Chapter 3: Shadows Fall
Duncan idly chewed on a biscuit. The bland flavor seemed of no consequence. He sipped some water from his glass, washing away the ashen taste. Without a word, he accepted the bread basket from the monk sitting next to him and passed it on. Duncan simply couldn’t bring himself to be very hungry.
The rest of the congregation sat around the dining hall table, silently breaking fast. Only a few stray sounds penetrated the quiet. As with all things about monastery life, Duncan was used to vows of silence. In fact, they suited him just fine. During meals, nothing intruded on his thoughts.
Evil? he thought to himself for possibly the hundredth time. Something in his heart said that Marcus’ cryptic answer was only a hint of the truth. As Duncan looked back on the conversation they had shared the night before, he realized that Marcus had been leading him. To where Duncan simply couldn’t say, but he desired, and feared, to continue the journey.
Duncan almost laughed aloud as he examined his feelings. It was this same quality of character that had brought so much conflict with Father Michael. Duncan’s curiosity simply couldn’t be satiated. He craved answers to the most difficult and taboo questions, often at the cost of faith. It was a quality that many of the monks frowned upon.
As Duncan peeled the shell off a hard-boiled egg, a woman’s scream tore through the dining hall. Many of the monks jumped straight up in their chairs, looking around in surprise. Without a word, they all rushed through the door and out of the monastery.
Duncan followed amidst the herd. It didn’t take long to realize that the scream had originated near the well behind the monastery. The monks rushed around the side of the building, joined by several nuns. As they approached the scene, many stopped dead in their tracks.
Duncan pushed past to examine the situation for himself. The moment he did, he wished he had stayed in the dining hall. One of the nuns kneeled on the ground, praying through her tears. An empty bucket lay close beside her.
All eyes, however, were fixed on the figure in the trees above. Several feet away from the well, suspending in the low branches, lay the mutilated corpse of a young nun.
The entire company was frozen, fixed in place like statues. Many broke down into tearful fits. Others averted their eyes and prayed. Duncan stared up at the corpse, ever more questions filling his mind. “What sort of monster could have done this?”
“Sister Abigail?� Duncan asked, rapping lightly on the door. He pushed it open slightly and glanced inside. “Sister Abigail?� he repeated.
The sight was much as he expected it to be. The body of the nun lay in bed, covered by a long white cloth. Blood stains shown through at numerous points. Sister Abigail sat at bedside, praying. Her eyes were swollen with tears. She looked up at Duncan. “Come in, child,� she said wearily.
“I apologize, Sister,� Duncan said as he entered. He tried to keep his eyes off the corpse, afraid of remembering the nun’s mutilated visage. “Everyone is downstairs grieving. Have you learned anything?�
Sister Abigail looked at Duncan in a peculiar fashion, as if acknowledging something to herself. “Only what was plain to see,� she said quietly. “Some wild beast is responsible.� Shakily, she rose from her stool.
Duncan walked over and put his hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing more you can do. Go grieve with the others,� he said consolingly, looking into her wrinkled eyes. Fresh tears welled up as she nodded her head and exited the room.
Sitting in the same stool, Duncan looked down at the bloodied cloth. He hadn’t known her very well. In fact, they had only spoken more than two words while talking about Marcus. The memory of the nun dabbing a wet cloth to the stranger’s forehead brought tears to his eyes.
Involuntarily, Duncan looked away as he pulled the cloth back. He steeled himself against the sight, forcing his gaze on the nun’s grizzly visage. It was almost unbearable.
The flesh on the young girl’s face was tattered. What few scraps of cloth remained clinging to her body were stained with blood. Only a few parts of the body itself were even recognizable, but they were enough to confirm the girl’s identity. Tears rolled down Duncan’s cheeks as he examined the wounds.
Many lacerations and punctures dotted the corpse. Some of the fresher ones had bled very little, indicating to Duncan that the attackers hadn’t stopped once she was dead. Through his tears, Duncan noted one particular wound. Five distinct, parallel bands of torn flesh across the nun’s midsection were all he had to see.
