HSRA

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages
© 2009, Richard E. Salisbury

All Rights Reserved
Chapter 1
Henry Shepherd sat transfixed as he watched the smoke

lazily billow from the stack atop the locomotive. As it did so, the
little cloud assumed a delightful and ever-changing variety of
shapes. The more intently Henry studied the cloud, the more
figures he saw. If he looked long and hard enough, perhaps he
could even discern a progression of shapes – a piece of theater
played out for him in the smoke. It so thoroughly engaged his
imagination that it forestalled the rational side of Henry’s brain
from its parade of practical inquiries. Chief among these was the
question of why an enchanted locomotive even needed to emit
smoke in the first instance. Or be driven by an engineer. Or run
on a track as opposed to in the sky.
For that matter, why should Henry (or any student) need the
services of a train (enchanted or otherwise) to reach the Hemlock
School for Sorcerers and Apprentices? Why could Henry and his
fellow students not simply travel there instantaneously by means of
a teleportation spell? Surely such magic would not exceed (or
even seriously tax) the abilities of Hemlock’s headmaster, the
world-renown sorcerer Apollonius. Or was there some other
limitation to magic (even Apollonius’) that Henry was not yet
aware of?
Regardless, the Hemlock Limited was unquestionably an

impressive machine that conjured up the Golden Age of steam
locomotives. It was a 2-8-2 “Mikado” type that thundered down
the rails with a brash, almost reckless assertiveness unknown to
blandly utilitarian modern locomotives. In contrast to the banal
droning hum of modern trains, the Hemlock Limited emitted a
veritable symphony of sounds as it rolled along, from labored
chugging when it ascended steep grades to the rhythmic pounding
of the rails when it reached top speed to a dinosaur-like groaning
when it finally came to rest after a long journey. Both the
locomotive and its coaches were painted entirely in jet black, with
“Hemlock Limited” appearing in relatively small but costly gold-
leaf lettering on the sides. Watching the Hemlock Limited
approach to pick him up at the station platform filled Henry with
Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 1

an oddly gratifying fright – like watching a powerful Summer
lightning storm roll in. Indeed, Henry had felt a chill running up
his spine as the long black train approached him.
On the inside, the Hemlock Limited’s Pullman rail cars

exuded a certain moribund, slightly seedy luxury. Unquestionably
they had once been lavish and top-of-the-line, but time and evident
heavy use had since taken their toll. Still, Henry was beguiled by
the atmosphere inside the train and felt transported to an earlier,
more elegant time and place. The illusion was enhanced by the
musky but pleasant smell inside the car. It combined with the
smell of the coal smoke billowing from the locomotive’s stack to
provide a heightened sense that Henry had stepped back in time by
a century. That is until Henry started to wonder why an enchanted
locomotive should need to burn coal.
Perhaps if Henry had grown up in a traditional, two-sorcerer

family, he would already have learned the answers to his questions
about magic long ago. As it was, Henry did not have the benefit of
even one sorcerer parent. Rather, he was raised among the
Dingles, far removed from the fantastic world of magic and
sorcery that he had only barely begun to explore. Not that Henry
fit in particularly well among the Dingles, either.
Henry had always been shy and bookish. He retreated from

many of the pursuits and preoccupations of his peers. His brothers,
for instance, were both quite accomplished in sport and wore their
athleticism proudly. Not that they were unkind to Henry – they
simply didn’t seem to understand him. For awhile, they tried to
encourage Henry in physical and athletic endeavors, but he
displayed a persistent and determined lack of interest. Eventually,
they abandoned such efforts altogether.
Henry’s parents also encouraged him to be more athletic, or

at least more extroverted. They stared at him with pleasant non-
comprehension whenever he would tell them that he preferred to
spend a gorgeous summer’s afternoon in the library rather than
playing football with his mates (if he had any) or finding other
methods of acquiring scratches, scrapes and soiled trousers. They
tried to be supportive, nonetheless, and continued to hope that

Henry would eventually outgrow his introversion (if not his
intellectualism).
It was not until Henry’s fourteenth year that they – and Henry
– first discovered that he might be destined to tread a different path
through life altogether, as opposed to awkwardly and introvertedly
travelling a more mundane, unremarkable one. It was during one
of those visits to his grandfather. His grandfather, a semi-retired
college football coach lived in a quaint university town that always
seemed to Henry as if it were frozen in time. Henry loved
exploring the university and its environs – the stately and slightly
decrepit university buildings, the uneven cobblestone streets
immediately adjacent to the campus, the ample and well-
manicured greenery, the intense and slightly disheveled populace
that roamed the picturesque surroundings.
All of this academic flavor seemed to be lost on Henry’s

grandfather, who preferred to speak mostly about sports. Indeed,
the surroundings were not a testament to his scholarly
accomplishments (as would be the case if he were a tenured
professor in one of the university’s many prestigious academic
departments), but rather a reminder of the mediocrity of his athletic
ones. Despite (or perhaps because) of its academic preeminence,
the university was no football powerhouse. At one time, much
earlier in his career, this coaching position was intended as a
stepping stone to a larger, more successful collegiate program (or
even a professional one). However, things never worked out that
way and Henry’s grandfather became a beloved fixture of the
athletic department – almost a second mascot.
Among his family, however, his grandfather was nothing

short of a sports god. His grandchildren (other than Henry) never
tired of hearing his gridiron stories (often slightly embellished).
Of even greater interest to them was his assessment of their athletic
development and future prospects. Only Henry seemed immune to
the siren song of the sports oracle. He preferred to spend his
family’s periodic visits exploring the university and its grounds.

By far Henry’s favorite building was the library, with its
imposing neoclassical façade, its soaring atrium and its seemingly
endless assortment of dimly-lit and intriguing nooks, alcoves and
carols. And of course books, everywhere Henry looked – on
shelves, in stacks, spread out across desks. Henry found this
somehow very reassuring – to be enveloped in books. He
particularly liked the rare books and manuscripts room. He found
endless hours of fascination perusing the display cases, carefully
scrutinizing each painstaking pen-stroke of the illuminated
manuscripts, savoring the musky mélange of old parchment and
fine leather.
It was in this room that Henry also got his first whiff of
magic. It was on a beautiful late Autumn day during football
season. Henry’s parents and brothers went to the stadium for the
game, but Henry begged off and went to the library instead. When
he arrived, he found it bustling with an uncharacteristic level of
activity. Furthermore, the epicenter of the activity was the
manuscripts room. According to a small marquee board lettered
with interchangeable plastic letters, a lecture was being given by
Faustus Caligari, Pd.D. regarding something called the “Unknown
Texts.” Out in the hall, Henry heard snippets of the superlative-
laden introduction being given for the speaker. Henry could not
make it all out, but heard something to the effect of “preeminent
authority in Cryptolinguistics.”
As the introduction wrapped up, Henry edged his way into

the room. This was tricky business given that the room was
already full several-fold beyond its maximum capacity – certainly
much fuller than Henry had ever seen it. The crowd impressed
Henry as very scholarly. In fact, each member of the crowd (other
than Henry) was a Ph.D. – a room full of doctors.
Listening to the introduction, Henry had been intrigued.

Once Dr. Caligari began to speak, Henry was entranced. He had
the most beautiful speaking voice that Henry had ever heard – deep
and resonant, with just a delightful hint of an exotic accent and an
almost hypnotic cadence. Henry found the substance of the
presentation equally engrossing.

“Of course you all know the basic story of the Unknown
Texts” Dr. Caligari began. “The oldest extant written texts in the
world, engraved onto clay tablets by an ancient lost civilization in
a language that we still cannot decipher.”
He continued, “In fact, this language bears no discernable

resemblance to any other modern or historical language or dialect.
Moreover, we cannot even classify this language based upon its
mode of written presentation. Although it appears to be composed
of individual letters rather than hieroglyphics, none of these
‘letters’ repeat themselves.”
Dr. Caligari paused briefly to allow this point to sink in.

“Each character of each word of the Unknown Texts is unique.
There are no repeats or duplicates. Thus far, based upon the
Unknown Texts that we have located to date, we have identified
more than 750,000 unique characters.”
“Finally, individual Unknown Texts have thus far been

discovered on six of the seven continents.” Dr. Caligari indulged a
longer dramatic pause before continuing. “And now, I am pleased
to report, on the seventh continent as well.” At this, the crowd
began to buzz loudly. Caligari made a grandiose, sweeping gesture
toward a large screen on one of the walls. He sneered slightly in
annoyance when his assistant failed to cue the first image in his
slide show in time with the gesture. After a moment, however, an
image appeared on the screen.
Henry’s rapt attention quickly turned to dumbfounded

amazement as he gazed at the screen. For some reason that he
could not comprehend, he recognized the characters of the text.
Then, while this realization was still registering in his mind, Henry
was suddenly able to read the entire text itself. It was like that
moment of visual epiphany when one suddenly glimpses both
alternate images of an optical illusion.

Henry continued to stare at the screen until his eyes began to
water. It was only upon the applause at the conclusion of Dr.
Caligari’s speech that Henry snapped out of his reverie – and
realized that he had missed the bulk of Dr. Caligari’s 45-minute
presentation. Henry continued to scrutinize the text of the screen
as Dr. Caligari began to field questions from the audience. It was
not until the questioning had petered out that Henry raised his
hand.
Henry could not recall the precise sequence of events that

occurred next – it was something of a blur to him. At the
conclusion of them, Henry had displaced Dr. Caligari as the center
of attention. At first, however, the attention was decidedly
suspicious and hostile. Certainly, there was universal disbelief as
Henry read from the Unknown Text. “Vanity of vanities,” Henry
began. “All is vanity.” As he continued to read aloud, Henry could
see that all of those remaining in the room were straining to hear
his every word. What he did not see and what he could not know
was that others were listening equally intently far beyond the room
– far indeed beyond the world that Henry knew or could even
imagine.

Chapter 2
Henry’s daydream was interrupted by the approach of

Persephone Plunger. Henry had first met Persephone earlier in the
day as they both waited at the train platform. In fact, they had
been the only people at the platform, a tiny wooden structure in the
middle of nowhere. It looked as if it had been plucked right off a
desolate prairie from Dustbowl-era Kansas. Henry had puzzled
over this choice of an embarkation point for his journey to
Hemlock. For reasons he did not understand, when he was
scooped deus ex machina out of his world, Henry was not
transported directly to Hemlock. Instead, he was transported to
this lonely train platform and told to await the Hemlock Limited.
Persephone had walked up to Henry – at that point a

complete stranger – and attempted to strike up a conversation in
her irrepressibly talkative manner. She enthusiastically bombarded
Henry with a lengthy introduction and no fewer than five different
questions before she paused long enough that Henry felt it had
become his turn to speak. Not that the window of opportunity
lasted long. Henry managed only a few words before Persephone
resumed, just as enthusiastically as before and without any
discernible acknowledgement of what Henry had said – or even
that he had spoken.
Persephone’s appearance matched her personality, Henry

thought. Although Henry judged that she was a teenager just like
him, she seemed to want to dress younger rather than older (unlike
most of the teenage girls that Henry had seen). She wore a baggy
brown corduroy jumper over a white turtleneck that, combined
with her blonde pigtails, her lace-trimmed socks and her Buster
Brown shoes made her look like an aspiring child star who
desperately wanted to be the next Shirley Temple but was also
desperately unaware of her own lack of fashion sense.
As Henry sat on the train, he could see that Persephone

intended an encore of the prior conversation on the platform.

Henry decided this time to take the initiative and frame the
conversation by posing a pointed question that he knew would
elicit a response inversely proportional to the succinctness of his
question. While she expounded, he would have ample time to
generate additional such questions with which to bait her.
“I’ve been wondering,” Henry began, “whether this fellow

Appellation . . .”
“Apollonius,” Persephone interjected, correcting Henry’s

deliberate mispronunciation.
“Anyway,” Henry continued, feigning slight annoyance, “is

he the greatest sorcerer of all time or merely the greatest living
sorcerer?”
Persephone did not immediately respond. Instead, the

question elicited the longest conversational pause that Henry had
yet observed from her. Henry seized the opportunity to insert a
remark in faux earnestness suggesting that he was deeply engaged
with this question. “Because I wasn’t brought up in this world and
I don’t really know much about these things.”
Finally Persephone spoke. “I’m sure I’m not qualified to

make that judgment. However, I will say that Apollonius holds an
impressive number of titles and records. You know that he is the
youngest sorcerer ever appointed as headmaster of Hemlock.”
Sensing that she was about to launch into an extended litany

of Apollonius’ other accomplishments, Henry interjected another
preemptive question. “Who then is the greatest sorcerer of all
time?”
Persephone waffled. “I didn’t say necessarily that

Apollonius wasn’t. I just think you need to be a little more
specific. I mean, there have been many great sorcerers throughout
the ages. And then, of course, there’s . . . .” She averted her gaze
as she trailed off.

For the first time during the conversation, Henry was
genuinely intrigued. “What do you mean?” he inquired.
Persephone was suddenly and uncharacteristically taciturn.

She attempted to wrap up the topic in order to move on to another.
“Nothing. Anyway, having thought about it some more, I think
Apollonius probably is the greatest sorcerer of all time.”
Henry was not so easily assuaged. “But who were you just
talking about? What were you about to say?”
Persephone again averted her gaze out the window as if

riveted by the drab monotone scenery that scrolled by outside.
After collecting her thoughts, she turned her head back to meet
Henry’s gaze directly and spoke in low-pitched, hushed tone. “We
are not allowed to mention his name. We call him simply the
NAMELESS ONE.”
“I’ve never heard of him,” Henry responded matter-of-factly

and without muffling his voice in the slightest degree.
“If you had been raised by sorcerers instead of Dingles, you

would have,” Persephone snapped. “Our sorcerer parents all start
warning their children about the NAMELESS ONE at a young age.
And kids are always trying to scare each other with stories about
the NAMELESS ONE.”
“Ghost stories you mean,” interjected Henry. “Dingle kids

have those too.”
“But the NAMELESS ONE is no mere ghost!” Persephone

retorted. “He is the master of a very ancient and powerful form of
sorcery. His power is overwhelming.”
“Yeah, but that was my question, is he more powerful than

Apollonius?” Henry said impatiently.

