5
EVILS OLD AND NEW
The boys and girls met outside by the fountain, where room configurations were discussed in a buzz of competing voices. Max found it hard to keep track as he overheard breathless girls talking about a pharaoh’s throne room carved with hieroglyphics and snug lodges in the mountains. Nigel stood near him looking bemused while Miss Awolowo shielded a tall, plump red-haired girl from the onrush of a petite black-haired girl who stabbed an accusatory finger while muttering in her native language. The red-haired girl looked miserable.
“What happened with them?” Max asked Nigel.
“Oh—happens every year. Roommates blaming one another for how their rooms turned out during the configuration. My Italian’s atrocious, but I believe Lucia is upset over the leaky hovel they’ll be sharing. Thinks it’s all Cynthia’s fault—something about an English preference for miserable weather…”
Nigel frowned and glanced at Max.
“That last part’s not true, by the way. We merely cope with miserable weather—we cope out of sheer necessity!”
Miss Awolowo restored order with a calm snippet in Italian that left Lucia in smoldering silence. Nigel took his leave as Miss Awolowo addressed the group.
“All right. Now that the configurations are complete—Lucia, stop that!—we’ll take a brief tour of Rowan’s grounds before we have supper. If you’d please follow me to the orchard…”
They walked around to the back of the Manse, passing between low hedges thick with flowers, and arriving at a large stone patio. Just beyond the patio, separated by a strip of lawn, were long rows of apple trees. Max walked along with Connor and David as Miss Awolowo gathered the group by the closest tree.
“The apples!” a girl exclaimed. “They’re made of gold!”
Max looked up to see a number of small apples that appeared to be cast of gold. Jesse Chu slipped past Max and stood on his tiptoes to reach one of them.
“Do not touch that apple!”
Jesse recoiled as if he had been stung. Miss Awolowo slipped past several students, lifting the hem of her dress above the grass.
“Forgive me for startling you, Jesse, but these trees are sacred. Let me explain a bit about the Rowan orchard. Omar, will you please read that plaque for me?”
A dark-skinned, studious-looking boy with glasses bent down and read the stone tablet embedded at the base of the tree.
“Fiat Lux—Class of 1653.”
“Thank you. Does anyone know the expression or why we are looking at this tree?”
A tall blond boy, whose nametag said he was Rolf from Düsseldorf, raised his hand. Max thought he must be at least fourteen.
“Fiat Lux is Latin,” Rolf said in a heavy German accent. “It’s translated ‘Let there be light.’ According to the brochure, 1653 is when Rowan graduated its first class.”
Miss Awolowo smiled; the boy looked very pleased with himself.
“Very good, Rolf—correct on both counts. This is a sacred tree—a Class Tree representing Rowan’s very first graduating class. They chose Fiat Lux for their class motto, as they arrived here in a time of great darkness. There is a sacred tree in this orchard for every class at Rowan.
“Every year, a Class Tree will bear one apple for each living member of that class. When a member of that class has passed on, his or her apple turns to gold. Thus we remember them, and these apples we do not touch. Take a few moments and walk among them.”
Fanning out with the others, Max threaded his way through the rows of trees whose golden apples gleamed brightly in the summer sun. He tried to imagine the people they represented and what they had made of their lives. After a few moments, he noticed that gold glinted from most of the trees, including some of the younger ones.
Miss Awolowo called, and they continued through the orchard and into a dense wood of ash, oak, maple, and beech. Sunlight twinkled through the leaves as they followed a meandering path through the trees before stopping at a long, low building set in a small clearing. Its windows were dark, but small puffs of white smoke issued from a chimney.
“This is the Smithy,” said Miss Awolowo, pointing at a formidable-looking door of black iron. “As Apprentices, you will not yet take Devices, but during the school year you may have occasion to visit.”
Connor mouthed the word “Devices?” at Max with a quizzical look. Max shrugged with a smile as Rolf shot his hand in the air.
“Speaking of classes—when do we get our class schedules? My parents insisted that I’m to be enrolled in advanced math.”