Slowly, Duncan pulled the cloth back over her head. A prayer escaped his lips as he reconsidered the evidence. Five claws, he thought to himself. It had five claws to a hand…
Low tones, solemn prayers, and tearful weeping mingled in the air. The congregation stood about the prayer hall in utter disarray, some standing in small groups while others sat alone in prayer. Many of the nuns gathered about Sister Abigail, tearful over their lost sister.
Duncan sat at the front pew, his head bowed in prayer. His clasped hands shook uncontrollably. The vision of the young nun haunted his thoughts; the image of her broken form seemed too much to bear. Fresh tears welled up in his reddened eyes. How could this not be evil? he thought as he considered Sister Abigail’s conclusion.
It was many long moments before Duncan realized that he was no longer alone. Slowly, he opened his eyes and glanced to his right. Beside him on the pew, several feet away, sat Marcus. His hands were folded in his hands. His face was solemn as he stared at nothing, apparently deep in thought.
Looking past him, Duncan saw several monks at the edge of the hall. Their words had stopped as they gazed at Marcus accusingly. One seemed about to step forward when another stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder and whispering a few words. Duncan watched with some confusion, and glanced back toward Marcus.
Through his tears, Duncan wondered at his brethren. How could they blame him? It occurred to Duncan that Marcus did seem quite out of place. His eyes turned involuntarily toward the bigoted monks, a harsh expression on his face. But is this not a holy place? All are welcome, he resolved, even him.
Several minutes passed and much of the talking about the hall, as quiet as it had begun, died down. Duncan could tell that Marcus’ presence had created a air of general unease. This is wrong, he thought, imagining the eyes of the entire congregation begging the stranger to depart.
Duncan rose slowly from his seat and stepped over toward Marcus. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that his imagination wasn’t far off. He sat beside Marcus without a word. A hush fell over the already-silent hall.
“Welcome, Marcus,� he said lowly, his voice resounding through the still air. “I didn’t think I’d see you mourning with us tonight.�
Marcus failed to respond or even acknowledge the monk for several moments. Without looking at Duncan, he stated flatly, “She was a kind young woman. Much too young for such a tragedy.� He looked down and seemed about to continue, but stopped himself.
“It’s good of you to join us,� Duncan said, rebelling against the air of accusation and distrust. “I agree, it is all the more regrettable that death should have taken her at such an age.� The words tasted stale and unfeeling in his mouth.
“Tell me, brother, why would your God do such a thing to one of his own?� Marcus asked, his voice almost a whisper. Shocked, Duncan stared at Marcus. How could he ask such a question?
“God works in strange ways,� Duncan stated. He was displeased with his answer before he had spoken it. Suddenly, Father Michael’s words echoed back from the recesses of his mind. “You would question our doctrine? Your doctrine?�
The truth hit Duncan hard. This was just the sort of question he might have asked. Marcus looked over at him, a peculiar expression on his face. The voices of the congregation could be heard continuing in the background.
Duncan’s eyes narrowed. Marcus had wanted to say something but didn’t. He was holding something back. Could he be leading me on again? “But I don’t believe this was God’s work,� he said in a whisper that was barely audible even to himself.
Marcus looked directly at him, an intense expression on his face. “How could that be?� Marcus inquired, a coaxing tone in his voice. Duncan suddenly understood the stranger’s motives.
Evil? he wondered to himself. “Was this the same creature that pursued you?� he ventured, risking the suspicions of his entire congregation.
Wordlessly, Marcus returned to his original posture. He closed his eyes and nodded once, slowly. Duncan furrowed his brow. At length, Marcus said, “You should tread carefully, Duncan. The beasts,� he said the word with unquestionable inflection, “are restless.�
Without another word, Marcus rose and started toward the door into the monastery. All eyes in the hall, including Duncan’s, trailed him.
Duncan resumed his prayers silently, although his mind was somewhat clearer. What is he trying to tell me? he wondered. What are these “beasts�? Why are they following him? He sat for several hours, contemplating. No answers came as dawn crept its way in through the windows. When the church bells finally rang in the morning, Duncan had not moved.