they destroy everything_ , I thought, _they can't destroy the hope that the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear will return_.

I got to my feet, picked up the book and knife, and dashed out of the corridor. I felt like an animal being hunted; my senses were heightened. I could hear footsteps to the left, to the right, below and above me. My ears were filled with people begging, threatening, wailing.

I made it to the foyer, but just as I was reaching the main door, I saw a fellow apprentice stabbing another in the stomach. The victim crumpled to the ground while the murderer looked at me. The insanity that had possessed him didn't allow him to see _me_ ; he saw only the cleaver in my hand. Upon seeing the weapon, he mistook me for his comrade. He nodded at me before moving past me into the foyer. I stood there immobile, my mouth parted and dry. I jolted to my senses when he yelled at me over his shoulder.

"Hurry up and throw the book in the fire. Don't you see the smoke coming from the courtyard?"

I looked at my book in my hand and realized I had to get as far away from the abbey as I could, as quickly as possible. I ran out the door, past the blazing fire. The smoke blinded me for a few seconds, but as my eyes cleared, I saw the Five Ring Road yawning before me.

Part of me was relieved. I knew the road spiraled down to the causeway. My confidence wavered, however, as the screams continued behind me in the abbey. I wasn't sure if I could make it all the way to the fifth ring without being seen by a member of the Order of the Shrike. Walking from the courtyard to the fifth ring took over an hour. I had to convince myself it was worth the risk.

I closed my eyes and said out loud, "If you go on the road, there's a chance you could die, but if you stay here, you surely will."

I nearly tripped as I raced down the steps of the courtyard and onto the Five Ring Road. I ran through the second ring, yelps and screams echoing around me. I hid behind tall trees and against the walls of some of the small buildings that lined the road. Statues of folktale heroes shielded me as I dodged in their shadows whenever I heard someone advancing. The members of the Order of the Shrike seemed to be everywhere. Fortunately, they were either too focused on chasing after other members of the Order of the Crane or too busy scouring for more books to burn.

I continued to work my way through the third and fourth rings, but I was exhausted. At one point, the cleaver slipped from my hand and crashed to the cobblestone road, the sound echoing around me. I was afraid that I would be ambushed right then and there by a Shrike who was hiding, waiting for monks like me, who were trying to flee. Luckily, I saw no one. I picked up the knife and continued on.

Before I reached the end of the fifth ring, I could already see that the tide was ebbing, though I knew it would be hours before the waters would be low enough for the causeway to be accessible. I stood facing the stone wall that shielded the high tide from barging its way onto the island. I looked at the unrelenting waters beyond it, begging them to recede faster. But, of course, nothing happened.

I found myself in silence. There was no one and nothing on the fifth ring. Two hundred years would have to pass before they would erect buildings on this last ring of the road on the edge of the island.

I veered off the path and onto the sandy soil. I put the butcher knife aside and fell to my knees. I had to bury my book. There was nowhere I could hide it. I dug with my hands, pushing away the rough sand mixed in with the rocky dirt. To my surprise and sheer joy, I had to brush away only a few handfuls of dirt and sand before my hands uncovered a wooden door. It was the cellar where the grain brought in from the mainland was stored. There wasn't a lock, and with a few yanks, I pulled the door open.

I stepped down the ladder that was at the ready. The underground cavern was pitch-dark, but I felt my way between the rough sacks of grain to a cold wall. I touched the large stones that made up the wall of the cellar. They were twice the size of my hand. One of them was loose, and I tugged at it until it came out. I felt the cavity it left behind and realized my book would fit in there.

I placed my book carefully in the hole in the wall and exhaled with relief. I was about to walk to the ladder, when my foot bumped into what seemed like a small stone. However, the sound it made as it skidded across the floor made me realize that its texture was smooth and soft. I reached down and picked it up. It was a dry plant root. I recognized it immediately as wolfsbane, a poison often used for rats but just as deadly for humans. _Another weapon_ , I thought immediately, and tucked it into a pocket.

I climbed up the ladder and closed the cellar door, covering it with dirt and sand. I was certain my book was safe and would not meet its demise in those accursed flames—unless, however, I was forced to tell someone.

As I remembered how Abbot Pellanor had been tortured, my hands began to tremble. I stood up from where I had been kneeling by the cellar door and walked over to the stone wall that protected the island from the sea. I leaned out over the bulwark. I looked out over the water. The surf rushed toward the wall. Cold, wayward sprays splattered across my cheeks. The sound of the crashing breakers pounded my eardrums.

The sea provided a more merciful option. I could die in its waters and save myself the agony of being tortured.

I could end my life here.

The thought had never occurred to me. Among the people I had grown up with, the idea of suicide was ludicrous, even taboo. But as the screams continued to echo around the island and ashes rained down from the black cloud of smoke rising from the courtyard, killing myself seemed to be the safest option. I couldn't be sure that I wouldn't break under the pressure of torture. And I would rather die than give up my book.

Yet I wasn't ready to die without a fight. I picked up the cleaver from the ground and tightened my grip around the handle. I looked up at the abbey and then touched my pocket where I could feel the wolfsbane. If I were caught, all I needed to do was take a bite out of it, and my death would be quick. With that reassurance, I ran back up the Five Ring Road toward the shrieks and the smoke.

***

I fought that day with a ferocity I didn't know I had within me. I believe if I had been fighting only to protect my own life, I would have been felled by the first opponent I encountered, but I was fighting for something greater than myself. I was fighting for future generations who would be enslaved by fear once the Order of the Shrike took over. I fought for them because I knew that until the Slayer came, there would be no one they could turn to. I became a madman and swung my cleaver at all of those who charged at me.

I punched and hacked and kicked tirelessly, all the while waiting for the sun to come out so that I might see it one last time. The billowing cloud rising from the flames in the courtyard continued to block it. Eventually, in that cloud of dust and ash, I saw my enemies charging toward me. First it was four, and then six . . . seven . . . ten. I was outnumbered. They chased me until I had nowhere to run.

I found myself cornered against the outside wall of the abbey. The traitors approached me slowly, their grins gleaming with malice and their eyes oozing with hate. I walked a few steps sideways, my back still against the wall. I was about to reach for my wolfsbane, when my foot ran into a body that was facedown. A knife was sticking out of his back, but the way he had fallen made me realize that he had dropped from higher ground. I looked up and saw that he had fallen from an open window on the second floor. An idea suddenly came to me.

A large, sturdy trellis leaned against the wall a yard away from me. I leaped toward it and climbed like a monkey to the second floor. My attackers grabbed the trellis and shook it as I lunged toward the open window. I tumbled in and found myself once again in the prayer room. I went straight to the altar and moved it. Just as before, it revealed the secret passage. I found the stairs again, but instead of going down, I went up.

I climbed that spiral stairway, knowing it led to the roof. The only surprise was when I reached the roof and saw my enemies already waiting for me on the other end, several yards from where I stood. Still, I made my way toward them. As I walked along the apex of the roof, I looked down and saw the Forgotten Cemetery on my right. Enclosed by cloister arches on four sides, it housed the deceased members of the Order of the Crane—a number of whom were renowned historians and storytellers. I had always thought it would be decades before I found myself lying there with them. Now I knew it would be only seconds.

"You thought you could escape, but you were wrong," I heard one of my enemies say. Immediately, two of them came toward me as fast as they could while maintaining their precarious balance. I stared at them, unblinking, as they approached. Right when they reached out to grab me by the front of my cassock, I leaned to my right and dove down into the Forgotten Cemetery as though it were the Stauros Sea. My last view of the world as a living man was the blue of the waters that surrounded the island. Then nothing.

***

I remember waking to a flame flickering by my face. The flame grew smaller, but the light it emitted grew brighter. This continued until the flame was extinguished, and all around I saw the faces of fellow monks, men I had seen killed earlier that morning in the abbey. In front of them stood Abbot Pellanor. I looked around me and saw we were all standing in the Forgotten Cemetery. I was too overcome for words, and although I got to my feet, I couldn't speak. I didn't know if I should cry for joy at seeing them again, or if I should cry out of sorrow for the ordeal we had just been through. They seemed happy to see me, yet their faces expressed concern.

"Apprentice," said Abbot Pellanor, looking at me with a deep-set frown. "How could you take your own life?"

"Sir, I didn't do it for selfish reasons," I said, bowing my head. "I was anxious—I knew I would be too weak to withstand torture. I wanted to save the book. I believe the story of the Slayer must survive."

Murmurs of approval went around the circle. But when I lifted my head, I saw that Abbot Pellanor was still frowning.

"There's so much more that needs to be done," I added. "We can't let the Order of the Shrike take over so easily. If I were given a choice to go back to the world of the living . . ." I wanted to continue but stopped when I heard a yell and feet pounding. The sounds came from my right.

I turned and saw that through the east entrance of the cloister surrounding the cemetery, a young monk was running toward us. As he came closer, I recognized him as the apprentice with whom I had fought in Abbot Pellanor's study. He had decapitated a monk of our order and was holding the monk's head in his hand, laughing maniacally. I was too horrified to move but realized I had nothing to fear. He ran right by us, unable to see us. He plowed through the main doors of the cloister. They burst open with a loud thud.

"He's alive and can't see us," said Abbot Pellanor, releasing his frown. "But we, the dead . . . we can see him."

I nodded as the realization that I was no longer living fully sank in.

"As you were saying," said the old abbot. "If you were given a choice to go back to the living . . . ?"

"I would go," I said quietly. My voice had lost its conviction after I'd witnessed the monk run through the graveyard with a head in his hand.

"You would?"

I raised my head and my voice. "I would for the people, sir. I can only imagine the worst now that all the books are burned and the Order of the Crane no longer exists."

Abbot Pellanor let out a long sigh as he looked up at the abbey. "A new world is coming—a darker and more fearful world."

"And we mustn't let that happen!" I protested. "We _can't_ let that happen."

"Apprentice, _we_ can no longer do anything about it."

I hung my head. How could we give up so easily? How could we leave this world in the clutches of the Order of the Shrike? At the very least, we needed to spread the story of hope that someday, someone would deliver the people from the Shadow of Fear.

Abbot Pellanor seemed to have read my thoughts. Giving me a gentle smile, he said, "You want to continue fighting, Apprentice?"

"I can't give up, sir. I can't rest knowing this world is in the hands of the Shrikes."

The abbot was quiet for a minute. "If you feel that strongly, you can go back to the world of the living as a shadow of the being you once were."

"You mean a specter?" I asked. "How?"

"All of us will be walking through those doors to the afterworld," said the abbot. He pointed to the main doors leading out of the cloister—the very ones the traitor had flung open. I looked at them skeptically. Abbot Pellanor picked up on my doubt and explained, "For us, walking through those doors will symbolize our departure from this world."

"If I don't leave with all of you . . ." I began looking at the other monks standing behind Abbot Pellanor.

"If you choose not to follow, you will stay behind in this world without a body. Your spirit will stay as it is now and roam with the living."

"Until when?"

"Until you feel that your mission is complete," he said. "And only you will know when your mission is complete."

I looked at the other monks, some of them fellow apprentices, my brothers not in blood but through our spiritual upbringing. They watched me with anticipation. I took a minute of silence before I gave my answer.

"I will stay."

The abbot nodded. "It will not be easy, Apprentice. You will have to endure long periods of loneliness and rejection."

"When I find the Slayer and know that there is someone to stand up to the Order of the Shrike, a millennium of misery can be forgotten."

The abbot closed his eyes and nodded. He was sad. I could see that plainly on his face. He then turned to the other monks and announced that they should depart. The other monks gave me their blessing, their expressions a mix of grief, affection, worry, and admiration.

They then turned away from me one by one and marched slowly, single file, through the doors that led out of the cloister. They were leaving this world. Despite telling myself I had a great mission ahead of me, I couldn't help but feel abandoned.

Abbot Pellanor was the last to turn away. But before he did, he took a step toward me and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Out of all the students I've taught, you have been the keenest, possessed of such insight. That was why I trusted you to write the story of the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. I know it will survive through the generations under your aegis.

"Your brothers and I will be watching out for you, Hugh. May you be fearless when you encounter your enemies, and may you be noble when you meet those who need your help—as you were with me."

I looked up at the abbot. He was looking back at me solemnly.

"Even after we are butchered and our bodies are left to waste, the care we give to one another still resonates." He paused. "We shall meet again, Hugh. When we do, I will be here to welcome you, and we will leave through those doors together."

I remember watching him walk out of the Forgotten Cemetery, hoping, too, that what he said would come true.

# Chapter 20: A World of Fear

The massacre continued for three days. The air was thick with dust and ash. Broken chair legs, torn curtains, shattered glass—the island looked as though pirates had marauded it. The stench of bloating bodies and drying blood filled the air. The screaming and shrieking seemed endless.

Not yet accustomed to being invisible during the day, I kept myself hidden in the shadows. I watched the book burning from behind trees, from under the eaves of buildings, or from the roof. I felt as if I were the only soul in the world who gave a damn that these tales of love, courage, and wisdom were disappearing. Fury eventually gave way to just sadness as I watched one familiar book after another being tossed without hesitation into the fire. Now that all the members of the Order of the Crane were dead, the book burning continued in a more strategic fashion, for all the members of the Order of the Shrike could now focus their energies on hulling up the books from the library. As all those books burned, I felt as though the world was losing those stories and their characters forever. However, I was wrong. Four nights after my death, I met another phantom for the first time, Ahura Mazda.

The sun had set. As I dared to poke my head out from the shadows and step onto the road, I was amazed to see a wizened old man in a long robe and a tall hat. I thought only members of the Order of the Shrike now inhabited the place. He took slow steps, as though contemplating the sky and earth. As he walked, it was clear that his dark green robe, which shimmered like the Stauros Sea on a calm summer day, was not made with the craftsmanship of the locals. He was undoubtedly from a faraway land, and perhaps from a different time.

I froze when he saw me and approached me. I felt my jaw jerk open with shock when he began speaking to me, telling me that he was Ahura Mazda, the great god of Zoroastrianism.

He explained that the book that contained his story had been burned, and now he had to tell it himself to keep the story alive. He asked me what book I was from, and I had nothing to say. He thought it was just as odd that I wasn't a character from a book as I thought it was odd that he was. After all, he looked like a living being. As old and wise as he was, he knew everything and told me how Stauros Island and its sea held the living, the dead, and everything in between—which is what we were.

"Dead by day, alive by night—that is how we are," he explained.

"You mean that's how _you_ are," I said.

"And you," he added.

"But I'm dead—completely dead. No living person can see me," I said.

"When the sun leaves the sky, it is with the energy of the moon that this island breathes life into everything," he said.

"Including me?" I asked. "Even if I was never in a book?"

"My dead friend, including you," he insisted.

The next evening, after sundown, I tested out his theory by walking up to one of the members of the Order of the Shrike who'd chased me up to the roof right before my death. He caught my eye as he was walking to the outhouse. I waited around the corner while he hung his lantern on a hook next to the door of the lopsided shack. He then opened the door and let it swing shut. I was still for a few seconds before I crept quietly to the door. I opened it, but the brute didn't turn around.

"Don't you see I'm busy?" he snarled, as he continued to relieve himself.

"I was only going to ask you to join me up on the roof later on," I said.

"Join you? Why, I'll punch you, as soon as I . . ." He looked over his shoulder and stopped midway through his sentence.

His mouth was agape. He recognized me. If the light from the lantern by the door had been brighter, I'm sure I would've seen the color drain from his face.

"No!" he gasped, turning to face me. His eyes grew larger as I took a step forward.

"Yes!" I said, not taking my eyes off his. He tripped over backward and fell with a fantastic, gloppy splash into the pit of excrement.

I was satisfied. Ahura Mazda was right. When night fell, people could hear and see me as though I were alive. That incident also made me realize that I was vulnerable at night and had to keep my distance whenever I saw a lantern or a lit torch. The last thing I wanted was for the Order of the Shrike to know I wandered the island day and night as a phantom. There was no limit on what they would do to get rid of a member of the Order of the Crane, alive or dead.

Ahura Mazda soon introduced me to a host of other characters who, after their stories had been burned, had reincarnated as phantoms. I met the headless knight, the monkey king, and dozens of others who seemed to materialize out of thin air. I knew who all of them were, for I had read their stories. They seemed to be intrigued by each other, and by me—the only one among them who was not a character from a book.

Despite my being different, they welcomed me. As much as I wanted to belong to a community, my situation was not like theirs. I had a mission. There would be serious repercussions if the story of the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear were to disappear and the Slayer himself were never found. I had to take every moment seriously, which was not the case with the other phantoms. As a result, I never fully ensconced myself in their group.

Occasionally, however, I did participate in their meetings and any decisions that needed the cooperation of the entire group of phantoms on the island. The first such meeting was a vote on what we would call ourselves.

"We're not ghosts, really," said the headless knight. "But we're not real men, either."

"Or women," added Demeter.

"What should we call ourselves?" asked Siren.

"Simulacra," I said, remembering my Latin lessons.

"What's that?" they all seemed to ask at once.

"We're a likeness of man—a similarity, something he might aspire to be but isn't, at least not yet," I answered.

They all agreed that was the most dignified name to call ourselves. However, the name didn't last, for over the ages we were observed by the living—from members of the Order of the Shrike who peered cowardly out their windows to the hapless sailor who stopped by the island unwittingly for a respite. And they gave us a name: phantoms. That name stuck with us over the centuries and eventually became the most convenient name for us to use to refer to ourselves.

We learned to be discreet and careful about not frightening the living. It was for the good of all of us. Thus, when the phantoms caught wind of my reputation as the Demon of Stauros, I upset quite a few of them, who blamed me for marring their reputation, changing it from do-gooders to evildoers.

***

Some things don't change for four hundred years, some do. Despite the fact that I was already dead and had a host of odd creatures ready to come to my aid if I needed them, there were certain places on the island I avoided because of my memories. One of them was Abbot Pellanor's room.

For centuries, I didn't dare venture down the dark, arched hallway that led to the older abbots' quarters. However, I had changed. Four hundred years ago, I was willing to die to protect my book. Now I wanted to destroy it. As I walked down the same corridor to find Parafron, my thoughts turned to the massacre, but I wasn't panicking or trembling; I was only anxious, hoping that I could rectify something that had gone horribly wrong.

As I neared the end of the corridor, I saw a dim light peeking out from behind a barely closed door, the door to the old head monk's study. Behind the door echoed a voice. But was it one voice or two? I crept nearer to the narrow opening and turned my head to the side so I could catch all that was being said.

"Curse it all to hell—how could that wench be back!" Parafron screeched. His hoarse voice was distinct. He hissed his words.

"You're happy she's back, no?" The voice was undoubtedly his, but quieter, gentler. Was he holding a conversation with himself? I took a step closer to the narrow opening and peered in. Parafron leaned over a desk, looking into a large rectangular mirror that hung on the wall above it. It reflected his image from his head to his torso. The mirror also reflected the area of the room that I couldn't see from where I stood. As far as I could tell, no one else was in there.

"Why in Satan's name would we be happy that she's back?"

That harsh tone again. I was sure this was Parafron's voice, too. Something was not right.

"Because she's your grandniece, your only living relative . . . ," the softer voice spoke.

I shifted my feet so that I could see him from another angle through the gap. Parafron's back was to me; he was still facing the mirror.

"She's not living!" I saw him say as he looked at the ground. He then immediately lifted his head and looked into the mirror. His furrowed eyebrows relaxed, his snarl now a smile.

"But her soul is here. Aren't you glad for that? That even after she went to the cave, her soul didn't go to the World of the Damned?" Parafron was speaking to his reflection!

"No! I'm not glad! We're not glad!" he shrieked as he looked at the ground. "And, worse, that monk—that monk with his stupid, stupid book—was with her!"

I took a step back. He had lost his mind, talking in the mirror as if there were two people instead of one!

There was a dead silence. I swallowed, wondering what would happen next. Part of me wanted to get as far away from the madman as I could, but another part wanted to stay and hear what else he had to say. Within the few moments in which I had eavesdropped on him, I had heard him confess that he was angry Pamina was not lost to the World of the Damned.

I was right to have suspected him all along!

Rage swept through my body, and I wanted to charge him like an angry bull. But I realized that there was more I needed to know. If I stayed quiet and let him talk to himself in the mirror, I could hear what other dark secrets Parafron had. I shifted my position again and put my eye right up against the opening of the door, almost pushing it farther open. Parafron's body was still leaning toward the mirror, his hand holding him steady on the desk. His face was down, and his eyes looked at the ground. He spoke without glancing at his reflection, as if he couldn't bear the sight of it.

"We thought we had gotten rid of her!" he growled. He took in a deep breath, and his entire body heaved upward. He then looked into the mirror and, in a gentler yet weaker voice, asked, "Why?"

He turned away from his reflection and seethed. "We had to get rid of her! The moment we knew she was cavorting with those creatures of the night, we knew she had to die to keep this island's secret. If she left the island and told the devil knows who about what insanity happened on this island at night, it would undermine the history of the school and the Order of the Shrike. It would weaken the order's legitimacy! And the status of the school would fall. There was no choice. She had to die."

Parafron whipped his head around so that he faced himself in the mirror. His eyes never blinked as they bored into the face reflected there.

"Like me? You sacrificed her like you did me?" he mumbled, his voice quieting with a frown. The slithering hiss had flipped suddenly to a submissive mumble. "I didn't want to go in that cave, but you forced me. Wasn't I your friend?"

"Of course you were, Philos!" Parafron raised his voice to a hiss yet again.

I took a step back. Philos! Parafron was seeing Philos in his reflection!

"I told you a thousand times: I had to do it to protect the Order of the Shrike!" he snapped. He had abruptly turned away from the mirror and was facing the floor again. "Everything is for the order! Without the order, there is no civilization; it would run amok with all those leeches who don't know their place!"

He looked into the mirror again. His expression changed. There was a pause. "But, Parafron, I still wanted to live. I didn't want to go down to the cave, and you forced me."

He immediately snapped his head away from the mirror and, in a sharper tone, wheezed, "I know. We—both of us—of course we know that. We know together. But your sacrifice was not in vain, Philos. It was for the order."

"But I was so scared. . . ."

"I said I know, Philos!" screamed Parafron. He grabbed the desk for support as he leaned crookedly to his right, his body doubling over under the weight of his outburst.

I stood still, not knowing how to react to the raving lunatic standing in front of me. Parafron dove deeper into his conversation with his reflection.

"Don't you see how I—we—never forget you or your sacrifice, Philos? I always praise how your ultimate departure to the World of the Damned secured the future of the Order of the Shrike. Yes, I used you like a lab rat to test what the book said. But we needed to know if the Saboteurs were still there and if the cave still existed."

"I was so frightened by the Saboteurs."

"I heard your screams, Philos."

"You said you would get me before I boarded the boat in the cave."

"I needed to know if the boat still worked if it went to the World of the Damned."

"It took me there and I never came back."

"That's why I still remember you . . . like this. See how I speak with you all the time, Philos? How much more guilt do you want me to feel?"

Parafron was the one who had caused Philos to disappear, yet he had fabricated the tale about my being the Demon of Stauros and kidnapping Philos to put the blame on me! I couldn't listen to any more of this. I pushed the door open. The rusted hinges groaned. Parafron turned to face me, startled. With Ankou's hat on my head and his scythe in my hand, I was certain I presented a frightening figure.

"What do you want?" he asked, backing into the desk. He clutched the edge, and the desk rattled as Parafron trembled.

"You killed Philos!" I shouted.

Parafron stopped shaking and tilted his head to the side, as though recognizing my voice. His voice became bolder. "You're that phantom—the dead monk," he said, his eyes narrowing. With a quick leap from the desk, he stood in front of me and pulled off my hat. I tried to take it from him but failed.

"Why did you force your friend to be exposed to the Saboteurs and have them lure him to the cave?" My voice cracked. I could barely keep my anger within.

"Philos was not my friend. I don't have friends," he sneered. "And neither do you, Demon of Stauros."

I was ready to take a jab at Parafron, but I still needed him to answer questions.

"Why did you reopen the cave?"

"Why were you approaching students with your miserable story of the Slayer?" he said, baring his teeth. "If you didn't do your dirty work, I wouldn't have seen it necessary to get rid of those students. But I spied on you at night as you approached them and told them about the Order of the Crane and its glorious crusade to rid the world of fear. I had to get rid of them. They were cancerous. They would tell others, who would then tell others . . ."

"So you forced them to the cave like you did with Philos?"

"No, you did that part for me." He smiled, his teeth like white daggers. "With your book."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Once the cave was accessible, I used your book as bait." His smile grew wider. His lips thinned and his pupils contracted.

"And how do you have my book?"

"It's a copy, you fool," he retorted. "When you gave it to Philos, I took it from him and copied it. While I rewrote the pages, I forced Philos to take out the debris from the cave and reopen it.

"Don't you know what calls the Saboteurs out?" Parafron sneered at me, waiting for a response. I stood immobile. I didn't know, but I didn't want to admit that to Parafron.

"Don't you know why all your monk brothers were lured to the cave?" he continued. "It's because any piece of writing—document, scroll, book—in the library that mentions the Order of the Crane in its text will call forth the Saboteurs. Your book mentions the Order of the Crane everywhere." He paused, as though waiting for those words to slowly pierce and tear my heart open.

"You might have already guessed it, but I'll tell you anyway. I asked all of the students who disappeared to do a favor for me. You see, I was a professor back then. I gave them assignments where they had to go to the library and look for a large, red-brown book set in a specific location. I asked them to then copy a passage from it while reading it out loud, to help avoid making any mistakes while rewriting it in their own hand. It worked marvelously. The Saboteurs chased all of them into the cave, and then they must've boarded the boat, for they were never heard from again."

I wanted to vomit. What he had just revealed to me disgusted me beyond anything I had ever encountered. How could my book have become a tool for the Order of the Shrike?

