The Demon Awakens

He hardly noted the passing of the days, the weeks, so enthralled was he with the horde of God-given treasures. While Adjonas tended to the crew and their course, the three remaining monks -- even Pellimar, whose condition had steadily improved -- worked with the stones. The powrie slash had not been without consequence to Pellimar, though, tearing the muscles about the monk's left shoulder. His arm hung practically useless, with no sign that it would ever improve.

They encountered no powries on the voyage back from Pimaninicuit, and Avelyn wasn't concerned in any case. He above all others sensed the throbbing powers of some of the gemstones. If a barrelboat showed itself, Avelyn was confident he could use any one of a dozen different stones to, destroy it utterly.

Most intriguing of all was the giant purple amethyst, with so many different crystal shafts. Its bottom was nearly flat, and placed on the floor it resembled some strange purple bush, with stems of various heights rising at many angles. Avelyn could not discern the purpose of the magic, except to note that there was a tremendous amount of energy stored within those crystals.

Some of the stones, such as the hematite, were placed in a small tumbler and rolled for hours on end, smoothing them to a perfect finish. Others had to be treated with oils for many days, that their magic be locked permanently within them. All three monks knew the process, and knew each stone, except for that amethyst.

They couldn't tumble it -- it was too large for the container -- and they hardly knew where to begin with their oils. Avelyn made it his personal work, and he treated the giant crystal with prayers, not physical salves. He felt as if he was giving a bit of himself to the stone each time, but that was acceptable, as if it were soiree communion with his God.

The talk. among the monks did not turn often to poor Thagraine -- they prayed for him and, in their minds and hearts, put him to rest -- but among the grumbling crew, little vas whispered that did not concern Taddy Sway, the youth who had tried for the island and who had not returned. Avelyn felt burning, accusing eyes on his back every time he walked the deck.

Whispers bred open talk in the heat and boredom of the passing days, and open talk bred accusing shouts. Avelyn, Pellimar, and most of all, Quintall, were not surprised then, one early morning, when Captain Adjonas came to them, warning of a mounting call for mutiny.

"They want the stones," Adjonas explained. "Or at least, some of the stones, in exchange for the life of Taddy Sway."

"They cannot even begin to understand the power of these gems," Quintall protested.

"But they understand the value of a ruby or an emerald," Adjonas pointed out, "even without the magic."

Avelyn bit his lip, remembering the hours on the beach, surrounded by so vast a wealth of useless gems.

"Your crew is being well paid for the voyage," Quintall reminded the captain.

"Extra compensation for the lost man," Adjonas remarked.

"They knew the risks.

"Did they?" the captain asked sincerely. "Did they suspect that the four men they carried might turn against them?"

Quintall stood up and walked to stand right before the captain, the monk seeming even more imposing because Adjonas had to stoop belowdecks, whereas Quintall could stand at his full height.

"I am only echoing their sentiments," Adjonas explained, not backing off an inch. "Words that Quintall should hear. We are three months yet from St.- Mere-Abelle."

Quintall glanced around the tiny cabin, eyes narrowed as he planned his next move. "We must end it this day," he decided, and he moved to Avelyn's cot and took one of the gemstones, an orange-brown stone marked by three black lines -- a tiger's paw, it was called -- from the tumbling box.

The stocky monk led the way to the deck, the other three close behind. Quintall's physical attitude as he came out alerted the crew that something important was about to happen, and they quickly gathered around the group, Bunkus Smealy at their lead.

"There will be no compensation for Taddy Sway," Quintall said bluntly. "The foolish youth forfeited his life when he swam to the island."

"Ye killed him!" one man cried.

"I was on the Windrunner," Quintall reminded.

"Yer monks, I mean!" the man insisted.

Quintall neither denied nor confirmed the execution. "The island was for two men alone, and even one of them, trained for years to survive Pim -- the island, did not return."

Bunkus Smealy turned about and waved his hand forcefully, quieting the rising murmurs. "We're thinking that ye owe us," he said, turning back to Quintall. He tucked his hands into his rope belt, taking on an important attitude.

