A Myth to the Night Read online

  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 yo
ung 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!”