The sounds ahead moved and changed. They were hard noises, like the clack of wood banging against wood, but over time they rang like the notes and rhythm of an unknown song. Charlie followed with a focus that made the rest of the world fall away.
He did not know how long he tracked the sound as it wandered toward the slope of the mountain, but when the noise finally faded and did not return, Charlie saw how high he had climbed. Blue sky shone through the trees when he looked downslope, which meant that he now stood higher than the mountains on the far side of the valley.
Charlie thought about this as he felt the eyes from the forest on him again. The strange gaze had been fleeting before, but now it burned his back. Charlie waited for the creature’s attention to move on, but it did not.
As the silence grew and thickened, Charlie gathered his breath. He knew Heck would not be so afraid. He clenched his fists and forced himself to face the one who watched from the trees.
10
St. Michael’s stood at the head of a long gravel road that switch-backed up the slope of a wooded peak. An imposing wall built from the same brown rock that formed the mountain greeted Ben at the path’s end.
Ben was early for his meeting with Father Caleb, the school’s headmaster. “Let’s look around, Hud,” he said once he’d parked. After their experience at the last school, he wanted to learn as much about St. Michael’s as he could before enrolling Charlie.
Hudson hopped out of the Escape. They struck out on a small trail etched along the perimeter of the wall. Ben admired the slender trees, the fractals of blue sky that gleamed through their foliage. The wall gave way to an English garden, then a grassy field, and beyond that a drop to the valley floor.
Ben followed Hudson among the blooms of bergamot and startling thatches of blue cornflowers. The air smelled of thyme and lavender.
At the far end of the garden, Hudson stopped at a fountain, and Ben saw that a freestanding wall had been erected near it. The wall was the kind against which kids might play handball or some such game. But once Ben circled to its other side, he doubted this wall had ever been used that way. A large mosaic had been crafted from small, vividly colored enamel pieces. Set against a flaming sunset was the silhouette of a giant winged beast, its body wrapped in shadow except for the underside of its wings and a portion of its head and neck. The black pit of its single visible eye bore upon the lone figure in front of it: a man in white, standing on a rise that overlooked a landscape charred save for a single tree. His sword, barely the size of one of the creature’s claws, was raised above his head.
It was a stark scene, especially in contrast to the surrounding peaceful garden.
“St. Michael and the dragon,” said a voice from behind him. “A dramatic rendering, but the boys like it.”
Ben hadn’t heard him approach. The man was dressed in the black capuche of the Dominican Order, which looked otherworldly in the July sun.
“I’m not surprised,” Ben said. “Doesn’t seem like a fair fight, does it?”
“Some days it doesn’t,” the priest admitted. “But look at Michael there, brandishing the sword over his head like that, almost daring the beast to lunge at him. Some days it seems as if all Michael needs to do is stand there, on the edge of that dark valley, to defeat the enemy. As if the grandest evil is just a schoolyard bully whose weakness is exposed by a single act of defiance.” He glanced up at the sky. “On a day like today, it feels as if it’s the dragon who doesn’t have a chance.”
“It’s beautiful up here. A really nice garden.”
“Thank you; it’s our chief indulgence. And a daily exercise in faith—if the rabbits don’t get into the blooms, then it’s the groundhogs or the deer or the voles. And you have your own vandal here?” Hudson was sniffing at a small pile of cedar chips, and the priest reached down to scratch the back of the dog’s neck.
“This is Hudson, and his interests are purely carnivorous.”
“I’m sure he’s found plenty of trouble to get into over at the Crofts.”
Ben’s surprise must have registered on his face.
“We don’t get many unexpected visitors up here, Mr. Tierney.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Father Caleb, and I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
Ben took the hand offered to him.
Father Caleb started to make his way down the garden’s central path, toward the cluster of stone buildings. He looked to be in his seventies, but he was straight as a weathervane. “Tell me about Charles. His transcripts were quite complimentary.”
“Charlie’s great. A really smart kid. Reads far above his age level. And he’s enjoying it up here. I was worried he might not, but it’s hard to keep him inside when there’s so much for him to explore.”
“Curious children are a blessing.”
“I think so, too.”
“There was some trouble at school in the city, though, wasn’t there? The headmaster there was too discreet to say anything, but I’ve been doing this long enough to hear what isn’t being said.”
“Oh.” Ben ran his hand through his hair. “There was some bullying.”
“There was a note in his records that you’d hired tutors to school him from home for his last semester.”
“He’d been roughed up a few times,” Ben said. “His books had been stolen and ripped up.” City schools could be tough, but even their short trip to Northbridge Day had gone poorly. When Ben thought of the place, he couldn’t help but replay the way those three boys had turned on his son. The boys could tell that Charlie didn’t watch the right cartoons or play the right video games or follow the right sports teams. They could smell it on him. The boys at Northbridge had found him out in half an hour.