Quintall measured him carefully. He understood then that Smealy was the linchpin, the organizer, the would-be captain.

"Captain Adjonas does not agree," Quintall said evenly, coaxing the mutiny to the surface.

Smealy turned a wicked grin on the captain. "Might not be Captain Adjonas' decision," he said.

"The penalties for mutiny --' Adjonas began, but Smealy stopped him short.

"We're knowing the rules," Smealy assured him loudly. "And we're knowing, too, that a man has got to be caught to be hung. Behren's closer than Honce-the- Bear, and they're not for asking many questions in Behren."

There -- he had played his hand, and now it was time for Quintall to take that hand and crush it. Smealy's eyes widened when he looked back at the stocky monk, when he heard the low growl coming from Quintall's throat, when he looked at the man's arm and saw not a human appendage but the paw and claws of a great tiger!

"What?" the old sea dog started to ask as Quintall, faster then Smealy could possibly react, raked the man chin to belly.

The horrified crew fell back.

"He killed me," Smealy whispered, and then, true to his words, with three great lines of bright blood erupting across his neck and chest, he fell limp to the deck.

Quintall's roar, truly the roar of a tiger, sent the crew scrambling.

"Know this!" the transformed monk bellowed from a face that looked human but with a voice that sounded much greater. "Look upon dead Bunkus Smealy and see the fate of any other who speaks against Captain Adjonas or the brothers of St.-Mere-Abelle!"

Given the expressions on the crewmen, Avelyn thought it unlikely that any of them would utter another mutinous whisper all the way back to the coast and to St.-Mere-Abelle.

The three monks exchanged not a word as they went back to their cabin, nor for the rest of that day. Avelyn took care to keep his accusing gaze away from Quintall. His mind swirled in a hundred different directions. He had come to know Bunkus Smealy well over the last few months and, though he was not overfond of the weasely man, he could not help but feel some sense of loss.

And agitation. The cool and callous, way Quintall had dispatched the man, had murdered a human being, shook gentle Avelyn to his very bones. This was not the way of the Abellican Church, at least not in Avelyn's mind, and yet the efficiency of the executions of Taddy Sway and now of Bunkus Smealy made Avelyn suspect that Quintall was acting as he had been instructed by the masters before they had left port. The mission was vital, true enough, the greatest moment in seven generations. Avelyn and the other monks would give their lives willingly to see the mission successful. But to kill without remorse?

He chanced a look at Quintall early the next day as the man went about his business. He remembered the emotional torture the execution had exacted on Thagraine, the restlessness. None of that was evident in the dark, stocky man. Quintall had killed Bunkus. Smealy as he had drowned the powrie, without distinction of the fact that the victim this time was not an evil dwarf but a human being.

A shudder coursed down Avelyn's spine. Without remorse. And Avelyn knew when they returned to the abbey, when their tale was told in full, the masters, even Father Abbot Markwart, would only nod their agreement with Quintall's brutal actions.

Avelyn could appreciate their notion of the "greater good," for that would surely be the excuse given, but somehow all of this was out of line with justice, and justice was supposedly among the major tenets of the Abellican Church.

For Brother Avelyn, who had just been through the most sacred event, who had just realized the most religious experience by far of all his young life, something here seemed terribly out of place.

The month had turned to Parvespers, the last month of the autumn, when the Windrunner swept around the northeastern reach of the Mantis Arm, past Pireth Tulme and into the Gulf of Corona. Cold winds and stinging spray buffeted the crew. At night, they huddled together around oil lamps and candles, trying to ward off the chill. But their spirits were high, every man. All thoughts of Taddy Sway and Bunkus Smealy were behind them now, for their destination and their reward were at hand.

"Will ye stay in the abbey, then?" Dansally asked Avelyn one crisp morning. Land was out of sight again as the Windrunner cut a direct course across the gulf to All Saints Bay.

Avelyn considered the question with a most curious expression. "Of course," he finally answered.

Dansally's shrug was telling to the perceptive monk. He realized suddenly that she was asking him for companionship! "Do you mean to leave the ship?" he asked.