"I can't believe you," I barely coughed out. "I don't believe you, because I had studied many books that were about the Order of the Crane in the library. . . . I even wrote my own book in that library, yet the Saboteurs never chased me."

Parafron drew back his head, frowning. He looked at me pitifully. He finally said, "I don't know if I should ridicule you for your ignorance or applaud you for being so blind to the workings of evil. The cave wasn't open for long before the Order of the Crane closed it. In your book, you wrote that you witnessed your fellow monk being lured down there by the Saboteurs. The reason _you_ weren't lured was because you were studying books that didn't mention the Order of the Crane _during_ the time the cave was opened."

I said nothing, unwilling to believe what he was saying. There was a pause before Parafron asked, "You died when?"

I stared at him for a long moment before I said, "In 1615—when the massacre happened."

Parafron smirked. "The Order of the Shrike opened the cave only three months before the massacre. They tested it out on a few monks to see if the curse worked, and . . ."

He continued to talk, but I stopped listening. I looked away from him and stared at the ground. Parafron was right. The first monk of the Order of the Crane to disappear had done so approximately three months before the massacre. During the last part of my life, I had devoted all my time to researching the Shadow of Fear—when and how it would manifest. The books I had read the year before my death had never mentioned the Order of the Crane.

However, when I had read my book in the library with Anne-Marie, the last night I had seen her, the Saboteurs had appeared. When I thought about it, I couldn't remember whether they had been chasing her, me, or both of us. I had only assumed they were after her. But I did recall that she read passages out loud, some that mentioned the Order of the Crane—and only after that did the Saboteurs appear. Parafron's statement was true. I took my face into my hands and buried it in them.

Parafron chuckled and moved away from me. Once again, he leaned against the desk and, still facing me, said, "Well, Philos, it looks like our monk friend understands why he's the guilty one in all this."

I didn't respond and watched as Parafron turned to look in the mirror, his voice softer. "And you're not guilty, Parafron?"

Parafron's eyes glazed over as he turned away from the mirror. His voice was low yet biting. "Why must we always end the conversation like this, Philos?"

"Because you're just as guilty as I am, if not more so," I said, looking up at Parafron. I walked over to him and turned my head to the mirror. "Isn't that right, Philos?"

Parafron immediately turned his face to where I was looking, his angry eyes softening.

I was intent on making the madman even madder and forcing him into confessing other horrendous acts, which, now knowing how evil he was, I was sure he had committed.

"N-n-no one knows how bad he is!" bawled Parafron, speaking as Philos. He stared at his reflection with a sniffle and a pout.

"I know now, Philos," I said, unnerved. I spoke as calmly as I could.

"What do you know?" blared Parafron, his head jerking away from the mirror and toward me.

"I know that you're scared of the revival of the Order of the Crane. That you'd do anything to stop it, even send innocent students to their death in the World of the Damned. . . ."

"But they don't die there!"

"Their soul does, Parafron!" I was ready to punch him in the face. But I refrained. "The World of the Damned is hell for the soul, and you knew that."

I returned to my original tactic. I faced the mirror and said, "Philos, when Parafron forced you to submit yourself to the Saboteurs, who led you to the cave, he was sending your soul to hell."

Unfortunately, Parafron had gained control over himself by now and couldn't be tricked into looking in the mirror again.

There was a long pause, as Parafron tilted his chin downward and stared at the ground with a hatred that words cannot describe. He then turned his torso a few inches away from the mirror, before ejecting his fist and striking it. The glass cracked into an enormous spiderweb formation. Parafron took a step back, dazed at his own destruction. His voice then melted into that eerily soft tone.

"But the young monk will continue to tell people about the Order of the Crane and the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. One of the students might be inspired to become the Slayer. . . ."

I looked at Parafron, who was still staring blankly into the broken mirror. I now understood that he was afraid of not only the Order of the Crane but any tenet they had held, especially that of the Slayer. Thus, he wanted to get rid of any students who had known about the Order of the Crane, for fear that they might know more about the old order, which would surely undermine the power of the Order of the Shrike. Naturally, the most effective way to dispose of those students was to leave my book out as a trap for them.

I swallowed to keep myself from cursing him. "The Slayer of the Shadow of Fear will come, heed my words. And you and the rest of the Order of the Shrike will have to think of a far better strategy to keep your power intact. That cave is going to be destroyed tomorrow—as soon as I get my copied book from you."

"Copied book?" asked Parafron, giving me a crooked smile. "What copied book? What book?"

That was too much. I reached over and shoved Parafron. He fell to the floor.

"Your murderous game is finished! I'll expose you, and I know how," I said.

"Oh, really? By telling your other phantoms?" he sneered. He got to his feet, and I saw him reach into his back pants pocket and pull out something metallic. The object glimmered in his hand, reflecting the dim light from the overhead bulb that hung at the end of a loose wire from the ceiling. He lunged at me.

I didn't need more than a second to see that he held a knife. As I jumped back, I noticed a thick gold band on one of the fingers that curled around the knife handle. In the center of it was the insignia of the Order of the Shrike, the same as it had been four centuries before, reflecting the light in the room as brightly as the blade of the knife. He swung at me again, but I easily dodged the blow.

"You're wasting your time. I'm already dead," I said.

"But the satisfaction of sinking this into you is what I'm after," he said, lunging toward me.

I swiped at him with the scythe, and he fell to the ground, his knife skidding away from him. I saw blood.

"You . . . ," he began, as he touched a gash on his cheek.

"Don't push your luck, Parafron. Fortune doesn't favor cockiness," I said. I grabbed him by the collar and pushed the scythe up to his neck. "Tell me where the copied book is."

He lowered his eyelids until his eyes were slits. His gaze pierced through. I pressed the scythe harder and saw a drop of blood leak out from his neck and onto the scythe. Finally, in a hoarse whisper, he said, "In my office, the west wing. Locked in the drawer of my desk."

I stood there, wondering if I should let him go or drag him with me, when I heard a scream. Discombobulated, I let go of Parafron and rushed out into the corridor. The same voice screamed again. I heard a commotion. I raced down the hallway to the stairway. There, I clearly heard a girl's voice shout up from the foyer where all the students were.

"Help! The Demon of Stauros is killing my boyfriend!"

# Chapter 21: The Shadow of Fear

I dropped my scythe and ran downstairs. When I rejoined the Toussaint soiree in the foyer, the festive mood had vanished. All was replaced by confusion and disorder. The party music had halted, and a droning buzz echoed around the room as students tried to figure out what had just happened. Many of them huddled around a girl who had taken off her mask. She waved it frantically while continuously crying out, "The Demon of Stauros is killing my boyfriend! Help! Help!"

To my bewilderment, many of the students seemed not to be taking her seriously. I weaved in and around the dense crowd, making my way over to her. She kept shouting, yet, instead of going to her aid, some of the students only snickered. I heard a few even mocking her.

"Wouldn't surprise me if she was high. Her boyfriend probably is, too."

"Probably playing a joke."

"Yeah, her boyfriend pulled the fire alarm during our midterms to get out of them. She was in on it, too."

The rest of the students in the room continued to look at one another, confused about what to do. They looked as if they weren't sure if they should stay. Was the party over?

I walked toward her. As I squeezed through the last circle of students that had crowded around her, familiar faces caught my eye. To my surprise, the students were standing shoulder to shoulder with phantoms, who blended in seamlessly with the rest of the crowd.

"Somebody, anybody, help him . . . please!" She broke down in sobs. Two figures rushed toward her—Ahura Mazda and Sun Wukong. I followed them immediately.

"Did she say which room he's in?" I asked. "There are dozens of rooms upstairs."

"We're trying to get through to her," Sun Wukong said. "But she's completely lost her head."

"Her mind's unclear, clouded with shock," said Ahura Mazda, patting the girl's head. She continued to weep, seemingly unaware that we were next to her.

"It's-it's t-the Demon of Stauros," she hiccuped. She spoke to no one in particular. "I know it! He's forcing him to run into the wall and thrash against the floor. . . ."

She sucked in a huge amount of air and suddenly sank to her knees as her eyes rolled back in her head. The old man and the giant monkey caught her before her head hit the ground. I didn't move. I was still digesting what she had just said.

What would force her boyfriend to run into the wall and thrash on the floor? There was only one person I had seen being coerced into those actions—the insane man in the video Max had shown us when the four of them had moved into the cellar.

"She's fainted," declared Sun Wukong, fanning her face with a giant furry hand.

"Move back!" I shouted at the crowd as they inched forward. "Move back and give her some air. Call the infirmary! Call for security guards!"

"Take her outside—the fresh air will do her some good," said Demeter.

Ravana stepped forward, discreetly cloaked in a hooded cape that covered all his heads except one. He moved behind Sun Wukong and lifted the girl. He cradled her in his arms cautiously, careful not to expose the fact that he was using five pairs of arms. I was about to reach over and help them carry her, when I heard a shout in the crowd.

"Hugh!" I looked in the direction of the shout and saw Drev coming toward me. Pamina was by his side.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking at the girl being carried away by the phantoms.

"She'll be fine, but someone needs to go upstairs," I said. "There seems to be a rather distressing problem. . . ."

I stopped as I saw J.P. and Irving move up beside Drev.

"Finally, some action at this sad excuse for a party," said J.P.

"What happened upstairs?" asked Irving.

"It seems that her boyfriend is in trouble," I began, pointing to the girl being carried out of the foyer.

" _Her_ boyfriend? Tyler?" asked Irving. His tone had risen, and he frowned.

"Tyler has a girlfriend?" I couldn't imagine that the thug who had attacked Irving and his friends earlier in the cemetery had the gentility and charm to attract a girl. But then, I also would never have imagined that someone like Drev could win over a girl.

"Yeah, weird, right?" snorted J.P., as though reading my thoughts. "She's a pothead like he is. A match made in heaven."

"Has anyone gone upstairs yet?" asked Drev.

"No," I said, looking at the students who continued to linger in the foyer. Now that the girl was gone, they continued on as though the incident wasn't a big deal.

Drev looked at both of his roommates. "Then we should go and check it out."

Irving silently took a step away when he heard the suggestion.

"No way," said J.P. "Are you kidding me? You weren't there in the cemetery! That guy deserves to get beaten up by whoever. Plus, Tyler's girl probably freaked out because Tyler OD'd or had a spaz attack while shooting up. C'mon, we all know he's the one to go to if you want drugs or need someone to get stoned with. I've seen him high more times than I've seen him sober. Let the trustees or the chancellor deal with the mess upstairs."

"What mess?"

I turned when I heard Max's voice. He was holding someone's hand in his. I was curious to see who his new sweetheart was. She was hiding behind him as though afraid to show herself. I took a step to the side to take a quick peek at her face. I frowned when I saw Siren. What was she thinking? Surely she understood she couldn't see him again after tonight, unless she was planning on telling him that she was a phantom.

She bunched up her upper lip and bared her teeth at me like an angry cat. I twisted my mouth and nose in disgust. I was about to pull her aside and confront her, when Drev spoke.

"Drugged out or not, I'm going upstairs to check it out," he said.

"No!" said Pamina. Her eyes were filled with fright. "Don't."

"It'll be really quick. Wait for me down here," he said, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Don't go alone," said Pamina. She looked over at J.P., Max, and Irving with pleading eyes. I saw Irving shift uncomfortably. Max and J.P. turned their faces away. Finally, Irving surrendered.

"Don't worry, Pamina. We'll go with Drev," he mumbled.

"Sure, why not?" J.P. conceded reluctantly.

"We?" Max asked, turning to Irving and J.P.

"Better hurry it up," I said, turning my attention away from Siren. "There are over two dozen rooms upstairs, and we don't know which one he's in."

"Then we'll have to split up," said Drev. He looked at the four stairways, each leading up to the second floor. Two of them were on the opposite wall from where he was standing, and two were behind him. The others followed his gaze.

"If you find him," said Drev, "just call for help and the rest of us will get there."

"Sounds like a plan," said J.P.

Irving nodded.

Max let out a long sigh and turned to face Siren. "Hey, cutie, I'll be right back. It's . . . it's just that these guys want to check out what's up there and—"

She pressed her finger to his lips to hush him. She then pulled away and planted a kiss where her finger had been. I shook my head.

"Um," said Max, blushing fiercely, "P-P-Pamina will be here. She's nice, and you can talk to her while I—"

"We've met before, Max," said Siren, giving Pamina a wink. Pamina smiled back at her.

"You guys have a class together?" he asked.

Siren nodded. "Something like that."

I was irritated that Siren was pulling Max along like a lovesick puppy on a leash. I would have a word with her, but it would have to wait.

"All right, let's go find him—and find him fast," said Drev. They all nodded to each other and then dispersed to each of the four stairways. I turned to head outside and check up on Tyler's girlfriend, when I felt someone grab my arm.

"Hugh," said Pamina. She was shaking, and her voice trembled. "Please stick with Drev."

"Pamina, he'll be fine." I took her hand in mine and gave it a squeeze.

Pamina leaned into me, as though afraid others would hear her words. "It could be the Shadow of Fear."

I was stunned. The idea hadn't crossed my mind, but I didn't doubt Pamina for a second. She knew what she was talking about. After all, she'd encountered the Shadow of Fear firsthand. She knew how it took possession of people.

"Stay with him, please," she repeated. "I have a feeling if he sees it, he won't call for help. He'll try to fight it on his own."

I gave a halfhearted nod. If this was the Shadow of Fear, what could any of us do? We were powerless. Would we just watch this kid die as he thrashed around the room? What if the Shadow of Fear attacked one of them? I inhaled slowly, heaving my chest upward and outward.

I moved through the crowd, toward the stairway at the corner of the foyer, the same one that I had seen Drev ascend. The staircase was opposite from the one I had descended after my encounter with Parafron. Parafron! Where was he now?

I had forgotten about him and was now worried about what the lunatic might be up to. He had been angry that Pamina was back, but I now believed that anger was directed at me. All the better.

As I climbed the stairs, I heard dance music start up again. I took one last glance at the foyer. Everyone had gone back to enjoying the party as though nothing had happened. I was about to turn away, when from the corner of my eye I saw a white-cloaked figure with wings attached to its back. He was different from all the rest—the only one dressed all in white.

I stopped and squinted to see who it was. The figure stood close to the wall, away from everyone, observing the crowd. The shadows of the gargoyles mounted on the walls obscured him. When I got to the top of the stairs and had a bird's-eye view, I saw it was Parafron! He was disguised as an angel. The irony!

I kept my eyes glued to him as he began moving from the periphery toward the center of the room. I waited to see where that madman was headed, but two students dressed in black robes blindsided me. They came screaming at me as they ran from the hallway toward the stairs.

"IT'S THE DEMON! GET OUT OF HERE!" they yelled, waving their arms frantically. They raced down the stairs as though the devil himself were chasing after them. A murmur swept through the crowd. The two kept hollering as they ran through the foyer and out of the building.

I looked down the barely lit hall from where they had come. I caught a brief glimpse of an outline of Drev as he disappeared into the shadows. I quickened my pace. As the light from the foyer lessened and the hallway became darker, I slowed. A loud thud echoed. It sounded like a table crashing to the floor. An agonizing wail followed. And a stench pervaded my nostrils—the same nauseating odor that I had encountered while sitting on the rooftop with Pamina that afternoon.

I continued into the darkness and soon found myself floundering, without any sense of direction. Several moments would have to pass before I realized that there was a door at the far end of that dark abyss. A faint light seeped out from under the bottom. The light was a weak crimson-orange glow that barely allowed me to see where I needed to go. The stink, no doubt, accompanied the light through that narrow gap.

I heard another loud clatter, followed by a moan. I continued toward the noise.

Drev's voice ripped through the air.

"Let him go!"

He was behind that door, in that room, and he was not alone. I picked up my pace, running toward Drev.

# Chapter 22: The Slayer

I sprinted toward the faint light. Upon arriving at the closed door, I pushed it open all the way, without making a sound. Inside, I saw Drev at the opposite end of the room.

The source of the stench was undeniably in this room. As my hand went to my nose, my eyes were diverted to a moving figure a few yards from Drev. It was human in shape, male, but he was grotesquely contorted, with one arm pinned behind him and another draped over his face. He lay on the floor, his legs jerking to and fro, as though trying to slither on his side. His back arched and released with violent twitches. At one point, his chin thrust forward and he exposed his face. It was Tyler.

I looked around the room to see if anyone or anything else was there. An altar had been pushed askew, and several familiar paintings lay faceup on the floor. Keeping my body tense and alert, I cautiously took a step into the room. At first the room was eerily familiar. I was fuzzy about where and when I'd been there—maybe in a dream. I needed only a moment to realize that I was in the prayer room. The last time I had been there was on the day of the massacre—four hundred years before.

The prayer room was the one chamber I valued the most in the entire abbey, for it contained the secret passage that had saved me twice when I had run from the Order of the Shrike on the day of the massacre. My anxiety eased a bit, and I walked in farther. Drev jerked his head, glanced at me for just a moment, and then turned his attention back to Tyler. I was about to say that I was going to step out of the room to call the others for help, when Drev said, "I'm glad you're here. Don't leave."

The window was open, and a chilly wind blew in. On the sill sat a red lantern with a tiny flame struggling to stay lit. Several chairs had been knocked down, and I maneuvered around them. A table was turned on its side; two of its legs had broken off. Drev held one of the legs like a club. Was he thinking of fighting? Or was it just for protection?

Tyler continued to writhe on the floor, knocking his head from one side to the other, his eyes rolling so far back into his head that I saw only the whites. He grumbled unidentifiable words, garbled in such a way that he seemed to be choking on his tongue.

A syringe was lodged in his arm. At one point it fell and joined a couple of others on the floor. I assumed the other needles belonged to the boys who had run past me earlier. The drugs were a mere distraction, however. Tyler was possessed by a power stronger than a drug addiction—a darker power that no one could conquer.

The man in Max's video instantly came to mind. He, too, had looked as though a power stronger than he had forced him to tear himself apart. I now realized that it was fear that had possessed him, just as it was possessing Tyler.

Recalling what Pamina had told me, I knew I was witnessing the Shadow of Fear forcing Tyler to beat himself to death. I watched as he grabbed chunks of his hair and ripped it out of his head. Hairs stuck to his torn and bloody hands. What gruesome fears did Tyler harbor? How had he let them grow and allowed them to take control over his mind and body and become the Shadow of Fear? It was clear that Tyler had many demons. I was sure the Shadow of Fear seized upon every one of them. Whatever his fears were, they were powerful enough to eclipse all his other emotions and possess him entirely.

As I watched Tyler, I shook my head. He was done for. At least Pamina had known what the Shadow of Fear was. She'd known how to defend herself, even though she wasn't strong enough and had ultimately died. Tyler had no means to fight it off. He probably didn't even know what was happening to him. Like the man in the video, the Shadow of Fear would continue to throw him around until he surrendered to it, giving his body and soul.

"My God," I muttered, as the poor specimen flung himself against the altar and then rolled into an overturned chair, its leg hitting him square in the back of the head. He then hoisted himself up. With an exhausted face, he ran with ferocious speed into the wall. He fell immediately to the floor, where he stayed for a few moments, before hoisting himself up and doing it all over again. His actions were shocking, but the force with which he executed them was mind-boggling. There was no doubt this energy was coming from elsewhere. A man his size was incapable of such strength.

Then I saw it—a black outline moved with Tyler's head and limbs. Although the room was dark, the black ring that contoured his body moved around him in a circular fashion as if it were alive. Tyler swayed like a drunkard, his right foot crossed over his left. The outline shifted and swayed accordingly—acting like a puppeteer controlling its puppet. I held every muscle still as I studied how the Shadow of Fear manipulated its victim. A few minutes passed before I began to notice that the black aura around Tyler was growing larger and denser while Tyler himself was not only growing paler but flopping around like a flabby mass of flesh with no bones.

Drev followed Tyler's every movement with his eyes. I didn't expect Drev to speak, but he did.

"That's how they died, Hugh."

His tone was controlled and calm, but his statement sent a shiver down my spine. "I wondered what had happened to those bodies that came flooding into Sebastian's mortuary—limbs torn from joints, flesh and skin falling off the bones as though they had been pounded in by some monster from hell. I wondered how _anyone_ could die in a way that would make them look so . . . so jacked up. Now I know."

I didn't respond right away. This wasn't a time for reflective chitchat. If any words were spoken, they needed to address the situation at hand.

"And that man . . . that man in Max's video," continued Drev. "It's the same thing—he died of the same thing."

"Drev, let's call the others and let them know Tyler's here," I said hurriedly. "There's nothing we can do for him. This is a monster that no one can defeat. I'm sure of it—because it's the . . ." Words failed me. There was a silence before Drev picked up where I had left off.

"The Shadow of Fear," he concluded, his voice rational, unemotional. "I knew it when Tyler's girlfriend began describing what was happening to him. It sounded too much like—"

"Like what happened to Pamina." I nodded. I stopped short, however, when I saw Drev wince and look at me as if I had just cursed his mother. I realized that Pamina hadn't told him anything about how she had died. When I realized that I had revealed part of her secret, my stomach flipped. The air was tense for a few seconds.

Drev shook his head a couple of times, as if to erase the images that my pronouncement had brought up in his mind. "Like what I imagined the Shadow of Fear would do to somebody—according to the way you've described how it attacks its victim," he said. "Now, seeing this and how badly beaten Tyler is, I know that all those bodies and that man in that video . . ."

There was an awkward pause as Tyler laboriously hoisted himself onto his feet. He was facing the wall, his backside to us. His blood-drenched shirt clung to his hunched back.

I spoke: "Like the man in the video, Tyler's going to die . . . and there's nothing we can do. Let's go."

Drev glanced at me, as though disappointed I had given up the fight so easily.

"You said there's a Slayer of the Shadow of Fear, meaning someone who can kill this thing."

"Yes, but obviously the Slayer is not here," I said, annoyed. Wouldn't I be the one to mention that if I knew it was a solution?

I saw Drev's eyes assess the pitiful specimen in front of us once again.

"I can give it a try," he finally said.

"What?" I asked.

He tightened his grip on the broken table leg and took a few steps closer to Tyler, whose sagging eyelids were now almost completely closed. Tyler's face was so bloodied and swollen that it was hard to believe he was still alive. The dark outline had now transformed into an all-encompassing black, hazy mist that covered him from head to toe. When it undulated, it made Tyler look like he was trapped in a cloud of dark fog. What was Drev thinking? This monster looked impenetrable.

"Drev, what are you doing?" I said, my voice coming out more as an admonishment than as a question.

"I'm going to try to beat this thing off Tyler," said Drev. "I'm going to hit that dark shadow hovering around him," he declared. He saw the Shadow, just as he had seen it around the man in Max's video. Although I knew his ability to see it was an extraordinary skill, I still couldn't believe he could fight the Shadow of Fear. I watched as Drev lowered his chin and his eyes appraised the height of the black mass that towered at least two feet above us. Was he mad? Did he really think he was capable of fighting this monster?

"I'm going to call the others, and then we're leaving this room," I said firmly. "You're overestimating your abilities."

"No. By the time we get help, this guy's going to be long gone," said Drev. With those last words, he brought down a blow to the left of Tyler's shoulder. From where I stood, it seemed as if Drev did not hit him, but Tyler reacted from the blow with a gnashing of his teeth like a canine. His bloody and bruised face turned toward Drev. Drev did not back away.

This was beyond ridiculous. He couldn't win this. If he was lucky, he might leave here with a few scratches. If he was unlucky . . . my God, if he was unlucky, the Shadow of Fear might come onto him and possess him.

Pamina's request that I stay with Drev echoed in my head. I tried to shake it off, but I couldn't. _What kind of man would I be if I couldn't honor a dead girl's simple wish?_ I leaped over to where Drev stood and tried to pull him away.

"This is not a job for you to do!" I said. "What do you think you can possibly accomplish? Tyler's already possessed by his fears—by the Shadow . . ." But I couldn't finish.

"Go!" said a croaking voice mixed with a high-pitched echo. Tyler's lips were tense and barely parted. Clearly, he didn't want to speak, but there was a force stronger than he spewing those words out of him. The shriek had a satanic resonance to it and shook me to the core. The voice alone was proof that Tyler was already lost to the clutches of evil. I wanted to turn on my heels and leave that room forever. However, when I caught a glimpse of Tyler's face, I could see that his eyes were full of sorrow and agony. He was being held against his will.

He raised a limp arm and swung it awkwardly at us. We avoided it by just leaning to his left.

"Go!" it hissed again. A sound like that could come only from a creature not of this world but from the World of the Damned, which was damning enough for me to raise my voice to a tone I had never used on anyone.

I turned to Drev. "Now, listen to me. I've been around much longer than you. There are some battles you are not supposed to fight—and this is one of them!" I said, shaking both his shoulders. "You are in no way equipped to fight this monster. You'll only get hurt. Get out of here."

"I won't," said Drev, jerking away from my grasp. "If I thought I couldn't take this thing on, I would've called for help the minute I saw him here. But I know I can beat it—I'm sure I can." He then paused and turned away from Tyler to look at me.

"But I need _you_ to tell me that I can do it, Hugh," he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. His eyebrows crowded together, and he stared at me, the way I had often looked at Abbot Pellanor when I needed advice. "That's why I didn't ask you to leave. I need you to back me up."

I stood staring at him, my mouth open with surprise. There was no anger in his eyes, none of that frigid hardness so characteristic of him when he sensed he might be in a vulnerable position. He was entering an unknown realm and was asking only for my confidence in him.

"Whether I succeed or fail, I need you to be behind me on this," he said. His voice was now barely a whisper but still intense.

I knew, regardless of what I said, he would try to fight the Shadow of Fear. If I were going to help him, giving him my support was the only substantial thing I could do.