Persephone hesitated. “I’m not sure. I mean how do I know?
Why do you boys always insist on talking about who could beat up
whom?”
Henry pressed the point regardless. “Well, if the

NAMELESS ONE is as powerful and malevolent as you say,
what’s holding him back? Why hasn’t he already killed
Apollonius? Doesn’t that seem like a pretty important point?”
“Not to me,” Persephone snapped. “I prefer to think about

the NAMELESS ONE as little as possible.”
At this point, Persephone decided to change the subject.

“Have they told you yet what dorm you’ll be in?”
“No. Does it make any difference?” Henry was growing

bored.
“Oh, yes,” Persephone bubbled. “My sister says that your

dorm is like your family at Hemlock.” Persephone’s sister was a
sophomore and, as such, was Persephone’s revered sage regarding
all things Hemlock.
“That’s good,” Henry responded somewhat sadly.

“Sometimes I feel like I could use a new one.”

Chapter 3
Henry awoke from his nap to find a strange boy studying him
intently. He was a tall, gangly boy who looked like he had
experienced a recent and uneven growth spurt. He was, however,
impeccably dressed in accordance with the fashions of his peer
group. His ensemble included a baggy rugby shirt, pre-faded black
denim jeans and 1970s retro high-top basketball shoes (but with
black soles instead of white). Henry surmised that he was
attempting to conceal his general peri-pubescent awkwardness by
strictly conforming to each and every fluctuation in current fashion
trends. The boy perked up as soon as Henry opened his eyes.
“Hallo,” he declared cheerfully in a voice that crackled with

adolescent flux. “Have a nice nap?”
Startled, Henry was unusually brusque in reply. “Who are

you? Where did you come from?”
“That’s two questions,” the boy rejoined playfully. “My

name is Danny Cane.”
“What can I do for you, Danny?” Henry inquired, still

groggy.
“Oh, I just wanted to meet you. I’ve heard so much about

you.” At this, Danny gave a sly smile.
Henry was now confused in addition to being groggy. “What

are you talking about? What have you heard? From who?”
“Now, that’s three questions,” Danny protested with mock

indignation.

“Yeah, you got me,” Henry noted with an irritated
indifference. “I think I’ll go back to napping.”
“Oh don’t be cross,” Danny pleaded. “You’re practically a

celebrity at Hemlock. I was just having a little fun with you.”
“If that’s true,” Henry remarked wryly, “then Hemlock has a

serious shortage of celebrities. Anyway, why should I be a
celebrity?”
“Why, because you can read the Mystical Texts of course,”

Danny responded in a tone that clearly conveyed his belief in the
silliness of the question.
“Doesn’t every sorcerer?” asked Henry.
“No, not at all.” Danny lowered his voice slightly before

continuing. “Actually, it’s a bit of a touchy subject. Only a very
small group of sorcerers can read them. They call themselves the
Mystical Brotherhood. It’s a bit controversial – at least to some
people.”
“Why controversial?” Henry inquired, his interest fully

piqued for the first time since Danny began speaking to him.
“Its complicated and kind of political, plus I don’t really

know that much about it” Danny began. “But one thing is that the
Brotherhood is very secretive.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Henry prompted.
“Well, you know how people are. They’re just naturally

distrustful – and maybe somewhat jealous about that sort of thing,”
Danny posited. “Also, some people believe that the Mystical Texts
should be available to all sorcerers, not just a select few.”

“You mean they’re not?” Henry asked somewhat
incredulously.
“Oh, no,” Danny replied emphatically. “The Brotherhood

maintains strict control over the Texts.”
“Why are the Mystical Texts so important?” Henry wondered

aloud.
“They represent the accumulated knowledge of the Ancient

Sorcerers,” Danny explained.
“The who?” Henry asked.
Danny spoke with a combination of enthusiasm and

wistfulness. “The Ancient Sorcerers were the original sorcerers.
They were the founders of sorcery as we know it.”
“What happened to them?” Henry probed.
“They died a long time ago,” Danny said sadly. “But their
wisdom survives in the Mystical Texts.”
“I guess if they had been even a little bit wiser, they might
have figured out a way to beat death,” Henry noted with more than
a hint of sarcasm.
“No sorcerer has ever managed that feat,” Danny replied with
utter seriousness.
“Hemlock station! End of the line!” Henry’s conversation

with Danny was interrupted by an ear-splitting announcement over
the train’s PA system.
Henry snapped to attention at this, hastily collecting his

baggage and hurrying for the exit. He emerged onto the station

platform to find hubbub, disorganization and din. He began to feel
light-headed and disoriented amid the busy chaos. Just then, he
spotted Danny nearby in the throng. He contorted his way through
the crowd and addressed Danny with exasperation. “Where are we
supposed to go?”
Danny met Henry’s obvious bewilderment with a calm,

languid gesture. He pointed almost straight up and Henry’s gaze
did not fix upon the intended target for a moment or two. When it
did, Henry was amazed. High above the station platform, atop a
vast rocky promontory, stood an imposing stone fortress. Henry’s
immediate impression was that it looked like a combination of a
fairy-tale castle and a prison. He could almost feel the weight of
the massive stone walls pressing down upon him from high above.
Henry’s contemplation of Hemlock’s imposing edifice was

cut short by a shrill whistle. He pivoted in the direction of the
sound and lowered his gaze to spy another stony form – an
imposing and dour woman dressed entirely in black and wearing a
conical hat. Her outfit consisted of a one-piece floor-length black
dress that, although by no means skin-tight, was fitted closely
enough to reveal the woman’s athletic physique beneath. The hem
of her dress broke only a few inches above a pair of black leather
jack boots that had been spit-polished to mirror-like reflectivity.
Although she stood at some distance from Henry down the
platform, he could easily perceive her rigid bearing and her perfect
(and perfectly stony) posture. Nor did Henry have any difficulty
hearing her when she spoke.
“Line up according to your classes,” instructed the woman

sternly.
At her words, the previously rowdy crowd promptly

organized itself into determined formations. All except for Henry,
who did not immediately grasp where he was to go. His hesitation
drew a quick reproof from the woman.
“Are you lost, young man?” she inquired testily.

“I’m not sure where to go,” Henry responded meekly.
“Your name?” she insisted.
“Henry Shepherd,” Henry blurted.
At this, the woman paused. After a moment she cracked an

ironic smile that blossomed into an outright sneer. “Ah Mr.
Shepherd, you’re something of a celebrity I understand. But off to
an inauspicious start to your Hemlock career it seems.” Then she
gazed at Henry as if expecting a response.
When Henry opened his mouth to start to mumble a response,

she proceeded to speak over him. “First-years at the very end, of
course,” she smirked with self-satisfaction. After a brief pause,
she made a sweeping and dismissive gesture in the general
direction of the designated line for extra emphasis.
Henry sheepishly filed to the end of the first-year line. As he

did so, he passed Persephone, who stood dutifully in position. She
continued to stare straight ahead and pretended not to notice Henry
as he passed. Once Henry was in place, another whistle sounded.
At this, the queues of students began somberly to process down the
platform and outside the station. When Henry exited the station
(the last one to do so), he startled at the sight that greeted him.
In front of the station, as far as the eye could see, was a

continuous line of old-fashioned horse carriages. Each was as
black and shiny as a grand piano, with gleaming silver fixtures.
More stunning was the sight of the beasts drawing the carriages,
which appeared to Henry to be ghoulish undead horses. Each
“horse” was little more than a skeleton, with only sporadic patches
of decomposed flesh and thin strips of tattered fabric to suggest the
beast’s one-time grandeur in life as a proud thoroughbred.
Nevertheless, each stood at proud and disciplined attention as if
poised to enter the winner’s circle after a prestigious race. If
Henry could have seen the skeletal, undead coachmen beneath

their jet black coats and livery, he would have concluded that they
made the horses look positively healthy and life-like by
comparison. Like the horses, they stood perfectly and silently still.
Henry’s shock at the sight of the cortege, together with the

lingering embarrassment from the episode on the station platform
combined to prevent Henry from further pondering its deeper
significance – including why it (like the train) was necessary at all.
Surely there were more practical solutions for transporting the
students to the Hemlock campus than this elaborate undead
caravan. If Henry had asked, he would have been informed that
the horse-coach procession was explicitly stipulated in the
collective bargaining agreement of the local guild of the Undead
Teamsters. This answer would, in turn, have engendered further
questions. Such as why Undead Teamsters need a labor guild in
the first instance.

Chapter 4
Henry was definitely hungry by the time he prepared to file

into the Hemlock “refrectory” (or dining hall). As on the station
platform earlier in the day, the first-years were yet again last in
line. Henry was beginning to notice a pattern.
Henry had worked up a significant appetite while trying to

find his way around Hemlock earlier in the day. Its buildings
seemed to Henry as nothing more than stone labyrinths, each with
a seemingly endless array of dark and narrow passageways that led
only to more such passageways. Somewhere, perhaps whilst
visiting his grandfather at the university, Henry had heard that the
current vogue in the science of Physics was something called
String Theory, which posited the existence of as many as eleven
total dimensions in the universe, consisting of six or seven
invisible, compacted dimensions in addition to the three
dimensions that humans are ordinarily accustomed to. Wandering
the corridors of Hemlock, Henry gained a new appreciation for this
theory.
Henry’s closet-like dormitory room lay somewhere at the end

of one such corridor, though Henry had not yet memorized the full
path. It was part of the Babylon dormitory, which Henry had been
assigned to earlier in the day by the “allocation hat” – an old black
felt hat from which the first-year students drew slips of paper
bearing dormitory names. The allocation ceremony seemed rather
anti-climactic, Henry thought, especially in light of the build-up
that Persephone gave it earlier on the train. Despite the
perfunctory and seemingly wholly random nature of the allocation
process, Henry was nevertheless heartily congratulated by his new
dormmates afterwards, as if he had greatly exerted himself in
securing the allocation. He was enthusiastically reassured that
Babylon was the “fun” dorm.
Almost instantaneously after Henry had been allocated, he

felt a nearly magnetic pull to the herd of his new dormmates.

When it came time for dinner, the group proceeded as an orderly
pack (naturally with the first-years at the end) to the dining hall.
Danny, who had also been allocated to Babylon seemed naturally
contented to be assimilated into the collective. Persephone,
unsurprisingly perhaps, had been allocated to the Poindexter dorm,
which had a reputation for being highly bookish and nerdy. Like
Danny, Persephone was readily and happily absorbed into her new
peer group.
Once Henry was finally seated with his dormmates at one of

the room-length banquet tables in the dining hall, he was treated to
another tedious delay before he might at last be fed – the
obligatory welcoming remarks of Hemlock’s renown headmaster,
Dimitry Apollonius. And given his statute, Apollonius naturally
required an introduction from another faculty member. Henry was
mildly surprised to see the stern woman from the train platform
rise to do the honors. She introduced herself as Lisa Macintosh,
Hemlock’s instructor in Countermeasures for Occult Practices
(commonly referred to among the Hemlock student body as
“Countermeasures” or “COP”). Even in her effort to effuse praise
for Apollonius, Macintosh’s tone seemed to contain more than a
hint of the stern and reproving manner that Henry had witnessed
earlier in the day. Although he was mostly focused on observing
and assessing what his instincts told him was likely to be a
frequent adversary, Henry did note the substance of a few of her
remarks. He was particularly intrigued when Macintosh
cryptically praised Apollonius for having “almost single-handedly
rescued Hemlock from its greatest peril during its darkest hour.”
When Macintosh concluded, a short, pudgy, balding man

rose awkwardly to speak. Henry was amazed that this could be the
same man that Macintosh was just describing so fawningly. He
wore an ill-fitting, rumpled suit made of emerald green and white
seersucker, with a matching green bowtie. Apollonius opened his
mouth and emitted a grating, high-pitched, nasaly squeak.
Apparently mortified at the sound of his own voice, Apollonius
closed his mouth and fumbled with what appeared to be a lapel
microphone. He tapped the microphone and glanced pleadingly
toward someone at the back of the hall. Henry thought he could

see beads of sweat starting to form on Apollonius’ brow as he
nervously awaited a return sign from the person at the back of the
room. Henry could almost hear Apollonius saying, “Pay no
attention to the man behind the curtain.” Finally, Apollonius
received the awaited signal and began to speak again. This time,
however, his voice sounded entirely different -- much deeper and
more resonant than his prior abortive effort. He proceeded to
deliver an entirely generic and forgettable address welcoming the
new students, welcoming back the returning students and wishing
everyone the best in the upcoming academic year.
At the precise conclusion of Apollonius remarks, in perfectly

rehearsed synchronicity, a brigade of ghosts suddenly emerged,
seemingly out of thin air. Henry bolted in his seat at the sight of
them. Each looked exactly like every fictional depiction Henry
had ever seen – semi-transparent with a slightly soft glow and
hovering in mid-air. Each was neatly dressed in elaborate,
impeccable Victorian servant attire. Each carried a large tray of
gleaming sterling silver domed plates, tureens, goblets and
flatware. In fluid unison, they broke their formation and dispersed
among the tables. After distributing the drinks and utensils, they
all lifted the domes off of the serving platters at precisely the same
moment to reveal a delectable assortment of meats, cheeses, fruits
and other dishes. Having discharged this function, the entire group
thereupon vanished in unison as abruptly as they had appeared.
Never once during their service did any emit even the slightest
sound nor make any movement or gesture that was unnecessary,
flamboyant or could have otherwise been construed as anything
other than wholly servile.
Henry was surprised to find that his goblet contained wine –

a delightfully fruity merlot, to be exact. He felt sheepishly guilty
drinking it, knowing that his parents would never approve.
Henry’s thoughts drifted wistfully to his parents. He wondered
what they might be doing at that precise moment. He wondered
whether they might be thinking of him. Then he thought back to
the day of the big announcement and remembered why it was that
his wistful thoughts were entirely pointless and merely

demonstrated that he was still thinking like a Dingle instead of a
sorcerer.
It was a day like any other and like many others. Henry had
just returned from another numbing day at school. He had
secluded himself in his room, hoping to lose himself in a book and
thereby forget the day’s frustrations. Henry’s room was a
comfortable sanctuary to which he often found himself retreating.
Whereas many boys his age would decorate their rooms with
posters and other images of famous athletes, fast cars and buxom
women, Henry had opted for a much nerdier design motif. The
cork board above his desk was festooned with clippings from
various scholarly journals that he regularly read, as well as
numerous flash cards of his own creation to jog his memory about
matters that he found essential to his intellectual pursuits (such as
the finer points of Latin grammar). And his entire room was
brimming with books on a wide range of topics. It was so full, in
fact, that Henry had little room to move. Henry didn’t mind
though – he considered the sensation of being enveloped in
multiple layers of books to be protective rather than restrictive.
His books were a bulwark against the outside world and its
distractions and disappointments.
Today, Henry was eager to forget History class and his latest
encounter with the self-important Mr. Hegel. During a discussion
of the American Civil War, Henry had made the bad judgment to
question (rather than mechanically scribbling down) Hegel’s thesis
(or that of the author of the textbook module he was using) to the
effect that slavery was the cause of the war. Independently
interested in, and fairly widely-read on, the topic, Henry had
earnestly but ill-advisedly inquired whether it would be more
accurate to say that the issue of the expansion of slavery into new
and future states was actually the central nub of contention.
This suggestion had elicited a sharp and accusatory response

which, although fairly lengthy (and apparently highly gratifying to
a certain segment of Henry’s peers who thought him an
insufferable brainiac due a comeuppance), did not ultimately
consist of anything other than a less concise (but more

impassioned) reiteration of the same conclusion that Hegel had
already stated. Henry had not seen Hegel act so affronted since the
time that Henry posited that the Holy Roman Empire was neither
holy, Roman, nor an empire.
Henry had just settled on a particular chapter of Plutarch’s