"Might," Dansally replied. "We'll be puttin' in three times between St.-Mere- Abelle and Palmaris, where Adjonas means to dock for winter."

"I have to . . . " Avelyn began. "I mean, there is no choice before me. Father Abbot Markwart will need a full accounting, and I will be at work for months with the stones I collected --"

She silenced him by putting a finger gently across his lips, her eyes soft and moist.

"Would that I could come and visit ye then," she said quietly. "Might that be allowed?"

Avelyn nodded, fairly stricken mute.

"Would ye be bothered?"

Avelyn shook his head rather vigorously. "Master Jojonah is a friend," he explained. "Perhaps he could find you work."

"On me back in an abbey?" the woman asked incredulously.

"Different work," Avelyn answered with a chuckle, hiding his discomfort at the notion. Those wicked stories of Bien deLouisa flitted through his memory. "But would Captain Adjonas let you off the ship?" he asked, to change the uncomfortable course down which his mind was flying.

"Me contract was for the isle and back," she replied. "We'll soon be back. Adjonas got nothing on me after Palmaris. I'll get me pay -- and more for the favors I did for the rest of the crew -- and be gone."

"Then will you come to the abbey?" Avelyn asked, showing more emotion, more hopefulness, than he had intended.

Dansally's smile was wide. "Might that I will," she answered. "But first, ye got to do something for me." As she finished talking, she leaned closer, putting her lips to his. Avelyn recoiled instinctively, out of shyness. When he thought about his hesitation, it only strengthened his resolve. His relationship with Dansally was special, was something different from the physical connection she had with other men. Surely his body wanted what she offered, but if he gave in now, then would he be lessening that special bond, reducing his relationship with Dansally to the level of all the others?

"Don't ye pull away," she pleaded, "not this time."

"I could bring Quintall to you," Avelyn said, a bitter edge to his voice.

Dansally fell back and slapped him across the face. He meant to respond with an insult, but by the time he recovered, he noted that she was kneeling on the bed, head down, shoulders moving with sobs.

"I -- I did not mean ..." Avelyn stuttered, feeling horrible about wounding his precious Dansally.

"So ye think I'm a whore," she said. "And so I am."

"No," Avelyn replied, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"But I'm more a virgin than ye know!" the woman snapped, head coming up so that her gaze, her proud gaze, could lock with Avelyn's. "Me body does its work, 'tis true, but me heart's never been there. Not once! Not even with me worthless husband -- might that be why he threw me out!"

The thought that Dansally had never loved caught Avelyn off his guard and settled him back for a bit. Though he was completely inexperienced in physical lovemaking, he understood what she was saying.

And he believed her!

He didn't answer, except to lean forward and offer a kiss.

Brother Avelyn learned much about love that day, learned the completeness of body and spirit in a way more profound than his morning exercise could ever approach.

So did Dansally.

The Windrunner was welcomed at St.-Mere-Abelle with understated efficiency, just a handful of monks, Masters Jojonah and Siherton among them, coming down to the docks to greet the returning brothers and their precious cargo, and to direct the lesser monks in carrying aboard ship a pair of heavy chests. A new wharf had been constructed, reaching far enough out into the bay so that the Windrunner could dock.

To mollify his crew, Adjonas had the chests opened as soon as they were brought on deck, and how the men gasped!

Avelyn did, too, noting the piles of coins and gems and jewelry, such a treasure as he had never before seen. Something beyond the rich materials caught his eyes, though; as the lids were being secured in place once more. He didn't quite understand it, nor could he make out the aura of magic surrounding Master Siherton. The man had one of his hands behind his back, and Avelyn noted that he was fingering a pair of stones, a diamond and a smoky quartz.