"If anyone was more fearless than you, I would've already run out that door to get him," I said hurriedly, looking away. "Do what you need to do; I'll be here with you all the way."

"Go!" screeched the Shadow, this time lunging toward me. I raised my hands in front of my face. Drev struck the Shadow with the piece of wood he held in his hand. A shrill cry bounced around the walls.

"We're not leaving," said Drev. The Shadow of Fear was now twice the size of Tyler and hung in the air like a diaphanous funeral shroud, hovering on and over the poor kid.

I watched in awe and silence as Drev took another blow at the Shadow. He aimed toward its edge, a clear distance from Tyler. Nevertheless, a loud wail escaped from Tyler's mouth. The shrill sound echoed around the room, bouncing from the ceiling to the floor.

Drev's attacks were not in vain. With absolute astonishment, I observed Tyler being freed from this death curse. To my disbelief, the Shadow was slowly separating from its host. The Shadow shifted drastically to its right, and Tyler's left foot and arm poked outside the black veil. The left side of his body hung limp while the other half—and his head—remained suspended inside the Shadow of Fear.

Though I felt a sense of relief to see Tyler being released from the Shadow, I also assumed the Shadow would search for another living being to attack. I suspected the worst for Drev and reached down near the broken table and picked up the other broken leg. I wanted to be ready if the Shadow attacked us.

Drev lurched forward, ready to release another blow onto the Shadow of Fear. Just as he was about to bring down the stick, Tyler abruptly opened his eyes. His wide eyeballs bulged. His lips stretched and thinned as they began to move. This was not Tyler but the Shadow of Fear. It still inhabited Tyler's body.

"You can't destroy me, because I'm his fear, not yours," said a croaking voice.

"You've done enough to him," said Drev. "Let him go."

"He is still more afraid than ever that his peers think him a fool, that his parents see him as worthless, and that the world hates him and wants him destroyed," hissed the voice of the Shadow.

I would never have guessed that Tyler, a bully and drug addict, had so many fears haunting him. I had believed that innate personality problems caused him to be such a miserable person.

"When fear is greater than any other feeling, I can destroy you," the Shadow of Fear continued.

Drev stared at the moving black mist and then leaned toward Tyler's warped face. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Tyler," he said. "You're not in this alone. We'll help you."

Immediately after speaking the last word, Drev raised the wooden stick and struck the far right edge of the Shadow. Tyler closed his eyes and groaned in his own normal voice. He was regaining control. The Shadow of Fear was weakening.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing: Drev was defeating the Shadow of Fear. He had effectively challenged it and was now battling it with only a broken table leg. How could this be?

I wanted to tell Drev to keep going—to fight it with every drop of courage he had within him. But I was too awestruck even to say his name. How could a boy destroy the greatest demon ever to haunt humankind?

Drev didn't move. His eyes trailed the Shadow of Fear as it swayed like a pendulum in the air.

"You are afraid," continued the voice spouting out of Tyler's mouth.

My eyes jumped to Drev, who replied without faltering, "No, I'm not afraid of anything."

He stayed focused on the Shadow, as though they were the only two in the room. The air was tense. I was alert, ready for a reprisal—an attack of any kind.

When the Shadow spoke, however, its voice was quieter and lacked the booming resonance that had shaken the walls earlier. "Not even me?"

"Not even you."

"Not even death?"

"Not even death."

"What . . . about . . . love . . . ah, losing her love?" asked the Shadow.

Her love? The Shadow could be referring only to Pamina. I looked at Drev to see if he was as alarmed as I was by those words. Without warning, Drev lunged toward the Shadow. Releasing a loud grunt, he struck it mercilessly. The Shadow convulsed, sending ripples throughout its amorphous structure. As it shook, it seemed to lose its grip on Tyler, and that dark cloud released his head. The rest of his body soon followed. With nothing to hold him up, Tyler fell to the ground. He lay like a mangled heap of blood, arms, and legs. The Shadow of Fear now completely detached from him and broke into a cluster of black wisps of air. A few seconds later, it vanished like smoke.

Drev was still, as was I. I didn't dare look at him, and he didn't say a word. We stood for a moment in silence, both of us contemplating the Shadow's dramatic demise, as well as its last words. Then Tyler stirred.

I looked at him and then looked all around the room. There were only the three of us. The Shadow of Fear had disappeared. Drev had defeated it—cut it down to its last traces until it no longer existed. If he could fight and conquer Tyler's Shadow of Fear, he could ultimately slay the Shadow of Fear entirely—he was the Slayer!

Granted, this was only the first battle, and there were many more yet to come, but he could see and hear the Shadow—and destroy it! He would show others, as he was destined to do. He would lead humanity out of this dark era of fear that had held everyone hostage for the past four hundred years.

I heard footsteps outside and faced the door. I saw Max standing there with his mouth open. I ran over to him.

"Go get some help," I told him. Max nodded with his mouth agape, his eyes on Tyler, who was now lying on his side. However, Max didn't move. A few moments later, J.P. showed up.

"Holy mother of God!" he shouted, as he pushed by Max and gawked at Tyler.

Drev turned to them and said, "Get Tyler to the infirmary."

"Right, let's help that poor schmuck," said J.P., as he ran over to Tyler. Max, finally coming to his senses, hurried after J.P. The two lifted the unconscious student off the floor. Just as they were about to carry him out the door, Irving arrived.

"Is everyone okay?" he asked, breathless.

"Everyone's okay, except for Tyler," I told him. I also looked uneasily at Drev, who continued to stare at the ground silently. Without stepping into the room, Irving accompanied Max and J.P. as they carried Tyler down the hallway. I stayed behind and stared at Drev from the doorway.

All this time, the Slayer had been right next to me and I hadn't recognized it. How could I not have known? How could I have doubted him? Why hadn't I seen the clues? Why hadn't I listened to the other phantoms that night they had first met him? They knew!

I walked over to Drev and gently put my hand on his shoulder. I took a deep breath. For centuries I had been searching for him, and now he was here beside me. I was touching greatness. He looked at me, startled, seemingly surprised to find me standing next to him.

"It's done, Drev," I said haltingly, my voice catching. "You've done it. You've fought it and won."

My words didn't seem to register, though. Drev seemed preoccupied with another thought.

"You have the ability to fight and conquer the Shadow of Fear. You're the one who can slay it. You're the Slayer," I said, squeezing out words I had wanted to say for so long. I was overwhelmed with emotion. "Do you understand what this means?"

"Right." He only nodded.

"You're tired," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "It's been a lot for you to handle. Let's leave." He bit his lower lip and nodded sternly. Something clearly was weighing on his mind. I crossed over to the window and quickly picked up the lantern, whose flame now burned brightly. I walked over to Drev and led the way out.

"Did you hear what it said to me?" he asked, turning to me, his eyes beginning to focus. I knew he was referring to what the Shadow had said about Pamina's love for him. I, too, had found it disturbing, but I didn't want it to distract Drev. He was the Slayer—there was a greater mission awaiting him, one far more important than his feelings for a girl.

"That thing said a lot of things." I snorted, trying to divert the conversation.

"What it said about Pamina."

I paused and looked at Drev. He was gazing at the ground, his face twisted, distraught. Pamina had not told him how she had died, and I was certain she had not told him that she was looking for a love to follow her into the afterlife. Up until that point, I had been concerned about Drev's courting her because he was my friend and I wanted him to live a long, fulfilling life. Now that he was the Slayer, it was more imperative than ever that he not sacrifice himself to fulfill Pamina's wish.

"It never said Pamina's name," I countered. "You're only assuming that it was talking about her. There's nothing to worry about."

Despite trying to brush Pamina aside as though she didn't matter, I felt uneasy as I thought about her. I tried to convince myself that what I was doing was reasonable. Drev couldn't protect her anymore. He had a greater job to do. She would understand—she had to understand!

Drev continued to look at the ground, unappeased by my words.

"Look, my friend, you're tired," I repeated. "Let's go find the others. They took Tyler downstairs. They're probably waiting for us."

He dragged his feet, still not fully present.

"Pamina will be there, too," I added for good measure. "And you'll see there is nothing to worry about." Drev didn't seem convinced.

# Chapter 23: The Sacrifice

"We didn't hurt him!" I heard Max shouting from the foyer. "Didn't you see we were carrying Tyler?"

Drev and I hurried from the second floor. As we went down the stairs, I saw that the foyer had cleared out. Where the students had gone, I didn't know. There were only a handful of people standing in the center of that empty, large room.

Max, Irving, and J.P. were facing half a dozen guards all dressed in black, from their boots to their helmets. They held big, thick rifles against their chests and stood in a semicircle. Standing in front of the guards, in the center, was Horace. He glowered at Max, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Tyler was nowhere in sight. I imagined he had already been taken to the infirmary or airlifted to a hospital on the mainland. We reached the bottom of the stairs and hurried over to our other three roommates.

"This is it for you boys!" Horace growled, not noticing Drev and me walk up behind Max, J.P., and Irving. "Didn't know y'all were involved with dealing drugs, too. We should've kicked you out in the beginning of the year. Made a mistake when we moved you to the cellar instead."

"We didn't do anything except help him," said Irving, raising his hands and then letting them fall, clearly exasperated. "We went upstairs to look for him. We took separate paths to find him faster. When we did find him, he was unconscious, so we picked him up and carried him downstairs."

"If it weren't for us, he would've been dead," interrupted J.P. "Didn't you see how messed up he was?"

"And none of you had anything to do with it?" came a slithery voice. We all turned to see where it was coming from. As though materializing from darkness, Parafron emerged, still garbed in his angel disguise. His eyes darted from the boys to Drev and me.

"They had everything to do with it, sir!" thundered Horace, his voice louder, as if Parafron's arrival now gave him more authority. "When I came to the foyer, they were alone with Tyler. But they insist that they found Tyler upstairs, already beaten, and were carrying him to safety. Given their reputations, it's a bald-faced lie, if you ask me."

"Interesting," Parafron said, his voice coming out like a slow hiss. He continued to stare at Drev and then at me, his eyes moving back to Drev, then to me. When his eyes met mine, I glared at him, my gaze hard and steady, and he quickly turned his attention to the other three roommates. "So Tyler just happened to be nearly beaten to death, with no sign of a perpetrator?" Parafron asked them. "There wasn't anyone else in the room? He was _alone_ —all alone—when you went into that room?"

The three boys were silent and looked away from Parafron's piercing stare. I knew he was trying to get them to say that Drev and I had been in the room with Tyler. To Parafron, there was no pleasure in accusing someone outright. There had to be a betrayal—friends snitching on their friends.

Parafron continued. "Listen, gentlemen, there's a kind of honor that comes with being a student here at Stauros. It's an honor that surpasses friendship. When you're a student here, you serve and protect Stauros Island—the school and its students. It's this honor that upholds what this institution has stood for during the last four hundred years. . . ."

I saw the expressions—impenetrable as stone—on the faces of J.P., Max, and Irving. None of them was buying into Parafron's speech.

"Civilizations were built on this understanding that there is a loyalty to the greater good." Parafron raised his arms and spread them in a wide embrace, as though he were giving a speech to hundreds. "Stauros Island and its university are based on this creed. If you don't uphold this simple principle, you're not worthy of being a student here."

Parafron paused and looked over at Drev and me. His eyes rested on mine for several seconds, and then he turned back to the other three.

"Take all three of them away," he ordered the guards standing by. The armed men strapped their rifles onto their shoulders and grabbed Max, Irving, and J.P. None of them protested.

But I stepped forward, ready to put up a fight.

No!" Drev said.

I halted when he spoke.

" _I_ was in the room with Tyler," Drev said. "These three came in only after he was unconscious. They had nothing to do with it—they only helped carry him out."

Parafron raised his hand, and the guards stopped in their tracks. He took a step toward Drev. Parafron held his hands behind his bent back and grimaced. "You were with Tyler? Whatever possessed you to try to kill him?"

"I wasn't trying to kill him. I was trying to help him."

" _Sir!_ " Parafron commanded, sneering at Drev.

Drev lowered his chin and stared sharply at Parafron from under his eyebrows. "I was trying to help him, _sir_. He was possessed, by a shadow—"

"Possessed?" Flecks of spit shot out of Parafron's mouth. His face paled. He cocked his head to the side and opened his mouth, staring at Drev, incredulous. "By a _shadow_?"

"Yes, sir," replied Drev.

" _Shadow?_ " Parafron repeated, in a lower voice.

"The Shadow of Fear, sir."

Upon hearing those words, Parafron turned and glared at me. I saw my other three roommates look at Drev, baffled. Parafron glanced around him, agitated, as if expecting someone to pounce on him. He then turned back to Drev. He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat.

"Ah, so you're a well-read one." His voice was husky. The gleam in his eye reminded me of the madness I had encountered earlier, when I'd witnessed him talking to Philos in the mirror. I waited, hardly breathing, so I could hear what insanity would come from his mouth. When he leaned over to whisper into Drev's ear, I stepped closer so I could hear.

"So, if this was the Shadow of Fear, why is Tyler's heart still beating? Why isn't he dead— _like your girlfriend_?"

Drev's face turned ashen. The chancellor seemed to take note of this, and snickered. I grew tense, for I knew Drev didn't know how Pamina had died. And Parafron should have been the last person to say anything about it to him.

"No matter what you know, or think you can do, you'll never save her," Parafron continued. "I'm her great-uncle; I know everything about her. And I know that she's lost forever—a godforsaken demon haunting the living for the rest of her time on this earth. You know that, don't you?"

I saw Drev's fingers curl into a fist and the muscles tighten along his jaw. I figured he was winding up to knock out Parafron, but at what expense? I had to intervene.

"She's not lost forever, Drev," I said, edging in between him and Parafron. "She's like me. She, too, has a mission, and when that's complete, she can rest forever—peacefully, naturally."

Parafron pushed me away from both of them and glared at me.

"What do you know of her?" he shouted.

"I know that she, too, tried to fight off the Shadow of Fear, which she encountered because _someone_ had led her to believe that there was a way out of the island through a secret cave beneath the library," I retorted. I stared at the fresh gash on Parafron's cheek that I had made with Ankou's scythe. I had forgotten it upstairs when I had rushed to the foyer upon hearing Tyler's girlfriend scream. I wished I had it now.

Parafron's hand touched the wound as he held my gaze. His face was paler than the moon. I saw the bewildered stares of J.P., Max, and Irving. I could tell by their faces that they thought I was just as crazy as, if not crazier than, Parafron.

Drev's eyes were fixed on me. I turned back to him and tried to soften the harshness of the news I was delivering. "But Pamina didn't succumb to the Shadow of Fear. She died trying to fight it. She didn't die like the man in the video. She wasn't ever battered like Tyler."

"Sh-she didn't suffer when she died, did she?" Drev asked in a whisper that only I could hear.

I shook my head. Drev looked away, breathing loudly. He turned back to me, his eyes scanning my face nervously.

"How can she become free—free to rest?" he asked, his voice now a loud whisper. He swallowed several times, trying to keep his emotions down.

Looking at his face then, I regretted having told him about what had happened to Pamina. However, having already disclosed a part of her story, I felt obligated to tell him the rest. Although Pamina had spoken confidentially to me, secrets were no matter at this point. Drev was the Slayer, and his destiny was laid out for him.

I spoke gently. "She needs the one she loves to die with her and accompany her to the afterlife. Her greatest fear is . . . is loneliness. That being said, you now understand why you can't pursue your relationship with her any further."

Drev looked away from me without saying a word. His fingers were clenched so hard in a fist, his knuckles were turning white. He stood there unmoving. For a moment, I was afraid he wouldn't keep it together, that he would crumble before me. I kept my eye on him but was distracted when I heard Parafron giggling. He slapped both hands over his mouth to smother the sounds, but this only made him laugh harder. I threw him a murderous stare.

"Too funny," he snorted through his fingers. "Loneliness—oh, God! Loneliness! How pathetic!"

"Sir?" seethed Drev, raising his eyes from the floor and latching onto Parafron.

Parafron released his hands and burst out laughing. "Good for the Shadow of Fear. It cleanses us of all the hopelessly pathetic people! Viva la Shadow of Fear! No one will stop it . . . !"

"I will," snapped Drev, dark rings forming around his eyes as he stared down at Parafron. "I already beat the hell out of it upstairs, and I'll do it again whenever I come across it."

Parafron's laughter came to a shuddering halt. His jaw dropped so far I thought it would come unhinged. After a few moments of silence, with his pointed tongue flickering from behind his top teeth, he mouthed, "Liar."

"I took a broken table leg and attacked it while it hovered over Tyler," Drev said, his voice as sharp as steel.

"Hovered over Tyler? You _saw_ the Shadow of Fear hovering over Tyler? You could see it?" Parafron's mouth couldn't close. He knew as well as I that no living being—unless there was something extraordinary about him or her—could see or hear the Shadow of Fear.

"See _an_ d hear it," said Drev, his eyes transfixed on Parafron's face.

"Hear it?" Parafron choked on the last word and coughed.

Drev didn't answer but only stared at Parafron.

I could sense the shift in power between the two. Parafron was becoming wary of Drev, and Drev was looking for an opportunity to tear Parafron to shreds. Parafron closed his eyes and shook his head. I knew he couldn't bear to hear any more. At that point, he knew as well as I did that Drev was the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear.

"Liar!" he shouted to the ceiling, shaking his head viciously. "Liar! Liar! Liar! You were trying to kill the boy! This Shadow of Fear story is all a lie. You beat Tyler with a table leg! Quick, Horace, go up to the prayer room to see if the weapon's still there."

"He wasn't trying to kill him!" shouted Max, trying to wriggle free from the guard who held his arms behind his back. "Why are you trying to blame this on Drev? Didn't you see how badly Tyler was beaten up? How could you think Drev could do that to him? I swear, this school's for shit—"

Max couldn't finish as Parafron slapped him across the face. Max looked dumbstruck. There was a thick, heavy stillness. Even Horace stepped back, aghast. Everyone stared at Parafron, whose eyes roamed from face to face. He slapped Max again. And then again. A sick smile stretched across his face as he drew back his arm to hit Max a third time, but I shouted. "You insane devil!"

Parafron turned toward me, but before he could respond, Drev's fist shot out like a bullet, smashing Parafron's nose and sending the chancellor flying to the ground. Horace rushed over to him.

At first, Parafron lay there without moving. Horace shouted and shook him. Within several seconds, Parafron sat up, blood dribbling from his nose to the corners of his mouth. He shook his head a few times and then began to scream. "Assault! Attempted murder!" He pointed a gnarled finger at Drev. "Take him away! Leave the others! You are all witnesses to his attack on me!"

The guards released Max, J.P., and Irving. Another faceless sentinel in black immediately pulled Drev away.

"Take him to the helicopter and fly him out— _now_!" Parafron ordered from where he continued to sit on the floor. I watched Drev being dragged away and knew there was nothing I could physically do to stop it. The guards, with their armor and guns, their sheer height . . . I stood there powerless. Time seemed to slow. I heard the other three roommates shouting. I heard Parafron continuing to shriek. Their sounds blended together into a buzzing din. Drev was the Slayer. He couldn't be locked away now. He had a mission ahead of him.

"Stop!" I yelled, my voice so loud my head could have burst. Horace, the guards, the roommates, Parafron—they all looked at me, including Drev.

My head was pounding, and the entire foyer seemed to expand and shrink with each throb that beat through my temples. I could hear myself inhale and exhale. I tried to slow my breathing. I needed all my air to speak loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"I beat Tyler," I lied. "I was in that room tonight. Before the three of them came in." I pointed to J.P., Max, and Irving.

"I beat him because _I_ am the Demon of Stauros," I said, my head still held high. I looked at Parafron. His lips were stretched thin, but it was difficult to say whether he was smiling or frowning. I pointed to him. " _You_ can corroborate this."

"Hugh!" shouted Drev, baring his teeth in a grimace. I saw in his eyes that he was angry. I knew he didn't want me to do this, but my life's work was over, and his had just begun. I saw my other three roommates tilt their heads, and I could see from their frowns and scrunched eyebrows that they didn't understand what I was saying or why I was saying it. I regretted that this might be their last memory of me.

Parafron got to his feet and hobbled over to me, his eyes squinting, his swollen upper lip curled in a snarl. He came so close to my face that I thought his nose might touch mine.

"Yes, yes, yes . . . ," he panted, his decaying breath on my face. "You will tell everyone that you are the Demon of Stauros. You will publicly announce this."

I gave a quick nod.

Parafron turned his head away from me and shouted to the guard. "It's this one—this one here! This is the one we've wanted all along!"

Like robots, the guards withdrew from Drev and marched swiftly toward me. Despite the fact that I was unarmed, two of them held me by my arms and another pointed his rifle at my back and ordered me to march toward the door of the abbey that led out into the courtyard.

Drev ran up to me. "Hugh!" he growled. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm dead," I replied calmly. "You're not."

"But . . . but you have a job to do. You have to keep telling people about the Order of the Crane and the story of the Shadow of Fear and the Slayer!" said Drev, exhaling with a huff and shaking his head.

"You are the Slayer, Drev," I said, facing him. "My work is over. My mission is complete."

I tried to reassure him with a solemn nod. Drev fell silent. The guards escorted me out of Stauros Hall and into the courtyard, where the entire student body had congregated. Since the party had been abruptly aborted and news had circulated that a student had nearly been beaten to death, the students had not retired to their dorm rooms but stood around, waiting to see if there was a resolution—a dramatic story to satisfy their curiosity, or a culprit to blame for the ruined Toussaint soiree. As I was forced to walk through the crowd, I heard whispers all around.

"He's the one."

"He tried to kill Tyler."

"He's the Demon of Stauros."

I saw the faces of several phantoms. They, too, were watching me. However, there wasn't a single accusatory look among them. They looked at me somberly, seeming to finally acknowledge that I wasn't the Demon of Stauros. Only after I declared a lie did they see the truth—the irony!

I was marched to the middle of the courtyard. Although the night was dark, I could see by the way the students looked at me that they thought I was a monster. Nevertheless, I refused to hang my head. My sacrifice was worth it—Drev was free and would do what he needed to do for the world as the Slayer.

I looked to my right and saw that one of the guards was speaking into a large black phone. "Ten-five. We have the suspect in custody. Send a helicopter. Ten-five. We have the . . ."

"Where's the helicopter you used to get here?" I asked the guard to my left.

"We had to airlift the kid you pulverized, you son of a bitch," he muttered. The chin guard of his helmet barely allowed him to articulate clearly.

"So he's going to live?" I asked.

"Why do you give a damn?"

I thought about replying, but I refrained.

"Ten-five, do you copy?" continued the other guard. "Do you copy?"

Whatever was about to happen to me paled in comparison with what had transpired that night. I revisited how Drev had attacked and conquered the Shadow of Fear. I saw him standing not far from me. He had followed the guards and was a few feet away from them. His expression was stern yet noble. There was no doubt in my mind that he was the one I had been waiting for all these centuries.

I was glad they were taking me away instead of him, or any student, for that matter. I wondered what the guards would do when they put me in the helicopter and suddenly found that I'd vanished. After all, I knew if I left Stauros Island, I couldn't retain the living state that I was in. The island was unique in the way that it allowed all the phantoms to take a living form at night. In no other place would I be in this body. But if I left the island, how would Abbot Pellanor find me?

I had completed my mission of finding the Slayer, and sooner or later, I expected my old teacher to appear and call me to rest with the others in the afterworld.

A sense of panic surged within me. I began scanning my periphery with the intent to run away or, at the very least, stall until I was called to enter the afterlife.

A dozen schemes floated through my mind. First and most urgent, I needed to flee from the guards. I waited. And waited. The night was long. Finally, I saw the guard to my left look away with a bored yawn and figured this was my opportunity to attempt to run away and hide on the island. Then I heard Horace's voice.

"Wait!"

He ran up to the guards, sweaty and breathless. "The chancellor doesn't want you to take him away right away. He told me to tell you to wait until morning. We found the weapon that was used. We want a thorough confession from him while he's here on the island."

"You tell the chancellor we're taking him when the helicopter comes. We ain't gonna sit and babysit him all night!" snapped the guard on my left.

I wondered what Parafron was doing. If it turned out I had to stay on the island for the rest of the night, what was in store for me? I suddenly became anxious about where Parafron was and what kind of crazy scheme he might be conjuring up. Drev, who had stayed near me, now stood beside Horace. He must have read my thoughts.

"Where's the chancellor?" he asked Horace. "I haven't seen him since we left the foyer."

"He's probably checking up on his grandniece," said Horace. He sighed and added, "He must be so glad to be reunited with her. That's why he got all dressed up and joined the party—even asked her to dance with him a little bit. . . ."

A petrifying chill shook me. I thought back to how I had seen Parafron move among the crowd in the foyer as I had run up the stairs to follow Drev to look for Tyler. He must have been hunting for Pamina.

Before I could think any further, Drev interrupted. "Do you know where they are?" he asked, grabbing Horace by the arm. Horace frowned at Drev and pulled away from his grip. "How the hell should I know? He's probably taking a nice walk with her and trying to find out what happened. Kids run away for all kinds of reasons, but no one knows why or—"

"You idiot!" I shouted at Horace. "You think Parafron cares about his grandniece! You think he's with her to comfort her and find out her problems?"

Horace stared back at me, his eyes vapid, his lips slightly parted.

"Drev, go with your roommates and try to find Pamina and . . ." I stopped. Drev had already taken off. With my hands tied behind me and a gun muzzle still poking into my back, I could barely shift enough to peer through the crowd. I couldn't see where he'd gone or whether his friends had accompanied him.

I sighed.

After my outburst, the whispers floating around me grew louder. I ignored them. I waited only to hear news about Pamina. I prayed she was safe.

Hours seemed to pass. The guard to my right periodically picked up his phone and replied with a "ten-four" or "ten-five" code. Nothing was happening fast enough. Then I heard a shout come up from the crowd.

