“No, Sister,� he said in a raspy voice. She stayed for a moment, looking down with mixed pity and worry. Duncan resumed his position, sitting on the side of his bed with his head in his hands.

After a moment of waiting, the nun sat her tray down beside Duncan. “Please, Brother, try to eat,� she said consolingly, and turned to leave the room. The door closed softly behind her. Duncan glanced over at the tray. A small loaf of bread, an apple, a pitcher of water, and several other food-stuffs lay carefully placed on the wooden board.

Normally such a meal would be a feast for the monk. His mouth would water at the mere thought of such a meal. Duncan noted the special care and attention that had been put into the food. They must really be concerned for me, he thought to himself.

He sighed and buried his face once more. There were no tears left in him, but he felt he would weep nonetheless. They have bigger worries, he considered despairingly.

It had been several days since his private conversation with Marcus. The two had returned to the monastery drenched to the bone. It was the only time in Duncan’s life that he could remember not caring about the rain.

The memory of his return was somewhat of a blur. He had walked to his room without a word to any of the monks. They had greeted him and talked to him, but Duncan had given no response. It took only a few hours for the entire monastery to be concerned over his well-being.

Duncan remembered lying there, in the same bed, for more than a day. He stared up at the ceiling. It occurred to him that he hadn’t been lost in thought. Indeed, he hadn’t thought anything at all. Monks and nuns alike came into his room and tried to rouse him from his condition, to no avail.

After that he had dreamt. Awful dreams came flooding into his emptied mind; images of demons and devils haunted him to no end. He saw his death many times. When he awoke the next morning, he found that he couldn’t stop crying.

And he prayed. Oh, he prayed. After the first day, he prayed from dawn until dusk, and well into the night. What he prayed for often made little sense to even Duncan. He still found it difficult to speak to anyone. The monastery surely must’ve thought he’d gone mad.

Marcus, of course, hadn’t come to see him. Duncan considered for a moment. Perhaps he’s left, he thought. It seemed unlikely. No, that would be too simple.

He had been lying in bed on the second day when one of the Sisters told him about the funeral. The congregation was meeting the whole day to bury young Sister Sarah. Duncan wanted to be there. He wanted to see the young nun finally laid to rest. All he could bring himself to do, though, was nod. Like the day before, he failed to leave his room.

Duncan counted. It had been at least three days now, three or four, that he’d been like this. Ever since my conversation with Marcus, he thought bitterly. Never had he regretted his curiosity like he did now. “Now you know the truth…â€? came the stranger’s words echoing back on him.

Duncan looked back over at the food laying beside him. The loaf was still steaming slightly. “Demon or no demon,� he said aloud, “this ends now.� Shakily, he reached for the bread. It was warm and soft in his hand. He raised it to his mouth, closed his eyes, and bit down.

“God be praised,� the old monk exclaimed. Duncan looked over his shoulder as he knelt by the fresh grave. The day seemed sunnier than he had expected.

“Greetings, Brother,� he said, clearing his throat. He was still somewhat raspy. “What brings you out to such a dismal place?�

“Why, you of course,� the monk said as he walked up beside Duncan. He looked down at the gravestone and bowed his head solemnly. “We were all worried about you, Brother,� he said, placing his hand on Duncan’s shoulder.

Duncan couldn’t take his eyes off the grave. He envisioned the young nun tending to the wounded Marcus. It was as if she were still alive somehow, dipping her cloth into the water and staying the stranger’s fever.

“No one knows what happened,� the monk continued. “You disappeared for some time five days ago and when you came back you were deeply troubled.�

So it was five, then, Duncan thought. He wasn’t surprised. His memory was still a blur. He looked up at the aged monk. The two exchanged a long conversation without words. The monk looked down at Duncan, asking wordlessly what had happened. Duncan could only reveal his distress.

At length, Duncan chose to break the silence. “Have you ever had a revelation, Brother?� Duncan asked, looking back at the gravestone.

“I suppose all of us have at one time or another. What did God tell you, Brother?� the monk asked soberly.

Duncan chuckled under his breath. God didn’t say a word, he thought. “The nature of evil,� he said, almost nonchalantly. He placed a hand on the dirt, still loose from the funeral. “I have learned the nature of evil,� he trailed off.

“That is a subject of grim import, Brother. What brought you to such dark contemplation?â€? he asked. “Was it… the stranger?â€?

Duncan scraped the dirt with his fingernails, lifting it in his hand and letting it fall back to the grave. “Yes,� he admitted after several moments. It didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“The congregation thought as much,� he stated. “He rarely speaks to anyone else, except to inquire about you these past few days. A very unsettled fellow,� the monk continued, a concerned tone in his voice.

Duncan rose and looked at the monk with an inquisitive expression. “He’s still here, then?�

“Yes, he is at that,� the monk said with a huff. “He hasn’t made a move to do so since he’s been here. Of course,� the monk added in a lower tone, “I wouldn’t send any man out into such peril.� He nodded toward the nun’s grave.

Duncan’s eyes fell in momentary consideration. “Thank you, Brother,� he said, and headed toward the monastery.

“I think it best that you don’t speak with him,� the monk said as Duncan walked past. For a man so disturbed, Duncan’s stride suggested new resolve.

Without replying, Duncan continued toward the monastery. I have some of the truth, he thought resolutely, but I must know more.