Suspicious, but wise enough to keep his mouth shut, Avelyn bid farewell to Adjonas and the others -- though not a man aboard the Windrunner regretted the departure of the three monks -- and went ashore. His thoughts were on Dansally, hoping she would indeed leave the Windrunner at next port and make her way to St.-Mere-Abelle. Logically, Avelyn knew that she would indeed, knew that they had shared something precious. But still his doubts lingered. Had their encounter really been special to Dansally? How had he measured. up against all the men she had known? Perhaps he hadn't really done it right, or perhaps Adjonas had ordered her to bed Avelyn, or even had made a wager with her that she could not bed the man.

Avelyn fought hard to dismiss all those ridiculous notions and doubts. Whatever logic assured him, Avelyn knew that he would not relax until he saw the dark-haired woman's blue eyes again, eyes to which Avelyn had brought back a good measure of sparkle, at the gates of St.-Mere-Abelle.

The reception awaiting the three returned monks inside the abbey was more in tune with what they had been expecting. The chapel hall was lined with the finest baked goods from all the region -- muffins and sweet rolls, cinnamon and raisin breads -- all to be washed down with mead and even some of the rare and precious wine known as boggle. The choir was there, singing joyously. The Father Abbot watched from his high perch on the balcony, and all the monks of the order and all the servants of the abbey danced and sang, and laughed the whole night through.

How Avelyn wished that Dansally were there! That thought led him to wonder why she and the others of the Windrunner had not been invited. With the tides, the ship could not put out Until after midnight, so why hadn't the thirty, or at least the captain, been included in the much deserved festivities?

The last bite, of a cinnamon roll turned over in Avelyn's stomach, a sinking feeling. A group of monks were walking toward him -- he recognized Brother Pellimar among them -- no doubt to pester him about the events on the island. Avelyn knew that he could say nothing about that time until he had reviewed his words with the Father Abbot.

And at that moment, the young monk had other things on his mind. He considered the stones Master Siherton had carried to the ship: a diamond and a smoky quartz. He knew the properties of diamonds, the creation of light, but had never used quartz. Avelyn closed his eyes, ignoring the call of his name by Pellimar, and reviewed his training.

Then it came to him in a sudden, horrifying rush. Diamonds not for light but sparkles! Quartz to create an image that was not real! The crew and captain of the Windrunner had been cheated! Now Avelyn knew why Adjonas was not at the gathering, and as he considered the implications, his gut churned violently.

Avelyn rushed past the approaching group, muttering something about speaking with them soon, then ran about the room, taking a mental count of those in attendance. He noted with mounting trepidation that not all of the monks were in attendance, that one group in particular, the older students, tenth-year immaculates, those men on the verge of becoming masters, were absent.

Neither could he find Master Siherton.

Avelyn ran from the chapel, skittering down the empty halls, his footsteps echoing noisily. He didn't know the hour but suspected that midnight was near or that it had come and gone.

He ran for the south side of the abbey, the seaward side, and turned into one long corridor, its left-hand wall dotted with small windows that overlooked the bay. Avelyn rushed to one and peered out desperately into the night.

Under the light of a half moon, he saw the outline of the Windrunner gliding out into the bay. "No," he breathed, noting the bustle on the deck, tiny silhouettes rushing past a small fire near the stern. He saw a second fire on the water.

"No!" Avelyn screamed.

Another ball of flaming pitch soared out from the monastery, skipping in along the starboard rail of the vessel, igniting the mainsail into one tremendous flame.

The barrage intensified, more pitch, great heavy stones, and giant ballista bolts battering the ill-fated craft. Soon the Windrunner was adrift, the strong currents of All Saints Bay taking her toward a dangerous reef. Avelyn winced, seeing men leaping from the deck, their doom at hand.

The screams of the crew drifted across the dark water; Avelyn knew that the other monks, at their celebration, would not hear. He watched helplessly; hopelessly, as the ship that had been his home for nearly eight months jolted and listed, then broke apart on the reef as still more missiles soared in. Tears ran freely down his cheeks; he mumbled the name "Dansally," over and over.

The bombardment went on for many minutes. Avelyn heard the people in the cold water, and hoped against hope that some of them, that his dear Dansally, might make it to shore.

But then came the worst thing of all -- a hissing, sizzling noise. A bluish film covered the dark water, snapping and crackling off the stones and the sailors, off the remnants of the proud ship. A sheet of conjured lightning silenced the screams forever.