Max saw Lucia roll her eyes.
“Class assignments will be distributed tomorrow, Rolf,” Miss Awolowo answered.
She continued their tour through the forest, pointing out notable trees and deflecting questions regarding the small side paths that veered off the main way to disappear into the thick undergrowth. There were several of these, and Max was curious about them. David paused so long at one that Max had to trot back to pull him along.
“Wait a minute,” said David, fishing in his pockets.
“C’mon,” said Max, watching the tour disappear beyond a bend in the path.
David retrieved a coin from his pocket. He scratched at the soil and buried the coin beneath the twisty root of a sagging elm. Apparently satisfied, he brushed the dirt from his hands and hurried with Max after the others.
“Why’d you do that?” asked Max.
David did not seem to hear him.
As they rounded the bend, Max heard the neighing of horses. Miss Awolowo and their classmates were circling around several long buildings and a fenced ring where a dozen unsaddled horses capered about. Beyond the buildings was a high, mossy wall with a heavy door. The wall continued out of sight; the hedge and trees behind it were very tall. Max wanted to go through the door, but Miss Awolowo kept them moving, calling out over her shoulder as she went.
“These are Rowan’s stables. Beyond that wall is the Sanctuary—you’ll be visiting it tomorrow. No time to stop now. Please keep up!”
The children hurried after her. She waited for them on a path that curved out of the forest and led back to the main campus. Emerging into the sunlight, Max gazed at the Manse and orchard far away to his right across the clipped lawns. The group continued along the forest’s edge and gathered at a rocky outcropping above the sea.
“Wow,” said Connor, reaching the edge before Max and looking down.
Max looked over his shoulder to see a large ship with three masts, creaking as it bobbed slightly in the waves. Well over a hundred feet long and looking very old, it was anchored to a long dock with a heavy chain. A rough stone staircase led down from where they stood to the narrow, rocky beach below. Max strained to hear Miss Awolowo’s voice over the wind.
“That, children, is the Kestrel. You’ll be hearing more about her tonight.”
She waved to a tall man stacking driftwood down on the beach and herded the class away from the water, back toward two imposing buildings. They were made of gray stone and faced south on the lawns between the Manse and the beach. The class approached along their long shadows cast by the sun sinking over the woods to the west.
Max found the buildings foreboding as he approached; they loomed high above him, and their many windows were still and dark. The farther one had a tall clock tower topped by a turret and a fluttering copper weathervane. The children jumped as the clock boomed six. Miss Awolowo waited for the chimes to cease.
“These are Maggie and Old Tom, our main academic buildings. You will have most of your classes here. Old Tom’s our timekeeper, too; his chimes will often tell you where you need to be. Right now, he’s telling us we’re expected at the kitchens. It’s been a busy afternoon and you all must be hungry. Please follow me.”
Max walked and chatted with David and Connor as the three trailed the group back to the Manse.
“It’s my first time out of Dublin, much less here in the States,” Connor said, taking long strides with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “I suppose the two of you live in mansions back home, eh?”
David Menlo laughed. “Yeah. My mansion’s got four wheels. My mom and I live in a trailer.”
Connor shrugged and turned to Max.
“How ’bout you, then? You live in a mansion?”
“No. My dad and I live in a regular house…. We’re not rich,” he added defensively.
“You got a computer?” asked Connor.
“Yeah.”
“You got a car?”
“My dad does.”
“You got a job?”
Max looked at him, confused. “No.”
“Congratulations, Max, you’re rich!”
Connor ran ahead to catch up with some girls. A moment later, they were all giggling. Max flushed and turned to David.
“What do you think he meant by all that ‘you’re rich’ stuff?”
David shrugged. “I don’t know—probably nothing. Connor’s weird. He tried to bet me that he’d get Lucia to kiss him before school starts.”
“Not a chance,” Max muttered as he watched Connor walking next to Lucia and gesturing wildly. Lucia looked bored.
As Max and David strolled past the fountain, Miss Awolowo was waiting in the Manse’s doorway. She tapped her watch.