Parallel Lives when he heard a commotion downstairs. When he
reached the top of the staircase, he looked down to see his mother
at the front door, peering out though the crack created when the
door was opened as far as the security chain would permit. Henry
could hear the nervousness in her voice. Then suddenly Henry saw
a cloud of white smoke breeze through the narrow door crack.
When it dispersed, Henry was shocked to see a tall figure in
flowing white robes, surrounded by what seemed to be an aura of
light. Only after the figure pushed back a hood that had partially
obscured its head could Henry see that it was a female – a
statuesque and elegant woman. At the precise moment that this
realization was dawning on Henry, the woman turned and looked
directly at him. Then she flashed a curious smile that was
simultaneously warm and cold, engaged and aloof, coquettish and
beatific.
The woman turned back to address Henry’s mother in a calm

and reassuringly dulcet tone. “Don’t be alarmed, for I bring you
great news.” At this, the woman paused to give Henry’s mother an
opportunity to absorb this.
Henry’s mother, Elizabeth, was a petite woman and looked

like a child standing next to the much bigger woman visitor. But
of course, looking like a child was Elizabeth’s goal. Although she
was nearing 40, she attempted to look youthfully impish in her
dress and appearance. To that end, she continued despite her age
to shop in the Juniors’ section of her favorite department store.
She also exercised religiously to maintain her slender, teenage-like
physique. Today, she wore a spaghetti-strapped tank top in a retro
print that was vaguely psychedelic (but also smacked of mass-
produced corporate conformity), together with a pair of white
Capri pants. Although the pants were already nearly skin-tight, she
also wore a decorative, oversized belt to complete the ensemble.

Elizabeth reflected for a long moment at the visitor’s words,
but was not ultimately convinced. She cried out, “Joey, come here
now! I need you.” After a few tense moments, Henry’s father
appeared from the kitchen.
Henry’s father Joey was a lumbering bear of a man. Like

Elizabeth, Joey was nearly 40. Unlike Elizabeth, Joey had allowed
himself to become slightly paunchy in his incipient middle age.
Nevertheless, despite the outer layer of pudge that had recently
accreted, Joey was still obviously a big, muscular man. It was still
possible to visualize him as the formidable linebacker that he had
been in his younger years.
The surprised expression on Joey’s face quickly and

unexpectedly (to Henry and his mother) gave way to one of
recognition of the woman visitor. “It’s quite alright, Elizabeth,” he
reassured. “I recognize this woman. She came to me in a dream
last night. She told me that Henry is destined to do great things.”
The trance-like sound of Joey’s monotone did not reassure

Elizabeth. Quite the opposite. She was about to yell something to
Joey along the lines of “Snap out of it!” when the woman visitor
preempted her by speaking. “I understand your apprehension.
Please let me explain.” She accentuated her request with a gesture
of her hand and a slight tilt of her head that made clear she was
seeking Elizabeth’s permission. In reply, Elizabeth nodded
cautiously.
“I hardly know where to begin,” the woman stated in a

carefully measured voice that contained only the slightest overtone
of exasperation at the scope and importance of her message, while
at the same time retaining its overall tone of dulcet reassurance.
“Do you recall the manner in which I entered your house?” the
woman asked without expecting an answer. “The magic that I
used is only the tiniest part of a world that I can’t even begin to
explain and which you would never really understand anyway.”
The woman attempted (only partially successfully) to sound

sympathetic rather than condescending when she said this. “You
and your family are what we refer to as Dingles – no offense. That
means you don’t use magic and cannot enter our world. But Henry
can. In fact, Henry has a very powerful magic in him. One day, he
will become a truly great sorcerer.”
Elizabeth was unconvinced. She was not processing and

parsing the woman’s words with the higher cognitive faculties of
her brain. Instead, she was scanning the room with her “reptile”
brain – the instinctive, reflexive portion of the brain that encodes
the most basic “fight or flight” logic of the human species (and all
species). The woman could see that Elizabeth had already chosen
an escape route. She raised her hand slightly in an elegant,
effortless gesture and Elizabeth froze instantly in place. Even
Elizabeth’s cautious and disapproving scowl remained frozen in
place and did not give way to an expression of the blind panic that
Elizabeth felt when she realized what had happened to her.
“What did you do to her?!?” Henry demanded, engaging

himself in the scene for the first time since the drama downstairs
had begun to unfold.
“She’s quite alright,” the woman promised. “She’s fully

conscious and aware of everything that’s going on around her. I
have simply put a temporary pause on her animal reflex so that we
magic folk can have a civilized conversation.”
“What about him?” Henry inquired, gesturing toward his

father Joey.
“It’s alright, Henry,” his father offered in his semi-trance

tone. “I recognize this woman. She came to me in a dream last
night. She told me that Henry is destined to do great things.”
Henry did not bother to point out that his father was simply
repeating verbatim what he had already said.
“Him I did nothing to, at least not today,” that woman stated
with a slight chuckle. “I entered his dream last night to give him

some advance notice. Even so, he still seems a bit overwhelmed.
He should be fine once he is done processing all the new
information.”
After a brief moment’s pause, the woman resumed in a more

serious tone. “Now, Mr. Shepherd, let us discuss our business.”
“What business?” Henry prompted.
“Your welfare or your reclamation, depending on how you

choose to look at it.” At this, the woman audibly inhaled and made
an overly dramatic pause before continuing. “Henry Shepherd,
you will be haunted by three ghosts.”
Henry did not know how to respond. He stood for a moment

attempting to formulate a response before he started to open his
mouth. The woman preempted him with a boisterous “Gothca!”
She continued, “You thought I was serious, but I was totally
kidding about that last part, hah!”
Henry stood speechless again as before. The woman took the

opportunity to add, “Most sorcerers I know have a terrific sense of
humor. We’ll have to work on yours I see. They’ll teach you that,
too, at Hemlock.”
“Hemlock?” Henry inquired.
“The preeminent academy for aspiring sorcerers and

apprentices,” she explained. “It’s where we magic folk learn to
harness and focus our natural abilities. You’ll start your studies
there next week.”
“I’ve never heard or it and I’m certainly not going to school

there,” Henry exclaimed.

“Well, of course you never heard of it living among the
Dingles,” the woman calmly replied. “And you most certainly will
be attending Hemlock. My mission is to ensure that you do.”
“Mission? What mission?” Henry asked skeptically.
“I have been personally charged by the Headmaster of

Hemlock – the great sorcerer Apollonius himself – with ensuring
your matriculation by any means necessary,” the woman stated
with obvious pride.
“What do you want from me?” Henry asked cautiously.
The woman beamed slightly as she spoke, indicating that she

had finally been thrown the precise softball question that she had
been awaiting. “Only that you achieve your full potential and
become the great sorcerer that you were born to be.”
“By attending Hemlock? But I’m already in school. And I

don’t want to leave my family,” Henry pleaded.
“Your family need never know,” the woman declared. “The

span of an entire lifetime in our world can be compressed into a
few nanoseconds in this world. It will be as though you were
never gone. And I will delete today’s events from their
memories.”
“I still don’t want to go,” Henry protested.
“That’s alright,” the woman said with a sneer, “I’m not really
asking.” She raised her hand in another elegant, effortless gesture
and Henry saw a blinding flash of white light.

Chapter 5
“Give it some more wrist, Henry,” the instructor called out

encouragingly as Henry stood at the lakeshore. “It’s all in the
wrist.”
Henry’s classmates looked on eagerly, curious to see if

Henry would demonstrate the same instinctive natural talent with
this exercise as he had in his other classes. Indeed, during his first
month at Hemlock, Henry had become something of a hero to his
fellow students because of his natural aptitude. This was an
entirely new and extraordinary experience for Henry. He found
that it took some adjustment on his part to get used to the fact that
his classmates were carefully and expectantly scrutinizing his
actions in the hope that he would actually succeed, rather than fail
or otherwise miserably embarrass himself.
Henry continued to wave his hand as before, but added an

extra flick of his wrist at the end of his gesture. When he did so,
the placid lake waters began to roll slightly as if brushed by a light
wind. He repeated the motion several more times. By the end, the
final flick of his wrist had settled into an almost flamboyant
flourish.
Henry was amazed by what happened next. The haphazard

rolling of the lake water gave way to a uniform (although small)
rolling of the waters in two opposite directions, forming a distinct
notch. Henry had actually parted the lake waters (if only slightly).
He still could not believe what he was seeing, much less that he
had caused it to occur.
Henry was equally amazed when his classmates began to

applaud. Even Mr. Caleb, Hemlock’s groundskeeper and the
instructor in Nature Spells, applauded politely. Henry immediately
decided that Nature Spells was his favorite class at Hemlock. He
loved being outdoors in the beautiful and sprawling fields and
forests that comprised the Hemlock grounds. He particularly liked

the fact that he could be outdoors and yet still in an intellectual,
academic environment. Among his family, the outdoors was
synonymous with athletics and, more specifically, athletic
competition. To them, an open field was an opportunity for a foot
race or a pick-up football game. A forest was an invitation to a
tree-climbing contest or a paintball match.
Henry also liked Mr. Caleb. He was an excellent teacher:

good natured, patient and a great communicator. Although
certainly not eloquent, he was nevertheless able to present his
subject-matter in concrete, easy-to-understand terms (with frequent
practical examples and applications). He looked like many a
weathered old Midwestern farmer that Henry had seen before. The
skin on his face and forearms was leathery brown from spending
countless sunny days in the outdoors. He was not a large man, but
was very fit and muscular with a broad frame that he had come by
honestly through years of manual labor. He wore tattered denim
overalls and a dirty old baseball cap with a visor that had evidently
been repeated crushed and bent to give it just the right tilt.
However, unlike most such baseball caps that Henry seen, it did
not bear the logo of a tractor or other farm implement
manufacturer. Instead, it bore a design that Henry was not familiar
with. It was a simple, single-line design that looked like a
squashed oval. The left-hand side of the oval came to a sharp,
angular point, while the right-hand side looked as is the oval had
actually collapsed from the squashing in that the top and bottom
halves of the oval overlapped to form an “X.”
Despite his evident (to Henry at least) good qualities, Mr.

Caleb was merely an “Instructor” and was not to be addressed as
“Professor.” Henry did not fully understand the reasons for this,
other than that some of his classmates said Caleb was not a full
sorcerer. Instead, he was a “Master Apprentice.” Henry did not
entirely understand this distinction beyond the obvious disparity in
social status.
Henry’s moment of triumph was cut short by the weather.

Suddenly, the wind picked up and ominous storm clouds began to
gather. Henry’s proud water notch was quickly obliterated by the

wind-driven turbulence of the lake water. Caleb dismissed the
class and admonished the students to seek the shelter of Hemlock’s
stone buildings. For his own part, Caleb turned in the direction of
his caretaker’s cottage, a modest thatched-roof building at the edge
of the forest.
Confused and disappointed that the water-parting exercise

had been cut short just as he was starting to get the hang of it,
Henry approached Caleb. “Mr. Caleb,” he began, “do we really
need to stop?”
“We can’t continue in the face of such a strong wind,” Caleb

explained.
Henry persisted. “Well, can’t you simply cast a spell to calm

the weather?”
Caleb prefaced his answer with a slight chuckle. “Mr.