Duncan rapped on the door several times. “Marcus?� he asked loudly. “Marcus, I wish to speak with you.� It was midafternoon. He had spoken with several other members of the congregation, and all had given him the same advice. Stay away from the stranger? he wondered. They’re probably right. Still, I have to know.

Slowly, the door creaked open. Marcus stood inside. He was dressed in almost all of his original attire. His shirt and breeches had been meticulously mended. The stranger looked out at Duncan with a serious look on his face.

“Yes, Duncan?� he asked simply. There was a hint of what Duncan assumed to be fatigue in his voice.

“May I come in? I wish to speak with you,� Duncan said in a mildly urgent tone. He stared at the stranger standing in the door.

“I don’t think that would be wise, Duncan,� said Marcus. “I’m sure you’ve already been warned away from me. I suggest you take the advice of your congregation.�

“No,� Duncan said, walking past Marcus. A perturbed expression played across the stranger’s face. “I won’t accept that. You haven’t told me everything.� He turned toward Marcus, who stood by the open door. He made no move to shut it.

“Do you have any recollection of the past five days?� he asked, obviously irritated. “There’s a good reason why I haven’t told you all you want to know! In fact,� he added, “I shouldn’t have told you anything to begin with. You obviously weren’t ready to know.�

“Don’t give me that, Marcus!� Duncan exclaimed, almost yelling. “I have a right to know the truth.�

Marcus walked toward him and glared. His stare silenced the monk, sending chills up his spine. It was icy and harsh. Duncan felt a lump in his throat. “I suggest,� the stranger said in a low, menacing tone, “that you take your congregation’s advice and leave.�

Duncan tried to stare back, to play Marcus’ game of wills, but he found it difficult to meet the stranger’s steely gaze. “Leave,� Marcus reiterated.

Conceding, the monk walked out of the room. He turned back, standing in the doorway. The stranger was already positioned to close the door. “This isn’t over, Marcus,� he said venomously.

The door shut almost as soon as he was clear of it. Duncan felt a rage building inside of him. The nerve, the arrogance! It would be several hours before he finally calmed down.

Duncan lay in bed, tossing and turning. He mumbled in his sleep. The words were incomprehensible, but it was apparent that he was having another nightmare. His tone, his movements, all suggested the urgency presented by his twilight phantoms. His covers lay on the floor, apparently cast aside. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead.

Suddenly, he awoke with a start. It had been many nights since Duncan had actually slept well; normal dreams seemed like a distant memory. He was almost used to the horrible nightmares.

He cupped his hands over his face and wiped away the sweat from his forehead. It took several moments for his breathing to settle. He sat up on the edge of the bed and reached for a small candle on his small bedside table. It took several moments of pawing around to locate it in the dark.

Moonlight streamed in through the window, providing some natural illumination. I don’t know what’s worse, he thought, the demons in the night or the ones in my dreams. It was an idle thought to which he gave little consideration.

Just then, a scraping sound emanated through the room. Duncan started, dropping the candle. It clattered on the floor beside the bed. “What was that?� he wondered aloud, though his voice was little more than a whisper.

The sound repeated. It was a high-pitched squeal, like someone dragging a sharp object along a hard surface. Duncan looked around the room. What little he could see suggested nothing. He stood up and glanced around. Where could it be coming from?

He walked around the bed and toward the door. Again, the sound pierced the silence. From his new vantage point, however, Duncan could clearly hear the source. Fearfully, he turned toward his window.

A shadowy form hovered outside, apparently suspended in midair. It’s outstretched hand raked the glass. Two blood-red eyes stared back at him from the night.

Several moments passed, and the creature continued scraping. Duncan knew it could see him. The crimson points of light suggested a mocking expression. It dragged its claw across the glass once more with aching slowness.

Duncan stood frozen on the spot. My dreams have followed me! he thought feverishly. He could feel cold sweat beginning to form on his forehead again. His heart pounded furiously.

Unable to move or even breath, he watched as the creature lifted its hand and extended what could only be its forefinger, gesturing the monk to the window. Whether Duncan would have wanted to approach it or not made little difference; he couldn’t bring himself to budge an inch.

“Come, little monk,� the creature whispered, though its demonic voice cut cleanly through the glass. The words felt like ice in Duncan’s heart. “Come to the window.�

Fearfully, Duncan shook his head. “No,� he managed to rasp. He chest felt tight, making speech difficult at best.

“Please,� the creature whispered, “I wish to talk with you.� Duncan felt as if he would break down in fear. “I wish to talk with you.�

Again Duncan shook his head. His mouth hung open in horror. He tried to turn toward the door, but was still held fast. Not again…, he thought in terror as his first nightmare came rushing back to him.

“Wha… what are you?â€? he asked without realizing it. The words seemed to leap from his mouth without his approval. His mind continued to reel, but he needed to ask.

“Hasn’t he told you already?� the demon said, cocking its head ever so slightly to one side. “Don’t you know?�

“You couldn’t be,â€? Duncan reaffirmed, “Demons don’t exist…â€?

Horrible, mocking laughter cut through the night. Duncan felt any remaining blood drain from his face. Involuntary tears began rolling down his cheeks. “Do you really believe that?� it asked.

Duncan’s knees began to quake and he felt as if he would faint. No, it can’t be, his mind repeated desperately, as if to will the creature away.