“Please try to keep up, you two. Mum and Bob have been working very hard to prepare dinner for us, and your classmates are hungry. We might lose an orchard apple to Jesse if we’re not quick!”
She laughed and led them to join the others in a great hall off the foyer filled with glistening portraits. From there they descended some stone steps that curved down and down until they arrived at a large dining hall. The hall’s vaulted ceiling was hung with massive chandeliers, and the long room was furnished with many wooden tables and benches. Light, steam, and noise issued from a pair of swinging doors, at the far end.
“Now, children,” said Miss Awolowo, leading them to the swinging doors, “I want to warn you that Mum and Bob are not your typical chefs….”
Max and David glanced at each other.
“They can be a bit startling at first glance, but I promise you’ll grow to love them.”
As they got closer, Max heard another woman’s urgent whisper from beyond the doors.
“Quiet, Bob! Put that pot down! Shhh! I think they’re here! Ooh! I can practically taste them!”
“Shush yourself, Mum!” rumbled a deep voice with a strange accent. “I hear them, too. You remember to behave!”
The students froze as they heard a bloodcurdling giggle from just behind the door. A pear-shaped boy, who was closest, whimpered and edged away. Miss Awolowo stepped past him.
“Mum? Bob? It’s Ndidi. Could you come out, please, and meet the new class?”
The pear-shaped boy scurried to the back as the woman’s voice cackled and shrieked. “Oh, they’re here, they’re here! The darlings are here!”
The door flew open, flattening Miss Awolowo. The children screamed as a panting, gray-skinned woman as short and stout as a pot-bellied stove burst from the kitchen to envelop Jesse in a fierce embrace. Jesse’s legs buckled; he fainted into her arms. Her shiny face looked the children over, grinning hideously to reveal a mouthful of smooth crocodile teeth.
“Oh, Ndidi! You’ve outdone yourself. They’re wonderful! Oh, they’re so wonderful and plump!”
The panting woman crushed Jesse against her side and reached out with her free hand to squeeze Cynthia’s ample arm as if she were examining a tomato. The red-headed English girl buried her face in Lucia’s shoulder, and Lucia swatted furiously at the woman’s hand while Max looked on in horror.
Suddenly, a strong voice filled the hall.
“Mum! Release that poor boy and stop pinching that young lady!”
Immediately, the woman whipped her hands behind her back, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Jesse slid to the ground.
“I was only welcoming the children, Ms. Richter,” the woman mumbled.
Max turned to glimpse the unseen speaker, but several taller classmates blocked his view. Ms. Richter sounded important; she was a person accustomed to giving orders. A second later, the name came back to him—it was her name at the bottom of his letters.
His classmates parted as she came closer.
“That was not a welcome, Mum. That was an ambush. Totally unacceptable for a reformed hag. It simply won’t be tolerated. Please apologize to the children and Ndidi.”
The hag stared sheepishly at the floor. “I just got excited, Ms. Richter. I wouldn’t really have eaten them.”
“Well, I should hope not, Mum,” said Ms. Richter. “You promised there wouldn’t be any more incidents, and I took you at your word. I won’t ask again for your apology….”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Mum bawled, bolting back into the kitchen past Miss Awolowo, who had slowly regained her feet. The door swung wildly back and forth. The same deep voice Max had heard before boomed out from the kitchen.
“I told her to behave herself, Director!”
Ms. Richter advanced slowly, and Max could now see her clearly. She was tall and had pretty, if severe, features that reminded Max of a photo he’d once seen of a frontier family. It was a hard face, a face accustomed to work. Her hair was gray, as was the suit jacket draped over her arm. She sighed and smiled at the students around her. When she spoke again, it was in a gentler voice.
“Hello, children. I’m Ms. Richter. Welcome to Rowan.”
She turned to Miss Awolowo, who was now standing by the door.
“Ndidi, thank you for covering for me while I was away.”
Miss Awolowo nodded gracefully. Ms. Richter replied in kind before saying brightly, “Let’s go meet Rowan’s chefs, shall we?” She strode through the swinging door. Miss Awolowo steadied a woozy Jesse and motioned for the rest to follow.