Shepherd, I may be a mere Apprentice, but even I know that such a
spell is beyond the power of the greatest Sorcerer.” With that, he
turned back in the direction of his cottage and began to walk
briskly.
Henry also adjusted his bearings in the direction of Hemlock

and began to walk. He did not get more than a few steps before the
skies opened in a torrential downpour. Henry briefly considered
sprinting the remainder of the distance, but quickly concluded that
it was too far. He scanned around him for possible shelter
positions. Doing so, he noticed a small form huddled under a
cloak beneath a tree. Henry approached the figure with a “hallo.”
In response, the figure briefly lifted the cloak above its head to
reveal Persephone. She beckoned for Henry to join her under the
sliver of shelter provided by the cloak.
Henry hesitated for a split second but the driving rain quickly
overcame his pang of shyness. Before he knew it, Henry was
huddled up tightly next to Persephone, the two barely fitting within
the cloak’s small footprint of rain protection. At first, Henry

deliberately avoided glancing at Persephone, instead pretending to
scrutinize the sky as if he were an expert meteorologist.
Gradually, however, Henry became increasingly aware of the
softness of Persephone’s form against his and the sensation of her
breath upon the nape of his neck.
Finally, Henry could no longer resist his impulse to gaze at

Persephone. In that glance, he saw Persephone as he had never
before seen her – or any girl. He felt a sudden flushing of the skin
on his face and neck. She seemed at once so alluring and yet so
innocent as she looked up intently at the storm clouds just as Henry
had previously done. Little did Henry suspect that Persephone’s
meteorological interest in the clouds was no more genuine than his
had been and that she had not yet been able to work up the courage
to return his gaze. He felt an almost overwhelming impulse to
shelter her in his arms when she shuddered slightly at a particularly
loud thunderclap.
Henry then further disturbed the nervous equilibrium by

speaking. “Looks like the rain might be letting up.”
“Uh huh” was all that Persephone could manage in response.
“Do you want to go for it?” Henry inquired, only too late
realizing the potential double meaning of his words. Inwardly
mortified, he strained to modulate his voice as he hastily added, “I
mean do you want to try to make it back to Hemlock?”
“Sure,” Persephone replied meekly. With that, both stood up

slowly while maneuvering to remain under the protection of the
cloak. They awkwardly proceeded about fifty paces in this
manner.
“I think it’s stopped raining,” Persephone observed haltingly.
“Yes, yes,” Henry declared with overstated enthusiasm.

“Well, thank you for your help.”

Henry then promptly marched off at a brisk pace as if in a
military parade. He had misinterpreted Persephone’s comment as
an indication that she wished Henry to take his leave. In fact, just
the opposite was true and Persephone was confused and
disappointed by his sudden departure. She couldn’t understand
why Henry had preempted her before she was able to completely
state her intention. Her comment about the rain stopping was only
the first step in an entire colloquy that she had worked out in her
head. At the end of it, Henry was supposed to offer her an escort
back to her dorm. However, because it did not work out that way,
she wrongly concluded that Henry was not interested in her.
Henry had almost reached Hemlock when he heard someone

call his name. He pivoted to see Danny jogging enthusiastically in
his direction. “Wait up,” Danny called. Danny reached Henry,
who was surprised at the degree to which Danny was panting from
what seemed a short jog (at least by the standards of Henry’s uber-
athletic brothers).
Danny spoke quickly, trying to catch his breath. “Good job

in class just now. Pity about the rain. Still, it means some free
time for us, eh? Where are you headed?”
“Just back to my room to study,” Henry replied blandly.
“Why do that when we can hit the Resting Place?” Danny

beamed.
“The what?” Henry puzzled.
“The Resting Place Student Lounge. It’s where all the cool
kids hang,” Danny assured him.
At last, Henry’s face registered some recognition. “Oh, I

remember hearing about that during Orientation. I thought it was
just for upper-class students and faculty.”

Danny’s eye twinkled with mischief as he spoke. “That’s
simply because they’re the only ones who have free time during
the school day. But since our class ended early, I figure we might
as well try.” Before Henry had even finished his hesitant “I
suppose so,” Danny had already started walking with the full
expectation that Henry would follow in tow.
For reasons that Henry did not yet understand, the Resting
Placing Student Lounge lay at the center of a large graveyard in the
middle of the Hemlock campus. The building itself was entirely in
keeping with its surroundings and looked like a cartoonishly
oversized mausoleum. The grand façade of the building was
teeming with an intricately detailed panoply of gargoyles, death
angels and the like. For some reason, the stonework of the
building looked even grimier, more decrepit and more soot
encrusted than that of Hemlock’s many other stone buildings.
The heavy oak front door was studded with what appeared to
be black iron spikes blunted by the significant passage of time and
perhaps also by prior heavy use. Henry could just barely discern
the remnants of a dull brown substance encrusted on the tips of
many of the iron spikes. The entire door gave an ominous low-
pitched creak – almost a growl – as Danny pushed it open. Danny
struggled to move the door far enough to admit him and Henry.
Henry’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light inside. After a

moment, Henry could see that he was in what appeared to be a
great hall with a high buttressed ceiling. Lining the entire length
of the hall, spaced at regular intervals, were a collection of ghastly
suits of armor. Each had the helmet visor up to reveal what
appeared to be the skeletal remains of its former owner. Each
wielded a menacing weapon such as a mace, battle-axe or
broadsword. If there had been more light in the hall, Henry might
have noticed that many of these weapons were encrusted with the
same dull brown substance as the spikes on the front door. In
contrast to their skeletal contents, the suits of armor were arranged
in life-like and dynamic poses, as if each were about to strike a
killer blow with its weapon. Indeed, the entire ensemble looked as

if it was preparing to reenact the bloody battle that had created the
skeletons in the first place.
Only when Henry’s eyes were fully adjusted to the dim light
could he see the figure in front of Danny – a ghost. It was
impeccably attired in what appeared to be a Victorian-era butler’s
costume. It made a grandiose and sweeping bow toward Danny
and Henry. Henry was surprised by the imperious manner in
which Danny addressed the ghost because it was so opposite
Danny’s usual affable, happy-go-lucky demeanor.
“The game room!” Danny demanded impatiently.
Unspeakingly, the ghost butler humbly beckoned the boys

past itself and toward a door near the end of the hall. Danny
brushed by the ghost without a word of thanks. As the two neared
the specified door, Danny reverted to his friendly demeanor as he
spoke enthusiastically to Henry.
“Isn’t this place great?” Danny bubbled. “This was actually

the original Hemlock building, before the school grew so much.
Now it makes a great activity center, no?”
“It’s great,” Henry rejoined half-heartedly.
When they were about halfway to their target, Henry noticed

another, very different door to his left. It appeared to be entirely
covered in gold-leaf and contained an elaborate rococo frieze
depicting a merry scene. The figurines on the door appeared to be
females in skimpy attire crowing around a lone male figure (a sort
of half-man, half-goat) and clamoring for the jug of wine that he
held out of reach above his head. Henry was struck by how out-of-
place the scene was amid the overwhelmingly gothic and morbid
atmosphere of the rest of the building.
“What’s in there?” Henry wondered aloud.

“In there is the Mirror of Gargamel,” Danny began. “They
say it can show you your deepest desire . . . .” Danny trailed off.
“And?” Henry pressed.
“Well, it’s off limits to us,” Danny explained. “You have to

18 or older to enter. Plus, it’s very expensive.”
“What do you mean expensive?” Henry inquired.
“It’s 9 gold coins for the first minute and 6 gold coins for
each additional minute.” Danny scoffed slightly when he
mentioned these amounts to emphasize his disdain for the
exorbitant prices. “I hear it’s very popular with the faculty,” he
added.
“Come along now,” Danny insisted, tiring of Henry’s

questions.
The two finally reached the target door near the end of the
hall. The door was unlike the last one and much more in keeping
with the rest of the building. It also contained a frieze, but this one
was a decidedly grim scene consisting of three levels. In the
middle level, two undead armies composed of ghouls, winged
skeletons, demons and other hideous creatures clashed in a
frenzied melee. The lower level appeared to be a sort of
underworld that both supplied the warriors to the battlefield of the
middle level and received the victims of the battle. Above them
all, at the top level, a cloaked grim reaper figure with a scythe
looked on in macabre delight.
Danny paused before opening the door to ready himself. He

straightened his back to stand more upright and changed his
friendly smile to a skeptical frown. He counted to himself and
opened the door on a silent count of three.

Danny’s exercise in self-composure was wasted effort
because no one looked up when he opened the door. Rather, the
occupants of the game room maintained laser-like focus on the ten
game tables at which they were seated in groups of six throughout
the room. The room seemed small for the number of its occupants,
which effect was enhanced by dark wood paneling on the walls
and a low ceiling. It reminded Henry of a stuffy private banquet
room at some fancy downtown steakhouse.
Danny attempted to look nonchalant as he sauntered toward

one of the tables to better observe the game. This finally prompted
a few of the players to look up at Danny, if only briefly and
skeptically. Not having been affirmatively rejected, Danny felt
emboldened and beckoned Henry to join him. Henry approached
cautiously in the same manner that he might approach an unknown
and possibly unfriendly dog.
As Henry neared the table, he noticed that it seemed to have

three brass-colored handles evenly spaced along its side. After
contemplating its shape for another moment, Henry realized that it
was actually a coffin sitting atop a dark granite pedestal. On top of
it was what appeared to be a green felt cloth with a series of six
rectangles outlined in white chalk in front of each player. A
separate deck of cards was sitting in front of each player.
“Let’s begin,” announced the player with the tallest deck of

cards. With that, each player picked up his deck and began
thumbing through the cards. Gradually, the players selected
various cards from their decks and placed them facing down in the
six rectangle outlines. Some of the cards were placed vertically in,
and others horizontally across, these spaces. Once all of the spaces
were filled, the remainder of each deck was replaced in its original
position on the table.
“I challenge you, Smithson,” the tall-decked player

announced. He was a handsome, athletic young man obviously
well aware of and impressed by his own good looks. His attire was
similar to Danny’s in that it was impeccably and self-consciously
synchronized to the smallest vicissitudes of the current fashion

trends. However, the boy’s attire differed crucially from Danny’s
in that it was calibrated several notches above (and was hence
much costlier than) Danny’s. It was the difference between cotton
and jersey on the one hand, and fine silk on the other.
“Dammit, Monty, why do you always pick on me?” the

player addressed as Smithson replied in an exasperated tone.
“Divide and conquer, dear chap,” Monty replied calmly

while steepling his fingers in a gesture of supreme confidence.
“Nothing personal.”
Each player placed his hand in position just above his

leftmost card, in the same manner that a wild west gunslinger
might dangle his hand just above the grip of his pistol before a
gunfight. Both players then quickly reached for the card and
flipped it over. Monty was a split second faster than Smithson.
Each exposed card contained a drawing of a tombstone.

Within the tombstone was a black-and-white picture that looked
like it had been borrowed from a newspaper obituary column.
Below the picture was a caption with a name and the years of birth
and death. Further down below the caption were several rows of
statistics.
After a moment, the pictures on the cards began to swirl.

Then a miniature cloud seemed to arise up from each card. A
moment later, the clouds took on more defined shapes. Each was
in the form of a warrior clad in full battle armor and wielding a
broadsword. They engaged each other immediately upon sight and
traded several ghastly blows before Monty’s champion prevailed
and Smithson’s was vanquished. Henry thought that the entire
transaction resembled an altercation between two translucent
plastic action figures. At the conclusion, Smithson moved the
losing card from its place in front of him into a discard pile off to
the side of the table-top battlefield.

The same process repeated itself almost exactly with the
second cards that the players flipped over, including the same
result. The confrontation on the third cards played out more
dramatically, though ultimately to the same effect. The summoned
figures were not miniature warriors, but rather miniature sorcerers.
Smithson’s miniature sorcerer waved it arms wildly in a gesture of
invocation. Thereupon, Smithson’s first two cards floated up from
the discard pile and back into the field of play. Their two
vanquished warrior returned.
Next, Monty’s miniature sorcerer made similar gestures of

invocation. Thereupon, all six of Smithson’s cards suddenly burst
into flames and disintegrated into small piles of ash. Monty
smirked triumphantly as he declared, “Don’t mess with the
Montenator!” Smithson rolled his eyes slightly in disgust before
excusing himself from the table.
Danny took advantage of the interlude caused by Smithson’s

departure to approach even more closely to the table. He spoke
enthusiastically. “Congratulations on an impressive win.”
Monty smirked again but did not look up at Danny. His

words dripped with condescension. “I thought first-years weren’t
permitted in here. Standards must be slipping.”
“We were just watching,” Danny rejoined timidly.
“I don’t need you for an audience,” Monty snapped, still not

deigning to meet Danny’s gaze. “You kindergartners should be in
class.” Then he bellowed “Garçon!” Almost immediately, the
ghost butler that Danny and Henry had previously encountered
materialized in front of them.
“Escort these children off the premises,” Monty ordered. The

butler began to gesture for Danny and Henry to follow him out of
the game room. At that moment, however, Monty finally looked
up from his cards. Doing so, he noticed Henry for the first time.
He studied Henry briefly and then smirked again. “You’re

Shepherd, aren’t you?” he asked, not expecting a response. “Well,
in that case, you may stay – for now.” He snapped his fingers and
flicked his wrist at the butler dismissively. The latter bowed
politely and promptly evaporated.
“You’ve earned quite a reputation, Shepherd,” he continued.