The creature chuckled softly, sending new waves of fear through Duncan. “Why don’t you send him out?� it asked. “Just give him to us, and no harm will come to you.�

Duncan’s horrified expression worsened. Send him out? he wondered. The request seemed almost considerable. He swallowed. “What do you want with Marcus?� he asked.

The creature lunged against the window, pressing its shadowy form against the glass and glaring at Duncan. The monk fell backwards, scrambling on all fours back against the door. “Because he belongs with us,� the creature whispered. “Because he is one of us.�

Duncan’s already shocked mind burst in all directions. One of them!?! One of the demons!?! The monk stared out the window at the night. The creature had vanished. Duncan could feel the fear and confusion pulling him down, and the world finally fell away, down into the darkness.

Frantically, Duncan turned and tried to run. His feet seemed anchored. Looking around desperately, he realized how unfamiliar his surroundings were. At night, all the woods looked the same. Where is the monastery? he screamed, his eyes darting every which way.

The creature approached slowly, laughing in guttural, inhuman tones. Duncan turned back on it, his face ashen. He gaped in horror as the creature drew close. It’s chill breath reeked of gore and rotting flesh.

I don’t want to die, Duncan whispered, averting his gaze fearfully. The beast’s clawed hand raked slowly along his robe. He heard it snicker as it rose up, preparing to pounce. He cringed as the creature bore down on him. Claws pierced his flesh and he screamed, but no one would hear his cries…

Duncan awoke with a start. Cold sweat soaked his clothes. He gasped, looking around the room frantically. It was only a nightmare, he reassured himself. His heart pounded furiously. He sat up on the side of the bed and buried his face in his hands. “What a horrible dream…,â€? he said shakily into the darkness.

After several moments, Duncan stood and looked out the window. The sun was beginning to peak out from behind the hills. In less than an hour, the church bells would toll. No matter, he thought to himself, remembering the nightmare. I doubt I’d get any more sleep anyway.

Duncan readied himself and descended the stairs into the sleeping monastery. The chill of night still lingered on the stone floors, radiating upward. The candle quaked slightly in Duncan’s hand as he began to shiver. He pulled his robe tightly around him, though it offered little warmth.

The prayer hall was much as he had expected it to be. Darkness pervaded the emptiness, which seemed all the larger for lack of light. Duncan’s footsteps seemed to echo loudly in the silence.

The monk began lighting the torches along the walls in preparation for morning prayer. It was quite early yet, even for monastic life, but Duncan almost basked in the solitude. It would be some time before anyone or anything intruded on his contemplation. Finishing his task, he approached the front of the hall. Perhaps some prayer will rid me of these nightmares, he considered idly.

He knelt and clasped his hands, closing his eyes in concentration. Words of prayer fell from his lips readily; they had become second nature to him. Some time passed before his suspicions crept up. He was not alone.

Duncan paused in his prayer and half-opened his eyes. His companion was immediately apparent. There, beside the door into the monastery, stood Marcus. He reclined against the wall in his peculiar fashion, his arms folded in front of him in a relaxed fashion.

“Good morrow, Marcus,� Duncan said nonchalantly, returning to a praying position. “You’re up rather early.�

“I could ask the same of you, Brother,� Marcus stated, his deep voice resounding through the hall. “To be honest, I awoke because I thought I might meet you down here.�

Duncan looked over at him perplexedly. “How could you know I would be up?� he asked.

“Just a feeling I suppose,� said Marcus, shrugging. He righted himself and walked past the monk, heading for a window. “Actually, I wanted to thank you for the other day.�

Duncan considered for a moment. “You mean the mourning?� he asked. “There’s really no need to thank me,� he said, rising and walking over toward Marcus, “You had just as much a right to grieve as the rest of us.�

Marcus looked over at Duncan with an expression of mild amusement. “You’re very kind to say that. I doubt many of your brethren would have agreed.�

Duncan raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment. I suppose he’s right, he thought to himself. They both turned and gazed out the window. Dawn drew closer with each breath.

“What truth are you leading me toward, Marcus?� Duncan asked without looking at the stranger. Perhaps it was the clarity of the morn or simply his own wearied thoughts, but the monk was tired of skirting about the issue.

Marcus sighed audibly. “I’m not sure if you’re ready to know yet,� he answered. Duncan glanced over at him, but the man hadn’t taken his eyes off the approaching dawn.

“How much longer, then?� he said, an edge in his voice. “Will anyone else have to die before you tell me who these ‘beasts’ of yours are?�

The two stared at each other hard. Duncan met the stranger’s gaze unwaveringly. Marcus seemed hesitant. They stayed like that for several long moments before he spoke. “What they say about you is true, Brother.�

“And, praytell, what do they say about me?� Duncan retorted. The tone of his voice betrayed his feelings; the monk was in no mood for innuendo.

“They say you yearn for the truth more than anything else. They say you and the old Abbot argued on many occasions. They say,� he stopped, dipping his tone. “They say you value truth above your own God.�

Duncan could feel his blood beginning to boil. “And what do you say?� he asked, a trace of venom in his words.

Marcus’ expression lightened and a characteristic smirk played across his lips. “What do I say? I say you’re ready for the truth.� The stranger snickered lightly at Duncan, whose expression had gone from anger to shock.

Marcus walked past the monk, into the monastery. His words trailed behind him. “Meet me by the well this afternoon.� Duncan stared blankly after him. Ready for the truth? he wondered. What is this all about!?!