Inside was an enormous kitchen where great clouds of steam rose and hissed from copper pots. Max smelled a delicious aroma. Moving forward to make room for more classmates, he smacked into Lucia, who had stopped short in front of him.
Max saw the reason.
A lanky old man, ten feet tall with yellowing skin, sank an enormous butcher’s knife into a thick cutting board and smoothed his spattered apron.
The First Years screamed and stampeded for the exit. Ms. Richter’s and Miss Awolowo’s voices rang out above the commotion.
“Children! It’s all right. It’s all right! This is Bob. He’s our head chef!”
Max tried to avoid getting trampled in the doorway, bracing himself in the jamb and pushing back against Jesse, who attempted to tunnel through him into the dining hall. Lucia scurried under an industrial sink, covering her eyes and muttering in Italian. David screamed and bolted past Bob, disappearing into the side pantry. He slammed the door shut behind him, triggering what sounded to be an avalanche of fallen items. Miss Awolowo and Ms. Richter herded the children back with a quiet word here, a firm tug there. When Ms. Richter finally pried Omar off her leg, she called to the huge man, who was now sitting on a reinforced stool and cleaning his monocle.
“I’m so sorry, Bob. I suppose it’s to be expected after Mum frightened them so.”
“Perfectly understandable, Director. Take your time.”
From his seat, Bob reached a long arm over toward a gas range and stirred a bubbling cream sauce until the children had crowded behind Ms. Richter and Miss Awolowo. Connor whispered something to Lucia, who sniffled and crawled from beneath the sink to join them.
“What is it?” Rolf hissed. “Is it dangerous?”
“First things first, young man,” said Ms. Richter. “‘It’ has a name, and his name is Bob. Second, Bob is not dangerous. He is a consummate gentleman and the finest chef we’ve ever had at Rowan!”
Bob adjusted the flame beneath a saucepan and smiled gently at Ms. Richter.
“You flatter me, Director,” Bob said, his basso voice vibrating the glass panes in the cabinets. He turned his gaze to the children, speaking deliberately.
“Hello, students. My name is Bob. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Welcome to Rowan.”
He stood and bowed, lowering a massive head covered in lumps and knots. His jaw was sunken with age, and he gummed his lips nervously.
Max found the ensuing silence unbearable.
“Hi, Bob,” he said.
Bob nodded his head at Max appreciatively. Ms. Richter seized the moment to continue.
“Bob is an ogre, children. Yes, I know what some of you have read about ogres, but our Bob is a reformed ogre and has been with us for almost sixty years. He sought us out himself, traveling all the way from his native home in Siberia. He’s been taking care of us ever since.”
She gave Bob a light kiss on the cheek. He smiled and looked expectantly at the children. Lucia raised a trembling hand, asking her question in halting English.
“What does…what does Bob eat?”
Bob opened his mouth wide like a hippopotamus, revealing a cavernous space with no visible teeth. Closing his mouth, he chuckled.
“They are wary, Director. That is good, no?” Bob then turned to the group. “After I swore off…meat…I remove my teeth with pliers. Today, Bob prefers tomato soup and grilled cheese.”
As Bob finished, Ms. Richter walked over to a large cupboard and knocked sharply on the door.
“Mum, are you going to join us or are you going to sulk?”
Max heard a bloodcurdling shriek from the cupboard, followed by several angry thumps.
“Go away! I’m not ever coming out. You hate me! I know you hate me!”
Mum’s voice trailed away into pitiful, quavering sobs. Ms. Richter tapped her foot and smiled apologetically at the students. Kneeling by the cupboard, she spoke in a soothing voice.
“Now, Mum, please don’t be difficult. The children want very much to meet you properly, don’t you, children?”
The Director ignored their horrified faces.
“Come now, Mum. We’re all very hungry, but we won’t sit down to eat until you join us. Dinner smells wonderful, and we can get the sniffing ceremony done and out of the way.”