“At least among the underlings.”
The smirk on Monty’s face suddenly vanished to give way to

a pompous, over-serious stare. “Let’s make this interesting. It
seems we have a vacancy at our table. Think you’re up to the
task?”
Henry hesitated. Monty took the opportunity to add “Unless

anyone has an objection.” With that, he scanned the faces of the
other players at the table with a pre-emptive scowl. Each hastily
shook his head to note the absence of objection. Monty greeted the
results of the impromptu poll with a hearty “Excellent!”
“But I don’t know how to play,” Henry protested. “And I

don’t have any cards.”
Monty was undeterred. “I hear that you’re a quick study,

though I’m sure that the tales of your exploits are greatly
exaggerated by those who are under-informed and easily
impressed. Nevertheless, I’m sure that you’ll be able to catch on to
our little game without too much trouble. As for cards, I’m sure
that my friend Smithson would be happy to let you borrow the
deck he left behind when he hurried off so rudely.”
Monty beckoned Henry toward the chair with a haughty

gesture similar to the one he had just used with the butler. Henry
sat down uncertainly. “Not to worry, Shepherd,” Monty
proclaimed smugly. “I’ll give you another free lesson before it’s
your turn.”
Monty pointed to one of the other players at the table without

removing his gaze from Henry and declared, “Axelrod, I challenge

you.” The challenged player dutifully sifted through his deck and
carefully selected his cards. Monty also sifted his cards, but in a
casual, almost careless manner. Regardless, the battle played out
very much like the previous one against the hapless Smithson.
Monty’s warrior cards easily outmatched Axelrod’s. In fact, the
third one seemed reluctant even to emerge from the card, as if
already aware of the fate awaiting it. When it did finally emerge
after a few second’s delay, its misgivings were entirely fulfilled.
As before, Monty’s sorcerer card provided a spectacular and
definitive end to the battle.
Axelrod grumbled a perfunctory congratulation to Monty and

excused himself. Unlike Smithson, Axelrod remembered to scoop
up the remnants of his desk (albeit in haste and with obvious
embarrassment) before he departed the table. Danny eyed the
empty seat and briefly contemplated seating himself at the table.
Monty shot him a withering stare that told him he should think
twice. Danny remained standing.
“Now for you, Shepherd,” Monty announced.
Henry responded with a shrugging of his shoulders and an

upturning of his palms that conveyed his confusion about what he
was expected to do.
“You start by picking up your cards,” Monty instructed

scoffingly. “Next, select six cards that you think can match up
against mine in battle.” Then he added sarcastically, “Good luck.”
Henry picked up the deck and began flipping through the

cards. As he did, he noticed a most peculiar phenomenon and
could not help himself in blurting out a reflexive question. “What
does it mean if a card is glowing?” he asked.
Monty stared incredulously at Henry but delayed a verbal

response until he was satisfied with the sarcastic put-down that he
had formulated. “That you’ve been smoking some of Apollonius’
private stash,” he finally replied.

Monty’s would-be witticism initially fell flat. However, after
an awkward silence, several of the other players at the table felt
compelled to laugh perfunctorily. Henry ignored them and
continued to focus on the six cards that clearly appeared – to him
at least – to be surrounded by a glowing aura of blue light. Then,
while Henry was still scrutinizing these cards in his hands, he saw
them in his mind’s eye flying out of the deck and into their
positions in front of him on the table. As soon as he did, Monty
broke Henry’s concentration.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” Monty demanded.
Henry looked up at Monty and then back at his cards. When

he looked back down, the premonition was gone. Nevertheless, he
heeded its advice and placed the same cards in the same positions
that he had foreseen. Then he announced with calm, quiet
determination, “ready.”
Henry and Monty both flipped over their first cards in near-
perfect unison. As in the prior battles, three-inch-tall ghost
warriors emerged from both cards and moved toward one another
on the table. Unlike the previous battles, however, the warriors did
not engage one another. Instead, they each circled the other
several times as if reconnoitering and then moved back toward the
respective cards from which they had emerged. They remained
hovering above the cards, as if in a state of suspension.
The next round played out exactly as the first – the warriors
approached, assessed and then retreated. On the third round, the
symmetry was finally broken. Henry flipped his third card and
nothing happened – no combatant emerged. This prompted a snide
remark from Monty.
“Better check that deck, Shepherd,” he said. “Looks like

you’re firing blanks.”

Monty next flipped his third card. As before, a powerful
sorcerer emerged. It made an elaborate and vigorous gesture of
incantation and then Henry’s three exposed cards floated out of
play and into the discard pile.
Monty chuckled to himself before addressing Henry in a tone

of faux earnestness. “No worse than could be expected from a
novice,” he observed. “But let’s not prolong this unnecessarily. I
will graciously allow you to concede rather than sustain further
losses.” He snickered as he added, “With my hearty
congratulations on an amusing first outing.”
“No thanks,” Henry rejoined placidly.
Monty’s entire face quickly flushed with anger. He exerted

tremendous effort to maintain his composure and his playfully
smug tone. Nevertheless, his voice crackled and hissed several
times as he spoke. “Now see here, Shepherd, I don’t think you
fully understand your predicament. I am about to blast all your
cards off the field, but I don’t need to stop there. I can obliterate
your entire deck. Why, it’s not even your deck. Don’t be stupid!”
Henry responded by flipping over his next card. A sorcerer

appeared and rapidly cast a spell that summoned the three
vanquished cards back to their original positions on the table.
Monty snorted disdainfully and flipped over his fourth card. A
sorcerer appeared and began an ominous dance of incantation.
Soon, a miniature but menacing storm cloud began to gather above
it. The cloud sparkled with purple lightning and swirled as if it
would form into a devastating tornado at any moment.
Henry was not watching these pyrotechnics because

something else had seized his attention. Henry’s last two cards –
still face down on the table – began to glow blue again just as they
had when Henry first selected them from the deck. Henry reacted
instantly and instinctively by flipping them both over in unison,
before Monty’s miniature sorcerer had completed its elaborate
spell.

All at once, Henry’s six cards (now all exposed) began to
levitate gently off the table. Then, suddenly, they began to fly
around swiftly like miniature planets rapidly and chaotically
orbiting an invisible sun. Next, all six seemed to fly into each
other in a collision that fused them into a single card which fell
back to the table with the weight of lead. The single resulting card
was the third one that Henry had played and which had produced
no effect at the time. Now, however, it produced an astounding
effect. An enormous (by the standards of the table-top battlefield)
red dragon emerged above the card.
The red dragon’s roar was so loud and so piercing that the
other players at the table – including Monty – felt compelled to
cover their ears. Monty’s sorcerer interrupted its nearly-complete
storm spell. It assessed the dragon briefly and then hastily
retreated back into the card from which it had originally been
summoned, abandoning its spell. The three other combatants that
Monty had summoned similarly retreated back into their respective
cards. Monty frantically flipped over his remaining two cards, to
no avail. No combatants emerged, much to Monty’s obvious
chagrin. Monty’s face purpled with rage at his humiliation. He
shook visibly and could not bring himself to speak. He stared
straight at Henry with spiteful disbelief as he collected his cards
and left the table.
Monty’s departure emboldened Danny to sit down in the

chair previously forbidden him. He grasped Henry by the
shoulders to focus Henry’s attention as he spoke. “That was
bloody brilliant!” he declared. “I can’t believe that you beat
Montgomery Throckmorton. He’s the best in the whole school.”
The other players at the table also seemed emboldened by

Monty’s departure, at least after a few lingering moments of
disbelief at the turn of events. While before they were afraid even
to smile at Henry, they now approached him with sincere
congratulations on his victory (each one secretly relieved that
Monty had finally been vanquished). For that second time that
afternoon, Henry found himself at the center of positive, admiring

attention. As before, it felt unusual and even slightly embarrassing
at first, but quickly became comfortable. His broad smile beamed
with genuine, innocent enthusiasm. After a few minutes, players
from other tables began to gravitate toward Henry out of curiosity.
Soon the entire room was abuzz about Henry’s exploits. Henry
reveled in the sweet sound – a room full of people murmuring with
joyous disbelief at what Henry had accomplished. The sound was
so sublime and seductive that Henry did not immediately take
notice of a competing, vile sound that arose in the room.
Monty had left the table, but not the room. Instead, he had
sequestered himself in a corner and was engaged in an exercise
that struck Henry at first glance as lunacy. Monty was shouting at
his cards. And not merely shouting. He was fulminating with a
blind, murderous rage. Only some of his words were intelligible.
“You stupid foggers!” Monty screamed. “You cowardly,

stupid foggers! You will suffer for this, I promise! It’s back to the
grave for you! I’ll replace the lot of you! You’ll be waiting tables
for the rest of eternity!”
Henry leaned over to Danny and asked in a low voice, “What

on earth is he doing?”
“’Foggers’ is a term that some people use to refer to ghosts,”

Danny explained, “on account of they sometimes look like a
transparent cloud of fog.”
“But who is he yelling at?” Henry persisted.
“I guess he’s cussing out his gladiators for losing,” Danny

postulated.
“His gladiators?” Henry asked.

“The ghosts in the cards are the gladiators,” Danny remarked.
“It’s the most prestigious job a ghost can have. They are at the top
of the pecking order.”
“Why do ghosts have a pecking order?” Henry wondered.

“And, for that matter, why do they have jobs?”
Danny paused at this and placed his finger on his chin in a

long moment of contemplation. Then he replied matter-of-factly,
“For the same reason we do, I suppose.”

Chapter 6
“And then Monty offered to let Henry concede, but Henry

refused,” Danny recounted enthusiastically to an eager group of
first-year students that had crowded around him while lunch was
being served in the dining hall. Henry sat across from Danny and
looked on beatifically as his mighty deeds were recapitulated.
Henry did not speak, but merely flashed an occasional Mona Lisa
smile when Danny’s audience would look over at him periodically
with inquiring glances to obtain verification of particularly
exhilarating details of the story.
Only Persephone looked less than fully riveted by the

account. She sat at the other end of the table and only
intermittently glanced at Danny or Henry. Unlike the other
members of Danny’s audience, she was primarily interested in
finishing her lunch and the boys were merely a peripheral – if at
times intriguing – distraction from this task.
“Hey fogger!” Henry shouted all of a sudden. In response, a

ghost waitress materialized next to him and curtsied. “Fetch me
another drink, fogger,” Henry ordered, presenting his empty glass
with a haughty, accusatory gesture. The waitress received the
glass from Henry with the same delicacy as nursemaid receiving a
newborn from its mother. She evaporated and then rematerialized
almost immediately with a full glass. She set it next to Henry and
stepped back to await his approval. He made an elaborate show of
examining and tasting the soda, as if he were a knowledgeable
oenophile sampling a rare vintage in the presence of the
sommelier. Apparently satisfied, Henry dismissed the waitress
with a lordly flick of his wrist and without ever looking directly at
her nor thanking her.
“That’s not a very nice word,” Persephone noted after

observing the episode.
“What do you mean?” asked Henry perplexed.

“The F-Word,” she replied. When this did not produce any
visible sign of recognition on Henry’s part, she added in a whisper,
“fogger.”
“Why not?” Henry wanted to know.
“It’s a nasty name that people use to demean ghosts,”

Persephone explained. “They prefer to be called ‘The Dearly
Departed’ instead. Or just ‘Dearlies’ for short.”
“How about the vitality-challenged?” Henry quipped.
“I’m serious,” Persephone protested with annoyance.
“So am I,” Henry retorted. “Why shouldn’t we demean them

a little? After all, they work for us.”
“I don’t look at it that way,” Persephone replied calmly. “I

think they’re here to help us.”
“Well, maybe they should have helped themselves a little bit

more,” Henry observed. “And then they wouldn’t have ended up
as ghosts in the first place.”
“What do you mean?” Persephone inquired skeptically.
Henry waxed pedantic as he responded. “Just that their status

is obviously a punishment for whatever they did in life. And
punishment isn’t supposed to be fun. Therefore, I’m just doing my
part for the Cosmic Order.”
“What do you know about the Cosmic Order?” Persephone

demanded indignantly.

“I know that I’ve finally found my place in it,” Henry
rejoined without missing a beat.
“You think so?” Persephone probed.
Henry was defiant. “I know so. Among the Dingles, I was a

pathetic, lonely geek. But now, I’m the king of the hill, baby!”
Persephone affected a carefully calibrated sarcasm. “You

think you understand the Cosmic Order because it seems to favor
you for the moment.”
“Duh” was Henry’s witty comeback.
“Many who were last will be first,” Persephone observed.

“And the first will be last.”
Henry was annoyed by this. “What is that supposed to

mean? Is that some sort of Zen mumbo jumbo?”
Persephone did not answer. Instead, she collected herself

with the exaggerated dignity of a wounded martyr, rose and left.
Danny, on a break from his bard duties, leaned over to Henry and
asked, “What’s wrong with her?”
“I dunno,” Henry replied. “I guess she’s just a little bit

jealous.”
“No matter,” Danny reassured. “Anyway, I always thought

she was kind of a bitch.”
This drew a quick, reproving glance from Henry. “That’s not

what I said,” he insisted angrily.
Quickly recognizing that the subject was more complicated

than he had initially understood, Danny attempted to plot a tactful

retreat. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you had. But that’s not even
the point anyway. Let’s talk about your encore.”
“My encore?” Henry inquired.
“Sure. Great sorcery is one part great magic and four parts
great stagecraft,” Danny informed him.
“I’m not following you,” Henry interrupted impatiently.
“You made a heck of an entrance onto the social scene by

defeating Monty,” Danny noted proudly. “But you also kind of
raised the bar. Now you need to do something truly spectacular.”
“What did you have in mind?” Henry quizzed.
“It has to be something big,” Danny said thinking aloud.

“Something that will secure your place as a school legend.”
“I’ve got it!” Danny declared after a few moments of

uncharacteristically silent contemplation. “The Sword of
MacGuffin.”
“What’s that?” Henry asked.
Danny’s eyes twinkled with enthusiasm as he spoke. “It is an

enchanted blade forged by the Ancient Sorcerers at the dawn of the
world. They say that whoever possesses it will wield the power of
their ancient magic.” Danny trailed off whistfully.
“And?” Danny prompted impatiently.
Danny continued undeterred. “Before he died, the last of the

Ancient Sorcerers thrust it into a large stone in order to keep it out
of the wrong hands.”

“Maybe he should have cast an immortality spell on himself
and held on to his sword,” Henry interjected.
Danny pretended not to hear. “It is said that only the chosen
one can draw the Sword from the stone.”
“And you think that’s me?” Henry inquired.
“Might as well find out,” Danny rejoined. “If it is you, then

you’ll go down in history.”
“And if not?” Henry probed.
“Then we’ll think up another showstopper,” Danny assured

him.
“Just where is this Sword located?” Henry wondered aloud.
“I don’t know exactly,” Danny hedged. “But it is somewhere

in the Forbidden Forrest.”
“That doesn’t sound promising,” Henry grumbled.
“They say it’s haunted. And that it is the domain of the

NAMELESS ONE,” Danny droned indifferently by way of
perfunctory disclaimer. “But I think that’s all a bunch of hooey.
Just a trick to keep students from leaving the Hemlock grounds.”
“It is against the rules, you know,” Henry scolded half-

heartedly.
“Technically, yes. But everyone does it,” Danny observed.
“To sneak out for a night in village,” Henry corrected. “Not

to go on some crazy trinket quest in the wilderness.”