Overhead, the church bells rang in the day. Duncan shook off his momentary confusion. Several monks joined him in the hall, somewhat surprised to see him up so early. “This afternoon, then,� he whispered to himself, his eyes lingering in Marcus’ wake.

Duncan clutched his furs tightly. The cold wind spoke of approaching winter. He glanced upward, noting the overcast sky. More rain was on the way.

Where is Marcus? Duncan wondered impatiently. It was mid-afternoon already. In a few hours it would be dark, and the monk’s instincts made him dread wandering in the night. Memories of his nightmare came flooding back. Lost in the dark woods, unable to escape the beast… the dream had seemed all too vivid.

Duncan’s tried his best to keep his eyes off the well. It had only been two days since he helped remove the young nun’s mutilated body from the nearby tree. He feared the sight of it might overcome him. What could be keeping him? he thought. He rubbed his hands together briskly, trying in vain to keep them warm.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting out here long,� Marcus suddenly piped up. Duncan half-turned to see the stranger moving toward him from the monastery. He, too, had donned extra protection from the cold. A long cloak lined in fur trailed behind him, blown by the wind.

“Why did you insist on meeting out here?� was Duncan’s first question. His teeth involuntarily began to chatter.

“What I have to tell you,� Marcus said, a sober expression on his face, “is for you alone.� He looked over his shoulder at the monastery. “My words cannot risk intruding ears.�

Duncan’s first reaction was to protest. The monks would never do something so dishonest as eavesdropping. Marcus’ sedate manner, however, stayed his tongue. Perhaps he was right to tread carefully.

“Come,� Marcus said as he passed the monk, walking by the well and into the woods. Duncan stood in the wind momentarily, his short brown hair blowing before his eyes. His eyes squinted in confusion.

“You mean for us to leave the monastery?� Duncan asked, raising his voice above the wind as it blustered by.

Without turning or stopping, Marcus replied. “As I said, my words cannot risk intruding ears.�

A bit flustered, Duncan hurried past the well. In a moment he had caught up with the stranger, who walked in great strides. The wind had calmed slightly for the tree cover, but the biting cold seemed all the more evident.

They walked for several minutes without speaking. Marcus led the way. To where, Duncan wasn’t sure, but he felt the stranger’s motives to be trustworthy. And so he followed close behind, twigs snapping under his step as he did so.

“Don’t you think we’re far enough from ‘intruding ears’ by now?� Duncan asked. The distance was beginning to make him uncomfortable.

“Just a bit further,� Marcus stated without turning around. Duncan, displeased but curious nonetheless, said no more.

At length they reached a small clearing. A large rock sat at once edge, looking quite out-of-place amidst the forest scenery. Much to the monk’s delight, Marcus finally slowed his pace and approached the rock, sitting down at last.

“Now we may speak freely, I think,� Marcus said, sending a plume of mist into the air. Duncan rubbed his arms and looked around. The clearing did have a solitary feel about it.

“So, where do we begin?� Duncan inquired without looking at Marcus. He looked up at the clouds once more, which had begun to darken.

“Well, you could tell me what you think is going on, and I’ll tell you if you’re right,� Marcus said almost jokingly. He reclined against the rock slightly, pulling his knee up towards his chest.

Duncan’s eyes narrowed. Is he playing another game? He turned toward Marcus. After a moment he realized the stranger’s intentions. His eyes suggested a grim sobriety that his manner was concealing.

“Well, I know enough to say that whatever these ‘beasts’ are is quite unnatural,� he said, watching Marcus carefully for a response.

The stranger cocked his head to one side and smirked. “Unnatural, you say?� he asked, a rhetorical tone in his voice. “Well then, what does that tell you?�

Duncan shook his head and chuckled lightly. He’s leading me on again. Suddenly, it hit him. In a low, sullen tone, he asked, “Evil?�

Slowly, Marcus closed his eyes and took a deep breath followed by a single nod. Duncan’s brow furrowed in consideration. Unnatural and evil?

Opening his eyes, Duncan finally revealed his true mood. The facade dropped to reveal a serious expression. He dropped his leg and leaned forward, looking straight at the monk. The wind blew his long black hair behind him. “I suppose my wording could have been better,� he said morosely.

Duncan knew instantly what he was talking about. The monk looked at Marcus, horror encroaching upon him as the realization set in. “You mean,� he said, swallowing, “they aren’t beasts.�

Slowly, deliberately, Marcus shook his head. Duncan’s mind raced. He felt as if his heart would leap into his throat. “What, then?� he asked.

“I think you know, Duncan,â€? Marcus said. His expression was a cold one, communicating the import of his words. “I think you’ve suspected as much for quite some time. From the time I first appeared on your doorstep…â€?

Duncan reeled backwards several steps. It couldn’t be true, he thought frantically. That couldn’t be it! That’s impossible! “No,� he said aloud, horrified. Marcus rose and approached him.

“Yes,� he said simply, never taking his gaze off the monk.

“De… demons?â€? he asked shakily. A crash of thunder erupted from overhead, causing him to start. His ashen visage fixed on Marcus.

“Now you know the truth, Duncan,â€? Marcus stated. His words seemed harsh. Rain began drizzling down, damp and frigid. “Now you know the truth…â€?

Duncan stood in the clearing staring at the stranger. His mouth gaped in personal horror. Marcus’ words rang in his ears. “Now you know the truth…â€?

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.