Max grimaced as he wondered what Ms. Richter meant by “sniffing ceremony.” Bob continued to stir the sauce attentively, ignoring the scene. There was a muffled thump followed by Mum’s teary voice.
“Well, I wouldn’t want anybody to go hungry. You don’t hate me, do you, Director?”
“Of course not, Mum,” Ms. Richter said reassuringly.
“And the darlings…they find me…colorful?” Her voice struck a hopeful note as she stretched out the word. Ms. Richter sighed impatiently.
“Yes, Mum, they find you colorful. Now please do us the courtesy of leaving your cupboard.”
Mum peeked from the cupboard. She looked apprehensively around the kitchen. Her round face was tear-streaked; her stringy black hair lay across it like clumps of seaweed. Wriggling to dislodge her sizable bottom, she spilled onto the tiled floor. She scrambled quickly to her feet, rearranging her hair in a series of frantic motions. She abruptly stopped to gaze upon the students with a startled, sweet expression.
“Oh, hello. Is this the new class, Director? They’re such dears!”
“Mum, please don’t pretend you haven’t seen them before.”
Mum scowled and shot Ms. Richter an angry glance. The Director shook her head and turned to the class.
“Children,” said Ms. Richter, “please return to the dining hall and form two lines. Mum, please come out here with us. Bob, can you see to it that dinner is served immediately after the ceremony?”
Bob nodded as they filed back out the swinging doors. Max found himself sandwiched between Cynthia and Rolf near the doors. Connor took a spot across from him as Ms. Richter escorted Mum into the dining hall.
“All right,” the Director called out, walking down the lines while Mum remained near the doors. “Take a deep breath and try to be very still. When it’s your turn, please hold out your arm so Mum may sniff it.”
A tall black girl nearby raised her hand. Max blinked; she looked like she could be Miss Awolowo’s granddaughter.
“Ms. Richter, is Mum planning to remove her teeth with pliers anytime soon?”
“No, dear—Sarah, is it? The sniffing ceremony ensures such measures won’t be necessary. Mum, please begin.”
Mum was pacing back and forth near the doors, clapping her hands excitedly. Suddenly, she lurched forward and seized the arm of the girl next to Connor. The girl shut her eyes and stood ramrod straight. Holding her arm gingerly, Mum stood on her tiptoes and sniffed greedily along its entire length before flinging it aside.
“Done!” she shrieked, shuffling over to Connor.
“Hello, Mum,” he said. “Dinner smells lovely.”
Mum cooed appreciatively and took his hand, looking him up and down.
“Oh, you’re a handsome one!” she said. “You remind me of a young lad I ate on the outskirts of Dover. He was such a nice boy.”
Connor moaned and turned his head as she dragged her nose along his arm like a pig rooting for truffles.
“Done!” she shrieked, moving over. Connor was green.
Max leaned forward and looked helplessly down the line; he’d be one of the last she’d sniff and the anticipation was unbearable.
“Ms. Richter!” cried Jesse with mounting desperation. “Do we absolutely have to do this?”
Mum sidestepped closer to him with hideous efficiency. Ms. Richter raised her voice above Mum’s periodic shrieks and mumbling commentary.
“Once Mum’s sniffed you, she knows not to bother you. She’s really as gentle as a lamb.”
When she was two students away, the escalating dread overcame Max and he shut his eyes. A minute later, he felt a soft, strong grip on his hand. He opened one eye a smidgeon and looked down.
Mum was pinching his arm thoughtfully. She lifted it up with surprising delicacy and dragged her quivering nostrils along its length. Max groaned and shut his eyes again; every instinct screamed for him to get away from those sharp, slavering teeth. When the snuffling stopped, he glanced down to see a wet trail that meandered from his wrist to elbow. Mum leaned close for a conspiratorial whisper.
“You’d be lovely with potatoes, dear. Done!”
Max wiped his arm against his shorts. He heard Cynthia whimper several “Hail Marys” as Mum seized her.