Danny affected a tone of earnestness. “Look, I enjoy the
taverns of the village as much as the next guy.”
“From what I hear, the taverns aren’t all you enjoy,” Henry
interrupted.
“Well, perhaps not,” Danny admitted. “But that’s not the

point. What I’m talking about is much more significant that a
mere night of debauchery.”
“But debauchery is so much more fun,” Henry protested.
“You don’t have to convince me of that,” Danny reassured

him. “And there’ll be plenty of time for that after we cement your
legendary reputation. You’ll be a rock star at Hemlock. And in
the village. And everywhere else.”
“Alright, I’m in,” Henry finally acceded. “But how are we

going to find the Sword?”
Danny exuded confidence. “I know just the person who can

help us. Let’s head for the library.”
“The library you say?” Henry joked. “What have you done
with the real Danny?”
“Very funny,” Danny responded with annoyed impatience.

“But if you’re going to catch a bookworm, it’s the best place to
look.” Before he had finished speaking, Danny was already up,
out of his seat and in motion. Henry fell into line behind him.
Before exiting the dining hall, Henry called out loudly,

“fogger!” When the same ghost waitress dutifully materialized,
Henry made a point of directing her to tidy up his and Danny’s
dishes, even though such an instruction was obviously redundant
of what the ghost servers would have done automatically anyway.
Nevertheless, the waitress nodded politely in servile

acknowledgment, as if thanking Henry for skillfully administering
some important detail that she had overlooked. Henry was able to
dispatch his orders with breaking stride in his pursuit of Danny.
From the exterior, the Hemlock library bore a strong

resemblance to the library at Henry’s grandfather’s university – an
imposing and architecturally masterful shrine to books (albeit with
many darker gothic flourishes). On the inside, the entirety of the
Hemlock library resembled the rare books and manuscripts room at
the university library. Instead of conventional books, the Hemlock
library was brimming with all manner of exotic and oddly sized
and shaped scrolls, tomes, codexes, folios and treatises. Unlike the
university library, the lighting in the Hemlock library was poor.
Instead of the buzzing pallor of endless banks of fluorescent lights,
the Hemlock library was illuminated by an almost medieval array
of primitive light sources – candles, torches, oil lamps – that cast
flickering and highly irregular light patterns. Shadows darted and
danced about everywhere. Adding to the atmosphere was a low-
pitched drone arising from the various sorcerers seated in front of
spell books throughout the library and sounding out some of the
incantations therein. The sound reverberated pleasantly off the
sparse stone walls, creating a soothing tonal mélange.
Danny suddenly looked lost. The determination behind his

purposefully stroll to the library had given way to bewilderment
born of his unfamiliarity with the layout of (owing to his highly
infrequent visits to) the library. He turned to Henry for guidance.
“We need to find the healing spells section,” he declared.
Henry was unconvinced. “What does that have to do with

the sword?”
“Just trust me,” Danny promised.
Henry skeptically guided Danny to an out-of-the-way and

seemingly deserted corner of the library. Henry was about to ask
another question when they spotted Persephone. She was seated

by herself at the end of a long table, carefully scrutinizing a large
unfurled scroll by dim candlelight.
“What is she doing here?” Henry demanded.
Before Danny could response, Persephone looked up,

surprised, and addressed Henry. “I might ask you the same
question,” she snapped. “Are you following me? I though I just
stormed out on you.”
“Well, so much for introductions,” Danny said, trying to

inject levity. “Seriously, though, I naturally thought of Persephone
to assist us with our little project because she’s so knowledgeable.”
“What are you talking about?” Persephone inquired

skeptically, unmoved by Danny’s attempt at flattery.
“Just a little challenge to test the budding skills of our

sorcerer prodigy,” Danny responded, gesturing toward Henry.
“We’re looking for the Sword of MacGuffin,” Henry

proclaimed bluntly, short-circuiting Danny’s efforts to beat around
the bush.
Persephone was incredulous. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all,” Danny reassured. “We think Henry might be

just the one to free the sword.”
“That sword is in the Forbidden Forest,” Persephone

reproved. “It’s off limits.”
“So is the village,” Danny retorted. “But that doesn’t seem to

stop a lot of our classmates.”

“Our male classmates,” Persephone corrected. “Besides, the
Forest is a lot further away and a lot more dangerous.”
“That’s no problem for our superstar sorcerer,” Danny

bubbled proudly, again gesturing toward Henry.
“Well, Mr. Superstar may not care about the school rules,”
Persephone said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “but I don’t
want to get expelled.”
Persephone paused before adding, “What makes you think I

would help you anyway? Mr. Superstar was a real jerk to me.”
“I’m sure that it was just a misunderstanding,” Danny

suggested hopefully.
Persephone flatly rejected Danny’s overture. “Quite the

contrary. Your superstar made his opinions very clear.”
Out of ideas, Danny turned to Henry with silent pleading.

Henry responded with an ironic smirk that said he couldn’t believe
what he was being asked to do. After a long pause, Henry relented
with a little chuckle to himself that was equal parts wounded
martyr and self-deprecation. “Maybe sometimes I can be a little
too opinionated perhaps,” he offered. “So if you were offended by
something I said, I’m sorry.”
“Is that supposed to be an apology?” Persephone scoffed.
“That’s what it sounded like to me,” Danny enthusiastically

volunteered.
“Is that right?” Persephone asked, turning to Henry.
Henry snorted with disgust. “Look, what do you want from

me? I said I was sorry.”

“Really?” Persephone probed. “Because I’m not sure that’s
what I heard. And as far as what I want from you, I want to know
who you really are.”
Henry responded with an exaggerated scowl intended to

emphasize his disdain for the stupidity of the question. “What are
you talking about?”
Persephone continued, undeterred by Henry’s sarcasm. “Are

you the friendly, easy-going boy I met on the train? Or are you an
arrogant, self-absorbed jerk who thinks that he is some kind of
messiah?”
“I’m just a guy who’s suddenly popular for the first time in
his life,” Henry posited. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Popularity can be a tricky thing,” Persephone admonished.

“If that’s your only goal in life, you’re likely to be disappointed.”
“Whatever,” Henry snapped, his simmering annoyance

finally bursting forth into full-blown anger. “I said I was sorry! If
you don’t want to help us, just say so, but spare me the lecture!”
Persephone retreated to a more soothing tone. “I didn’t say I

wouldn’t help you. I’m just trying to understand the purpose of
your quest. Are you seriously interested in the legend of the
Sword or is it just a publicity stunt?”
“What difference does it make?” Henry asked with

exasperation.
“Some people take the legend of the Sword very seriously,”

Persephone explained calmly. “They believe that the person who
can free the Sword from the stone will be some kind of savior. Do
you think that’s you?”

“I don’t know,” Henry confessed earnestly. “But I only
know one way to find out. That is, if you will help us.”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Persephone replied.

Then, turning to Danny, she said, “How did you know where to
find me anyway?”
“My spies are everywhere,” Danny joked unctuously. “I

heard that you have lately developed quite an interest in healing
spells. You’re not sick, I hope.”
“My interest is entirely academic,” Persephone proclaimed in

a tone that, although not convincing, clearly conveyed to Danny
that he ought not open yet another can of worms.
“So what do we need to do to find the Sword?” Danny asked.
“We need to pay a visit to the map room,” Persephone said

enthusiastically. “We need to pull one of the old Hemlock maps.”
“Why?” Henry interjected.
Persephone slipped into a pedantic drone as she responded.

“The grounds of Hemlock were once much larger than they are
today. They included the Forbidden Forest, as well as some other
territories. That was before the rise of the NAMELESS ONE. He
pushed back Hemlock’s borders to where they are today.”
Persephone paused briefly before continuing. “Which is why

it’s a serious infraction to leave the Hemlock grounds. Which is
why I won’t be accompanying you on your trip.”
“We’re not asking you to,” Danny soothed sympathetically.

“Which way is the map room?”

Chapter 7
The map room was in the basement of the library, at the end
of a long, dimly-lit, claustrophobic corridor with narrow walls and
a low ceiling. Although the ceiling was actually high enough for
Henry to pass standing upright, he nevertheless felt a strong urge to
crouch down as he walked. Henry noticed a series of what
appeared to be three-quarter-height iron doors spaced at regular
intervals along the corridor. Each appeared to be secured by a
latch bearing a large padlock. What little light there was came
from a few torches sitting in primitive iron sconces affixed to the
stone walls. Henry quickly concluded that the library basement
had once been some sort of dungeon.
At the end of the corridor was a heavy wood door much

larger and more ornate than the smaller iron cell doors. The door
had an oversized gleaming brass knocker in the shape of an
executioner’s axe. Persephone reached for the knocker and pulled
it back as far as it would permit. As she did so, Henry though he
sat a grim ghostly face emerging from the knocker. When he
looked again, the vision had vanished. Persephone released the
knocker and it struck the door with a surprising sound. Rather than
the hard sound of metal upon oak, it made the soft, slightly squishy
sound of an axe cleaving flesh.
At first, nothing happened. Then, one of the inlaid panels

within the door started to move. Henry had thought that the panel
was purely decorative, but he now realized that it was actually a
spyhole. The spyhole remained open for a moment while its
unseen user evaluated the three students. Then it quickly snapped
shut. Another long moment passed and Henry was tempted to use
the knocker again. Finally, a gruff voice called out from behind
the door, “Who goes there?”
“We just want to check out the map room,” Persephone said,
affecting an overly sweet feminine sincerity that was unusual for
her.

“Why is that?” the voice demanded.
Persephone hesitated slightly before responding. “It’s for an

extra-credit project for our History of Sorcery class.”
Henry was impressed with Persephone’s quick thinking and

hoped that the doorkeeper wouldn’t realize that the three were only
first-year students (History of Sorcery being a second- and third-
year class). Henry was relieved when the voice called out “Very
well” after a few moments.
“But first,” the voice continued, “you must answer my riddle.

Who is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the
shipwright or the carpenter?”
“The gravedigger,” Persephone replied without missing a

beat, “for the houses that he builds will last until Doomsday.”
Turning back to Henry and Danny she added, “Hamlet is one of
my all-time favorites.”
The door swung slowly open to reveal a small, troll-like

creature clad entirely in what appeared to be a monk’s habit, with a
hood pulled back just far enough to reveal a portion of the face.
The doorkeeper motioned the three students through the door and
into the room with an impatient gesture more commanding than
inviting. As Henry passed into the room, he noticed an unusual
feature on the back of the now-open wood door – a miniature
staircase built into the back of the door and providing access to the
spyhole (which was otherwise well above the doorkeeper’s head).
The room was small, not much larger than what Henry
imagined was the size of the cells he had passed walking down the
corridor. A musky, mildewy scent hung heavily in the air. Small
though it was, the room was overflowing with maps of every
imaginable variety – scrolls, folios and plat books. Many were laid
out haphazardly upon long wood tables from which dangled iron

manacles and other restrains attesting to each table’s (and the
room’s) former purpose.
The doorkeeper made no further inquiries regarding which

particular map the three were seeking and offered no assistance in
locating it amid the clutter. Nevertheless, Persephone immediately
set about sifting through the maps as if she were intimately
familiar with each. Within five minutes, she was nodding to
herself in satisfaction at finding what she had been seeking. “See,
here it is,” she announced proudly, pointing to a highly yellowed
and wrinkled parchment.
“What is it?” Danny inquired.
“It’s a map to the location of the Sword,” Persephone

explained.
“What do we do now?” Danny asked.
Persephone thought for a moment. Then she walked over to

the doorkeeper and again affected her honey-sweet feminine
charm. “Can we borrow this map to make a copy?”
“Absolutely not,” the doorkeeper snarled. “No map leaves

this room!” Then, after a moment he added skeptically, “Just what
class did you say you had a project for?”
Persephone ignored his probing and continued in her forced-

charm mode. “Do you suppose that I could borrow a compass?
Only for a minute.”
After a few more agonizing moments of silent, skeptical

scrutiny, the doorkeeper obliged and produced a small black metal
compass. Persephone received it and made a sort of a smarmy
half-curtsy in gratitude. Then she pivoted quickly and Henry could
see that she had switched out of charm mode and into her more
comfortable bossy brainiac mode.

“Find me one of the current Hemlock maps,” she
commanded.
Danny was confused. “What are you doing?”
Persephone did not look at Danny, but continued to search

about the room as she spoke impatiently. “If I can match up the
Sword map with a more recent map, I can transpose its location
and get the coordinates.” Before the boys had even fully registered
her instructions and begun to help searching, she triumphantly
announced “Eureka!” Her voice was so exuberant that she caught
the notice of the doorkeeper, who scowled angrily in her direction
as if to quiet her.
Persephone didn’t notice. Instead, she set about wielding the

compass with the supreme ease and dexterity of a master surgeon
with a scalpel. The doorkeeper was intrigued and approached to
watch Persephone at work. A few moments later, she was
finished. She paused to double-check the accuracy of her
calculations (and to marvel at her own cleverness). Then she
playfully tossed the compass back to the doorkeeper and said
“Thanks” with a note of self-satisfied mischief in her voice and a
cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.
“Do you have what you need?” Henry inquired.
“Absolutely,” Persephone replied without hesitation. “Our

work here is done.” She was preparing to leave when Danny
interrupted with a question.
“What is that writing at the bottom of the map?” Danny

asked.
Persephone’s triumphant bubble was deflated when she had

to admit “I don’t know.” Then she added, “It looks like it might be

from the Mystical Texts. It looks kind of like that. Maybe Henry
knows.”
Henry did know. In fact, he could instantly read the text just
as he had done before. Nevertheless, he interjected a dramatic
pause and furrowed his brow in affected pensiveness before
reading aloud the inscription. “Put up again your Sword unto his
place. For all those who take the Sword shall perish with the
Sword.”

