A Myth to the Night Page 26
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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.