Except in Avelyn's mind.

More missiles went out, though their task was certainly finished. The strong ebb tide of All Saints Bay would collect the flotsam and jetsam and carry it out to the open sea. All the world, save Avelyn and the perpetrators, would think this a tragic accident.

"Dansally," Avelyn breathed. His shoulders slumped, the young man needing the stone wall for support. He rolled away from the window, putting his back to the wall, facing the corridor.

"You should not have come," Master Siherton said to him, the tall, hawkish man standing quietly.

Avelyn noted the considerable bag, of stones at his belt and the grayish graphite he held in his hand. Graphite was the stone of lightning.

Avelyn slumped back against the wall even more, thinking Siherton would use the stone to destroy him then and there and, in many ways, hoping Siherton would do just that. The master only reached out and grabbed Avelyn by the arm and led him to a small, dark room in one far corner of the massive abbey.

The next morning, a crestfallen Brother Avelyn was in Father Abbot Markwart's private quarters, Masters Siherton and Jojonah flanking him. It stung Avelyn even more to realize that the actions taken against the Windrunner had not been a rogue decision by brutal Siherton but had been sanctioned by the Father Abbot, apparently with Master Jojonah's knowledge.

"There can be no witnesses to the location of Pimaninicuit," Father Abbot Markwart said evenly.

As there will be no witnesses to my death, Avelyn thought, for the corridors of St.-Mere-Abelle had been deserted that morning, the monks and servants sleeping off their evening of revelry..

"Do you realize the implications to the world?" Markwart said suddenly, excitedly. "If Pimaninicuit became common knowledge, the security of the Ring Stones would be lost and petty merchants and kings would hold the secret to wealth and power beyond their comprehension!"

It made sense to Avelyn that, for the security of the world, the location of Pimaninicuit should remain secret, but that thought did little to erase his revulsion at the destruction of the hired ship and the murder of her crew.

And the murder of Dansally.

"There could be no other outcome," Markwart said flatly.

Avelyn glanced around nervously. "May I speak, Father Abbot?"

"Of course," Markwart replied, resting back in his chair. "Speak freely, Brother Avelyn. You are among friends."

Avelyn tried hard to keep his expression calm at that absurd notion. "All aboard the ship would have been long dead before the next occurrence of the stone showers," he argued.

"Sailors make maps," Master Siherton said dryly.

"But why would they?" Avelyn protested. "The map would be of no use to them, since seven generations --"

"You are forgetting the wealth strewn about Pimaninicuit," Father Abbot Markwart interrupted, "a treasure trove of jewels beyond imagination."

Avelyn hadn't thought of that. Still he shook his head. The journey was too treacherous, and if the crew had been well paid, as promised, they would have had no reason to dare the perils of the South Mirianic again.

"It was God's will," Markwart said with finality. "All of it. You are to speak nothing of what you have witnessed. Return now to the room that Master Siherton assigned to you. Your punishment will be determined and revealed later this same day."

Avelyn's thoughts whirled, too confusing a jumble for him to utter even a sound of protest. He staggered away as if he had been struck. Markwart verbally hit him again when he got to the door.

"Brother Pellimar succumbed this morning to his grievous wounds," the Father Abbot informed Avelyn.

Avelyn turned, stunned. Pellimar would carry scars forever, but surely he had mended. Then Avelyn understood. The previous night, at the party, Pellimar had been loose with his tongue. Too loose. Even to utter the, name of the island without Father Abbot's permission was forbidden.

"A pity," Markwart went on. "That leaves only you and Quintall of the four who went to Pimaninicuit. You will have much work before you."

Avelyn stepped out of the room, into the stone corridor, and vomited all over the floor. He staggered away, half blind, half insane.

"He is being watched?" Markwart asked Siherton.

"Every step," the tall master replied. "All along, I feared this response from him."

Master Jojonah snorted. "Avelyn worked alone on Pimaninicuit, yet the hoard he retrieved is inarguably the finest ever brought back from the island. How can you doubt his value?"