“Ah! You’re the plump lass from the doorway! Like a great trussed roast you smell! No, no, not for Mum, not for Mum. Done!”
The sniffing ceremony complete, Mum stood before the doors and faced the students. Rising up on her toes, she spread her arms like an orchestra conductor and bowed with slow majesty.
“It was lovely to meet you all, my darlings. Welcome to Rowan! Your dinner is served.”
The children sat at several of the long tables while the tables were piled high with roasted chickens, steaming bowls of vegetables, and rich, savory breads. Ms. Richter and Miss Awolowo sat at the table nearest the kitchen, their faces illuminated by candlelight.
Max could not remember such an exquisite meal. Normally a picky eater, he found himself wolfing down mounds of chicken served with a creamy sauce, crisp string beans, and golden potatoes. He further helped himself to two slices of homemade pie and a fat dollop of ice cream.
A shadow fell over Max and he looked up to see Bob leaning over him to fill a pitcher of lemonade. He gave Max a craggy smile.
“I did not get your name before, young man,” the ogre said.
“Oh, my name is Max. Max McDaniels,” he replied.
“My pleasure, Max. I hope you will visit us in the kitchens.”
Bob extended a gnarled hand the size of a serving tray. Max shook it carefully. It smelled of soap. Bob chuckled to Miss Awolowo, who sat at the next table.
“He’s a good one, eh, Miss Awolowo?”
Miss Awolowo nodded thoughtfully, her dark eyes glittering.
“We think so, Bob. Yes, indeed, we do.”
Bob plucked several empty platters off the table and ducked nimbly through the swinging doors.
After dinner, the students carried lanterns, following Ms. Richter in a single-file procession across the grounds. Max looked west to where fading bands of scarlet blended into starry blues.
They descended the steps to the beach where the dark ship bobbed on the water. A bonfire was burning brightly with many logs and tree stumps arranged around it like little stools. Ms. Richter motioned for them to take seats as she sat with her back to the sea. Her solemn voice rose above the waves and the crackling flames.
“Tonight is a night when we remember, a night when we share with the new class a bit of Rowan’s history and their own. It has been centuries since our kind fled the Old Country and arrived on these shores. We landed on this very stretch of beach, borne here by the Kestrel.”
Ms. Richter turned to look at the barnacled, hulking vessel behind her. She began to walk among them, her feet crunching softly on the sand. Max followed her gaze as she stopped and looked up at the stars.
“It may surprise you to know that our world is still a very young world and that mankind is a very new thing upon this earth. Indeed, others were here long before us.” Ms. Richter bent down and scooped sand into both her hands. “The greatest among them came to help shape this world, to watch its beauty and possibilities unfold….”
The sand within her hands began to bubble and melt. Max gaped as it formed itself into a small, beautiful ornament of glass. He stared at it hovering above the fire like a brilliant jewel while she resumed her walk and glided behind him.
“They delighted in the waters and the woods and the creatures that came to inhabit them. Eventually, they departed, leaving the care of our planet to others. These caretakers were lesser beings and we call them the Stewards. To mankind, however, they were as gods and goddesses—great spirits of the elements that watched over the world while we were still but infants. Alas, their vigilance failed.”
Max and his classmates jumped as the hovering glass fell and shattered in the fire.
“Their vigilance failed, and others came, too—other things from dying worlds with nothing left to feed them. Quietly, they seeped and crept into the deep places of this world to gnaw at its roots. Their very presence corrupted some of the Stewards….”
Ms. Richter’s eyes hardened as a log collapsed into the bonfire, shooting plumes of sparks like fireflies.
“The corrupted Stewards lost interest in mothering the world and sought mastery instead. Humans were given a simple choice: to serve or to perish. Fortunately, a few men and women refused this choice and chose instead to resist.
“The remaining Stewards let some of their power pass to those who would fight. The first to receive this spark were very great—almost Stewards themselves, as they were granted a measure of wisdom and Old Magic to stem the darkness. And you have inherited this spark, my dears. Each and every one of you sitting here with me!”