"Hey, look up there, near the east tower!"

I expected to see the helicopter that would fly me back to the mainland. When I looked up, however, I nearly couldn't believe what I was seeing. I watched with terror as Pamina teeter-tottered while scurrying across the slanted roof of Stauros Hall.

"It's the chancellor!" someone shouted.

A gasp emerged from the crowd as they saw Parafron edge carefully across the roof. Bent down like a dog, he used his hands and feet to move along the same path Pamina took. Despite crawling, he moved rapidly, shortening the distance between them.

Pamina reached the end of the roof, where there stood a tower with a battlement. Crenellations ran along the top of the tower's low wall. She climbed up through one of these open, rectangular gaps. For a short moment, I, as well as some others, let out a sigh, for she was now in the safe confines of the tower's low wall. But I soon realized she was trapped. She paced frantically within the tower as Parafron advanced more rapidly.

I stared angrily at the guards around me. "Shoot him!" I ordered. "Can't you see he's the perpetrator? He's going to hurt her!"

The guards didn't even twitch a muscle and continued to stare at the disaster unfolding in front of them as though they were in a theater. Parafron had now caught up with Pamina. He grabbed her by her hair and dragged her to the side of the tower that overlooked the sea, threatening to throw her over. The tower was at the easternmost end of the abbey, jutting over a sharp cliff. If he threw her over the edge, she would fall into the roaring waves that crashed against the rocky cliff. The sound of the monstrous surf echoed in our ears.

As the students realized that the chancellor was not there to help but rather to hurt her, they let out angry shouts. Some of them had already taken out their phones and were videotaping what they were seeing. However, insanity made Parafron oblivious. He was so far removed from a right state of mind, he didn't even realize he was revealing to the world the murderous maniac that he was.

"Oh no!" I heard cries around me.

"Save her! Someone help her!"

Then, from a window right under the overhang of the roof, I saw Drev pull himself out and onto the roof. No one on the ground, two hundred feet below him, could do anything to help him. Fortunately, the window was situated just beneath the roof and was the closest window to the tower. Drev still had to cross the roof sideways for two yards, however, before he could reach Pamina.

The roof's slope was sharp. The crowd, many of us with hands clasped together, stood in silence as we watched Drev scale the roof. When he reached the tower and steadied himself, a few students clapped.

Parafron was still preoccupied with Pamina, who seemed to be putting up a steady struggle. As Drev climbed over the crenellated wall, Parafron turned around. Drev reached out and grabbed Parafron by the back of his robe, almost pulling him away from Pamina. Parafron was quick, though, and wriggled out of Drev's grip. He turned back to Pamina. Before we could shout, Pamina was pushed from the tower, through a crenellation in the wall. Only the sea was beneath her to break her fall.

Drev struck Parafron. He went down, lost from our view. Drev then moved to the edge of the tower to see where Pamina had fallen.

"Drev, no!" I was sure I had shouted, but my words didn't have more effect than a silent whisper. Seemingly without hesitation, Drev climbed up onto the top of the low wall of the tower and dived down into the sea.

The crowd in the courtyard continued to stare up at the empty tower where only seconds ago there had been three people. I sank to my knees and then collapsed to my feet. The guards didn't bother to tell me to stand. Perhaps they, too, were too shocked to speak.

The world was cold, hard, and dark, like the cobblestones I was sitting on. How could he have followed her? Drev knew what would ensue if he followed Pamina, yet he had gone after her. He was willing to die for her.

Although I had feared he would follow Pamina, I had expected the call of duty to humanity to be stronger than his love for a girl. I was wrong. I had been naive to believe he would give up everything to be the Slayer.

What a farce my existence had been! I had found the Slayer and lost him all in one night. I held my head with both my hands. The Order of the Shrike had won. The Shadow of Fear would be unobstructed, and people would be forever enslaved by their fears. A fine finale to the tragedy of the human story.

# Part IV
# Chapter 24: End Game

Chaos was everywhere—in the air, on the ground—but I didn't care. The roar of helicopters filled the skies as they hovered over Stauros Sea, searching for Drev and Pamina. But I knew, as well as everyone else who had witnessed the two fall into the sea's murky depths, that they were lost forever. In the courtyard around me, I continued to hear the cries and anxious murmurs of students who still could not take in what they'd just seen on the tower.

I was sitting on the ground. A rush of air and the spotlights of helicopters flying overhead didn't disturb me in the least. I looked to either side and saw only the guards' black boots. It was all I could see, and all I wanted to see. I didn't want to know what was going on nearby. Nothing mattered anymore. Not until the boot of a guard kicked me did I stir.

"Up off your ass, you lazy son of a bitch," said the guard, kicking me again. "The helicopter's here."

I rose slowly to my feet. As my eyes took in the scene around me, I saw that the courtyard was filled with students hugging each other—and hugging phantoms as well. Some of them were crying. Everyone looked distraught. I wanted to reach out and hug them, too, thinking that might perhaps fill the profound emptiness within me. There was a void in my heart and my head. I couldn't even shed tears.

"Move it," ordered a voice beside me. It was the guard with whom I had exchanged a few words earlier. I must've looked withered and despondent, because he didn't even attempt to restrain me. He only gave me a quick shove forward. No command, no gun.

We started walking, and a few other guards followed. As we trudged through the crowd in the courtyard, I noticed that no one was paying attention to us. Everyone was too shaken. Then I heard a loud cry.

"The chancellor is a murderer!" I turned around to see who'd spoken. To my surprise, I saw Irving elevated on what must've been a soapbox, for he was a clear foot higher than the rest of the crowd. Max and J.P. were beside him, to his left and right.

"He's a madman, and we all saw him murder a student tonight!"

I was stunned to hear him so bold.

"Arrest the chancellor!" Max yelled. When he said it again, J.P. cupped his hands over his mouth and joined in. Their words resonated through the crowd. A buzz began to spread.

"I caught the chancellor on video!" shouted a student raising his phone.

"I did, too—it's evidence!" another student yelled.

"Arrest the chancellor!" voices began to chant in unison. The rest of the crowd caught on, and within seconds, people were clapping their hands in a rhythm and shouting for Parafron's imprisonment.

"Keep moving," grunted the guard to my left as he gave me a push. All the guards struggled, trying to plow through the herd of students blocking them. Having found strength in their resolution to accuse Parafron, some even began shouting at the guards to find and capture him.

"You're taking the wrong guy!" said Irving, blocking our path. He seemed to appear out of nowhere. Max and J.P. were behind him.

"Let him go. He didn't do anything wrong. If he confessed earlier to being the Demon of Stauros, it was only to protect . . ." Max couldn't finish, as he began to choke up.

"It was only to protect our friend," said J.P. "And our friend was trying to protect the girl who was thrown over the tower."

"Get out of our way!" shouted the guard beside me. He reached out and pushed Irving to the side. Irving lost his balance and stumbled. Max and J.P. didn't hesitate to take the opportunity to clobber the guard.

"Asshole!" J.P. shouted, as his fingers wrapped around the guard's helmet. Max twisted the guard's arms behind his back.

"Hugh, run!" shouted Max. I was still so dejected and numb from sadness that the scuffle didn't register as an opportunity to escape. Then I saw Irving get back on his feet and gesture to me to follow him.

"C'mon, Hugh!"

I realized no one was looking at me. The guards were too distracted by Max and J.P. They grabbed Max, and one of them took the butt of his rifle and slammed it into J.P.

"Hey!" I shouted. Broiling anger surged through my body as I turned to the guards. Several students and phantoms who'd been heckling the guards jumped in and began wrestling with them.

"Go, Hugh! Find Parafron!" shouted J.P., clutching his stomach with one hand and pushing me toward Irving with the other.

"Two helicopters just landed in the inner courtyard gardens!" shouted Max, parrying a blow from a guard. "They might have come to bring more guards, but we're thinking maybe Parafron's trying to get away in one of them—and we can't let him!"

I nodded and ran toward Irving. "Is Parafron still in the tower?" I asked, thinking about when I had last seen him. The students in the courtyard had flocked around us, attracted by the fight with the guards.

Irving pushed through them and explained, "We saw him stand up in the tower and then disappear. We think he descended a staircase that we couldn't see. . . . He's probably somewhere in Stauros Hall right now." Irving maneuvered stealthily through clusters of students and phantoms, and I followed the path he was forging.

"Thanks for helping me back there, Irving," I said. A strong air of confidence emanated from him, and he commanded an authority that I hadn't seen in him before. His latent talent as a leader had risen to the surface. I marveled at his transformation. In times of distress, our hidden talents did burst through.

"Demon of Stauros or not," Irving said, "you're our friend—we owe you for what you did for us earlier tonight in the cemetery." He turned to me and nodded.

I was profoundly moved. Whatever will I had lost when Drev had dived off the tower was coming back to me. For the sake of my other three roommates and the students on this island, I was determined not to let Parafron escape. He needed to be held accountable not just for what had happened to Pamina and Drev but for what had happened to all of the students who'd disappeared through the cave under the library.

"You're right. Under no circumstances can Parafron leave. He has to answer to the students," I declared. I said it more for myself than for anyone to hear, yet I was glad when Irving responded.

"Right," he said, his voice low and thoughtful. "Impunity—I guess that's what makes you destroy whatever you want, since you think you can get away with it."

We struggled through the swarms of students who bustled around the guards, who were still fighting off the other students and phantoms. When we finally entered Stauros Hall, the stark silence that greeted us was more unnerving than the madness outside. As we crossed the foyer, we scanned around us cautiously, in case Parafron might be lurking in a dark corner.

At the far end of the empty room, we saw a door leading to a portico that framed a large garden. We exited the foyer through a back door and found ourselves outside in the portico. The garden, built in the center of the old abbey, served as an inner courtyard. It had been created to mirror the outer courtyard we had just come from. While the outside courtyard was laid with cobblestones, this inner garden was carpeted with wildflowers and tall grass that waved in the wind, glowing silver in the shimmering light of the moon. In the middle of the garden sat two large helicopters, just as Irving had said, one black and one red. Their propellers were still; not a sound came from their engines. An image of a shrike was painted on the left side of each.

I expected more armed guards to be standing around and was surprised to see only three men in business suits and one woman in a long beige trench coat. She wore a hat whose wide brim hid nearly all of her face. They stood around, talking in low voices, their hands in their pockets. The men spoke more than the woman; she seemed uninterested in what they were discussing.

"Who are they?" I asked in a whisper.

"They're the trustees of this school," explained Irving. "They're the ones who can put Parafron in his place. I guess someone must have called them when they saw what happened on the tower."

To my horror, Irving began to amble toward them as if they were old friends.

"Stop!" I said, pulling him back into the shadows of the portico arches. "Don't you see that?" I pointed to the emblem of the shrike on the two helicopters. "They're on the same team. Parafron and the trustees—they're all a part of the Order of the Shrike."

"Of course they are," said Irving, looking at me as though I had lost my mind. "The Order of the Shrike controls everything, Hugh. That's the way it's always been. If it isn't the order, there's no one else to report Parafron to." Irving continued to stare at me. He appeared to be baffled, as if he thought I wasn't aware of that. However, I certainly was—far too aware.

Nevertheless, I had hoped against hope that the events of the night might expose the order for what it was—evil—and that the students would take a stand against it. But I was wrong. The Order of the Shrike stood on its own as the unquestioned omnipotent governing body of this world. People had been brainwashed to accept that the Shrikes had always ruled the world and to think otherwise was out of the question. To Irving and everyone else, it was pointless to judge the Order of the Shrike as good or bad. People deferred to it as the supreme authority, one that did whatever it wanted and justified its actions any way it wanted to. As the only governing power, the Order of the Shrike mandated that people automatically had to turn to it to report a crime, even if it made no sense to report a crime of one of its own members. It would never punish one of its own.

I was the last member of the Order of the Crane to be walking this earth, and the only one who ever knew about a world that was completely free from the Order of the Shrike—free from manipulation, greed, and, most important, fear. There wasn't even a trace of that old world in the history books, because the original Shrikes had destroyed all the old books and rewritten new ones that placed them in a flattering light.

I chose my words carefully when speaking to Irving, because I was sure he had never even considered a world without the Order of the Shrike.

"And do _you_ think the Order of the Shrike should control everything?" I asked him.

Irving was quiet, as if he had never entertained the idea before. Finally, he said, "If they didn't run everything, who would?"

"The people would. The people as an empowered community would be able to look after their own interests and take care of themselves. They would be free from living a life that serves only the interests of the Shrikes."

"What?"

I saw Irving raise his eyebrow, but I continued, "The Order of the Shrike exists only to make sure power is in the hands of a small group of people—theirs. They're interested in the general public only insofar as they serve the needs of the order. Don't you see, Irving? Without the Order of the Shrike, this world would be free. It was always supposed to be. It was free before the Order of the Shrike took power by subduing the people with fear."

Irving spoke: "Everyone knows that they abuse their power, but we don't bother . . . It's . . . well, it's just the way it's always been. We leave them alone and just hope for the best."

"And by doing so, you're letting them run your life. Ruin it, actually."

Irving looked at the ground and was quiet. I grabbed both his shoulders and made him look me straight in the eye.

"At some point, you have to take a stand, Irving. At some point, you have to realize that they've lied to everyone for too long, that they've hurt too many people, and that they're taking away your right—everyone's right—to live freely, without fear."

Irving looked at me, more distressed than confused. I realized he must have been wondering why I cared so vehemently about proving that the Order of the Shrike was evil. To make my point, I had him agree—albeit reluctantly—to eavesdrop on what the trustees were discussing.

I signaled to him to follow me, and we approached the three men and woman slowly from the side, or what was the edge of their peripheral view. The red helicopter provided the perfect obstruction to hide us from them. Our feet padded soundlessly through the grass and up to the side of the helicopter. The four trustees were huddled on the other side, sandwiched between the red and black helicopters.

As we came close to the nose of the helicopter, I was startled to see someone in the cockpit. To my relief, however, I saw that it was the pilot—and he was sleeping with his cap on top of his face. Underneath the helicopter, I could see the feet of the four trustees. They were exactly opposite where we were. Noticing that they faced the tail of the helicopter, I knew it was safe to edge around the nose—which, despite Irving's reluctance, was what we did.

From behind, I saw that the men looked nearly identical in their black suits. Two of them had white hair, and one was bald. I figured they were all the same age, more or less. As for the woman, at first I saw only her back. But as she turned her head, I saw her profile. Only her chin and lips were visible below the line of her hat. But even seeing just those features made me stop. I had seen them a thousand times—in my dreams. I knew those lips better than my own.

"Hugh, are you all right?"

Irving's voice pulled me out of the spell that I was falling under. I abruptly remembered the task at hand and tore my eyes from the woman. I focused on the ground. I was no longer looking at her, but she was all I could see in my mind. It couldn't be her! She was gone—lost forever in the World of the Damned!

I shut my eyes tightly, trying to squeeze the image of the woman out of my head. For nineteen years, I had been certain she had left this world. Losing her had been unbearable—so unbearable that I had isolated myself from everyone and stayed locked in a cellar for nearly two decades. The woman standing in front of me couldn't be her, but it most certainly was.

I opened my eyes. I had to look at her again. The bald man standing next to her must've made a joke, for she suddenly laughed. My knees trembled. Only _her_ laugh could sound like that—a cadence of ha-has that ascended like an arpeggio on a harp.

I heard myself gulp loudly as I swallowed the truth that revealed itself before me—Anne-Marie had never been lost to the World of the Damned. All these years, she had been alive and well. Now she stood before me, a mature woman, a member of the trustees of the most prestigious school in the world, and, no doubt, a loyal member of the Order of the Shrike.

# Chapter 25: The Attack

"Hugh?" I heard Irving whisper and turned to look at him. He was staring at me.

"Are you okay? You look—"

Before Irving could finish, there was a shout. "Start the helicopters! The students have become mutinous! Mutinous!"

I looked past the nose of the black helicopter that stood in front of us. A white-robed figure with crooked wings on his back appeared on the opposite end of the garden. Parafron! Still dressed in his Toussaint costume, he shot out from the shadows. He strode rapidly yet awkwardly, for he was hampered by a limp. He moved toward the two helicopters. All four trustees ran out from between the tails of the red and black helicopters. Irving and I followed quietly behind them. They paused a few feet away from the tail of the black helicopter as they watched Parafron approach.

I beckoned to Irving to follow me and to stay close to the tail of the black helicopter. We peered carefully around its edge, concealing as much of ourselves as we possibly could. We could see the backs of the trustees' heads and had a clear view of Parafron approaching, waving his arms as he screamed. The three men hurried to meet him. Anne-Marie stayed a few yards behind.

"What took you so long to haul yourselves here?" he yelled at the three trustees huddled around him. Parafron's voice rang so clearly, he could've been yelling right by my ear. I realized Irving and I were in a fortunate position: the voices in the center of the courtyard were accentuated by the tall walls of the portico reflecting back the sound. Even though we were several yards away, we could hear everything.

The bald man spoke. "Ms. de Galard insisted on coming. We had to wait for her plane to arrive so we could depart together. Otherwise, we were more than ready to come the minute we heard there was an incident involving a student and the Shadow of Fear. . . ."

They knew! They _all_ knew that Tyler had been a victim of the Shadow of Fear. Yet they weren't panicking the way I would have imagined people would if they knew that the Shadow of Fear had attacked a student. I wanted to hear all they had to say, and dared to creep out from the shadows so I wouldn't miss a word.

"That little shit getting thrashed by his bedtime monster is the least of our PR problems!" seethed Parafron.

"The least? What are you talking about?" shouted the bald trustee.

One of the two white-haired trustees stepped in, speaking in a more even tone. "Parafron, if this news reaches the parents of these students, we could be sued or worse. We have to think of how we're going to spin a story to cover this up."

Parafron took two jerky steps away from the trustees, did a sharp about-face, and then took two steps toward them. He repeated this awkward march several times, before shaking his fists at the sky and hollering, "I threw my grandniece off the tower tonight and into the sea! And all those little turds were watching. . . . Now they're chanting for my head out there! Damn them! Damn them to the World of the Damned, and damn their phantoms to the World of the Damned—"

"The hell? Have you completely lost your mind, Parafron?" asked the other white-haired trustee, grabbing Parafron by the front of his robe and forcing him to face him.

"You said you threw your niece. Off. A. Tower?" asked the bald trustee haltingly, while keeping his eyes locked on Parafron's. "You killed her in front of the entire student body?"

Parafron dropped his head to his left shoulder and then lethargically rolled it to the right. He smiled, then chuckled. "She was already dead, fools. She's a phantom . . . like the rest of those creatures that come out at night. She came out with the whole lot to the party. They've gotten bolder, those phantoms, mingling among the students tonight, like that monk, that bitter toad, back after all these years."

"What was that?" asked Anne-Marie, suddenly taking interest in their conversation. She walked closer to the men. "A phantom monk?"

I stiffened, as I knew Anne-Marie was thinking of me. Of course she couldn't have forgotten me!

Parafron continued to ramble to himself. "And they want _me_ in prison!" he growled. " _Me!_ They were shouting about me! Don't they know who I am? I'm their chancellor! I'm the one who—"

The bald trustee cut Parafron short. "Let me get this straight. The students now know about the phantoms on this island, as well as about the Shadow of Fear? Jesus, is this a joke? How'd you let all of that slip in one night?"

Parafron stood still, staring at nothing for a moment. He then turned his head slowly toward the bald man. "I let nothing slip, you self-important twit. They don't know about the Shadow of Fear. They don't know about the phantoms—not yet."

"So they think you threw a _real_ girl off the tower tonight?" asked one of the white-haired trustees. He shook his head with disdain and snorted. "My God, can this get any better?"

"Shit! How are we going to salvage this?" asked the bald man, rubbing the crown of his head with the palm of his hand.

"Easy," Anne-Marie said. "Parafron, you'll have to resign. We announce that you're insane. We play it off like you'll go to trial for killing your grandniece. You'll get a mock sentence. The newspapers and media networks will eat it up. We change your name, give you a new identity, and relocate you. We'll instate a new chancellor, and—voilà!—everything will be taken care of."

"Like hell!" screamed Parafron. "You may be the head of trustees, Ms. de Galard, but I am the soul of the Order of the Shrike—the keeper of all its secrets! You let me go, and I'll pull all of you—the entire godforsaken order—down with me! I'll disclose how the order destroyed all the books—the very knowledge needed to fight the Shadow of Fear. I'll reveal that the order knew what the Shadow of Fear was from the moment it took power, four hundred years ago, but continued to deceive the public and called it an incurable psychological disease instead. I'll blackmail the order into oblivion. If I go down, everyone goes down with me!"

No one said a word. A few heavy seconds passed before the bald man cleared his throat and said, "Fine. Then what's your plan?" His tone had changed now. Parafron had the upper hand. "How are you going to save the reputation of the school and remain the chancellor?"

"Well, first of all, I need to get off this island," said Parafron.

Irving threw me an alarmed look. I knew he was anxious about Parafron's escaping, but I wanted to hear the rest of what Parafron had to say. I raised my hand, motioning to Irving to keep calm.

The madman chuckled. "All the students will also have to leave the island. Everyone needs to be evacuated. Ring up the military guard and have them bring their trucks to take the students away before the next sunset. All students must be off the island by sundown, except for the ones who insist on staying. . . ." He first began to giggle and then suddenly burst out with laughter.

"Whoa, wait," cut in a white-haired trustee. "Why would they all have to leave?"

Parafron didn't respond but continued to snort out bits of laughter. After a few moments, he collected himself and continued, "I need the wide-screens set up in the courtyard so that after I reach the mainland, I can give a speech via satellite to those brainless brats tonight—or, rather, this morning. Damn, it's already morning."

"You're better off giving your speech in person," said Anne Marie, her words articulated through clenched teeth. "Not doing so would make it look as though you're running away."

"I _am_ running away, Madame Head of Trustees," snarled Parafron. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to be anywhere near here after I give my speech—since the island is going to be firebombed."

"Firebombed?" exclaimed the bald man. The other two men shook their heads. Anne-Marie remained stoic. I glanced at Irving, whose face registered only shock.

"What the . . . ," groaned the bald man. He reached up to rub the top of his head again.

"What you're suggesting is absolute lunacy, Parafron!" shouted one of the white-haired trustees.

"Morons, all of you!" yelled Parafron, turning away from them abruptly. He heaved a few seconds, as if inhaling air to douse the heat of his frustration. His back was to them, his face toward us. He then spun around and spat out, "Don't you see? We blame the island for what the students saw tonight! We tell them that there's something in the air, water, or ground—chemicals, radiation, whatever is terrifying enough to get those little bastards out of here immediately. We then use that excuse as grounds for destroying this place."

Parafron's plan was met with silent rejection. The trustees stood like statues until the bald man, turned his head away and scratched it. He spoke slowly and loudly, as if he were speaking to a foreigner who might not understand his words. "We came here tonight to find a solution, Parafron—a way to keep the secret of the Shadow of Fear from coming out. Firebombing will create more problems. Do you understand this?"

Parafron leaped in front of him and pushed his face so close to the trustee's, I thought he might kiss him. His words were anything but loving.

"Don't speak to me as if I were a lame dog, you bald devil!" he screamed. "The real curse on this island is that I have to explain everything to you cretinous freaks!"

"Calm down, Parafron. We're all here to work something out," said one of the white-haired trustees. Parafron continued to stare at the bald trustee, who stared defiantly back at him.

"Fine. You want to put the blame on the island," said the other white-haired trustee, trying to distract Parafron from his staring match. "I see how that would protect the order. In an odd, twisted way, destroying the island and its history works in our favor. The island's phantoms and secrets really serve only to discredit the legitimacy of our order. But how would we do it? Stauros Island is iconic. We would need . . . it would take so much effort to carry this out."

"No, not so much," said Parafron, backing away from the bald man and turning toward the others. "The chief of the air military guard was one of my most apt pupils. All I need to do is make a quick phone call to him, and all will be taken care of."

The four trustees stood still, continuing to stare at Parafron. Realizing there was still more work to be done to convince them, Parafron spoke again, this time in a steadier and lower voice. The sudden switch in his tone was just as unsettling as the words he spoke.

"If left unguarded, Stauros Island could one day destroy our order. The phantoms, if revealed to the world, would undermine the history we have tried to create to legitimize the power of the Order of the Shrike. And if their stories—if their folktales, or whatever the hell you want to call them—began to spread, we couldn't use fear as a tactic to manipulate the masses. Sooner or later, we have to destroy this island. Might as well be now."

"And that will take care of everything?" challenged Anne Marie. "Just getting rid of this island will prevent people from finding out about the Shadow of Fear? You actually believe that no one, among the billions in this world, won't know any better or catch on at some point?"

Parafron was silent and stared at Anne-Marie as if she had just insulted him. A few tense moments of silence passed before Parafron spoke.

"You understand nothing, Ms. de Galard! If you did, you would know that the Shadow of Fear attacks people, but it's the people who butcher themselves into unrecognizable pulps. All evidence points to the person. No one knows what is happening internally to the poor sap who's knocking himself out senseless. All everyone sees is craziness. And all they think about afterward is how they don't want to be that kind of crazy. We fan those flames of fear and continue with the lie we've been feeding the public."

"And if someone starts to catch on to what's going on—"

"If someone starts to catch on, milady," said Parafron, "we up the stakes and tell them there's variations of that craziness that they can catch and convince them that we're close to finding a cure. And if push comes to shove, we offer a concoction of comfort drugs so expensive, only the desperate and insane will buy them. In the end, we'll explain that it's a disease that can never be fully cured, so they'll be so focused on not catching it that they'll never see the Shadow of Fear for what it really is."

There was dead silence, until Parafron shattered it with a loud laugh that had him holding his stomach and shaking his head. "Goddamn it. I don't know why we didn't firebomb this rock years ago."