Duncan idly swept the accumulated breakfast crumbs out the door, paying little heed to the task. It was a mindless chore, anyway. He rounded the fireplace several times, making sure to sweep up stray ashes. Duncan’s heart had never been in such monotonous tasks.

His mind, as it was apt to do, wandered from the everyday tedium. For once, however, he had some real questions to ponder. The stranger, now resting, was chief among his thoughts. When will he wake up? Duncan wondered impatiently. The long look they had exchanged the day before played back in his mind a thousand times over, as if it had some hidden significance.

Whatever the meaning, Duncan was just as much in the dark about it as the sleepless night before. The mystery plagued his thoughts to no end. However, they were not the only reason for his restlessness.

No small amount of guilt had kept Duncan awake. The harsh words he had said to Father Michael echoed in his mind. And each time he remembered them, he felt another pang of shame. No need worrying about it now, he tried telling himself. What’s said is said. I can’t take it back. And so he tried to put the incident out of his mind, with very little success.

Duncan pushed several chairs to the side and leaned over, reaching under the table with his broom. When he looked back up, the same young nun that had been tending the stranger stood by the table. “Oh!� Duncan exclaimed, a bit startled, “Good morrow, Sister. How goes the work?�

“It goes very well, Brother,� she said courteously. “In fact, I’d say it goes miraculously. The stranger who came in a few nights ago is awake.�

Duncan was pleased for the first time in what seemed an eternity. He smiled. “Thank you, Sister. I’ll come by and see him shortly, then.�

“Actually, that’s why I’m here,� she said. “He has asked if he might speak with you.�

“Me?� Duncan said, quite dumbfounded. “He knows my name?�

“Well, no,� explained the nun. “He asked to see, ‘the well-kept man with the auburn hair.’ You were the first one to come to mind.�

Duncan set his broom against the wall, a look of mild surprise on his face. “Well, I can’t argue with that, now can I? I won’t keep him waiting, then.� The two left the room, making their way to the stranger’s quarters.

As they ascended the stairs, Duncan couldn’t help but wonder why the stranger was asking for him. What could he want with me? Duncan pondered. The question had become almost familiar.

They entered the bedroom to find the stranger standing by the window. He gazed out, apparently preoccupied with something outside the monastery. His dress was little more than dun-colored breeches and a plain white shirt, obviously borrowed from one of the monks. A bandage encircled his forehead.

The stranger turned around after a moment or two of staring out the window. He smirked as he saw Duncan. “Yes, this was the man I was looking for. Thank you, Sister,� he said in a deep voice. The nun bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

The stranger approached Duncan wordlessly, looking him up and down. He cocked his head a little to one side. “You’re the one that saved me?� he asked.

A bit uncomfortable, Duncan replied, “You could say that, but all I did was open the door.�

The stranger smirked again, looking straight at Duncan. “Indeed you did, and I thank you. If I’m not mistaken, you are also the one I saw in the churchyard yesterday.�

Duncan felt a peculiar uneasiness about the man. His expressions and mannerisms seemed off somehow. “Yes,� he said, trying to subvert his growing anxiety, “I saw you as well.�

“Well, then, I’m sure you have some questions you want answered,� the man stated flatly, moving back to the window. Duncan’s mind reeled momentarily. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Without waiting for a reply, the stranger continued. “Very well, then. I shall speak with you later this evening. Not right now, though,� he said, pausing. He turned around and looked back at Duncan. “Meet me in the dining hall at sunset, if it suits you.�

Duncan maintained his outer composure, but felt as if he would burst. If it suits me!?! he screamed silently. “That would suit me just fine, sir,� he said cordially, and turned to leave.

As he walked out, he could feel the man’s eyes on him. A chill worked its way up his spine. Something about the man seemed uncouth. Duncan strained, but simply couldn’t put his finger on it. Later, he thought, trying to silence the burning questions in his mind. We’ll talk later.

Duncan paced furiously in front of the fireplace, sending his shadow darting from one side of the room to the other. What should I ask first? he wondered. Nervously, he glanced out the window. The light outside was fading quickly.

It seemed to Duncan that a million questions presented themselves. With so many thoughts to sort through, none clearly seemed the best. His mind spun in circles, searching desperately for the most pressing. “What’s keeping him?� he asked aloud as he glanced out the window again. It was nearly nightfall.

Suddenly, the stranger was in the room with him. As Duncan turned to make another pass by the fireplace, he started. The man stood beside the door, reclining against the wall with his arms folded in front of him. An amused grin played across his lips.

“Awfully pensive, aren’t you?� the stranger asked, looking at the monk. Duncan noticed the change in his apparel. He still wore the borrowed monkish garb, but had added several items from the clothes in which he had arrived. A black vest and leather belt stood out most to Duncan; he was not accustomed to such articles.

The stranger righted himself and walked past Duncan. Wordlessly, he retrieved a wooden chair and sat it by the fire. “Please, sit,� he said, surprisingly cordial. Duncan did so, watching as the stranger retrieved another chair and sat opposite him. The firelight flickered, sending shadows dancing across the room.

“So,� the man said at length, “do you have any questions for me?�

Duncan looked down momentarily, trying to pick one of the better ones. Suddenly, it hit him. “Well, for starters, what’s your name? It occurs to me that you haven’t told me,� Duncan inquired.