Ms. Richter stopped walking and looked from face to face around the fire, finally locking her gaze on Max as she continued.
“We do not know how this spark comes to be within you; we cannot anticipate who will be blessed with it. The only thing we do know is that it has faded over time. Our numbers and potency today are mere echoes of the past. But they have not faded entirely! At Rowan, we gather these sparks and nurture them and so continue the Great Struggle. Rowan is the last school for our kind, founded when the others were destroyed.”
She blinked as though lost in thoughts of her own. She placed her suit jacket over the shoulders of a shivering girl and sat down once again near the fire.
“Solas was the last and greatest of these schools to fall. We chose to build it in Ireland—a good choice, as the land was riddled with Old Magic and enclosed by water and mist. In Ireland, our kind made peace with the Tuatha de Danaan, the fading Stewards of that realm. They were inconstant allies but capable of powerful aid when they could be roused from their slumbers beneath the hills. It was they who laid the foundation for Solas.”
Ms. Richter raised her hands and the fire writhed and grew. Within it Max saw a great castle with many towers and gabled roofs on a mountain of rock high above the sea. He squinted to see it more clearly, but the flickering flames and smoke obscured it.
“By all accounts, Solas was a wonder! The greatest minds and Mystics of the age were tutored within its walls, veiled in secrecy from the Enemy until they were strong enough to take their proper place outside. From Solas came those who would bring the Dark Ages to an end.
“After their triumphs, mankind was left in peace. For centuries, no great evil emerged, and we began to hope that we had finally succeeded! We believed that the corrupted Stewards and their many minions and offspring had abandoned this world for another. We were wrong.”
Ms. Richter stood again and backed away from the fire. The image of Solas was lost in flames that swept higher and higher until the beach was filled with strange light and shadows.
“Astaroth came.”
Max froze at hearing the name again—Mrs. Millen had said it. She had shrieked it when she chased after him and his leg had gone numb.
“Astaroth was much more patient and clever than those before him. He did not declare himself, but instead remained hidden, manipulating men and countries like chess pieces across the continents. By the 1640s, our world was in great turmoil. The Ming Dynasty collapsed; the countries of Europe fought with one another; England was consumed by civil war. Brilliant minds were imprisoned and tortured for heresy….”
Ms. Richter frowned and gazed at the fountain of flames before her.
“The wisest among us, Elias Bram, perceived that these events were not random follies of man. He sensed that the world’s troubles were stirred in secret by a greater mind and malevolence. Astaroth’s true name and form were revealed, and our people unraveled many evil works near completion. Enraged, Astaroth bent his cunning mind on finding the source of those who opposed him.
“In the end, we were betrayed. Astaroth learned of us and our school. The great gates were thrown down, and many brave souls were lost. The Enemy paid a heavy price, however. Solas was broken, but Astaroth was broken with it. Bram came and fought with him, and the towers and halls toppled down around them. Bram fell, but not in vain—a great evil was removed from this world.”
The roaring pillar of flame began to die and wither to quiet licks of flame among the spent logs.
“The students and teachers who survived fled Astaroth’s armies and sought aid from the Tuatha de Danaan. These precious few were spirited here aboard the Kestrel, and Rowan was raised from the countryside. It is Old Magic, children, that hides this place and makes it strange.”
Ms. Richter sat down once again and took the hands of the two nearest children, giving them a gentle smile.
“And, now, you are here. We are here so many years after our allies secured this haven and enabled our kind to continue. I am so pleased to have you among us. You have been called to Rowan not to fight, but to learn—to develop that noble spark within you. As the Director and a fellow human being, I hope that you will do your best to kindle that spark within you. Much depends upon it.”
Max could not tell how long they sat in silence, huddled around the flames as they finally died to embers. He struggled to imagine what his role could possibly be in such a vast history. He turned to David, but his roommate was watching the stars, his small face thoughtful and serious. After a time, Ms. Richter broke the silence.
“It is late and there is much to do tomorrow. I will lead you back to the Manse.”
The children picked up their lanterns and followed behind, making the long trek across the lawns to their new home.