Chapter 8
“I told you I wasn’t going with you,” Persephone

admonished.
“But how will we get to the Sword?” Danny pleaded.
Persephone replied with a quick dismissiveness that implied

that Danny had overlooked something quite obvious. “Just use the
GPS.”
“Right. That makes sense,” Danny responded sheepishly.
Henry was incredulous. “What you even get GPS here, too?
How does that work?”
“It’s the Ghostly Positioning System,” Danny explained. “It

works similarly to the GPS that you’re familiar with.”
The three stood at a spot on the periphery of the Hemlock

grounds – near the tree under which Persephone and Henry had
sheltered during the rainstorm – on a clear summer’s day. The
balmy air was alive with the sound of nature in full summer’s
blossom: birds singing, bees buzzing, crickets chirping. The bright
sun felt soothingly warm upon Henry’s face.
After fumbling around a bit in his backpack, Danny

announced, “I must have left the GPS in my room. I’ll be right
back.” With that, he set off to retrieve the item.
“Hey look, it’s our tree,” Henry declared after Danny had
passed out of earshot. He selected a tree at random to point at, not
recalling any memorable distinguishing features of the actual tree.

“I remember,” Persephone replied warmly (and without
giving any hint of her doubts about the authenticity of the tree that
Henry was pointing at). “I guess you could say that was our first
date.”
Henry felt his face flush instantaneously. “I guess so,” he

stammered, unsure what else to say.
The half-heartedness of Henry’s response made Persephone

self-conscious. “Well, unless you don’t see it that way,” she back-
pedaled.
Henry replied with a long, stony pause that was agonizing for
Persephone. Little did she know that Henry’s silence was the
product of equal emotional agony on his part. Henry finally
worked up enough gumption to say, “I guess that means we’re
officially dating.”
Persephone was heartened by Henry’s response, but

remained cautious. “Unless you,” she began. Before she could
finish her thought – or trail off awkwardly as she was about to do –
Henry made a decisive stroke.
“Good,” he declared with the exaggerated resoluteness of a

shopper attempting to rationalize to himself a major purchase he
had just made.
Persephone’s tense, cautious poker face melted into a wide-

smiling, goofy grin. “Good,” she responded giddily.
Henry leaned in close and prepared to kiss Persephone when

Danny abruptly returned.
“I was about half-way back to my room when I remembered

that I packed the GPS unit in your bag, Henry,” Danny proclaimed
in an enthusiastic, rising voice as if delivering the punchline of a
hilarious joke. “Figured you wouldn’t mind,” he added.

Danny motioned toward Henry’s bag with an upturned palm
and a tilt of the head intended to ask permission to retrieve the
GPS unit. When Henry did not react to the non-verbal cue, Danny
was struck with a playful, amused suspicion. After taking mental
note of Henry’s proximity to Persephone and the expressions on
both their faces, Danny spoke with affected sternness. “Hope I’m
not interrupting something.”
“No, not at all,” Henry replied defensively.
Danny was unconvinced but nevertheless said, “Good, then

can I borrow your bag for a minute?”
Even this clear verbal instruction did not register with Henry
for a few moments. When it did, he hurriedly retrieved his bag and
handed it to the now-impatient Danny. Danny received the bag
from Henry with the skeptical affrontedness of an airport security
screener. After a few moments of rummaging, he produced an
odd-looking “L”-shaped device. It was a long, thin circular metal
rod bent at one end to form a simple handle – a diving or dowsing
rod. Attached to the handle end of the rod was a thin cable which
tethered the rod to a device that looked like an MP3 player.
“What is that thing?” Henry asked.
“It’s the GPS unit,” Danny responded matter-of-factly. When

the puzzled expression lingered on Henry’s face, Danny offered
further explanation. “You just punch in the coordinates here,”
Danny said with a flourish of his hand toward the MP3-like device,
“and then the rod will point you in the right direction.”
“But why is it called the Ghostly Positioning System?” Henry

wondered aloud.

“Perhaps a demonstration is in order,” Danny rejoined. “I’ll
just plug in the coordinates of that tree you were pointing at a few
minutes ago. By the way, why were you pointing at it?”
“Just though I saw a bird is all,” Henry mumbled.
“Anyway,” Danny continued, “I’ll just plug in the

coordinates and tell the unit to plot a path.”
Danny hit the ENTER button on the unit with a flamboyant

gesture of self-satisfaction. As soon as he did, the metal rod
pivoted abruptly in his hand toward the tree, like a compass needle
trying to find North. When Henry looked up from watching the rod
itself to look in the direction that it was pointing, he noticed
something curious. Along the line pointed by the rod, at evenly-
spaced intervals over the roughly 40-foot distance between Danny
and the tree, four ghosts materialized.
“What’s that for?” Henry inquired.
“They’re there to show you the way,” Danny noted. “Like

beacons or waypoints. Of course, you don’t really need them
when you’re this close to the target, but they help on longer
journeys.” Then he added, “Watch what else I can do.” Danny hit
another button on the GPS unit and the number of ghosts instantly
doubled, still spaced evenly, but at intervals exactly half as large as
before.
Henry was surprised by this. “What just happened?”
“I adjusted to a more detailed resolution,” Danny stated. “I

can adjust it even more. There, look at that.” With another button-
press, the prior line of eight ghosts spaced at even, discrete
intervals transformed into a seemingly continuous line of ghosts so
numerous and close to one another that they appeared to blur
together.

“How many ghosts does the GPS unit have inside it?” Henry
wondered.
“Oh, they’re not in the GPS unit itself,” Danny reassured.

“They’re everywhere around us. You just can’t see them until the
GPS summons them.”
Henry had trouble grasping this. “What do you mean?”
“Our whole world has ghosts positioned at 6-inch intervals

across the entire landscape,” Danny explained. “They act like
beacons for the GPS.”
“Why?” Henry wanted to know.
“That’s how GPS works,” Danny said in a tone suggesting

that he felt he was answering a self-evident question.
“But you mean that the ghosts just stand there?” Henry
pressed. “Permanently?”
“Exactly,” Danny declared. “That’s their job. Are you about

ready to get moving?”
Henry looked wistfully at Persephone, but then grew self-

conscious and looked away. “Ready,” he proclaimed.
“Good,” Danny responded. “Now let’s put this thing to real

use.” Danny punched a new set of coordinates into the GPS and
the rod twitched sharply in a different direction. The prior line of
ghosts between Danny and the tree vanished and a new one
emerged stretching off toward the horizon.

Chapter 9
“What was that?” Danny asked nervously, suddenly aroused

to full attention after having been almost asleep.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Henry protested groggily. Henry

then instinctively rolled over so that he was facing away from
Danny, forgetting about the close confines of the tent that both
were sleeping in. Doing so, Henry nearly collapsed the tent when
he rolled up hard against one of the thin canvas tent walls. He
fumbled about momentarily and then rolled back, resigned to the
fact that he would have to continue the conversation with Danny.
“There it is again,” Danny insisted. “Listen!”
Henry strained to hear a faint cooing sound that he instantly

recognized. “It sounds like a dove.”
“A what?” Danny gasped.
“A dove,” Henry repeated. “It’s a kind of bird.”
Danny was still unsure. “I don’t think we have those here.”
“Are you serious?” Henry asked skeptically. “You don’t

know what a dove is? Do you know what birds are?”
“Of course I know what birds are,” Danny retorted

indignantly. “I just don’t know that particular one.”
“Which birds are you familiar with?” Henry quizzed.
“Owls, of course,” Danny responded reflexively. “And

ravens, crows, vultures.” He began to trail off. “I’m sure there are
others,” he added uncertainly.

“What about bluejays, sparrows, cardinals, eagles and
woodpeckers?” Henry probed.
“Yes, those too,” Danny said.
“But no doves,” Henry murmured, still disbelieving. “How

weird. What about if we try to find it? Then you can see for
yourself.”
“No way,” Danny whined. “I’m not leaving the tent.”
“Not much of a camper, huh?” Henry teased.
“I’m out here to get the Sword,” Danny retorted, “not to soak
up the wildlife.”
“Remind me again why I’m out here,” Henry quipped.
“To get the Sword I hope,” Danny replied reflexively. Then

after a pause he added, “Or maybe it’s to impress Persephone.”
Henry’s playfully smug grin quickly melted away in a sudden

pang of self-consciousness. He struggled to generate a
simultaneously witty and evasive response on the fly, but was
unable to do so quickly enough to deter Danny. Sensing he had
scored a point, Danny declared triumphantly, “I thought so.”
Henry finally settled or an uninspired and unconvincing “I

don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Undeterred by Henry’s protestations, Danny proceeded to

needle him more aggressively. “Of course, on one level I can
understand your interest. Persephone isn’t a bad-looking girl in
her own way. But how can you tolerate her personality?”

Tiring of his new conversational direction and realizing that
he had been sufficiently awakened so that he would be unable to
fall immediately back to sleep, Henry announced with confidence,
“I’m going to find that dove for you, Danny,” even though he had
no intention to do so and simple wanted to get a break from
Danny’s questioning. He exited the tent clumsily and nearly fell to
his knees before regaining his balance. Once outside, however,
Henry quickly forgot his clumsiness and Danny’s needling. He
was immediately struck by the beauty of the scene surrounding the
tent.
High above, a perfect full moon hung in the middle of an

exquisite cloudless summer sky and cast a wholesome, dream-like
celestial white glow upon the entire landscape. Henry could easily
see to the edges of the clearing around him, where he and Danny
had chosen to make camp after a long, frustrating day of hiking.
Although he had always felt athletically inadequate by the
standards of his own family, even Henry had been annoyed by the
slow pace of the pair’s progress on foot and the frequency with
which Danny requested breaks. Henry had protested the decision
to make camp in this place, fully an hour before sunset and well
short of the mental goal that the two (or at least Henry) had set for
their first day of walking. Now, however, Henry was glad of the
decision.
The scene was sublimely peaceful for Henry. Although the

trees and other features of the landscape were only incompletely
illuminated by the moonlight, none looked in any way sinister nor
cast a menacing shadow. Instead, everything seemed to exist
together in a pristine harmony. In fact, Henry half expected to see
a lion lying down by a lamb. Taking in the whole scene, Henry
found it difficult to credit Persephone’s warnings about this being a
dangerous wilderness stalked by the evil NAMELESS ONE.
Rather, it seemed a serene counterpoint to the sinister, brooding
architecture of Hemlock, with all its gothic flourishes and hard
edges.

Chapter 10
“It must be around here somewhere,” Danny declared out of

sheer frustration rather than actual certainty.
“Did you enter the coordinates correctly?” Henry asked

skeptically.
“Of course,” Danny shot back. “But of course I didn’t

calculate those coordinates in the first place. Maybe you should
talk to your girlfriend about that.”
“Well, obviously someone screwed up,” Henry declared with

a broad gesture toward the seemingly empty meadow in which
they were standing. The line of ghosts summoned by the GPS unit
stretched into the middle of meadow, ending abruptly at a point
with no visible landmark or other apparent significance.
“Let’s get some help finding it,” Henry proposed with a self-
satisfied smirk. Then, turning, in the direction of the line of
ghosts, he called out in a loud voice, “Foggers, find the Sword!”
Henry was surprised and embarrassed when nothing

happened. Sensing this, Danny explained amiably, “They can’t
hear you. They only respond to the GPS.”
“How can that be?” Henry demanded. “They’re not even real
ghosts. It’s like they’re a ghost of a ghost.”
“I don’t know how it works,” Danny conceded, “only that

that’s the rule. And it’s certainly true that nobody wants to
become a GPS ghost – that’s the lowest of the low.”
“Well, anyway,” Henry interjected, tiring of the topic, “that

doesn’t get us any closer to the Sword.”

“Maybe we should be looking for the stone instead,” Danny
suggested.
“Do you see any?” Henry asked with more than a hint of
sarcasm.
“What about that one?” Danny suggested posited, pointing

toward a nondescript medium-sized gray rock about twenty yards
from the two.
“Excellent work, detective,” Henry commended with faux

enthusiasm. “But there’s just one little thing missing – like a
sword sticking out of the top of it.”
“Who said it had to be on top?” Danny asked pointedly.

“Let’s take a look.”
The two approached the stone expectantly. Danny beamed

when he got close enough to observe a metallic object protruding
from the side of the stone, only about 18 inches up from the
ground. With a few more steps, Danny was close enough to
confirm that it was the hilt of a sword.
“Go ahead and give it a try,” Danny encouraged.
Henry approached the stone skeptically, still struggling to

reconcile it in his mind with his Arthurian preconceptions about a
gleaming broadsword mounted squarely and dramatically in the
top of a giant boulder. When he finally reached the stone, Henry
hesitated for a long moment. Them he reached out cautiously for
the sword hilt, his hand trembling noticeably as it inched closer to
the target. When it finally arrived, Henry gingerly tapped the hilt
several times before closing his entire hand around it, almost as
though he expected it to be electrified. Then he pulled.

At first, Henry pulled very tentatively and gently on the
Sword. Nothing happened. In response, Henry continued to pull
with escalating vigor to the point where he was straining visibly.
Only after about five minutes of such continuous exertion did
Henry succumb to the need for a break. He ruefully let go the hilt.
“Tough break,” Danny consoled.
“There must be a spell we can use to free it,” Henry pled in

desperation.
“I don’t think so,” Danny responded. “Many, many sorcerers

have tried over the years to free the Sword. I’m sure they tried
every type of spell you can think of.”
Henry pondered this for a long time. Then he finally asked

with bewilderment, “So what do we do?”
Danny didn’t hesitate in the least. “We tell people we never

found the Sword and the whole thing is a hoax,” he suggested.

Chapter 11
“And the award for highest grade-point average in the first-

year class during the first semester goes to . . .” Apollonius paused
dramatically before continuing. “Henry Shepherd.”
The entire dining hall erupted in enthusiastic applause at this.