"Okay, fine. So let's assume we firebomb the island and no one thinks it's suspicious. Where will we move the school? And the students?" asked a white-haired trustee.

"Wherever we want." Parafron walked up to the white-haired man and turned the man's face as he scrutinized him. "Don't you remember? We're the Order of the Shrike. Everything is at our fingertips. From sprawling châteaux to a seventy-story feat of architecture with all the most modern amenities, the students and parents will welcome the change. In fact, there will be more students. Being on this island has prevented us from growing the student population. Why, Stauros University will be bigger and more brilliant than ever!"

In his newfound exuberance, Parafron leaped toward the tail of the black helicopter, heading straight for Irving and me. We quickly darted back toward the nose of the red chopper and swerved around the tip, just in time to see Parafron bounce from the tail of the black helicopter toward the front of the red one. The trustees followed.

"We have to stop him!" said Irving in a harsh whisper.

"Shhh," I said, keeping my eyes on Parafron. I felt the same way as Irving, but the odds were ridiculous. The two of us could handle Parafron, but not the other trustees.

Parafron banged his fist against the nose of the red helicopter. He was standing only a few feet away. The nose was the only thing preventing him from seeing us. I peered beneath the helicopter and saw his feet. Irving and I stayed as still as the dirt rocks on the ground. The pilot, who had been sleeping in the cockpit, woke up with a start. He immediately jumped to his feet and opened the side door opposite us. Carefully, I peeked around the nose. Parafron had his back to me.

"Let's take off!" shouted Parafron, raising his arm in a scoop, indicating to the others it was time to board the aircraft. The others didn't move. They just stared at him from where they stood. The engine roared to life.

"Hugh!" growled Irving. "Let's get him now!"

"I'll do it _,_ " I said, turning to him. "Look, Irving, I've got nothing to lose. I've already been condemned as the Demon of Stauros. Do you know why?"

Irving stared at me for a few seconds, before cautiously saying, "Because you said you were?"

"No, because I'm dead. I'm not alive," I said, studying each twitch in his expression as I revealed the truth. I spoke more slowly to make sure that he knew I wasn't joking. "I'm a phantom who comes alive only at night. I'm going after Parafron, since I've got nothing to lose. But you—you must go back and tell the others what Parafron and the other trustees plan to do. Do you understand?"

Irving stared at me, eyes wide. His eyebrows squeezed together, and his bottom lip twitched as though he wanted to speak but couldn't.

"Do you understand?" I repeated more sternly. I had no desire to go into a lengthier explanation. I crouched down to watch Parafron's movements by the helicopter.

"Dead?" he asked, his voice barely audible. Irving didn't look terrified, merely bewildered.

"Yes, dead," I affirmed. "Nevertheless, at this moment, I'm standing next to you and ready to fight on your behalf."

He looked at the ground and nodded slowly.

"Good," I said. "When I count to three, I want you to head straight back to J.P. and Max and tell them everything that you heard tonight."

"And you?"

"I'm going to stall Parafron."

"What do you mean?"

But I couldn't respond to him, because just then, Parafron made an announcement. "Very well, then—it's just me who will leave." He turned away from the trustees and lifted his foot to board the helicopter.

Not taking my eyes off of Parafron's other foot, I said, "Ready, Irving? One . . . two . . . three!"

I darted around the nose of the red chopper and toward Parafron. In one breath I grabbed him, pulled him off the helicopter, and punched him squarely in the face. Parafron staggered but regained his balance and pushed me to the ground. He stood over me and was about to stomp his foot on to my chest when, to both my relief and my chagrin, Irving appeared and tackled him. Irving hadn't run back to the others, as I had told him to. There was no retreating now. We both had to fight to the end.

The bald man and the two white-haired men pulled Irving off Parafron. Parafron, panicking from the attack, scrambled to his feet and tried to climb into the helicopter again, but I leaped toward him, tearing his angel wings and ripping his costume. Irving and I fought as long as we could, but we were outnumbered. Both pilots descended from their helicopter and pinned me to the ground. The three trustees held Irving's arms behind his back.

"Oh! Oh!" I heard Parafron moan only a few feet from me.

"These students are out of control," said one of the trustees.

"It won't be long before they start inquiring about the phantoms and the history of the island, questioning the legitimacy of the order—the last thing we want to have happen," said another trustee.

There was a long pause.

"That's why WE'LL DESTROY THE ISLAND!" screamed Parafron. "BOMB IT!"

"Wait, Parafron." I heard Anne-Marie's voice. She was close, perhaps a few feet away from me. "If you're going to take such drastic action, you need to announce it in person and leave only when the last student has left."

Parafron let out a low groan.

"I'm not leaving," continued Anne-Marie. "I refuse to abandon the school at such a chaotic time. I don't know about you gentlemen, but cowardice is one thing I don't intend to display to the students."

There was a long pause, but finally Parafron snapped back, "Well, if madame stays, then the chancellor stays, too!"

The other three men grumbled. I heard feet move through the grass and saw two heels approach. They stopped before my face.

"As for these two troublemakers, lock them up and keep them away from danger—I mean, from being a danger to others," Anne-Marie ordered. She'd tried to cover her slip, but I had heard her words clearly. So she wasn't completely on their side. I sensed a sharp animosity between her and Parafron. I wondered what her intentions were. The woman standing before me was completely different from the Anne-Marie I remembered. The two pilots brought me to my feet. I kept my eyes downcast to avoid looking at her.

"No," wailed Parafron. "He's supposed to be charged as the Demon of Stauros and punished publicly!"

I looked over at where he was standing and saw him pointing at me. Mud and blood caked the front of his robe, and a half wing dangled on his back.

"He confessed to being responsible for what happened to Tyler and everything else—"

"We'll address that later," said Anne-Marie sternly. "First you need to explain to the students what has supposedly happened to the island, so it fits with the story you are fabricating about why the island must be destroyed. We need to keep our lies straight and make sure everything is believable and sounds legitimate. Then we'll deal with the other problems, including these two."

The guards who had escorted me from the foyer earlier eventually arrived, along with a few others. Two of them held my arms behind me and ordered me to start walking. Although I told myself not to look at Anne-Marie's face, as I was being led away, my heart forced me to look into her eyes.

She looked ravishing.

I bit my lower lip. I was angry—angry at her and angry at myself. In my head, I cursed myself for not having the strength to hate a beautiful woman. Anne-Marie had matured into a dazzling goddess. Her girlish charm had been replaced with a queen-like aura. I wanted her to look away first, but she stared at me, searching my face for acknowledgment or recognition, perhaps. Or, I would have liked to believe, forgiveness.

I looked away without saying a word. A guard pushed my back, ordering me to walk faster. I stumbled into a rapid trot. Irving, escorted by another guard, joined me shortly. We marched side by side, in silence, for several seconds.

"Did you know that woman back there?" Irving asked.

"No," I said, straightening my back out of surprise. Had my face given away too much? "Why?"

"I think she knew you. When you turned away, she looked like she was crying."

# Chapter 26: Anne-Marie

Irving and I were thrown into a moldy basement. Originally designed as a dungeon, it now stored gardening tools. Though the dungeon was below ground level, a foot of it was aboveground, enough room for a window—a crude cutout in the wall, the size of a large stone block—situated in the upper-right corner of the cell. We were able to peer through this window into the courtyard.

One of the walls of our prison was a rusted iron lattice that prevented Irving and me from entering the narrow corridor just beyond it. The center section served as a door that opened into the corridor. At its far end, a bare lightbulb cast a faint beam into our cell. Within minutes of settling in, Irving yawned.

"I'm beat. Aren't you tired, Hugh?" he asked.

"I'm the Demon of Stauros, remember?" I smirked. "I don't get tired."

"Right," said Irving, scratching his head, his eyes barely open. He kept trying to open his eyes wider, but with each attempt, his eyelids sank lower.

"Demons don't get tired," he mumbled. He turned away from me and the window and lay down on the floor. Within seconds, he was snoring.

I continued to look through the window. The thickness of the wall prevented me from seeing anything to the left or right, even when I shifted my position by the window. My field of vision was limited to what was straight ahead of me. The cobblestones of the courtyard were at eye level, and all I could see were skidding and stomping feet.

I heard rocks being thrown and shots ringing out. The courtyard was filled with rioting students. Irving and I had been gone from the courtyard for only a couple of hours, yet it was clear that the aggression had escalated during that short period of time. I couldn't see any faces. I was anxious about Max and J.P., for I was sure that instead of running away, they were most likely at the front, fighting with the guards.

I pressed my face as close to the window as I could, hoping to hear the voices of my roommates—any kind of reassurance. Instead, I heard the whooshing of a helicopter propeller. The chugging of the engine blocked out all other noises for a minute and then started to recede. Within a couple of minutes, the sounds from the helicopter were only echoes in the distance. I assumed Parafron was in the helicopter, as well as the trustees—who included Anne-Marie.

How could she have never even given a sign to let me know that she was alive and well? If she had truly cared for me, wouldn't she have thought about coming back to the island and letting me know somehow? Even if I had locked myself in the cellar, if she had come back to tell me or even left a message of some kind, I would have known.

I turned my face from the window and pressed my back against the wall. I stared at the rusted prison grate opposite where I stood, feeling my anger transform into sorrow as my heart sank into my stomach. Pain. I pressed my fingers to my temples and closed my eyes.

She had never loved me. I was a fool who had been so desperate that I'd interpreted her interest in the story of the Slayer and the Order of the Crane as love, a love for me and for my cause. All of it had been a game for her. She had been one of them all along, and I was the only fool who couldn't see her for what she really was: treacherous, deceitful, betraying . . .

Now, four hundred years later, I knew why my father had wanted me to become a monk. He'd wanted to spare me the double-crossing, deceptive ways of a woman. I was angry at myself for not having realized that earlier. I wanted to tear my heart out.

Irving's words echoed in my head. _When you turned away, she was crying._ At first those words made me want to doubt her treachery—perhaps she did care about me and, upon seeing me, had been overcome with longing.

However, I quickly dismissed the idea. There was too much to risk by letting my heart run away with my hopes. She was putting on an act, just like her disappearance from the island, her interest in championing my book and finding the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. All of that was a show. She had tricked me once, but I would not be fooled again.

"Hugh?"

I froze. Anne-Marie's voice echoed through that cavernous underground hole. Why was she here? Why was she searching me out? I didn't make a sound. Irving's snores responded instead.

"Hugh?" I heard feet shuffling on the ground in the corridor. I heard the sounds of steps approaching, coming closer to me. The faint glow emanating from the far end of the corridor was obstructed. I waited. The thick, damp air in that dungeon grew heavier with each breath. Then I saw her figure appear opposite me, on the other side of those prison bars. She leaned in near the iron grate that separated us.

"Oh, Hugh!" she said. Light leaking from the lone bulb hanging at the end of the hall illuminated the details of her trench coat and hat. She lifted her hand to wipe her eyes, as though combating tears—tears that I couldn't see. Instead, a gold band on her ring finger immediately caught my eye. It was the ring of the Order of the Shrike. From where I stood, it looked identical to the one Parafron wore.

She reached into a pocket of her trench coat and pulled out a jumble of keys. Fiddling with them, she found one that fit the lock and swung open the middle section of the iron grate. She walked through it and stood there blocking the opening.

I stood facing her, immobile. I didn't know what to say. My heart was pounding, breaking a little more with each beat. I had no energy to put forth words. I wanted her to leave me alone forever, and at the same time, I wanted to wrap my arms around her and not let her go.

"Hugh?" She cleared her throat.

I didn't move.

"Hugh." She let out a loud sigh. "Please. Don't be upset. I'll explain everything—it's why I've come here."

I took a couple of steps toward her and then looked down at Irving, who was sleeping like a drunk. He lay flat on his back on the concrete floor, with his arms spread open. I knelt down beside him.

"Irving," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Wake up."

He grunted, rubbed his nose, and then turned onto his stomach.

"Irving!" I said, shaking him.

"Ouwho," he mumbled, as he slowly opened his eyes.

"You need to get out of here," I said. "Find J.P. and Max. It's pandemonium outside. When the tide goes down, you three have to leave the island."

Upon hearing my words, Irving became more alert. He got to his feet immediately. Seeing Anne-Marie at the door, he was taken aback.

"It's all right, Irving," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. "She's here to let us go."

Irving looked at Anne-Marie for confirmation. She nodded, and that seemed to assure him.

"And . . . and what about you?" he asked.

"I need to explain something to her . . . to the head of trustees," I said, nudging my head in the direction of Anne-Marie. "Go, find the others."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anne-Marie smile, and it made me anxious that she should feel so at ease when I felt so tense. Irving studied her for a couple of seconds and then turned to me and nodded. He briskly got to his feet. As he ran out of the door of the dungeon, he shouted back to me, "We'll be back for you, Hugh."

"Don't bother . . . ," I began, but he disappeared from view. His steps echoed in the corridor.

"You've made friends," Anne-Marie said, waiting several seconds after we could no longer hear Irving's footsteps. I knew she wanted to take the conversation in a lighthearted direction, but I wasn't going to let that happen.

"You betrayed me, Anne-Marie!" I tried to keep my voice even, but it rose from my belly like a growl.

"Hugh," she said, shaking her head as though I were a child throwing a tantrum, "I never betrayed you—"

"Your interest in the Order of the Crane, and your support for me to find the Slayer and the Shadow of Fear—that was a ruse! I see now that it was all so that you could use that information to serve the Order of the Shrike! You don't care about the people; you just care about yourself and preserving the order!" I was panting with all the energy it took to shout those words. I caught my breath. "You never cared about me. I was just someone you could use—"

"No. Listen to me," she said, walking toward me. She took off her hat, and I could see her full face. Though tempted by her beauty, I turned away. I loathed myself for still desiring her.

She continued, "I, too, know what's going on out there—all those people dying mysteriously by their own hand. It's awful. The Shadow of Fear has gotten absolutely out of control. And I don't like it, not one bit. I want to give some people—most people—a fighting chance, because some of them really do deserve it. I'm like you: I want people to know that there was once a time when people could control their fears. I know that if they know . . ." She exhaled loudly and shook her head. "But what's the point? People today are so uncultured and clueless, why make the effort to tell them? They wouldn't bother to read the old stories." She shrugged. "The Shadow of Fear is probably going to take every single one of them down. It's tragic—heartbreaking, actually—to think that everything we've built might collapse."

_We!_ I stopped to glare at her. With this one word, she'd proved herself to be wholly and completely a part of the Order of the Shrike.

Anne-Marie carried on as though nothing had changed, but for me, here was irrefutable proof that what I'd believed about her was true. She was as power-hungry, coldhearted, and ruthless as any of the members in that order. "Some in the order agree with me and are worried that if this goes too far, we'll decimate the population, have nothing left. But most of them can't see past the moment; they're too blind with keeping their power, ready to do whatever it takes so they don't lose it. . . . Hugh, are you listening to me?"

"And so you're the renegade member of the Order of the Shrike who's going to turn things around?" I asked, my eyebrows arched, looking at her with suspicion.

"Please hear me out!" She stared at me sharply. "None of us in the order knew the Shadow of Fear would take down anyone at any given moment. We thought it would be only the weak, the unintelligent, the—"

"The ones the order doesn't care about anyway."

"Right."

_Shameless_. I struggled to keep my mouth shut, for I was ready to unleash a slew of curses upon her and the order. The conversation had revealed more and more about the person Anne-Marie had become. Or had she always been like this, while I had idealized her into someone else? I turned to her.

"And when you realized the Shadow of Fear could attack anyone, regardless of his or her education, or wealth, what did you do?"

"Well, that's when it became clear that the Shadow of Fear could do more damage than good for us. We had meant only for the Shadow of Fear to keep the masses in line."

"And once the masses are gone, what's the order going to do?" I asked, staring straight into her eyes. "Whom will the order steal from? Whose labor will they exploit?" I frowned. "You chose the wrong side, Anne-Marie."

"Hugh, at first I was on your side! Your book, and what you wrote about the Slayer and the Shadow of Fear . . . I knew we had to find that one person, the one who would have all the power—power over the Shadow of Fear. I knew I had to find the Slayer before—" She stopped suddenly, as if she had not meant to say those last words. I stared at her quizzically, and her face reddened.

"I wanted to find the Slayer, too, because . . . because I knew that would change the society that we have now." She spoke cautiously, accenting every syllable, her eyes on my face. I thought she was calculating the effect they had on me. Aware that she wanted to manipulate me into thinking a certain way, I became suspicious. I decided to stay impervious and not give her the satisfaction of a nod. Instead, I narrowed my eyes and scowled, as if trying to see right through her. My actions were enough to cause her to become more nervous, and she began to babble.

"It's like . . . like when a war is about to happen, or a riot or an uprising. You can feel it in the air; it's not palpable, you can't feel or grasp it with your hand, but it's swirling around you like a heat wave. And you know that when the people are pushed to the edge, when they're pushed so far into a corner that they have no option but to turn around and fight back . . . well, you don't know what they'll do. When people have nothing to lose, can you imagine how they'll fight?"

"Like nothing means a damn," I replied monotonously.

Anne-Marie looked at me for a moment without saying anything. I inhaled sharply, holding my breath as I held that stare that reminded me of that sweet young woman, years ago, typing away at her computer in the dead of night. She opened her mouth to speak, and that image vanished. "Those ignorant masses will fight like wild dogs and tear this world apart—this beautiful world. What would we have then?"

I looked at the ground, shaking my head. "Anne-Marie, this is a world held hostage by fear. As long as things stay the same, it can _not_ be a beautiful world—"

"What do _you_ know, Hugh? For God's sake, you've been dead for four hundred years!" I saw her jerk her head away from me and stare at a corner in the cell. "And you're still a boy; you're exactly the same as when I left you years ago."

I looked at my feet and hands. I stared at my fingers as I spread them slowly. She was right. At least in her eyes, I was still a boy. I might've been around much longer than she, and had seen many changes throughout the centuries, but there was a certain wisdom that came with aging naturally. I only nodded my head slowly a few times to let her know that I understood her position. I felt my shoulders relax, for I could now see the world, at least somewhat, through her eyes.

She must have come to a similar conclusion about me, for she nodded as well, before speaking gently. "When you're twenty years old, you want the world to be fair and for people to be kind to each other. But you live life, and before you know it, you become twenty-five, thirty, and soon you're thirty-eight, thirty-nine, pushing forty, like me, and you realize that life is not about fairness or happiness. Life is chaos. And in this chaos, you come to appreciate how we've built a system that creates order."

"Manipulating unwitting people isn't order, Anne-Marie."

"You don't know, Hugh, having been on this island all this time. But I, well, I've lived out there in the world, and I've traveled to places where the Order of the Shrike doesn't have as strong an influence as it should. And the people there—my God, they live like animals. Don't you see? People need temperance, and the order gives it to them."

"Because of the order, the world is fighting a losing battle against the Shadow of Fear, Anne-Marie."

She shook her head vigorously, not so much to disagree but as if to shake off my comment. "If we didn't have the order, we wouldn't have a civilization. You think that a common person alone has the capability of working honestly to live a decent life?"

"Why, yes, in fact, I do."

"You're mistaken. The majority of this population are a herd of cows mooing when we tell them to, and if it weren't for the order, they'd be running around with meat cleavers and hammers, killing senselessly."

"Funny you should say that," I said. "Because that's exactly how I remember the Order of the Shrike the day I died."

Anne-Marie shot me a baleful look. "It's ridiculous now to say whether the order should have taken power or to discuss how they took power—because all that matters is that they _are_ in power. What we need now is change, a kind of renaissance in the order. The Slayer is just the kind of new blood that we need. He'll be our catalyst for change, our hope for a new future—a young man to lead us into a new era. . . ."

At that moment, it occurred to me to tell her that Drev was dead, but I didn't know what good it would do. I tuned her out as she went on and on about the future and her plans, which included the Shrike at the helm.

"It would be like you wrote in your book," she said.

"What book?" My neck muscles tightened when I heard her mention it.

"Those last lines," she continued, as if I hadn't spoken. "'We sang like the birds sing, not fearing who listened to us or what they thought.' Which reminds me!" She snapped her fingers, turned on her heels, and walked out the dungeon door. I heard her voice from the end of the corridor. "I have a gift for you, Hugh." She gave a quick laugh. "It's the other reason why I came down to see you."

"A gift?" I said, shifting my weight from left to right and drawing my head back with suspicion. "What kind of gift?"

"Well, I guess it's not really a gift," she said, returning to the cell with a leather satchel, "since it was yours originally."

"What?"

"When I ran away from the island, the only thing I took with me was your book. . . ." She pulled out a large, threadbare, leather-bound book and handed it to me. I took it from her slowly, as though I were seeing it for the first time. The cover had eroded from the bright red it had once been to a burgundy, nearly brown hue. The edges were tattered, and the pages had decayed to a dusty yellow.

"They say a book holds a piece of the author's soul," she said. "It's true. Like you, this book is invisible during the day. I could open it and read it only when the sun wasn't out."

"So you had it all this time," I said, retreating toward the corner by the window. I clutched the book with both hands, holding it a foot away from me, disgusted that it had been a tool for Parafron. I had been bent on destroying it. I still was. But now another worry lingered in my head: What evil had it sown while it had been in Anne-Marie's hands all those years? I thought about what Parafron had told me, how he had used his copy to lure students to the cave and the World of the Damned.

"Why'd you keep it?" I finally asked, dreading her answer.

"As a souvenir of us." She smiled. "Actually, I knew there would be a time when it would come in handy, and it did!"

"For what?"

"No reason to panic, Hugh," she said, looking alarmed at my reaction. "I needed it as a reference, to cue the Slayer when his time had come to take up his duty."

I immediately recalled Drev and the letter he had received at the beginning of the school year. The letter had been a direct copy of the last lines in my book. How had Anne-Marie known that Drev was the Slayer before I knew? How did she know Drev?

I gulped.

A thin grin crept across her face as she nodded. "I take it you know who I'm talking about?"

"Y-yes," I stuttered.

"Then you and Andrev must have become acquainted!" she said, clasping her hands together. In that dark cell, her eyes emitted a phosphorescent-like glow. I studied her face, trying to decipher if she had always wanted us to meet each other, if she had planned it. But her mind was a labyrinth I could not even begin to fathom. "And what do you think of him?"

Her eyes were wide and glistening, as though she had been waiting to ask this question for years.

"He's . . . he's the one I was searching for. . . . He was the Slayer," I said, turning my head away.

Her smile faded as she asked, "Was? _Was?_ What do you mean, 'was'?"

"Anne-Marie, he leaped off the tower tonight, trying to save a girl." I looked at her face and was surprised to see so much shock and anguish in her eyes. I had expected her to be disappointed, but not to look as though she herself might die.

"Parafron mentioned the phantom girl," she said, her voice quavering. "But he didn't mention that there was a boy who also . . . also fell into the sea."

"He didn't fall. He dove." I inhaled sharply as I recalled the moments before I saw Drev leap after Pamina. The numbness of losing him was wearing off, and I was grappling with why he had pursued her until the very end. "He saw what the world was like under the Order of the Shrike. He was miserable about it. But Pamina gave him something—peace of mind, friendship, love—really worth calling beautiful." I stopped and looked at Anne-Marie, who had tears running down her face. "He was a smart kid. He didn't jump to kill himself. He went after Pamina to save her—even though, on some level, he knew that if he wanted to be with Pamina forever, he would have to give up his life. In the end, that's what he did. He decided to die with her."

The keys slipped from Anne-Marie's hand, clattering to the floor. Her face was so white it glowed in that darkness.

"Anne-Marie, were you close to him?"

She stared at the floor, her eyes focusing on nothing in particular.

"How did you know him?" I was curious yet anxious about their relationship.

"Andrev and I . . . We were . . . we were very close," she finally said, her lips barely moving.

There was a long silence before she lifted both her hands and covered her face. Her body shook as she sobbed silently. Despite wanting to detest her, I found myself, in that moment, wishing I could press my lips against her soft cheek to comfort her. Not trusting myself, I looked at the window.

"You knew him long before he came to the school?" I asked.

She regained her composure, wiped her eyes and nose, but no words came forth. She only nodded.

"And you knew he was the Slayer?"

She was still for a moment, before saying, "I knew he was special, a bit like you. But I wasn't one hundred percent certain he was the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. If he were, I wanted him to discover it for himself. That's why I sent him the letter—to pique his interest."

"He got in trouble for it."

"I wasn't planning for it to happen that way!" she snapped. My eyes met hers. Within seconds, her harsh glare vanished and she continued. "I stood up for them—all the boys. Three others were being punished at the same time as Andrev. I didn't want to make it obvious that I wanted to protect only Andrev. Parafron and I don't see eye to eye. I didn't want him to pick up on my favoritism toward him."

I mulled over what she was saying. She sounded sincere, but it was impossible to ascertain at this point if what she was saying was true. My delayed response prompted her to fill the silence.

"I pushed him toward finding out about the story of the Slayer and the Shadow of Fear, by telling him the myth of the Shrike and the Crane."

"You're the one who told the story to him when he was little," I blurted out, suddenly piecing it together. "So you were his nanny!"

Anne-Marie nodded, wiping away a few tears that escaped her eyes. I understood now how she had known him so well and why she had sought to prevent him from being kicked out. Nevertheless, I was still confused. Given Anne-Marie's fortune and stature, why had she become a nanny? Before I could ask her, though, she spoke.

"I haven't seen him since he was five years old."

"You would have been proud of him," I said softly. I felt as though I were giving a eulogy. "He was the kind of guy everyone could come to like, as long as they made the effort to know him. Sure, he had a short fuse, but he was fair, brave, devoted . . ." My voice began to crack and I stopped speaking.