The stranger raised his eyebrows slightly. “Fair enough,� he said, “you may call me Marcus.�

Duncan furrowed his brow, wondering if that was really the stranger’s name. Something told him it was best not to pry on the issue. The stranger had seemed more at ease until the subject had come up. No matter, Duncan thought. I have more pressing questions to ask.

Marcus cocked his head slightly, observing the monk. “I’m sure that’s not all you wanted to ask me.�

Duncan snapped out of thought. This was no time for contemplation. “Quite true,� Duncan stated. “I was wondering what brought you to our monastery. After all, it’s not a simple matter to venture so far out into the wilderness.� The monk eyed Marcus, a secret smirk hinting on his lips. He had worded his inquiry as nonchalantly as to appear normal.

Marcus, however, did not appear pleased by the question. His expression grew grim. “I assure you, good monk, that I came here quite by accident.� He paused. “And,� he added in a low tone, leaning forward in his chair, “I have a feeling you know more of my journey than you would let on.�

Duncan was taken aback. His first reaction was to deny the claim, not wishing to lay all his cards before the shrewd stranger. He thought better of it as the firelight glinted off Marcus’ eyes. The man bent forward in his chair, folding his hands and staring at the monk. Something in his gaze was in no mood for games.

“Indeed,� Duncan stated at length. Marcus sat up partially in his chair, relaxing his gaze. Duncan felt some relief at this, but couldn’t think what to say next.

“Well, then,� Marcus continued for him, “the better question would not be what brought me here.� Marcus’ eyes narrowed on the monk. “It would be who.�

Duncan shuddered uncontrollably. Memories of the shadow creatures outside the monastery doors flashed back into his mind. Their crimson eyes stared back from the dark recesses of his mind. The reminder sent chills up his spine.

The stranger sat still in his chair, never taking his eyes of the monk. Duncan’s mouth went dry. Swallowing, he whispered, “Who?�

Marcus sat up and took a long pause. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if deep in thought. “How would you define evil, Duncan?� he asked without opening them.

Duncan pondered for a moment. “Evil, I suppose, would be to do harm,� he answered shakily, doubting his own words.

Marcus opened his eyes and turned his head, gazing into the fire. “But don’t animals kill for survival? Humans, too. Would you call a farmer evil if he butchered a cow to feed his family?�

Duncan looked into the fire, contemplative. The argument was a sound one. Turning back to Marcus, he attempted a refinement to his answer. “Evil, then, would have to be a perversion of the natural order.�

Marcus smiled a cold, grim smile, and turned back to Duncan. “Indeed it would be.� He rose from his chair, moving to place it back where he’d retrieved it.

Duncan reeled for a moment, more questions flooding into his mind. “Wait,� he insisted, standing, “You haven’t answered my question yet.�

Marcus walked slowly back to the doorway through which he had entered. He stopped, resting his hand against the wall, and glanced back over his shoulder. “Evil, Duncan. The answer is evil.� With that he left, his footsteps echoing behind him.

Duncan stood amidst the dancing shadows, an expression of confusion on his face. He moved away from the fire toward the windows. Evil? he screamed in his mind. How can anyone be chased by evil!?!

He looked out of the window into the black night, and froze. A solitary form, silhouetted in shadows, rose several feet in front of him. Two glowing eyes of blood stared at the monk, and a tremor of fear shot through him.

It seemed like an eternity that the two stood motionless, observing each other. Duncan’s mind was paralyzed. Cold beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. His heart pounded violently, threatening to leap from his chest.

Then, just as it had appeared, the creature vanished. Duncan fell back, catching himself on the dining table. He gasped. Evil? he wondered again, trying to recover from the shock.

After many long moments, Duncan finally calmed down. He walked across the room and doused the fire. In the ensuing darkness, his mind refused to be still. He retired to his room, but would find no solace in sleep.

And then they were gone. Before Duncan knew it, the creatures had vanished back into the night. He peeked his head out a bit but caught no sight of them. Outside the monastery, the forest lay still. He breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. There had been something not quite right, almost otherworldly, about the creatures. Duncan didn’t know what to make of them.

It took a moment before he remembered the wounded stranger that had fallen in. Duncan had been quite startled to hear someone knocking at such an hour. He had been even more startled when the visitor tumbled in, apparently dead. Duncan knelt down and turned the man over.

He was a tall, handsome man dressed in commoners clothing. His black hair was caked with blood from a severe head wound. The man’s shirt and breeches were also covered with an inordinate amount of blood. A grievous wound shone clearly on his upper left arm. The man’s clothes were torn and dirtied in many spots. For a moment, Duncan wasn’t sure of what to do.

“What’s happened here?” came a voice from behind Duncan. He glanced over his shoulder to see another monk had been roused by the commotion.

“Fetch Sister Abigail,” Duncan ordered in an imperative tone. The monk hurried off. Duncan checked the man for breath. “God be praised,” he muttered. “He’s still alive.”

By now half of the monastery was awake. Other monks rushed over to help. The man was rushed to a small vacant room and laid down while the more adept nuns went to work on him. “My heavens, what a mess!” exclaimed Sister Abigail, one of the more aged nuns.

Duncan looked in at them working and furrowed his brow. Who is this strange man? he wondered. Not having any skill in the healing arts, Duncan retired to his own chambers.

As he lay in bed, a more pressing question crossed his mind. Who… or what, was chasing him? Duncan drifted back into a sleep plagued with frightful recollections of the encounter.