"I do not," Siherton replied. "I only wonder when those qualities that give Avelyn such value will become dangerous."

Jojonah looked at Markwart, who was nodding grimly. "He has much work to do," the Father Abbot told them both. "Committing his adventures to the page, cataloguing the stones, even seeking out their true strength and deepest secrets. The crystal amethyst most of all. Never have I seen such a magnificent stone, and Avelyn, as its Preparer, has the finest chance to discern its true measure."

"Perhaps I can persuade him to our way of thinking before he is finished his work," Jojonah offered.

"That would be most fine," replied Markwart.

Siherton gave his fellow master a dubious glance. He did not believe that Avelyn, so full of idealism and ridiculous faith, could be corralled.

Jojonah noted the look and could not disagree. He would try, though, for he was fond of young Brother Avelyn and he knew the alternative.

"The summer solstice," Father Abbot Markwart remarked. "At that time, we will discuss the future of Brother Avelyn Desbris."

"Or lack thereof," Master Siherton added, and from his tone, it wasn't hard for Jojonah to figure out which event would most please the hawkish, brutal man.

Avelyn found himself secluded from the rest of the monks over the next few weeks. His only contacts were with Siherton, Jojonah, and a couple of other masters, as well as the pair of guards -- more tenth -- year immaculates, who remained with him wherever he went and Quintall, who was often at work beside him in the room of the Ring Stones.

Disturbing questions haunted the young monk every day. Why did they have to kill the men of the Windrunner? Couldn't Father Abbot Markwart have simply imprisoned them? Or, if this procedure was always the case, then why didn't the monastery simply man its own ship and send only trusted monks to Pimaninicuit?

Every logical argument ran smack into a wall, though, for Avelyn knew that he would not impress any change over his superiors and the way of the Abellican Order. And so he worked, as he was instructed, penning the tale of his adventures in great detail, studying and cataloguing the newest stones, their type, their magic, their strength. Whenever he was allowed to handle a magical stone, Master Siherton was at his side, a potent and lethal gem in hand.

Avelyn realized his place now, and truly he felt like one of the Windrunner's crew. His only solace came in his many discussions with Master Jojonah, to whom he still felt a bond. But while Jojonah continually tried to explain the necessity for the actions taken upon the monks' return, Avelyn simply would not accept it.

There had to be a better way, he believed, and despite the potential for disaster, there could be no justification for murder.

The spring of 822 was late when his work neared completion, and Avelyn noted with some concern that Master Jojonah spoke with him less and less, noted with some concern the tender master's sympathetic expression whenever he looked upon Avelyn.

Avelyn grew uneasy, and then desperate. So much so that he chanced to pocket a gemstone, a hematite, one day. Fortune was with him, for a mistake by Quintall caused a minor explosion that afternoon, and though no one was hurt and nothing too badly damaged, it proved enough of a distraction for the theft to go unnoticed, at least for the moment.

Back in his cell, Avelyn fell into the powers of the stone. He didn't really know what he would do, other than spy on the masters and confirm his fears of his approaching fate.

His spirit walked free of his body, passed through the porous wood of the door and past the pair of oblivious guards. Avelyn felt that tug of the stone, wanting possession, but his will was strong and he resisted, floating invisibly down the corridor and finally to Father Abbot Markwart's door.

Inside, Avelyn glimpsed Siherton and Jojonah with the Father Abbot, the old man livid about the mishap in the stone room.

"Brother Quintall is a bumbler," Jojonah pointed out.

"But a loyal one," Siherton snapped back, an obvious comparison to Avelyn.

"Enough of this," demanded Markwart. "How goes the work?"

"The cataloguing is nearly complete," answered Siherton. "We are ready for the merchants."

"What of the giant crystal?"

"We have found no practical use for it," Siherton replied. "Avelyn -- Brother Avelyn" he corrected with a derisive snort, "is convinced that it is thick with magic, but how to extract that magic and what purpose it might serve, we do not know."

"It would be folly to auction it," Jojonah put in.