"Hugh," said Anne-Marie, her lips pressed together and trembling. I was surprised to see that her entire body was shaking. "Hugh, did you ever sense something different with Andrev? Anything? _Anything?_ "

"Different?" I looked at Anne-Marie, trying to decipher what she was getting at. She looked overly distressed. Was she trying to gain sympathy by showing how much pain she was in? I kept a cold heart. "I told you that he was the Slayer," I said, my tone matter-of-fact. "The one I had been looking for all these decades. So, yes, of course, I suppose you could say he was different."

She grimaced and looked to the floor, shaking her head. She let out a sob and then covered her eyes with one hand. Despite mustering the discipline to remain stone cold, I couldn't help but walk over to her. I was about to reach out and put my arms around her shoulders, when a microphone screeched outside and a rigid, mechanical voice flowed from the courtyard.

"Students of Stauros! Attention! Attention! As you see, we have flown in many guards to the island, and there are now more guards here than students. Your rebellion is useless. Put down your rocks and sticks and give us a few minutes of your time. Your chancellor is here to say a few words to you. It is important that you listen carefully. He will explain how and when to evacuate the island, for it is scheduled to be firebombed within the next twenty hours."

### Chapter 27: The Final Truth

My eyes strayed from Anne-Marie to the ceiling of the dungeon, as I realized that Parafron was actually going to execute his deranged plan of bombing the island. Anne-Marie didn't say a word. I was sure she had known this was coming.

When Parafron came to the microphone, I almost didn't recognize his voice with its heavy, saccharine undertone. I leaned toward the window, careful not to miss a word he said.

"My very dear, precious students, I come to you in the dark hours of this early morning to disclose a disturbing discovery about this island. Within the past few days—and most especially within the past several hours—it has come to our attention that there are harmful spirits on the island. These spirits take human form at night and come off as being alive—as alive as any other living soul."

I heard a low murmur ripple through the crowd.

"Yes, yes, yes," continued Parafron. "I know you've all heard about the Demon of Stauros—and, in fact, he is one of the phantoms that we caught tonight and will put away."

Someone clapped slowly at first, and then furiously. The echo from the microphone made me realize that it was Parafron clapping for himself.

"An achievement!" shrieked Parafron. "We caught the demon. Cheer, goddamn it! Cheer! Cheer!" Listening to Parafron applaud himself, I imagined the reaction of the students outside. They had to be frowning, if not completely slack-jawed, the way Anne-Marie was.

Murmurs arose as bewildered students began to ask one another, "What's wrong with him?" "What's his problem?" "Is this a joke?" Anne-Marie, who was still standing only several feet from me, her back to the dungeon door, looked at the ceiling and shook her head, mumbling something inaudible.

The clapping stopped. Parafron abruptly resumed his speech. "Ahem!" He cleared his throat. "But there are many, so many, phantoms. And they are dangerous. Given this island's grand history, beginning with the Revolution of Enlightenment of 1615, we knew that perhaps one or two inhabited the grounds, but we never suspected they would pose a threat. As for the Demon of Stauros, we believed we had gotten rid of him years ago—ha! Decades ago! To our dismay, we discovered we were not vigilant enough. Tonight he returned, and, as many of you know, earlier this evening, he nearly killed a fellow student.

"After seeing firsthand Tyler's injuries, I called in guards, in case other vicious attacks might happen to you, our dear, vulnerable students. Indeed, we witnessed a phantom luring one of our own to the roof. I chased the phantom away, as I'm sure all of you saw. And to make sure that she wouldn't come back to bother other students—as well as to use her as an example to the other phantoms—I threw her over the tower. Unfortunately, one of our students, who had fallen under her curse, jumped in after her, which is just what she wanted: his death. It's what all of them want. They want to see all of you dead. But there is nothing to fear, for I am doing my damnedest to protect all of you from them."

"Liar!" I recognized Max's voice.

Then Irving's voice rang out. "The chancellor is lying to cover up the fact that the Order of the Shrike is bombing the island. They want to get rid of evidence of their misdeeds! The phantoms aren't dangerous. In fact, they're helping us to see the truth about the Order of the Shrike, and how corrupt they are. The phantoms will continue to help us."

Despite the somberness in the air, I was pleased to witness the effect of the short speech I'd given Irving earlier. I moved even closer to the window, hoping to catch anything else he might say.

"As I said . . . !" Parafron bellowed. "As I said, these phantoms can cast a curse on us and make us believe they are helping us, or that they need our help—as was the case with the girl who jumped off the tower tonight. All that matters is that they're not real. And tonight, as your chancellor, I was trying to protect all of you. Do you really think I would throw a living girl into the sea? Why, that would be like throwing one of _you_ into the sea—I couldn't imagine! No, no, no . . ." He broke into a high-pitched giggle. I could hear him struggling to stifle it. "H-h-hurling each of you over the edge . . . I could never imagine— _bwah_!" I heard him snorting loudly, trying to smother his laughter. I envisioned him smashing his fist against his mouth.

"Really. I can't believe he's the chancellor!" Anne-Marie bit her lower lip and began pacing. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, and, although she was angry, there was sorrow on her face. Despite her cold perception of the rest of humanity, she certainly had thought fondly of Drev, even though he'd had nothing but disdain for the Order of the Shrike.

"Ahem!" Parafron cleared his throat and regained his normal tone. "That being said, I have ordered evacuation trucks to come to the island throughout the day. By sundown, all of you will be evacuated, for I have received confirmation from the chief of the military air forces that this island will be firebombed at midnight."

A loud protest arose from the crowd. From the corner of my eye, I saw Anne-Marie shaking her head.

"It should never have ended like this," she said, closing her eyes, as though the destruction of the island pained her.

"How else could it have ended?" I asked. Anne-Marie didn't answer my question. Instead, she stared blankly at the floor. I turned back to the window, recognizing familiar voices rising above the buzz in the courtyard.

Siren shouted first, and then a slew of other phantoms followed her lead.

"This island is sacred! It's been here since the beginning of time!" shouted Ravana.

"How dare you bomb this island? This is our home!" shrieked Yuki Ona. I drew my head back from the window with surprise. The phantoms were revealing themselves among the crowd. Had they all accepted this as the end?

"Where's the proof that the phantoms have bad intentions?" demanded the headless knight.

I waited to hear a reaction from the students. No one seemed to follow up that question with an accusatory comment. Instead, to my pleasure, they began to attack the chancellor.

"The chancellor's lost it!" cried out a student.

"Yeah, no one around me looks like a ghost!" shouted another student.

"He's trying to distract us from the crime he committed!" yelled another.

"The chancellor is a murderer!" Several students began to chant in tandem. Others soon joined them.

"Calm," growled the chancellor, though the crowd continued to heckle him.

"I said _quiet_!" he roared. The crowd went silent at his abrupt outburst. The silence lingered for a few seconds, until Parafron spoke.

"The sun will rise shortly. And when it does, I want you all to look carefully to your left and right and notice who is still there. Then you will know that there are phantoms among you."

Panic washed over me. There was no escaping the power of the sun. Nor was there any way to delay its arrival. Although I wasn't out in the courtyard, I knew that all the phantoms were terrified at the revelation that was about to come forth. I stood away from the wall and stared at the window, petrified at the rays of dawn that would come out shortly.

"Hugh," Anne-Marie called. I turned to look at her. Her eyes were tired; creases bunched under them as she winced. "Before I can't see or hear you, there's something you must know, something I must tell you—"

I held up my hand. "Not now, Anne-Marie."

My fellow brethren were on the verge of being found out; it was as though they were about to be publicly executed. One minute passed, and then another. I heard some feet shuffle. Normally, the phantoms would have taken their leave moments before dawn. But now that they were being targeted, leaving would incriminate them. They were stuck. The first rays of dawn were creeping in, creating a blue haze all around. Restless whispers circulated. I leaned away from the window, not knowing what to expect. I heard cries.

"Oh!"

"My God!"

"He's gone!"

"She's disappeared; she was right here!"

As the first streams of sunlight lit up the ground, the phantoms were vanishing right before the students' eyes. I realized that I, too, must now be invisible and Anne-Marie couldn't see me. I looked at her. She was still standing by the open door, staring in my direction, her gaze just a tad off to the side. I took a few steps toward her. There wasn't even a flicker of an eyelash. She couldn't see me.

"So, my dear students, you see how serious this situation is," Parafron continued. "We deeply regret that we couldn't detect this sooner. But now that we have, it is our duty to evacuate you from the island as quickly as possible. Please be ready by tomorrow afternoon, if not earlier."

The thud of running feet and the cries of anxious students echoed through my ears. I could hear some phantoms crying and others grumbling. The situation had gone from chaotic to catastrophic.

I needed to discuss with Ahura Mazda and the other phantoms what action we would take next. I walked toward the door, which remained open. Anne-Marie stood slightly in front of it, to the right. As I passed her, I saw she was still crying. Although my anger toward her still boiled, I felt guilty leaving her while she was so sad. I paused to face her and say my farewell.

"Good-bye, Anne-Marie," I said softly. I knew she couldn't hear me, but I continued to speak nevertheless. "Don't be so heartbroken over Drev. We can find comfort knowing that he died following his heart."

Tears continued sliding down her cheeks. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and shook horribly with a sob. Without looking up, gasping in between her torrent of tears, she cried out, "Hugh, you must know. You must! I know you're still here. You have to know. How could you not know? How could you not see? Drev was different. He was special, so special. . . . He was our son! Yours and mine."

# Chapter 28: Confession

Several minutes passed in frozen silence. Outside, the thud of running feet and the cries of anxious voices filled the courtyard.

"I know you're still here." Anne-Marie's sobs had subsided, and her voice was now a breathy whisper. She had moved to a corner of the cell and stared at the door. I was standing beside it. She was looking in my direction, but the focus of her eyes barely missed me. I knew she couldn't see me. However, I could see her somber face clearly. I didn't bother to make noise to show I was still there. I just stood staring—just staring at her. Anne-Marie had a son. I had a son. Drev was our son!

I conjured up Drev's face in my mind and looked for clues of how he resembled me. Images of him when I first saw him come into the cellar, when we encountered the other phantoms on the island, when he had met Pamina as a phantom—in any of those instances, had I recognized a part of me in him?

I immediately wanted to hear details from Anne-Marie. Why had she never told me we had a child? Why had she kept it hidden all this time? I no longer felt any anger toward her, nor sadness or resentment. Complete hollowness was all I could feel.

"I know . . . I know you're still here."

Her tone was less confident this time. She continued to stare past me, seeming to search uselessly for something she couldn't find. The sharpness of her features softened.

Now that Drev was gone, did it dawn on her that it was all over? There was no need to hide anything anymore. All her plotting and planning had come to an end. The moment Drev had jumped off the tower, I had realized my mission for the past four hundred years had come to an end. Was it the same for her as it was for me?

Although I thought I didn't have enough energy even to keep up my existence as a phantom, I moved toward her. I came so close to her that my lips were only centimeters from hers. I could see every line in her face. Some of them deepened as she cringed while inhaling, and then smoothed out as she exhaled. Tears kept sliding down, one after another. I raised my hand and wiped them away with the tips of my fingers. I knew she couldn't feel my touch, but I could see that she could feel her tears being brushed aside, for she breathed in sharply and her eyes opened wide as her lips parted. She blinked rapidly, looking around the room.

"Hugh?"

"I'm here," I replied, even though I knew she couldn't hear me.

"Hugh," she sniffled loudly, as she looked dejectedly at the floor. "This may be the last time I'll be able to talk to you, so please, please don't leave until I've finished."

"I won't." Since she couldn't hear me, to reassure her I closed the iron-barred door of the dungeon and kicked a small pebble on the ground. It rolled to her feet, and Anne-Marie half-smiled.

"You were always so good to me, Hugh. And when I was younger and I told you that I loved you, I meant it." Anne-Marie's voice was solemn. Her taut lips and focused stare told me what she was revealing was sincere. "I loved everything about you. . . ."

"As did I about you."

"I loved that you, one person, were fighting an endless battle on behalf of humanity." She smiled sadly, looking past me as though I were at the other end of the room, when in fact I stood by her shoulder, staring at her soft cheek, the perky tilt of her nose. "The fact that you would come back from death to see your mission through—my God, can you imagine how heroic that sounded to me when I was twenty years old? And you knew so many stories! Incredible stories." Anne-Marie stared at the ceiling, her mouth turned up in a lazy, blissful curve. Her eyes brightened in a way I hadn't seen all night. "I loved those stories. I couldn't wait for every evening to hear them."

I remembered waiting for Anne-Marie every night outside Mizu House when she was still a student. She would sneak out through a window after her roommate had fallen asleep. Still in her white nightgown, she would run over to where I hid in the shadow of the oak trees by the Forgotten Cemetery. We would walk the winding, wayward paths, offshoots of the Five Ring Road. I would tell her stories about mythical creatures that lived in the sea, or tell her tales about the characters formed by the constellations. Sometimes we would stumble upon a strange statue that belonged to a legend or a folktale, and I would explain to her what story it came from. She would always listen closely, her eyes glowing. Every so often, I would invite a phantom from a myth or a fairy tale to join us and animate the tale so that Anne-Marie could experience the power of that narrative.

"You opened up a world for me that I could never have imagined," she continued, her mouth now opened to a broad smile. "Those tales made me laugh and cry. They made me want to jump to my feet and battle evil anywhere in the world. They inspired me to abandon myself to romance and then eventually to love—and that is how I came to love you."

I leaned toward her as she said this. I wanted to hold her hand as we had years ago. I wanted to kiss those lips again. I had not known love until I had met Anne-Marie. I had always believed she had taught me what it was to love, brought me out of the cold, austere shell I had resigned myself to when I entered the monastery. Knowing that I had helped her to love as well was a gift, the kindest words I could possibly hear.

"But love, unlike your stories, doesn't conquer all, Hugh. The night you revealed your book to me and explained the massacre and the destruction that the Order of the Shrike had caused, I went into shock. It turned my idea of the world upside down. When you told me that the Order of the Shrike was evil, I couldn't believe it. _I_ am the Order of the Shrike; that's my family, my blood. I grew up proud of being a member—generations of my family were members—and I couldn't see how that was evil. Yet the evidence you showed me . . ." She paused. "It was undeniable. And I knew that you would never lie to me. . . ."

She tilted her head from side to side slowly, and tears filled her eyes again. "And I loved you too much to think of you as anything but honest and forthright. So that night, the night we ran away from the Saboteurs in the library, I decided to leave the island. I didn't want to be a part of the Order of the Shrike, and I knew that if I stayed, when I graduated I would be forced to become one of them.

"At the time, I was naive and ignorant about how hard it is to live on your own, without skill or money. I immediately fell on hard times, and when I thought about reaching out to my family for help, I discovered I was pregnant." She stopped and breathed out loudly and slowly. "I was terrified that if my family found out, they would ask me who the father was. If they found out it was you—a phantom—they would be beside themselves. I was the only heir to the family, and reputation was everything to my parents. I knew that either they would force me to have an abortion or, after I gave birth, they'd have the baby killed, and so I hid. When I discovered that I was pregnant, I thought about coming back to Stauros—I thought about you day and night—but it was too risky. My family would've found out."

Now I understood. She hadn't deceived me. If she had come back to let me know she was alive, it would have meant exposing herself and sacrificing Drev. She'd never had a choice, and I had judged her without knowing the struggle she had gone through.

It came as no surprise that Anne-Marie would have continued to defy her family, even though she must've been horribly lonesome and frightened. Anne-Marie had many blessings—she was intelligent and brave. Yet she was also proud and brash. This mix was one of the reasons I loved her. I brushed away the tears that flowed down her cheeks to her jawline. She closed her eyes slowly. I knew she knew I was still there.

"I thought about you a lot—so much—while I was carrying Andrev." Her voice was quiet and legato, one word barely distinguishable from another. "I even thought that there might be some way that we could be together . . . all of us, somehow."

A few seconds passed, and she didn't move. I was afraid she wouldn't continue. However, she drew a deep breath, and, in a louder voice, she said, "But if my family had ever found out, they would surely have killed him—killed so there'd have been no trace of him. I was so scared. . . ." Anne-Marie's voice cracked, and she paused to swallow, closing her eyes slowly. I looked down at her hands, which she'd balled into fists, like Drev had done when his emotions were more than he could handle.

Clearly, she could feel my energy, so, as I stood behind her, I enclosed her fists in my hands and pushed her arms upward. She, feeling me around her, slowly raised her arms and wrapped them around her. I placed my arms over hers, holding her. I could feel the ring of the insignia of the Order of the Shrike pressing into my palm, yet I held her as tightly as I could. I let my face sink into her hair and let the loose strands graze my nose. She burst into sobs, heavier sobs than when she had discovered what had happened to Drev. We stood like that for several minutes.

"I-I-I made . . . I made the decision to put him up for adoption when I realized I couldn't raise him on my own. I had no real steady job or resources. I couldn't continue hiding, always being afraid for Andrev." She shook her head slowly, as though she were once again feeling the agony of the decision she had made so many years ago.

"But I wanted to make sure he would be okay. I knew he would be different, special—after all, he was your son. I didn't know how the difference would manifest, and I was frightened—frightened that whoever adopted him might reject him, because of any odd qualities he might have, and that he might grow up thinking he was some sort of freak of nature.

"When I gave him over to his adoptive parents, I did so on the condition that they let me see him." She paused. "Andrev's adoptive parents were good people and even allowed me to stay with Andrev as his nanny, until I could finish school and get my degree.

"I changed my name to Marie Dee, and, as you know, Andrev came to know me as his nanny. I stayed quiet about my family and my background. I never made any contact with people from my past, for I knew that if I was found out and my family realized I was alive and living as a nanny, they would research what had happened. All of that would have been putting Andrev at risk.

"When Andrev was a baby, I could see that he saw things that others didn't. He'd look toward a direction where there was nothing. To us normal people, there was nothing, but he would continue to stare and sometimes even crawl over to an empty space, as though there were something there. When he was a toddler, I would see him wave or try to speak to what looked to me like air. That's when I knew that he could see and hear phantoms, like you.

"When he was just a toddler, I taught him to keep what he saw to himself, because others weren't like him, and they wouldn't understand. I taught him that he was special, that there was nothing he needed to be afraid of. He was smart—very sharp—and, although I didn't realize it immediately, by the time he was five years old, I was almost certain he was the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. For I remembered what you had told me about the Slayer—how he could see and hear things that other living souls could not. I wanted to start telling Andrev the story of the Slayer and the Shadow of Fear, but I couldn't. He was too young, and I didn't want to scare him.

"When he turned five, his mother adopted another baby, a little girl, and became a stay-at-home mother. I knew my time as his nanny had come to an end. I took my leave, knowing that he was in a good family. But I promised myself that once he went to college and was old enough to understand, I would make sure he took his place as the Slayer in the world.

"Afterward, I tried to make my way in the world by my own efforts," she sighed. "I was young and idealistic. I wanted to dissociate myself from my heritage and remove myself as far from the Order of the Shrike as possible. I had dreams of making the world a better place—if not for me, then at least for Andrev.

"However, it's true what they say: this world is every person for herself. I spent years traveling, trying to find truth, courage, beauty—the essence that makes us feel like we are living—the virtues found in those legends and myths that you had told me. But that's all they are—myths. I couldn't find what I was looking for out there."

I continued to hold Anne-Marie in my arms, wishing that I had been with her through all her hardships to protect her and help her keep her faith that life could be as miraculous and enchanting as those tales.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered.

"All I found was greed, treachery, and fear—fear everywhere," she said, shaking her head. "And I realized that's all there was. Perhaps you can say that I became jaded, or disillusioned. But I'd like to say that I just grew up.

"Then one day, about seven years ago, I read in the newspaper that my parents had suddenly died in a tragic car accident. I also read that no heirs remained. At the end of the news article, there was a short blurb about how I, the only child and daughter, had been a victim of the Demon of Stauros while attending Stauros University. My disappearance had driven my mother into depression, and my father—who had never had a strong constitution—spent his life in and out of the hospital for stress-related ailments.

"Sadness doesn't even describe how I felt when I suddenly lost both my parents. I felt horribly guilty—and angry." Her voice became tight, and she clenched her jaw.

As I held her, I felt her muscles grow tense throughout her shoulders and back. So this had been the turning point. She was telling me not just about her parents' death but also about how her heart had become cold—how and when her compassion for the rest of the world had evaporated.

"That's when I realized where my place was in this life and what my duty was to my family and to the society I lived in. I attended my parents' funeral, to the great surprise of my family's close friends and associates. Even though my return caused much of a stir, no questions were asked about my past. I was proclaimed the only living heir of the de Galard family and took my position as the head of a dynasty that had survived more than four centuries. I inherited my family's vast estate and became the head trustee of Stauros University.

"When Andrev's application came in, I saw that his adoptive family had been financially ruined, so I offered him a full scholarship from my own resources. I had planned for him to come to the island and meet you. And to meet me.

"I had wanted you, as a scholar and teacher, to explain to him about the Order of the Crane, and to tell him how to destroy the Shadow of Fear. You would teach him during his academic year. During the summers, I, as his former nanny, would invite him to my home, where I could initiate him into the traditions of the Order of the Shrike and provide him with unlimited resources." She muffled a sob, and I felt her frame slump in my arms. "That was my plan. I wanted him to have the perfect education—become knowledgeable about the secrets of both orders—so that when the time came for him to battle the Shadow of Fear, to take his place as the Slayer, he could have the resources of both orders at his disposal." She breathed in and out slowly, taking a few breaths before speaking again.

As she picked up where she had left off, she seemed to be so lost in her vision of Drev that she spoke as though she were in a trance. "He would be more than just a warrior, more than just the head of the Order of the Shrike. He would be a king, an emperor. Great conquests, power, wealth, whatever he desired—he would be a living legend, a hero to outlast all other heroes." She fell silent, and then I heard her swallow as thought she was trying to keep down the pain that refused to be contained. A minute passed before she cleared her throat and spoke. "While I no longer had you or my parents, I always had him. He was—will always be—in my heart. Now I have him only in my heart."

I felt her body go limp. I held her up as best I could. Her head tilted to the side. She began to cry again, quietly and softly, seeming to mourn her crushed dreams. I continued to hold her. I felt her pain reverberate through me. Both of our dreams had been destroyed. Both of our hearts had been utterly shattered.

"Though you can't hear me, Anne-Marie, I must tell you this now, because after tonight I will most likely be scattered to the wind with this island." I pulled her tighter to me and heard her stifle a sob. "I love you. I love you more than I loved anyone. You—yes, everything you are. Order of the Shrike. Power seeker. Manipulator. And I will always love you, because you gave me a son—a son who could slay the Shadow of Fear and rule the world. He was neither like you nor like me. He was better. He was clever and bold and had a higher sense of purpose. Whatever your plans were, whatever my mission was, it's all over. All we can console ourselves with is the knowledge that our love created a great young man." I stopped to take a breath before adding, "And we have only each other to give our deepest gratitude."

Anne-Marie had stopped crying but was silent. I knew she couldn't have heard my words, but I was certain she could feel the essence of what I was trying to tell her. I pulled my head back to look at her face. I moved to face her squarely and kissed her lips.

I released her from my arms. I walked over to where I had dropped my book, picked it up, and made my way to the dungeon door. Although Anne-Marie couldn't see me, I felt her eyes on me, as though she were watching me move. _As much as I love and long for you, Anne-Marie, I must walk away from you._

I walked through the door and turned around to look at her. She looked dazed, arms loose at her sides, her eyes glued to the ground, seeming to know but not wanting to acknowledge that I was leaving. For a moment, instead of seeing Anne-Marie as she was now, I saw the girl I had loved nearly twenty years before—timid yet mischievous, looking at me longingly with eyes full of life.

"Good-bye, my beautiful, sweet girl," I said, as I walked through the narrow hallway, leaving her behind forever.

# Chapter 29: Unending

I emerged from the subterranean prison, squinting at the clouds that had packed the sky. What should have been morning felt like twilight. There wasn't any daylight, but it was not dark. The nearly black clouds didn't surprise me, for winter was approaching and storm season was upon us. However, the intensity with which the clouds loomed overhead made me wary. They were too voluminous, too foreboding. I halted in my steps to assess the gathering storm. Were the heavens aware of the impending destruction of the island? Was this their farewell? I shook my head and dismissed my melancholy thoughts. The skies were indicating only that autumn was now turning over to winter. Nothing more.

I stood in the center of the courtyard, where only a misty drizzle filled the space around me. There wasn't a trace of the mob that had occupied it earlier that morning. The view from the courtyard allowed me to see the causeway that had emerged from the receding tide. I saw large, canopied trucks like a line of ants crossing from the mainland into Stauros. They were entering through the main door in the stone wall that wrapped around the island. The evacuation would soon begin.

I suspected the students were scrambling to pack their things, having realized that the island was festering with phantoms. And the phantoms, with nowhere to evacuate, were most likely preoccupied with saying their good-byes to one another, not knowing what would happen to them once the sun set.

I held my book to me as I walked down the steps of the courtyard and onto the Five Ring Road. This was the last day I would walk this cobblestone path—the last day I would be on this island. I was torn about what to do. Should I find Ahura Mazda and the others? Or should I find my three roommates, make sure they were all right, and say good-bye to them?

Lightning ripped overhead, a bright gash against the somber sky. Thunder rumbled soon after. A few drops began to fall on me. Instinctively, I covered my book with my robe—or, rather, Ankou's robe. Then I remembered that it was pointless to do so. There was no longer any reason to preserve the book or to keep the story alive. The Slayer had been found. My mission was over.

I had accomplished what I had sought to do. However, there wasn't any feeling of triumph, not even a hint of satisfaction. In fact, finding the Slayer seemed more like a minor detail compared with all that had transpired over the past twenty-four hours. I looked down at the book under my arm. It had represented my struggle for so long.