The sound of church bells roused Duncan from his sleep. He rubbed his eyes wearily and glanced out the window. The sun peaked over the horizon, shedding its warm rays on the fresh dew. The awakening world glistened in the morning light.

Thoughtlessly, Duncan donned his robe and readied himself. Years of monastery life had become little more than routine. He tied his cord and quickly groomed his hair. It simply would not do to be late for morning prayer.

It was not for several moments that he remembered the events of the night before. He paused in his preparation, trying to recall the whole incident. It seemed like one long nightmare.

Duncan quickly finished readying his appearance and hurried down the hall. He slowed as he approached the door to the stranger’s quarters. Perhaps now, he thought, I’ll get some answers.

He stopped and peered inside. The stranger lay there, cleaned and bandaged. A young nun sat by his bedside, repeatedly soaking a cloth in water and applying it to the stranger’s forehead. Duncan ventured in.

“Good morrow, Sister. How is he?” he said softly so as not to wake the man. The nun looked up.

“Oh, Brother Duncan. I didn’t hear you come in. He’s certainly doing much better than last night,” she replied, wringing out the cloth and returning to her task. “He’s still in bad condition, though. Come closer,” she said, and Duncan knelt by the stranger’s bed.

“What is it, Sister? What’s wrong with him?” he asked, growing ever more curious. She lifted the cover partially, revealing the wound on the man’s arm. Duncan looked on with mixed intrigue and shock.

“It is as if he had been attacked by some wild animal,” she said, pointing to the bandage. Duncan, however, needed no prompting to see what she meant. The bandage had partially bled through in the pattern of five parallel lacerations. “Did you notice anything following him last night?” she inquired, wondering at his gaunt expression.

“Yes,” he said, still staring at the wound, “but I can’t be sure of what I saw.” He rose, shaking off his alarm. “I’ll be back in later to check on him. Please call on me the moment he awakens,” he said, walking out of the room.

What sort of creature, he wondered to himself, leaves five claw marks? The implications were disturbing, but Duncan refused to give in to pointless speculation. I’ll just wait until he wakes up, he thought. No need to let my imagination play tricks on me. Placing the matter at the back of his mind, Duncan hurried to morning prayer.

It was late afternoon, nearing dusk later that day. Nuns and monks alike stood around the old Abbot’s bed with dire expressions. The last rays of the setting sun shone clearly through his window, providing light for Sister Abigail to do her work.

The aged nun sat on a stool at the Abbot’s bedside, holding a wet cloth to his head. Several tears trickled down her cheeks and all present knew that the great healer could do no more.

Father Michael looked around the room, turning his head weakly. “Where is Brother Duncan?” he asked in a raspy voice, followed by a violent fit of coughing. Sister Abigail held a handkerchief up to his mouth as he did so. When she drew it back again, the cloth was sprayed with blood. She quickly dipped it in the water, which was already dyed light red.

Several monks rushed out of the room to fetch their Brother, only to find that he was already outside the door. “Come, Brother,” one insisted, “Father Michael has asked for you.”

Duncan leaned with his back against the wall and his head tilted. He opened his eyes and looked at them. The expression on his face was grave. Without a word, he righted himself and walked past, into the Abbot’s chambers. The small crowd parted to allow him passage.

“You called for me, Father,” he asked, kneeling opposite Sister Abigail. The look in her eyes was enough to tell Duncan that the Abbot’s hour was at hand.

“My child,” he began weakly, “I have but one question to ask of you.”

“Yes, Father,” Duncan replied solemnly.

“Why must you be so,” he began, breaking into another fit of coughing, “faithless?” All present knew of what the Abbot spoke. Duncan’s expression worsened.

“I don’t know what you mean, Father,” Duncan responded, a hint of indignation in his voice.

“Why must you question our doctrine so?” the Abbot continued, gasping for breath. “Tell me, why must you question everything?” All eyes were now on Duncan, some accusing, some consoling.

Duncan paid no heed to them, instead looking directly at the old Abbot. “Is it wrong to seek the truth?” Duncan retorted, staring.

Father Michael sat up, his arms quaking under the strain. Sister Abigail implored him to lay back down, but he brushed her aside. The Abbot’s glare was almost menacing. “It is wrong when it conflicts with our most cherished beliefs,” he said, staving off the urge to cough.

“And what if those beliefs are wrong?” Duncan asked back. A hush fell over the room. The tension between Duncan and Father Michael was evident.

“You would question our doctrine?” he asked, coughing into his sleeve. A small trail of blood trickled from the side of his mouth. “Your doctrine?”

“I would seek the truth,” Duncan said, rising. He turned his back on the Abbot and walked to the door. Looking back over his shoulder, he stopped. “At any cost,” he stated flatly, and left. The eyes of the entire room lingered in the doorway for many long moments afterward.

Father Michael lay back down, his exhaustion evident. The sun set soon after. Several monks lit candles, but their light was wasted. The vigil would soon be over.

The mournful voices of the choir echoed throughout the monastery. Their melancholy song lingered with the darkening clouds overhead. Throughout the churchyard, monks and nuns alike wept for their departed Father.

Duncan stood amidst their company, looking on gravely as they set the Abbot in the earth. He could not bring himself to shed tears for the old man, nor could he forget their harsh words. Many times before had they quarreled. He wished their last words had been kinder. Perhaps I am faithless, Duncan wondered to himself as one of the monks began a sermon.