"It would not bring a good price unless we could determine its powers," Father Abbot Markwart agreed.

"There are merchants who would purchase it simply for the mystery," Siherton argued.

Avelyn could hardly believe what he was hearing. They were talking about a private auction of the sacred stones! How much that notion diminished the sacrifice of Thagraine and Pellimar, of the Windrunner's crew and of Dansally! The thought of unbelieving merchants plying the gift of the stones, to amuse guests, perhaps, or even for sinister purposes, wounded Avelyn deeply. His spirit drifted out of the room, unable to bear any more of the sacrilegious talk.

He was heading back for his physical coil when he realized that time was against him. His spirit hovered there in the hall. The missing hematite. would surely be discovered, and even disregarding that stone, Avelyn's future was far from secure.

What was he to do? And how could he tolerate any of this madness, this insult to God?

Master Siherton came out of Markwart's room alone, his boots clicking on the floor as he made his way in the direction of the stone room. To check on the damage from Quintall's misstep, no doubt, the spying Avelyn realized; to check on the lists of reorganized stones.

Tugged by a sense of urgency, Avelyn gave in to the hematite, his spirit floating fast for Siherton's back.

The pain as he entered the man's body was excruciating, beyond anything Avelyn had ever felt. His thoughts mingled with Siherton's; their spirits clashed and battled, shoving and pushing for possession. Avelyn had struck the man off guard, but even so, the straggle was nothing short of titanic. Avelyn realized then that an attempt at possession was akin to fighting an enemy on his home ground.

If any had been about to bear witness, they would have seen Siherton's body lurching back and forth across the corridor, slamming into walls, clawing at its own face.

Then Avelyn felt the weight of a corporeal form again. He knew instinctively that Siherton's spirit was nearby, locked in some dimensional pocket that Avelyn did not understand. And he had control of the body; it moved to the commands of his spirit!

Avelyn went off with all speed to the stone room, entering forcefully and snapping his glare over the two guards and Quintall before they could utter a word of protest.

"You remain," Avelyn commanded one of the guards. "You," he said to Quintall, "your punishment has not yet been determined."

"Punishment?" Quintall echoed breathlessly. He had been told that there would be no consequences from his mishap, and indeed, such minor problems had not been uncommon in the month in which he and Avelyn had been at work with the new stones. Just a week before, Avelyn had melted a leg of one table while examining a ruby sprinkled with carnallite!

"Brother Avelyn was not --" Quintall began to protest.

"To your room and prayers!" the voice of Siherton commanded.

"Yes, my master," said a cowed Quintall, and he moved off out of the room.

"Be gone!" Avelyn commanded the other guard, and the man ran out of the room, swiftly passing Quintall in the hall.

Then Avelyn and the remaining guard began selecting and collecting stones: the giant crystal amethyst, a rod of graphite, a small but potent ruby, and several others, including turquoise and amber, celestine and a tiger's paw, a chrysoberyl, or cat's eye, some gypsum and malachite, a sheet of chrysotile, and a piece of heavy magnetite. Avelyn placed them in a bag, and in it he placed, as well, a small pouch of tiny carnallites, the one stone whose magic could be brought forth only a single time. Avelyn then went to the other end of the room and pocketed a valuable emerald, not an enchanted one, but one used as an example of a particular cut, and then he, bade the guard to follow him -- and quickly, since the use of the hematite was draining the monk and Siherton's spirit was nearby, trying, Avelyn knew, to find some route back to its body.

They made their way to the secluded cell that held Avelyn's body, the master's voice quickly and forcefully dismissing the two men who stood guard in the hall.

The one remaining guard, the man from the stone room, opened the door on Siherton's order. There stood Avelyn's corporeal form, as he had left it, clutching the hematite. Avelyn in Siherton's body stepped past the guard and deftly took the hematite, then instructed the guard to shoulder the inanimate body and follow him.

"Brother Avelyn is to be punished for treason against the Order" was all the explanation he offered, and the guard, who had heard rumors to that effect for weeks now, did not question the news.