I veered off the Five Ring Road and ran onto a dirt path that led toward a ledge hanging over the sea. With all my might, I hurled the book as far away from me as I could. I saw it open and its pages flutter as it plunged downward toward the churning sea.

What a silly idea, that if I just found the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear, the world would be set right and my purpose in life would be fulfilled. How could I have been such a simple-minded fool?

Now all I could think of was that my search for the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear had led me to Anne-Marie, and through Anne-Marie, I had found love. In this love, I had discovered what was most important about my existence on Earth. Granted, I had found the Slayer, but more important, I had found Drev—my son _._

I continued along the narrow dirt path, thinking about Drev. Initially, I had been disappointed, angry that he had chosen to pursue his love for Pamina over his duty to slay the Shadow of Fear, but I now saw that he had made the wiser choice. How could he serve humanity if he wasn't courageous enough to listen to his heart until the very end? As the keeper of the story of the Slayer, I had wanted him to devote his life to destroying the Shadow of Fear, but as his father, I was proud that he had pursued his true calling: love.

***

I ruminated over the events of the night before, and of the last four hundred years, as I continued to walk aimlessly from one narrow dirt path to another. I didn't stop to pause until I noticed sparse rosebushes strewn along the edges of the path I was walking on. I looked up at the sky and saw it was still overcast. However, the day had grown noticeably darker. I realized that I had been wandering for at least a few hours.

My thoughts had taken up the greater part of the day, but now the roses continued to hold my attention. Ever since the Order of the Shrike had taken over, all the roses that bloomed on the island had been either black or blue. Without looking twice, I assumed that these roses were also black or blue. However, as I walked a few more yards, I stopped as I spotted a red one. Astonished, I stooped down to observe it and saw that the other roses on that same bush were all the color of blood.

Red roses! I thought of Drev's story about how he had first seen Pamina in the mortuary, and how he had untangled a blue rose from her hair and placed a fresh, red one in her hand.

I began running along the path, inspired by the red roses and believing I might find an answer to a question that I'd kept buried within me, for fear that if I let it surface, the answer might break my soul: Was Pamina finally resting in peace, now that she had Drev to join her in the afterlife, or had Drev's sacrifice been for nothing? Other questions I had not dared to ask began to bubble up. The bushes around me were getting thicker, developing larger, greener leaves and stronger branches. Knowing what had happened to Drev and Pamina was about more than just finding out if there was a happy ending or not; it represented an affirmation that there was such a thing as fate, and that we were fools to think we were in complete control of our destiny.

Soon there wasn't a dirt path before me anymore, just shrubs and grass beneath my feet. I was fighting my way through thorns and branches that clawed at my robe, but I didn't care. I was still lost in my thoughts. Were some of us predestined to find what we wanted in this life and others condemned to wander aimlessly, without anything to show for ourselves, even after centuries had passed? Raindrops poured down as I struggled step by step, sinking deeper into a mash of thorns, leaves, and petals.

And no matter how much we wanted something to happen, were we meant to be satisfied only with what was given to us? In other words, why have any mission or goal at all during our existence on this earth if the Fates decided what would happen to us?

I knew I was dangerously close to the cliff. I could hear the roar of the waves as they collided against the rocky slopes of the island. The storm was threatening to be a merciless one. Splashes of seawater pelted my face, but I kept forging my way through the roses. I may have surrendered my dream, but that didn't mean I didn't care about what had happened to Drev and Pamina.

Then it ended. The patches of rosebushes grew no farther, and I found I was walking on bare dirt. I saw that I had come to the edge of a cliff. A wave rushed toward me and crashed against the rock wall, the water reaching a colossal height. For all my time on the island, I had never seen the surf smash against the cliffs with such force. Looking below, and seeing how far I was from the sea, I ascertained that I was still close to Stauros Hall, which meant I was on the same side of the island as the Forgotten Cemetery, and probably not too far from it.

I crept along a strip of land that was wide enough to provide me a narrow path to a wide, carved-out recess in the side of the cliff. I saw, sheltered in a shallow grotto, a bronze statue—one of the many resting haphazardly on the island. The statues on the island often stood at the end of one of these off-the-beaten-path trails. This particular statue was one with which I was thoroughly familiar, the subject, Roland, had been the most popular hero among the people on the mainland.

The Song of Roland had been celebrated over the centuries but, sadly, forgotten after the Order of the Shrike had taken over. A fine tale of courage and loyalty, this was the story of a young hero, Roland, who helped defend King Charlemagne in his battle with the Moors. Roland, although a great warrior, had died in battle. However, according to the myth, his legendary sword, Durendel, had not been destroyed—for it could never be destroyed. Forged with the blood, bone, and hair of saints and martyrs, it was a powerful weapon with a spirit of its own. Aligning itself only with the righteous, in the hand of a worthy hero, it could cut through a slab of stone with only one stroke.

The statue held Durendel in his right hand, and although Roland himself was rusting, corrosion eating away at him, Durendel glistened as though someone polished it every day. The statue's left hand rested on a square block that had an inscription. The block, too, was bronze, and just as withered as Roland, but the etchings on it were still legible. Although I had passed the statue every now and again throughout the centuries, I had never stopped to read the inscription on the block: the steel edge grides but does not break a chip. the sword grates, but it neither snaps nor splits. The words undoubtedly described Durendel.

For centuries, while the myth was popular and still sung by the local people, Durendel was believed to have been brought to Stauros Island by a monk who had been at Roland's side at his time of death. Nearly all the people in the vicinity had believed that this statue held the original sword Roland used to fight the Moors. To honor Durendel, the local metalsmiths had forged a statue of Roland out of bronze and presented it to the Order of the Crane, who had readily nestled it in a cozy alcove on a cliff that faced the mainland. Durendel was placed in the statue's hand and never removed. While the Order of the Crane had been in power, the statue had been well preserved, with great care.

However, when Stauros Island fell to the Order of the Shrike, the members tried numerous times to take the sword, but no one could wrench it from the statue's grip. The Order of the Shrike went so far as to try to chisel out the sword, say prayers to the statue, and even sever its hand, but to no avail. Roland guarded his beloved Durendel and would not release it to anyone unworthy of wielding it.

The Order of the Shrike finally declared that the sword was a fake and that a warrior named Roland had never existed. Thereafter, the statue was neglected. Within a few generations after the Order of the Shrike had taken over, the local people no longer sang the Song of Roland, and the great hero was forgotten.

I now approached the statue with slow, heavy steps. The grotto blocked the sprays of the sea and the rain from me. No matter—I was already soaked. I wiped the excess water from my eyes to see the statue better.

I brushed off the bits of broken branches and scraps of leaves that stuck to the old, rusted statue. Suited in his battle armor, Roland still posed as a formidable warrior. As I wiped off the dirt and dust that was caked into the crevices of his pauldron, the armor that covered his chest and shoulders, I saw another detail I had never noticed before: an olifant, a horn that was used in ancient times to send out a distress call, hung on an iron chain that was strapped around his shoulder. The horn was not bronze and welded into the rest of the statue but detached, like Durendel. Made out of elephant tusk, the white of the horn contrasted strikingly with the bronze of the statue. I never knew why I had not noticed it before.

I studied the statue for some time, wondering what had led me here and why. I looked behind me at the rosebushes lining the path I had followed. I couldn't recall having gone through such a path when I'd encountered Roland in the past. And when I came across the red roses, I was sure they were a sign that would lead me to find what had ultimately happened to Drev and Pamina. Disheartened, I turned to walk away.

"Ahhhh!" I heard a high-pitched scream. I looked around and saw no one. The voice—the shrill screech—was familiar, however.

"Argh! I'll get you if it's the last thing I do on this island!" It was Leo. I recognized the lion's deep voice immediately.

Moments later, a tiny man, no taller than two feet, sprang from around the edge of the cliff overhanging the grotto. Upon seeing me, the leprechaun screamed—a spastic, high-pitched grunt released between tightly clenched teeth that he bared in a wild smile.

" _Hugh!_ " He leaped up onto my chest and grabbed my robe with both fists as he dug his feet into my gut. "Blimey! I've been searching all over for you!"

"Where's that little rat?" roared Leo. A magnificent lion jumped into the grotto from the ledge, landing softly, knees bent. He stared with wild eyes at the leprechaun and me.

"You!" Leo seethed as he prowled over to us. "I've finally found you, you little mole."

"You crazy cat!" screamed the leprechaun, still clinging to my shirt. "I have a message for Hugh!"

"What message?" I said, staring intently at the tiny man hanging onto my robe. "Tell me!"

The leprechaun turned back to me. "In the library, where I kept the blue lanterns . . ."

"Where you've been hiding the lanterns, you thief!" growled Leo. "The blue ghost has been searching for them!"

"In the library," continued the leprechaun, trying to ignore Leo, "at the bottom of the library, the last floor, a rush of water in the darkness—it came, _kapow_! Like that! I had only the blue lanterns. Blue light isn't strong. I could see _nothing_! I thought, _'Tis the end; 'tis the end of us all! To hell! To hell! Parafron's doing his evil work, and the island is being destroyed_. Then the earth divided—like the beginning of time—and the floor broke. I shouted, 'Tis the end! 'Tis the end! The end of the old and the beginning of what is yet not known!' I ran into the water, but it rose quickly. Soon it was up to my neck. And then . . ." The leprechaun's eyes bulged, and his voice dropped to a low pitch. "I saw _them_!"

Leo had become engrossed with the leprechaun's tale. "Who?" he shouted.

"The evil of this island," said the leprechaun, still clinging to my robe, as he turned his bulging eyes toward Leo. "The Saboteurs! But they weren't after me—no, dear me, not me. That evil swarmed— _swish! swish!_ —and huddled around, and then one being, one figure, came up from the ground, like a sea god, all drenched with seaweed to his hair. He was fighting them and fighting them and fighting them. . . ."

The leprechaun's words diminished to a drone in my ears, as I realized that the crashing waves, the anomaly in the weather, wasn't about transitioning from autumn to winter. The heavens and the sea were creating a miracle.

"Drev!" I seized the leprechaun with both of my hands and lifted him so his eyes were level with mine.

"'Tis," breathed the leprechaun loudly, his eyes widening even further. I swallowed and kept swallowing, trying to get rid of the lump that had risen in my throat, blocking the words ready to pour from my mouth. _How has Drev come back? By virtue of his parentage, he's already half phantom; did he completely transform into a full one? Or has he become something even worse?_

"Is-is he all right?" I finally managed.

The leprechaun, sensing my hesitation, said, "Don't worry, Hugh. He's not a monster. He's the same old Drev. But he's stuck in the library, at the bottom. The Saboteurs are blocking him from ascending the thirteen floors—attacking him. I fought alongside him, tried to fight them off, but Drev asked me to find you."

I nearly dropped the tiny man, but I was conscious enough to set him gently on the ground. Leo did not attack him but walked over to me. They both watched me, both silent. I couldn't believe what was happening. I was lost in my thoughts until the leprechaun screamed.

"Hurry, Hugh! Move!"

"Right," I replied, startled. "I-I-I have to help him. . . . I've got to help him fight them." I began running out of the grotto.

Leo shouted. "Take Durendel!"

"Yes!" The leprechaun jumped. "Take it!"

"I can't." I pointed to the statue. "It's stuck in his hand. All have tried in the past, and—"

"You can't go empty-handed!" bellowed Leo.

He had a point. I needed a weapon to fight the Saboteurs. I had no other option. I reached over to where the golden hilt of the sword met the statue's fist. Anticipating resistance, I put all my force into pulling out the sword. I stumbled backward as it easily slid out of Roland's grip.

"He has Durendel!" gasped the leprechaun, hopping from one foot to the other, clapping.

"He's worthy enough to hold Durendel," added Leo.

I stood in awe as I held the shining sword in my hand. While it appeared to be massive, it felt weightless, as though it were an extension of my arm.

"Quick, Hugh, to the library!" shouted the leprechaun.

"Right," I said, ready to exit the grotto.

"Wait!" screeched the leprechaun. "Take the olifant, too!"

"Why?" I asked.

"The leprechaun is right," said Leo. "Take it. We will look for and gather the other phantoms to come help you, but if you or Drev need our assistance right away, summon us with the olifant, and we will come immediately."

I nodded and lifted the olifant from Roland. I pulled it over my head and strapped it across my chest. We parted. I ran toward Stauros Hall with Durendel in one hand and the olifant in the other. The rains continued to pour down. What had begun as a dark day had become darker still, for it was coming to a close.

Whatever doom awaited the island and the phantoms tonight didn't matter, however. Drev had come back. I didn't know how he had managed to return, but that mattered little. As a scholar and believer in myths and legends of a forgotten time, I understood that it was always at the darkest hour that a miracle occurred, and the ones who kept the faith until the end were the ones who could partake in the miracle and see that a door that had once been closed was now open for them.

### Part V
### Chapter 30: The Forgotten Ones

The electricity had been shut off on the island, and the lamps along the Five Ring Road remained unlit. The students must have all evacuated, for there wasn't a single soul in my view. Carrying Durendel in my right hand and the olifant in my left, I trekked to Stauros Hall in near-complete darkness, feeling as if I was the only one on the island.

When I reached the main door, I found it unlocked. I expected the Shrikes to have removed all the statues and paintings in the entryway and foyer, but they remained. Perhaps Parafron had been bluffing and the island wasn't going to be bombed.

As I crossed the foyer, I paused when I saw that the door to the ancient library was wide open. I gripped Durendel even tighter as I entered. I paused at the landing at the top of thirteen floors that yawned before me, the stairs spiraling downward, winding around the cylindrical shaft that stretched from the landing to the bottom floor. The concave walls reflected a faint bluish light that emanated from below. Sloshing and splashes echoed up from the source of light. The last time I had entered that abyss had been years ago, with Anne-Marie, the night before she'd fled the island.

"Drev!" I yelled, descending the stairs three steps at a time. No one answered, but the splashes continued. I quickened my pace—fifth floor, fourth floor, third floor—the splashing got louder, and then I heard hollering echoing from the walls.

"Drev! Where are you?" I said, looking frantically to my left and my right. I was closer to the water, and though I couldn't see anyone, I heard the struggle. There were splashes and roars of frustration—Drev was there. I also heard eerie, breathy murmurs that seemed to bounce off the walls and over the water. I bent my head and concentrated to see if I could make out any details. There was a voice, or voices, yelling, "He's the Slayer! He's the Slayer!"

Those breathy murmurs—too faint to have come from a living soul—were familiar to me. Years ago, I had heard them behind me as I'd run from the library. Now they were here, lurking, hissing to one another that Drev was the Slayer. The Saboteurs were out to destroy him!

Without further thought, I jumped over the railing and landed on the ground floor with a terrific splash. At first I was surprised to see that the water came up to my knees. I recalled how the leprechaun had told me that Drev had come up from underneath the floor of the library with a rush from the sea. The blue lanterns he had mentioned were scattered about. A couple were hooked to the sides of bookcases, inches above the water level, while several others floated about like eerie balls of light bobbing up and down in the darkness.

"Drev!" My voice echoed around me. The splashes that had seemed distant a minute ago became louder and clearer. I saw Drev making his way toward me, punching the air. Initially, I couldn't see who he was fighting, and it seemed, from my vantage point, as if he were shadowboxing. But as he moved in closer to where I stood and the blue lanterns illuminated the space he entered, I saw the Saboteurs.

I felt my entire being buzzing. According to ancient lore, the Saboteurs were the shadowy guardians of the World of the Damned, who lured innocent living souls to that hell. Not having died properly, the souls that had fallen to the World of the Damned were unable to find eternal rest. They were forever condemned to that world that was neither life nor the afterlife.

The Saboteurs themselves were doomed to continue their existence in this purgatory state, as they continually roped innocent living souls into the World of the Damned. They were the eternal purveyors of that hell. A fight with the Saboteurs was a futile one. It was believed that as long as they existed as shadows, they could never be destroyed.

However, the beings milling about Drev weren't the shadowy figures I recalled from the two encounters I had had with them before. They resembled nothing of the dark patches of mist twirling in the air like a fleet of transparent black veils. They were solid beings, almost human. They looked as though they had been sculpted out of obsidian, their eyes gleaming, as they reflected the light from the lanterns. It was eerie. Some of them—just the shape of their bodies—reminded me of people I had known long ago.

Instinctively, I focused my attention on Drev and examined him. From where I stood, he looked and moved like a normal living being. To my relief, he had not transformed into a phantom. Perhaps that was because there was no need. I had never heard of someone being half phantom, but because he was such a hybrid, I imagined that he could enter the world of the dead and come back to the world of the living just as easily as he could see the spirits of the dead.

"Hugh!" he called out, though he didn't turn his head in my direction. He continued to fight off the demons, who didn't outright attack him but approached him with their limbs stretched out in front of them, as though begging him, beseeching him. I was flummoxed about why they didn't notice me. As they scuffled by me, I thought I saw a singular look of distress on all their faces. They weren't baring their teeth for attack. Rather, their mouths were agape, as though calling out for help. Were we wrong to fight them?

As I was about to turn my head away from them and back to Drev, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Philos?

I looked back to where I thought I had seen him, but he was gone. I was sure I had seen the face of the young student who now haunted Parafron to madness. I held my breath; something about the Saboteurs was not right.

"They're solidifying!" shouted Drev, as he knocked away a hand reaching for his face. "When I first came up, they were just these shadowy things flying around. There were so many, I couldn't see a thing. I kept fighting them, but more kept coming. And now they've turned solid!"

I studied the mass of what looked like moving black sculptures. What had made them change form? Had it been the flooding of the tunnel? Could they not return to the World of the Damned now that the tunnel was closed?

"Hugh, help! I can't get rid of them," shouted Drev. My thoughts turned back to him. He was right. Drev would never be able to fight off all of them, let alone make his way up the thirteen floors. Even making it to the first steps from the ground floor looked impossible. But did he have to fight them? Could there be another way?

The Saboteurs' movements were urgent, but they weren't attacking him. Their outstretched arms and clingy fingers seemed only to want his attention, his help. Their mouths remained open, as though in a silent scream. Clearly, they were trying to communicate something to Drev.

I heard a loud splash and saw a dozen figures look as if they were falling through the floor, as though a sinkhole had suddenly opened up under them. I realized Drev had fallen, and I quickly maneuvered my way over to him. The Saboteurs were too numerous and blocked my path. Though I was yards away, I saw Drev struggling to his knees, trying to stand up among all the hands that seemed to pull and push at him all at once. I wasn't sure if they were trying to help him up or drag him down with them.

I shouted, "Catch!" and threw Durendel toward Drev. He stretched out his hand and caught it effortlessly. However, I wasn't certain that even Durendel could effectively fight off the Saboteurs.

Nevertheless, once I saw that Drev had Durendel in hand, I felt reassured that he could at least keep the Saboteurs at bay. I grabbed the olifant and blew. With this many Saboteurs, we would need help getting out of the library. The sound was deafening, and even the Saboteurs turned away from Drev to look at me. I felt myself shrink as I became the focus of their glazed-over stares. I waited while the olifant's echo gradually faded. I looked up to the highest floor of the library, thirteen stories up, squinting to see if anyone had come. Nothing happened. I suppose I was foolish to have anticipated a cohort of reinforcements once I blew the olifant, but I did expect some reaction. When none came, I blew it again. And again. When it was clear no one was coming to our aid, I decided to dodge through the Saboteurs and get to Drev, no matter how many Saboteurs stood in my way.

As I barged through them, their faces turned toward me, only inches from mine. I was stunned to recognize many of them. The water around my feet seemed to turn to quicksand as I lumbered through that crowd of familiar faces.

They had all been students whom I had once approached with my book, hoping they would read it. But then they had all disappeared. I no longer doubted that the figure I had seen earlier was Philos. I scanned over and between their heads to see if I could find him again, but I couldn't make out any distinct faces beyond the first row of Saboteurs who were around me. They all seemed to blend together.

I was breathing hard, heaving, as though there wasn't enough air around me. I had never thought of the Saboteurs as souls who had once been alive. I had thought of them only as monsters, working along with the Order of the Shrike. Sympathy crept over me as their pleading, pupil-less eyes looked into mine. I understood that like all nonliving beings haunting this world, they were souls seeking an end to a relentless existence.

"Philos!" I said, as a set of saucer-shaped eyes appeared before me. A glimmer of recognition reflected in that beseeching stare before he howled. He crumpled into the water, falling to his knees first, his torso bending over afterward. The whirl of the sword flying through the air whipped past my ears, and I saw three other Saboteurs fall in the same manner. Behind them stood Drev, with Durendel stretched out in front of him. Was Durendel capable of killing the Saboteurs? Or was it that Durdendel in Drev's hand had the power to kill the Saboteurs?

Drev raised the sword, glimmering in the dark. Now that it was in battle, the sword seemed to come to life in his hands. He turned to another poor soul, a Saboteur still unaware that Drev had the ability to destroy it. He dealt the poor creature a mortal blow.

I stood there, speechless, as I saw Drev raise the sword once again, high above his head, and swing it down, as if nothing else were more natural to him. Five pitiful specimens released high-pitched wails as Drev sliced through them easily, sliding the sword through them as if he were slicing butter. When they fell, they didn't rise again. They were dead.

Knowing that the Saboteurs could die, I had a brief sense of relief. However, urgent concern immediately replaced it. The Saboteurs had once been living people—good people who had fallen unwittingly to the World of the Damned. By all means, they had not wanted to go to the World of the Damned. Victims of a curse created by the Order of the Shrike, they had been tricked and then forced into the interminable task of roping the innocent into that hell. Now that they saw someone destroy the cave and could see that he had the power to face and fight them, did they think they could get help from him, find a way out of their miserable predicament?

"Drev!" I called out. He had moved several yards away from me while fighting with the Saboteurs. Doubt overwhelmed me. I saw him raise his sword and swipe at another oncoming wave of creatures.

"Drev!" I called out, but the small distance that separated us was still too great for him to hear me, and there were still too many Saboteurs between us for me to keep a steady view of him. They continued to crowd him, their arms and hands stretched across each other's, like a never-ending web of limbs. Although I didn't have a sword, I swung the olifant at them in an attempt to forge a path among them. They moved aside, somewhat, and I was able to advance toward Drev.

"Wait!" I said to him. His ears seemed deaf to my voice.

How many were there? Some seemed to show a flicker of recognition on their face when they came toward Drev and saw me standing next to him, others none at all. How wrong to have thought of the Saboteurs as nothing but pure evil, without giving a second thought to where they'd come from and how they'd fallen to the World of the Damned in the first place. Although they couldn't be salvaged from the World of the Damned, I wanted to help them if I could.

"Who are you?" I tried asking the ones nearest me. "What do you want?" I searched their faces for clues, for they wouldn't say a word. They all seemed preoccupied with getting closer to Drev. I opened my mouth to attempt to speak to them again but stopped. My jaw dropped when I saw an old friend of mine—the very one I had seen the Saboteurs lure into the cave when he and I were still apprentices under Abbot Pellanor. His shiny black-marble claws grabbed onto my robe.

"Brother," I whispered. Pangs of sympathy and sadness paralyzed me. I couldn't even reach out to him. The humanoid who stood before me tilted his head in recognition.

"Brother," he whispered, his voice a breathy echo of my own. I could feel his words, and they made my spine shiver.

"Free us."

His message was clear. Pangs of guilt pierced my heart, as I began to realize that what I had suspected earlier was true: the Saboteurs were seeking help—a release from the misery to which the Order of the Shrike had sentenced them. As far as they could see, they had an opportunity to get that help.

Before I could ask my dear friend a question or respond to what he'd said, I heard a roar from Drev and saw the blade of Durendel rise behind my fellow monk, coming down on his head.

"No! No!" I shouted. "Stop!" I spoke too late. My friend was about to collapse into the water, when I reached out to catch him.

"Stop? What do you mean?" Drev retorted.

"They need our—your—help." I looked down at my fellow monk. His body was a cold, gooey substance. He didn't stir. What little had been left of his soul was now gone.

"They're the Saboteurs!" said Drev, looking at me as I laid my fallen brother gently in the water. "Like you told me, they're 'evil, nebulous creatures.' They lured all those students to the cave, and the students were never heard from again."

"But here . . . These Saboteurs . . . these are those students who disappeared!" I cried out. "Philos! And all the rest! They're asking for help. We should try to listen and figure out what we can do." I reached out and grabbed Drev's arm, the arm that held Durendel. However, the damage had been done. The Saboteurs were afraid of Drev. They no longer approached him but were backing away, some scurrying. Drev jerked his arm out of my grasp and, to my horror, chased after them—hunting them down like a merciless assassin.

"Drev!" I could barely breathe. Part of me could recognize his ruthlessness. There was no denying that half his blood was that of the Order of the Shrike. He could be capable of all kinds of atrocities.

"Stop!" I bellowed.

However, the slashing and the howling continued. I lifted one heavy leg after another in the shallow water, calling after Drev. I knew he was intense, and that whatever he set out to do, he'd achieve it thoroughly and completely. As the Slayer, he needed all these qualities, but he also needed to be merciful.

Howl after howl reached my ears as I yelled for him to restrain himself. I was desperate for him to stop, yet his rampage seemed to go on forever. And then, suddenly, there was silence. The quiet trickling of water reached my ears. I stood still. I saw Drev emerge from the shadows and trudge toward me.

"They needed to die," he said, looking at me. "They needed someone to put them away."

I stared at him in silence. I couldn't disagree with him. They were looking for a way to be released from being the Saboteurs, and death was one path. However, part of me wondered if there might've been another way. I regretted that Drev had taken action without ever asking how he could help them.

Durendel continued to glow in Drev's hand. I looked at Drev, and it seemed as if I were seeing him again for the first time. He did resemble me. However, the aura around him, the aggression and violent energy that circulated, was that of Anne-Marie. Part of me wanted to recoil, but another part wanted to embrace him. I chose the latter. I waded through the water that separated us and stretched my arms out to him. He stood still, clearly not expecting such a gesture from me. I gave him a hug, then stepped back and asked, "How were you able to come back?"