The monk’s words extolled all of the Abbot’s virtues, but Duncan paid them little heed. He was lost in a crisis of conscience that he could no more deny than he could justify. Around him, many of the monks wept uncontrollably. He was as good a man as they come, he admitted to himself at length. Why did I always question him?

Then the rain came, cold and gloomy. Few present made any attempt to shield themselves. Duncan looked up briefly, listening to the thunder roll in the distance. Could God be trying to tell me something?

The sermon continued for more than an hour, though many would have said that no mortal being could do full virtue to the departed Abbot. “We called him Father,” said the monk, “and so he was. He was as true and kind a father as any here knew.”

Duncan listened absently as the rain fell even harder. No pleasant ray of sunlight intruded on the funeral. The cloud cover only darkened as the afternoon drew on. At length, Duncan noticed a figure in a second-story window of the monastery.

At first he failed to make it out, and even doubted his eyes. The figure appeared as little more than a shadow against the glass. Then, as a flash of lightning tore through the clouds above, the observer’s identity became clear. The stranger looked down on the ceremony, a grim look on his face.

The two of them exchanged a long stare. Duncan could not always see the man’s face, but somehow he knew that he was still watching. It occurred to Duncan that he felt some sort of kinship with the stranger, as if they had something deeply in common. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Something drew his gaze, though. Some inexplicable force drew him in.

It seemed an eternity before Duncan averted his gaze back to the funeral. In his mind, he puzzled over what the stranger was trying to say. Suddenly, he was snapped back to reality as the choir began their final melody. All present solemnly bowed their heads in prayer as several monks began filling the grave. Crashing thunder interrupted the chorus at several points.

As the procession retired into the monastery, Duncan glanced up at the window. But the stranger was already gone. What did he want? Duncan kept wondering. Questions whirled in his mind, demanding explanation. Tomorrow, he resolved, I shall have my answers.

He closed his eyes groggily, hoping that he had already eluded his pursuers. Of course he knew this to be only a delirious fancy. They would never let him go. He could never escape. The grim reality was almost unbearable.

Suddenly, a tree creaked behind him. He needed no more coaxing than that. Bolting upright, he broke into a mad dash into the darkness. The little moonlight cascading through the canopy overhead made his footing treacherous at best, but he knew slowing down would mean death. And so, despite the pain and torment, he ran headlong into the night.

It wasn’t long before he heard it. Like a wolverine snapping at his heels, the inhuman growls confirmed his worst fears. His lungs burned. His heart pounded furiously. His feet were like lead. He glanced back only for a moment, wondering deliriously if the sounds were only a figment of his imagination. An outstretched root took the opportunity to send him hurtling to the earth.

He fell on his side and grimaced, but dared not make a sound. Instinctively, he reached down to his belt and drew the dagger from its sheath. It was a meager defense at best, he knew, but no beast would have him without a fight. He looked around frantically. His breathing seemed to be the only sound in an otherwise silent forest.

It seemed like many long moments that he lay there, pain and fear his only company. The cold air stood still amidst the darkness. He lay prone, thrusting his dagger out into the night, as if to stay the shadows themselves. Suddenly, a shadow fell across the blade. Fearfully, he looked up.

The beast came lunging out of the tree above, snarling and growling as it bore down on him. He could see little more than a man-sized shadow, but he knew his foe well enough. The beast landed squarely on top of him, raking savagely with its claws. He cried out as the vicious instruments tore into him.

Blinded by pain and darkness, he thrust the dagger upward. He felt the blade connect, piercing deep within the creature’s breast. The clawing suddenly ceased. Warm blood oozed down his arm as the beast slumped off of him in a heap. He struggled to his feet and looked down. The ghastly creature was dead, struck cleanly through the heart. His dagger dripped with steaming gore. Wordlessly, he praised his luck.

Taking quick survey of himself, he noted several grievous wounds. He replaced his dagger and clutched at his left arm in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. Wearily, he left the creature and hobbled down the trail.

His condition quickly worsened. His head felt light. His knees quaked. He knew, though, that he couldn’t stop. They would come for him. They would never let him go. He could never escape. And, just as he thought this, the growling he had grown to dread echoed from behind.

He refused to look back. As long as he drew breath, he would not submit. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he quickened his hobbling gait. The sounds of the fearsome beasts drew ever closer, and still he fled. It was almost as if a force beyond himself drove him forward against the darkness.

Without warning, the forest gave way to a clearing. The moon shone down in full radiance, and he actually managed to take some cheer. He looked up to see a tall, lighted building standing in the center. It was almost too good to be true. For a moment, he doubted his eyes.

The creatures were very close now. He hobbled wearily toward the building. Illusion or no illusion, he thought, this is my only chance. Frantically, he made his way for the door, afraid that at any moment he might collapse. Suddenly, the creatures were in the clearing with him, growling furiously.

He reached the door and pounded with all his remaining strength. “Open up!� he implored weakly. “Please! Open up!�

He could hear the monsters closing in on him, but he refused to look back. The frightful visage of his pursuers would be more than he could bear. Feebly, his strength failing him, he fell to his knees and lay his head on the door. “Please,â€? he begged one last time, knocking, “Let me in…â€? The beasts closed in slowly, sure that their prey was at last within their grasp.

The door creaked open. He fell in, at last unconscious. The creatures recoiled from the light pouring out. They hesitated for a moment, unwilling to give up their prey, then retreated. Silently, they withdrew like shadows into the darkness from whence they came.