It was vespers, so few were about to observe the master and the guard, bearing his extraordinary burden, as they made their way to the abbey roof overlooking All Saints Bay. The guard, as instructed, placed the body at the base of the low wall and stepped back.

Avelyn waited for many moments, gathering his strength. He bent over the body, slipping the hematite and one other stone, into its hand, tying the gemstone sack to the body's rope belt.

"The stones will allow us to find the body," he explained to the guard, noting that the man was growing increasingly suspicious. "They will take from Brother Avelyn the last of his physical strength as he dies."

The guard's face screwed up with curiosity, but he did not dare to question the dangerous master.

Avelyn knew that he had to be quick -- that he had to be perfect.

With great effort, Avelyn tore his spirit free of Siherton's corporeal form and reentered his own, coming to his physical senses even as Siherton's body shivered with the return of his own spirit.

Avelyn was up, quick as a cat, clutching the stones in one hand and grabbing Siherton by the front of his robe with the other. Before the guard could come to the master's aid, Avelyn hauled the stunned Siherton and himself over the rail.

They plummeted past the abbey walls, down the cliff face, into the gloom, Siherton screaming his protests.

Avelyn kicked and pushed the man away, then called upon the second stone he held, the malachite.

Then he was floating, Siherton continuing to plummet.

Avelyn continued to push out as he descended gently past the angled cliff. Near the bottom, he pulled the amber from his pouch. He touched down lightly on the water, as he had done in an exercise that seemed to him a million years ago. He was glad that Siherton's body was not in sight; he could not have borne that spectacle.

Using the amber, he walked across the cold water to a point where he could get ashore, then he moved off down the road.

He knew that he would never look upon St.-Mere-Abelle again.

He used the stones. With the malachite, he floated gently over cliffs that any pursuing monks would spend hours climbing down. With the amber, he crossed wide lakes that his pursuers would have to circumvent. Using a chrysoberyl, a cat's-eye, he could see clearly in the dark and move along at daylight pace without the telltale glow of a light. At the first town he entered, he happened upon a caravan of several merchant wagons, and there he sold the common emerald, giving him all the funds he would need for a long, long time.

He put miles and miles behind him, between him and that terrible place called St.-Mere-Abelle. But the young monk could not pull his mind far from the horrors he had witnessed, the encroaching evil that nibbled at the very heart of all that young Avelyn Desbris had held dear.

He learned the truth of it one cold night as he lay curled beneath a tree, under the stars, under the heavens. As if his thoughts were magically transported, or his prayers for guidance divinely answered, his eyes looked across the scores of miles to a land of great jagged mountains, to a smoking cone in its midst, and the black devastation behind a slowly creeping line of red lava.

Avelyn understood then -- all of it -- for it was not without precedent. This gloom that had come to Honce-the-Bear had come before in a definite shape and manner that was oft-told in the historical volumes at St.-Mere-Abelle. All of it: the cancer that had grown in his world, the unpreparedness, the ungodliness of St.-Mere-Abelle. The monks were the sentinels of God and yet even they had given in to complacency, to the cancer. And because of that lapse, the darkness had returned.

Half-crazed, his entire world shattered, Avelyn understood. The dactyl was awake. The brooding demon that forever haunted the race of man had come back to the world. He knew it to be true. In all his heart, young Avelyn Desbris recognized the darkness that had murdered Taddy Sway and Bunkus Smealy, the evil that had destroyed the Windrunner and left his dear Dansally cold in cold water, the wickedness that had forced Brother Pellimar to "succumb" to his wounds.

He awoke, from his fitful sleep before the dawn.

The dactyl was awake!

The world did not understand the coming darkness.

The dactyl was awake!

The Order had failed; their weakness had facilitated this tragedy!

The dactyl was awake!

Avelyn ran off -- one direction seemed as good as any other. He had to tell the world of the evil. He had to prepare the men and women of Honce-the- Bear, and all of Corona. He had to warn them of the demon, warn them of the Order! He had to somehow show them their own unpreparedness, their own weakness. The dactyl was awake!