In a low, nearly robotic voice, he said, "I let Pamina go."

# Chapter 31: The Final Test

Drev climbed a few steps of the thirteen-flight stairway. Then, just as his feet were out of the water, he leaned against the railing and sank down onto one of the dry stairs. He rested Durendel on a step higher than where he sat. He clutched his head in his hands, his knees supporting his elbows. I knelt down beside him.

"I let her go," he said again, as he ran his hand over his mouth. "The Shadow of Fear— _my_ Shadow of Fear—it got on me. Pamina told me if I let her go, it would go away, and it did."

"Pamina told you to let her go?" I asked, awestruck by this revelation. Pamina's longing wish was to find a true love, a young man who loved her so dearly that he would enter the afterlife to join her. For her to have let him go meant that she, too, had made a huge sacrifice.

He nodded. "She knew. Somehow she knew that was my greatest fear—losing her—even though I didn't know. I mean, I thought if I just found Pamina, it would go away." He paused to rub his eyes with one hand.

"When I first dove into the water, I thought I had lost her. I swam everywhere, looking for her. All the while I could feel it—the Shadow—around me, making my arms and legs heavier. Then I found her, in the waters, barely staying afloat. When I tried to reach out and hold her, I could feel the Shadow pull my arms back. It was as though I had no control over my muscles. I fought against it and was able to put my arms around her, but it then felt like it got into my bones and was cracking my legs into smaller pieces. The pain was terrible, and I screamed. She knew what was happening and told me to let her go. She told me she was okay, that she knew there was someone willing to die to be with her. She said that she would be waiting for me. However, if I didn't let go of her, then I would surely fall to the Shadow, and that would condemn me to the World of the Damned.

"I remembered all those bodies at Sebastian's mortuary, the ones that died miserable deaths. And I knew I had to let go, but it was still too hard. It was only when Pamina told me that if I fell to the World of the Damned she would never be able to see me, and I would never be able to see her, that I realized I had to let go."

I nodded. "Pamina is wise. She grew up with the phantoms and knows all their stories, and more. That kind of wisdom helps you to decipher a situation clearly and quickly."

"Yeah, but I couldn't see what to do, even after she told me to do it." He shook his head. "I just didn't want to let her go. I thought I couldn't stand the pain if I did. But it was clear that the more I tried to hold on to her, the more I could feel the Shadow of Fear ripping into my body, trying to gain control over my arms and legs and head. I could feel my head knocking back and forth, splashing in the water. Even when I knew I was on the verge of being killed, I still held on. It was only when Pamina told me that we might never see each other again . . ."

His voice trailed off, as though the mere idea of such a situation made it unbearable to keep talking about it.

"So that's when you let go of her," I finished.

"No, I didn't let go. I couldn't," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "But . . ."

"But?"

"But she also told me I still had a duty. That I had to go back to the world of the living and fight the Shadow of Fear, because I was the Slayer and the only one who could do it. She said that even if I went to the afterlife with her, I would never rest peacefully if I didn't fulfill my duty as the Slayer. She released my hands that were around her and pushed me away. And I let her.

"The moment I no longer felt her in my arms, the Shadow of Fear released its grip on me. I felt no relief. The pain of giving up Pamina was all I could feel. I saw her slip away from me, between the haze and fog of the sea. Then she disappeared, as if she'd never been there. I felt the Shadow of Fear over me and around me, just glowering, so I lashed out at it for all I was worth. I was furious that I had lost Pamina.

"I yelled and thrashed in the water for what seemed like hours. It got to a point where I was exhausted. I found my voice gone and my whole body numb. I stopped and realized there was nothing. There was only mist and water around me—as if I had been kicking and shouting at nothing. I didn't know where I was. I was too tired to swim, so I closed my eyes and let myself sink. And that's when the phantoms came."

"The sea phantoms?" I asked, remembering that Pamina had recounted how she had encountered them when she'd drowned.

"You know who I'm talking about?" asked Drev, turning to me.

"Not exactly. I've just heard of them," I said. "And did you meet Poseidon, the god of the sea, who holds a magnificent trident in one hand and—"

Drev shook his head. "No, no gods. These were crazy-looking giant toads, tortoises, and dragons—a dozen or so dragons. As I felt my body sink deeper into the water, all I thought was, _I'm dying. I'm dying_. And then I felt something grab my shoulder and shake me. When I opened my eyes, I thought I really had died and gone to hell, and that these guys in front of me were the devils. But then they asked me who I was and what I was doing there. I asked them the same questions right back, and they told me they were the phantoms who lived in the sea. Right away, I asked them if I had become a phantom, one of them. But they told me a strange thing."

"What?" I asked.

"They told me that I was already part phantom—that I could enter the world of the nonliving, as well as that of the living, because I was made up of both worlds." He looked at me. "Did you know that?"

I paused. If there were a perfect moment to tell Drev that I, a phantom, was his real father, it was then. I looked at his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his sharp stare had dulled. He had gone through so much—not just tonight, but throughout his entire life. I turned away from him. He thought of one man as his father, his adoptive father, and it was clear that Drev loved him. He had never mentioned any desire to know who his biological parents were. I wouldn't interfere.

"I knew only that you were different," I replied.

Drev's eyes bored into me for a few searing seconds. He then turned away. Whether he was satisfied with my answer remained unclear.

"So, how did you get out of the water?" I continued, pressing for more details. "You didn't drown?"

"Nooo," he said, cocking his head as if he were reflecting on that moment for the first time. "No, I didn't. When I think about it now, it doesn't seem real, like it was some weird dream I had. I remember being in the water but talking to the phantoms, telling them I needed to get back to Stauros Island to fight the Shadow of Fear and stop the Order of the Shrike. They rallied around me and asked if I was going to destroy the Order of the Shrike. I told them I would, as long as I was alive, but that I needed their help to get back. That's when they agreed to help me. They got the water moving, causing huge waves to lift us. I didn't have to do anything; I just went with these strong currents that carried me all the way to the cave of the library and burst it open."

I now understood why such monstrous waves had crashed against the island earlier. "So that's how the cave was flooded," I said, recalling what the leprechaun had told me. "The force of the water carried you through the cave to the floor of the library."

"Yeah, and when I stepped out from the rubble, I heard the leprechaun screaming at me."

"Even having gone through all of that, you're uninjured," I said, leaning toward him, amazed, as I studied him from head to toe. "When I saw you jump from the tower, I was sure you were done for. That fall . . . No one could have survived that fall—"

"Except a half phantom like me," he said, looking straight into my eyes.

I gulped. I wondered what he knew and waited with trepidation for what his next words might be.

"I remember being told I was different," he began. "But I never cared to find out _what_ was different." He looked away from me and at the ground. "I thought it was something bad. But my nanny, she told me it was a gift, and that I needed to keep it a secret or others would be jealous. She was wrong, though. It's not a gift. It's a curse."

His hands curled into tight fists. I cleared my throat and spoke: "You have the ability to see phantoms and to see the Shadow of Fear. You can help others overcome their fear. That is a great gift, Drev."

"It's great only if you want to help people."

"Don't you?"

He looked at me, and even in that dim light, I could see his frosty gaze. He stood abruptly, swiftly taking Durendel in his hand. He began climbing the stairs with rigid, sloshy steps. I followed him. We went up several floors in silence, the only noise the _squish-squash_ sounds from his wet boots.

"To be able to come back having conquered your Shadow of Fear is a blessing—a miracle, really!" I said, deciding to pick up the conversation. "Think. You came back as a living soul and not—"

"A wimpy ghost, like you," he finished, as he paused to face me. "Yeah, I'm thankful I'm not you. But I had to give up a lot to come back."

"What did you have to give up?" I retorted. Rage filled me. His childishness was abominable. I sprinted up the distance that had been between us and got in his face, shouting at him. I had never taken notice before, but we were exactly the same height. I was ready to lunge at him if need be.

"I always have to give up something," he shouted back at me. "Why doesn't someone else make some sacrifices, for once? I'm sick of everything falling on my shoulders. I don't want to be the Slayer of the Shadow of Fear. I never asked to be. What the hell!"

"We can't always have or do what we want, Drev," I said, continuing to stand in front of him, barring his way. "When we realize that and accept it, it's called maturing. It's what has to happen before you can deem yourself an adult, a real man. And only when you're ready to take the good and the bad—everything and anything that comes your way—do you get the privilege of owning your destiny."

"Get out of my way!" He was about to push past me, when I shoved him. He stumbled on a back step, lost his balance, and fell a few stairs. He looked at me, aghast, as if he were seeing me for the first time.

"You may have had to make sacrifices because of your family's financial straits, and you may have had to give up the girl you loved, but it doesn't make you a victim. It brings you into the next step in your journey. Stop blaming your circumstances, and take charge!" I was now bellowing at him, my hands outstretched and tensed. "You're the Slayer! Act like it!"

Drev continued to sit with his eyes glued to me, not blinking.

"Don't you see? Only you could survive a fall into the sea, because you were meant to. Only you were able to come back from near death, from being at the gates of the afterlife, because you can straddle both worlds. That _is_ a gift!"

Long moments of utter silence fell between us. I had not wanted to go so far as to lecture him, but he needed to know. And it was better that I, rather than anyone else, was the one telling him about the responsibilities that now lay before him.

The heat from my initial surge of outrage had cooled off. I walked up to him and reached out my hand, offering to pull him up to his feet. To my relief, he took it.

"Now is the time to take your place," I said, as he stood in front of me. "Don't you see? Your being helped by the sea phantoms, being able to fight off the Shadow of Fear, being able to fight with Durendel—the gods, the heavens, they all favor you. Take it! It's your privilege, not your burden!"

Drev's eyes locked on mine, softening, and the tense muscles in his face relaxed. My words were having an effect on him.

"Take it!" I repeated.

He opened his mouth, as if to respond, but a scuffle, five floors above, echoed down to us.

"Hugh!" I recognized the leprechaun's shrill voice.

I closed my eyes, and then slowly turned to look at where the leprechaun was standing. _Now_ they showed up—after all the Saboteurs were dead!

"So much for the olifant!" I shouted back to the leprechaun.

"Hugh!" I recognized the more serious voice of Ahura Mazda. "Come quickly. They have come, the bombing planes. To stop them is no longer within our capabilities."

"Bombing planes?" asked Drev, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Parafron ordered the island to be bombed." I let out a low sigh. "It looks as though it's going to happen. But _you_ may still have time to escape. Quick . . ."

"No, I'm not running anywhere," said Drev, looking up to where the phantoms stood on the landing. "We can fight this."

"No, you don't understand," I said, shaking my head. "They're going to firebomb the entire island."

I stopped. Drev was already running up the stairs. Like a flash of lightning, he dashed past the dazed group of spectators on the landing and disappeared from sight.

# Chapter 32: The Revival of the Order of the Crane

I ran out into the courtyard, followed by the phantoms who had been in the library. I expected to see only Drev but was dumbfounded when I saw about a hundred students gathered together, holding candles. Interspersed among them were other phantoms, many of them holding hands with the students.

When I had entered Stauros Hall near sunset, I had been sure I did not see a single soul anywhere. But now, only a couple hours later, at least one-tenth of the student population stood before me. Bewildered, as well as confused, I saw Horace stopping by each phantom and student with a box of candles, making sure everyone had one.

Before I could ask what was going on, Ahura Mazda stepped up beside me and said, "The evacuation trucks and guards left after sundown. Afterward, these students stepped out. 'We're standing by you,' they said. They hope that their presence will stop the planes from bombing."

"Even him?" I asked, pointing to Horace.

"Especially him. After so many years under Parafron's influence, he's found his freedom. Now he stands against Parafron and the rest of the Order of the Shrike." Ahura Mazda beamed at me.

Leo stepped up to me and spoke. "We heard your call with the olifant, and, naturally, I leaped toward the sound the moment I heard it. But these students were crawling out of sewer holes and other hiding places, looking for us—telling us that they wanted to protect us and wouldn't leave us." He paused to sigh. "Absolute class, these kids."

"Here, in the courtyard, we gathered all of them," added Ahura Mazda.

I stared at the students, who now looked toward the western horizon. I looked in that direction but didn't see anything. However, I heard the faint buzz of a plane and felt my body grow rigid.

"Hugh!" I turned, and in the far corner of the courtyard I saw Max, J.P., and Irving. Forgetting that ominous buzzing in the sky, I ran over to them. Siren stood by Max. He had his arm around her.

"How are you guys still here?" I asked, intending it to be an admonishment. Instead, it came out sounding like a cry of relief. They walked up to me, and I, overwhelmed at their solidarity, shook their hands and patted them on the back.

"We just sat in the cellar throughout the whole evacuation. No one came to look in that rat hole," said J.P., his dark sunglasses reflecting the flame of the candle in his hand.

"We waited until it was quiet and the sun had gone down to come out," added Irving. "When I checked outside, the trucks had gone and the tide had come in."

"We looked for you," said Max. "We called your name, but that dude there showed up instead." Max pointed to the headless knight, who was in a deep discussion with a group of students.

"Yeah, I just gotta say, if I hadn't seen some of these guys at Toussaint before seeing them tonight," said J.P., pointing to the phantoms spread out in the courtyard, "I would not have been cool about staying on this island and spending the last night of my life with them."

"We don't know if it's our last night," said Irving gravely.

"With all these students here, they can't possibly bomb the island," said Max. "And even if the students weren't here, how could they even think about bombing this place? I mean, look how cool it is to have phantoms here. That's why all these other students didn't leave either. We all want to save the phantoms."

Siren leaned into him and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed. As she turned her head, I caught her eye. I remembered how harsh I had been the evening before when I saw her with Max. I gave her a nod, hoping there were no bad feelings between us. I was glad when she smiled at me.

Max leaned away from her and whispered in my ear, "I know she's a phantom, but a pretty girl's a pretty girl, right?"

"Right," I replied.

"They say the jets are coming, but I don't see anything," said Irving, staring at the sky. We all looked up.

"Maybe Parafron freaked out at the last minute—you know, had one of his spaz fits and called the whole thing off," said J.P.

I wanted to chuckle at J.P.'s comment, but I could hear the definite roar of a jet coming closer.

"Look! Lights!" shouted a girl in the crowd. I saw people stretch their necks and squint, and soon a gasp went up from the crowd.

"Maybe it's just a drone, coming to survey the island to see if there are people still here," said Max. "Maybe they saw the candles and thought they should check out the weird lights."

"Or maybe they just want to bomb the hell out of this place and get it over with," snorted J.P.

"Look! There's not one. There's three!" shouted another student.

Sure enough, three distinct sets of ominous red lights blinked in the dark sky. Cries went up all around as students and phantoms huddled closer together. Some students had their hands over their heads and stared at the ground, while others continued to look at the approaching planes.

"Hey, look, there's Drev!" shouted Irving, pointing to the roof of Stauros Hall. Drev had climbed up to the ridge where I had often sat to escape. He steadied himself on the roof, looking in the direction the planes were coming from.

"What the hell? He's alive?" asked J.P., taking off his sunglasses.

"What's he doing up there?" asked Max.

All the faces in the courtyard now turned to Drev as he stood on the roof, raising his arms and waving them. What was he doing?

"Dragon! Dragon!" he shouted.

_Dragon?_ I sucked in a cold blast of air, as I stood there with my mouth agape. He could be referring only to the phantoms in the sea. I had a hard enough time getting the phantoms on the island to come to my distress call. Did he believe that the phantoms in the sea would help him? Had they promised such a favor?

The planes were in clear view, and we could see that they were flying in a V formation. It would be only a minute before they were close enough to drop their bombs on the island.

"Dragon! Dragon!" Drev continued to shout.

"Is he a phantom?" asked Irving, turning to me.

I shook my head.

"He's lost it. Why is he shouting?" asked J.P.

I hesitated before saying, "I think he knows what he's doing—well, at least let's hope he knows what he's doing."

A gust of wind and a blast of orange-red fire lit the sky as a brown dragon, twice the size of a jet, emerged from somewhere below the island. It paused directly over Drev. A loud collective gasp rose from the crowd in the courtyard. Seconds later, a green dragon joined him. The flapping of their wings overtook the sound of the oncoming firebombers.

The pilots, seeing the two dragons obstructing their way, tried to deviate from their current path. But they weren't fast enough. The dragons attacked the two planes on either side with an unrelenting stream of fire. Two violent explosions lit the skies like fireballs. A cheer went up from the courtyard, and everyone turned to hug each other.

"I always thought this was what the end of the world would look like," said Max. "I just didn't think I'd be seeing it with my own eyes." He drew Siren closer to him. She snuggled her head into his shoulder.

The third plane that had been in the center of the V formation had bypassed the two dragons and sped by the island. But instead of retreating, it continued to stay on task. As the plane circled back toward the island, the brown dragon charged it. But when the dragon blew its fire, the skilled pilot dodged the attack, heading, unobstructed, toward the island.

"It's coming back!" shouted one of the students, pointing to the lone jet in the sky. Gasps and screams went through the crowd, as the nose of the plane seemed directed right at the courtyard. Then a shadow rose up from the side of the island, opposite from where the plane was coming. Moments later, the green dragon was overhead. The magnificent creature met the plane head-on with a breath of fire, but not before the pilot released a bomb.

We watched the shell fall. Its speed seemed slow, as though it were being lowered on invisible strings. The metallic object passed just beyond the old abbey and into the sea. It exploded, sending a monstrous wave that hovered over the island for a few seconds before collapsing behind Stauros Hall. The ground shook as though the island were a volcano about to explode.

Once the tremor was over and the crowd saw they were still intact, they cried and laughed. Many around me continued to clap, as though they wanted an encore. Caught up in the excitement around me, I had forgotten about Drev. I looked up to the roof where he had been and was flummoxed to find that he was no longer there. The dragons had retreated, and the crowd was calming down, but where was he?

"Fellow students!" I heard his voice and turned. There he was, on the steps that led to the entrance of Stauros Hall, facing the crowd.

"Last night you saw me jump off the tower and thought I had died. I did not. The girl, though . . ."

He paused. There was absolute silence in the crowd; only the lone sound of a hawk calling somewhere in the distance echoed around us.

"She's gone," continued Drev, his voice morose. "If you're not already aware of it from what you saw last night and what you witnessed just now, we're in a battle—a battle to survive. There are people out there doing their best to keep everyone in the world under their thumb and in their control. You know who I'm talking about."

There was deafening silence all around.

"The Order of the Shrike."

A murmur went up from the crowd, as though the students were hearing blasphemy. I, too, felt uneasy to hear a single young man speak in public against the Order of the Shrike. But after a minute, my mind became more accustomed to the idea that people could protest the Order of the Shrike in front of a crowd. Why not? Especially if none of the members of the order was there. And especially if the order tried to firebomb an island on which people were still living.

Another minute passed. Drev continued to stand on the Stauros steps. He looked on at the crowd. Everyone continued to talk in hushed voices, and Drev waited for them to quiet down. They did eventually.

Drev cleared his throat. I listened more intently, for, although I had expected him to work on behalf of humanity fighting the Shadow of Fear, I had not expected him to take on the Order of the Shrike. Nevertheless, he had a gathering of sympathizers. This was his chance.

"We are at the dawn of a revolution! As I told you before, the Order of the Shrike has manipulated and enslaved the world, and they're doing it by using fear as a weapon. They have told us to be afraid—afraid of everything that is different, mysterious, and a part of nature. But there is nothing to be afraid of, not even death. Tonight, right here, with the burning of those jets that came to firebomb us, we are sending a message: down with the Order of the Shrike!"

The students in the crowd had their mouths slightly open and their eyes fixed on Drev. The phantoms, too, seemed entranced with what he was saying. Ravana, with his ten hands, began clapping, and soon the rest of them followed.

"It won't be easy," continued Drev. "For there's a huge problem standing in our way, called the Shadow of Fear. It's a result of all the fearmongering tactics that the Order of the Shrike has used. It attacks you as an unseen force and takes control over you until you rip yourself apart. No one knows when or whom it will attack. I know only that when your fears become insurmountable, it approaches you, ready for the kill. Many people have died from it, and the worst part is that they don't have relief once they're dead. Their souls can't rest, because they died by being tormented by their fears.

"You won't hear about the Shadow of Fear on the news or in the media. Even though the Order of the Shrike knows about it, they're just letting it kill people. You all witnessed its effects last night, when a student here nearly beat himself to death."

"Tyler. He's talking about Tyler," uttered a voice from the crowd. Other voices followed in agreement. Drev paused to listen to their distraught mutterings.

"Right. I am talking about Tyler. When Tyler was getting his life knocked out of him, the Order of the Shrike not only let it happen but lied about what happened and passed off the attack from the Shadow of Fear as the work of a demon. That could be any one of us in the future if we don't take a stand now against the Shadow of Fear.

"Most important, we all have to understand that the Shadow of Fear is a killer, and that it arises from the fears within us. Because it comes from within us, we _can_ control it. We just have to be aware of it—really aware of it.

"I've overcome my Shadow of Fear. It's the reason I'm standing here before you tonight. I'll help all of you to fight it off as well. It's only when each one of us takes on the task of fighting against our own fears that we can eliminate this thing."

He paused. By this time, I had moved from where I had been standing with J.P., Max, and Irving in the middle of the crowd to the front. My heart was ready to leap with joy. Not in my most fantastical dreams had I imagined that the Slayer would not only fight the Shadow of Fear but also encourage others to join him in the crusade.

Drev saw me approach. He looked at me, took in a deep breath, and then faced the crowd once again.

"Long ago, there used to be another order—a more powerful order—that served the people, instead of using them. It was called the Order of the Crane. The Order of the Crane taught people how to confront, overcome, and even embrace their fears by understanding those fears through myths, folktales, and legends. These stories were about people who had confronted the same fears long ago. Thousands of these stories were collected and spread throughout the world. These stories were the tools people used to guide themselves through the worst times in their lives. Knowing these stories empowered the people to keep their fears under control.

"Among you now are characters from those stories." Drev paused as students looked around at the smiling phantoms, who stood straighter and cleared their throats. "When the Order of the Shrike destroyed the books that contained your stories, you guys continued to exist as phantoms so you could keep the morals your stories had to teach us alive. We, the ones who are living now, need you, because we need to know what you know. You're the only allies we have in this struggle against the Order of the Shrike.

"Remember, not only do _we_ need to know these stories, we have to spread them. When the Order of the Shrike took power, these stories were no longer taught, and, over time, they were replaced with brainwashing garbage that the Order of the Shrike made people believe was important. And because of that, when people become afraid, they don't know what to do. And since they don't know, their fears have grown bigger and darker.

"If we are to stop the Order of the Shrike from controlling this world through fear, we must bring back the old principles of the Order of the Crane. We have to enable ourselves and others to fight off the Shadow of Fear by reviving the tales people have told one another for thousands of years. We _can_ bring down the most tyrannical organization ever to rule this world—we proved it tonight. We can do it again, until they are no longer in power, and the Order of the Crane can resume its rightful place as the protector of the people. To the Order of the Crane!"

"To the Order of the Crane!" everyone shouted, with thundering applause.

A cheer went up from the crowd as Max, J.P., and Irving rushed toward the steps of Stauros Hall to welcome back their friend. I was about to join them but stopped when a bird caught my eye.

The creature stood out in the dark night. It was a crane—white, with slender legs and a long beak. Elegant, delicate, and calm, it stood away from the crowd, seeming to wait for someone on the steps of the courtyard that led to the beginning of the Five Ring Road.

Drawn to the bird, I moved away from the others and made my way over to the steps where it stood. As I approached, the bird hopped down onto the cobblestone road. After taking a few steps, it hopped off the path and onto the grassy terrain that led into the barrier of oak trees that separated the Forgotten Cemetery and the Five Ring Road. There, hidden among the shadows of the oak trees, was a monk with a rusted iron lantern—similar to those I had carried when I was alive.

The outline of his figure was familiar, and I approached him with my heart beating loudly. His hood covered his head, but as I got closer, I saw the profile of the nose and mouth of my old teacher Abbot Pellanor.

"Well done," he nodded. He raised his lantern high above his head, and it lit the area behind the trees, casting its glow toward the Forgotten Cemetery. There I saw my fellow brothers, all of whom had traversed into the afterlife hundreds of years before me, standing in a row, waiting for me to join them. They lined up all the way to the crumbling frame of what had once been the entrance to the cloister that had housed the Forgotten Cemetery.

"It's all done, isn't it?" I asked the abbot.

"And you were the only one who could do it," he replied. He turned and began walking toward the Forgotten Cemetery.

I was eager to take my next steps into that new world, but part of me wanted time to say farewell to those I was leaving behind. I looked back up at the courtyard and saw that Max, J.P., and Irving were standing with Drev on the steps of the old abbey. Ahura Mazda, Ravana, and the rest of them had gathered around. They were in discussion, most likely planning the long, treacherous road that lay before them. They were taking the right path, but it was the hardest path. How could a small band of young men and phantoms take on the Order of the Shrike?

I murmured a blessing for them. As I was about to turn away, I caught Drev's eye. He was watching me. I raised my hand and gave a short wave. He returned a knowing nod.

"It's his journey now," I whispered to myself. "Wherever I end up, I'll be watching out for him."

I turned from the crowd in the courtyard and entered the Forgotten Cemetery. I greeted each of my brothers, who welcomed me like a hero. They fell in line behind me as we walked through the crumbling stone door frame, the only distinguishable indication of the covered walkway that had once encased the cemetery. I remembered having longed to walk through it, as my brothers had centuries ago. Now that the time had come for me to enter, I didn't walk toward it. I ran.

Thank you for reading. I'm currently writing the next book in the series. For updates please visit: http://www.staurosisland.com.

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