Henry rose in a slow, ceremonious motion and raised his right
hand slightly in a casual gesture of acknowledgement. Ordinarily,
Henry would have been deeply gratified to the point of halting
awkwardness by the honor and, more specifically, the applause.
Today, however, he wore an apathy born of his preoccupation with
the Sword and his inability to free it from the stone. Although it
had been almost two months since the incident, Henry could not
stop repeating the events over and over in his head, as if he would
eventually achieve a different outcome through the repetition.
Henry still couldn’t understand why he had failed. After all,

it made perfect sense (to him at least) that he should be the chosen
one destined to free the Sword. It was hardly fair, Henry thought,
to turn his world upside down and whisk him off to Hemlock based
on the premise that he was a unique savant and yet deny him
access to the Sword. If he was not the one destined to free it, he
couldn’t help wondering who was.
Henry was so focused on the Sword that he missed

Apollonius’ generic end-of-semester remarks – something about
using your free time wisely and not letting your mind turn to mush
just because you weren’t in school. Henry also vaguely noticed
that some other student awards were handed out, including several
upper-class awards received by Montgomery Throckmorton.
Henry only realized that the ceremony had ended when students
began to get up to leave. Henry was about to do the same when
something unexpected happened.
Apollonius turned and stared directly at Henry, beckoning

him with an understated gesture in the direction of the teachers’

dais. Henry approached cautiously. “Mr. Shepherd,” Apollonius
began in a rather stern tone, “would you please join me in my
office.”
Henry did not respond verbally, but instead nodded meekly

and fell into line behind Apollonius. The two proceeded to a
hidden door at the front of the dining at the front of the dining hall
behind the teachers’ dais that Henry had been previously been
unaware of. Behind the door, Henry discovered a narrow staircase
providing direct access to Apollonius’ office. The two trudged up
the stairs in silence.
Apollonius opened the office door and walked in with Henry

in tow. However, he then stopped abruptly, causing Henry to
nearly collide with him. Just inside the door and to the left was a
small alcove set off from the rest of Apollonius’ office. It
contained a large, impressive apparatus that appeared to be some
sort of complicated control panel. Apollonius hastened nervously
to draw an emerald green curtain across the alcove, thus hiding its
contents from view. He then continued on into the main area of
the office.
Inside Apollonius’ office, Henry was surprised to see

Professor Macintosh. She regarded Henry with a cunning eye, like
a hawk watching a field mouse. Apollonius beckoned Henry
toward a chair and then took his own seat behind his desk.
Macintosh remained standing.
“You’ve had quite an impressive semester, Mr. Shepherd,”

Apollonius began. “You’ve worked very hard and . . .”
Apollonius paused before continuing. “I’m sure that you were
looking forward to seeing your family over the semester break.”
Henry felt a sudden pang of guilt to hear this. The simple

fact was that he had not been thinking much about his family
lately, preoccupied as he was with the angst arising from his
newfound rock star status in the world of Hemlock. The fact that
they – and indeed that entire world – was literally frozen in time

made it easier to ignore. Indeed, when Henry thought of his family
at all, he did not focus on their personalities nor the nuances of his
relationships with each of them and their relationships amongst
themselves. Instead, he visualized them as the Hemlock
messenger had left them – frozen in time and place like
mannequins in a wax museum.
“And of course we would be happy to have you visit your

family,” Apollonius continued, “but there’s something more
important that we need to do.”
Henry continued to reflect on his frozen family and thus did

not pick up on the nervousness in Apollonius’ voice. Eventually,
Henry asked, “What do you mean?”
“There are dark forces afoot,” Apollonius observed

cryptically. “And you are their top target.”
Henry gaped in vacant non-comprehension. Surmising that

he was being too subtle, Apollonius offered a more explicit
explanation. “Your accomplishments this semester have been
nothing short of exceptional and have gained wide attention
indeed. Wide enough to include some who would seek to mislead
and corrupt you.”
“The NAMELESS ONE,” Henry blurted out in an attempt to

help Apollonius reach the conclusion of his circuitous thought
process.
“That’s right,” Apollonius replied somberly. “Quite simply,

the NAMELESS ONE seeks to recruit you. He wants to harness
your considerable gifts for his purposes. We need to protect you.”
Henry was skeptical. “Protect me? How?”
Apollonius smiled reassuringly as he explained. “Professor

Macintosh here tells me that your performance in Countermeasures

has been outstanding. She assures me that you are ready to learn
some truly advanced techniques ordinarily reserved for upperclass
students. She has generously volunteered to give you a complete-
immersion crash course over the semester break.”
Henry beamed proudly and quickly forgot his guilty, wistful

thoughts of his family. “When do we begin?” he asked eagerly.
“Tomorrow morning, six o’clock sharp in my office,”

Macintosh interjected.
“Yes, ma’am,” Henry fired back enthusiastically. “Thank

you for this opportunity.”
“There is one more condition,” Apollonius cautioned,

suddenly stern again. “No one beyond the three of us can ever
know about your training. This is a top-secret operation.”
“What do I tell my friends?” Henry asked with

disappointment about the suddenly-lost bragging rights.
Apollonius did not soften at all in his response. “You may

tell them that you have been selected to do some advanced
coursework for extra credit, but that is all.” Then he added, “Go
now and make whatever arrangements are necessary. Professor
Macintosh will expect you first thing in the morning.”
With that, Apollonius gestured Henry out of his office, back

down the flight of stairs to the dining hall. Henry strolled back to
his dorm room with carefree self-satisfaction. Along the way, he
looked for any of his friends – or even casual acquaintances – to
whom he might brag (albeit only to the limited extent authorized
by Apollonius). Just then, he spotted Persephone up ahead of him,
walking away.

“Persephone, hey wait up!” he called enthusiastically. She
did not respond, nor even break stride. Henry sped up to overtake
her.
“Wait up!” Henry called again when he was within ten feet of
Persephone. “I’ve got some great news that I simply must tell you
about!”
This time, Persephone stopped and slowly turned around.

When she did, Henry could see that her eyes were distinctly red
and puffy, and her cheeks moist.
“What’s wrong?” Henry asked with astonishment.
Persephone spoke slowly, struggling to hold back tears. “My

brother is dead.”
“What?” Henry blurted out. “When?”
“Four days ago,” Persephone was able to state before she

succumbed to a convulsion of sobbing. “I only just found out,” she
added after she had managed to calm herself slightly.
“How could this happen?” Henry asked in disbelief.
“He’s been sick for a long time,” Persephone sobbed. “I’ve

been trying to learn some healing spells in order to help him.”
“I was wondering about that,” Henry observed softly.
“I can’t help thinking,” Persephone sobbed, “that if I had

been there, he might not have died.”
“What happened?” Henry probed sympathetically.

“I still don’t know the whole story,” Persephone said, her
grief suddenly tinged with resentment. “He died four days ago, but
I only found out today. Do you know why?”
Henry shrugged gently to say that he could not imagine why.
“My parents said they didn’t want to distract me from my

first semester final exams,” Persephone hissed between sobs.
“They said there was nothing I could do anyway and there was no
point me losing an entire semester’s worth of work. They already
had the funeral. Can you believe that?”
Henry repeated his sympathetic shrug of disbelief. He

agonized momentarily about whether or not he should hug her and
then decided to do so. Before he could, she spoke again in anger.
“Do you know the worst part?” Persephone demanded. “My

parents hired some bogus witch doctor who’s coming this
afternoon.”
“What do you mean?” Henry asked with genuine confusion.
“I don’t know where they found this guy,” Persephone

growled with disgust, “but he said he could help. My parents sent
for him over a week ago and he’s only showing up now – a little
late, don’t you think?”
Henry correctly surmised that this last part was a rhetorical

question not requiring any response on his part. Persephone
continued, “But he insists on coming anyway. Apparently he’s
convinced that my brother is only asleep. What a fraud! I need to
get home before he manipulates my parents out of their life
savings.” Having apparently fully vented her sorrow and anger (at
least for the moment), Persephone at last thought to ask, “What did
you want to tell me, Henry?”

“It’s not important,” Henry mumbled. “I’m sorry about your
brother.”
Persephone nodded in unspoken thanks for Henry’s kind

words and walked off. Henry resumed his course toward his room,
but found that he had lost the proud spring in his step. For the rest
of the day and that evening, Henry could not stop thinking about
Persephone. It made him very sad to see her so sad. He struggled
in vain to think of some way in which he might comfort her.
Failing to do so, he finally succumbed to the deep sleep occasioned
by his mental exertion.
Henry awoke the next morning very groggy. It took him a

few moments to become fully aware of his surroundings and to
remember his appointment with Professor Macintosh. When he
did, his grogginess quickly turned to panic at the fact that he had
overslept. He feverishly showered and dressed himself, grabbing a
handful of jelly beans on the way out the door as his only
breakfast.
“You’re late,” Professor Macintosh announced sternly before

Henry was evenly completely through the door to her classroom.
“That is totally unacceptable. You may think you’re pretty special,
but I’m the boss here – don’t forget it. If you break the rules, you
will be punished.” With that, she beckoned Henry toward her and
held out a piece of chalk. “You will write ‘PUNCTUALITY IS A
VIRTUE; TARDINESS IS A CHARACTER FLAW’ 200 times,”
she declared, gesturing toward the blackboard.
Henry sheepishly received the chalk from her and set about
his task. Macintosh settled into her chair behind her desk and
began reviewing a stack of papers. She would occasionally glance
up slightly to check Henry’s progress, but mostly ignored him.
“Done, ma’am,” Henry announced after about an hour.

In response, Macintosh rose pompously and walked slowly to
the board. She took the chalk from Henry’s hand and proceeded to
put “X” marks next to about 25 of the sentences.
“The lettering on these is inadequate,” she announced

reprovingly. “Rewrite them.”
Henry frowned but picked up the eraser to wipe away the

offending sentences before rewriting them. Suddenly, Macintosh
slapped him vigorously across the cheek.
“You will acknowledge me when I speak to you,” she

snarled.
“Yes, ma’am,” Henry stammered, soothing his check with his

hand in amazement at what had just happened.
“Now proceed,” she instructed.
Henry dutifully resumed his rewrite of the offending

sentences. When he had finished, Macintosh returned to inspect.
She studied the board for a long while as if it contained a complex
math equation that she was struggling to solve. At last, she said
simply, “Adequate.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Henry offered, just in case she was

expecting a response.
“Very well now,” she continued, “I hope that I have made my

expectations clear.”
Henry started to nod in the affirmative, but caught himself

and said “Yes, ma’am” instead.
“Good lad,” she responded smugly. “Now to the intended

lesson for today. The NAMELESS ONE possesses extremely

powerful magic, so we’ll need to teach you some powerful magic
of your own to counter him.” Henry nodded with exaggerated
enthusiasm at her words, hoping to avoid any additional
punishment.
“You’ve had some experience summoning ghosts, no?” she

asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Henry replied eagerly.
“Well that won’t be nearly good enough to defeat the

NAMELESS ONE,” she observed gravely. “You need to learn to
summon the ghost’s bigger, tougher cousin – the demon.”
Henry winced visibly at this, prompting Macintosh to inquire

snidely, “Is something the matter, Mr. Shepherd?”
“No ma’am,” Henry stammered unconvincingly.
Macintosh next spoke with a suddenly and

uncharacteristically maternal tone. “It’s alright, son, I understand.
In your world, demons have a bad reputation. There’s a lot of fear
and misinformation surrounding them.”
Henry continued to look on with a skeptical scowl, but

Macintosh proceeded undeterred. “But the simple fact is that
demons are merely very powerful tools that can be harnessed for a
variety of purposes. They can be your worst enemy – or your best
friend.”
“And if demons are outlawed, only outlaws will have

demons,” Henry joked, attempting to inject some levity. Only too
late did he realize that his quip had fallen flat and that he was about
to receive a sound thrashing.

Chapter 12
“Give it some more wrist!” Macintosh commanded as Henry

waived his arms furiously in a gesture of conjuring. Suddenly,
Henry felt a sharp, hot pain shooting through his hand.
Dissatisfied with Henry’s technique and impatient with his lack of
immediate response to her verbal cue, Macintosh had given Henry
a lick with her riding crop to focus his attention. Henry resisted
the instinctive urge to protectively withdraw his hand, thereby
ruining the conjuring spell and inviting further punishment. He
had learned this lesson the hard way over the past month.
Macintosh was a firm believer in corporal punishment as a
pedagogic device and did not hesitate to punctuate her instruction
with liberal recourse to her riding crop. Even mild resistance to
her techniques (such as an effort to shield oneself from her blows
or dart away from the whip as it struck) inevitably resulted in more
of the same.
After a few more such interventions by the riding crop,

Henry finally succeeded in summoning a formidable demon. It
was bright red, twenty feet tall and had a head bursting forth with
hundreds of eyes like a giant insect. On top of the head were horn-
like antennae that twitched continuously like a predator scenting a
prey that it is eager to eat.
“Not bad,” Macintosh observed dryly. She then dispelled the

demon with a casual gesture of her hand that was every bit as
effortless as Henry’s conjuring spell had been laborious. Henry
was greatly relieved that the exercise was finally at an end and
collapsed into a nearby chair, his breathing labored and his
forehead beading with sweat.
“But it is not enough,” Macintosh continued, indifferent to

Henry’s exhaustion. “Demons are useful to afflict the followers of
the NAMELESS ONE, but not the NAMELESS ONE himself.
For that, you need a more direct approach.”

Henry was tempted to continue catching his breath in the
chair, but quickly thought better of this and jumped to his feet.
“What might that be, ma’am?” Henry inquired eagerly.
“So glad you asked,” Macintosh rejoined in an acid-tinged

tone signifying that Henry had narrowly averted yet another
punishment. “Let me demonstrate.” Macintosh made another
effortless gesture and a free-standing human skeleton appeared.
“You need to stab him right here,” Macintosh instructed,

gesturing to the side of the skeleton. Then she drew back her hand
and a dagger magically materialized in it. She thrust it vigorously
forward into the empty space below the bottom of the skeleton’s
rib cage. “Like that,” she added. “Now you try.”
Macintosh offered Henry the dagger with a haughty gesture

and he received it timidly with a polite “Thank you, ma’am.” He
repeated her thrusting gesture, but in a smaller, more tentative
manner.
“Do it like you mean it, boy!” she hissed. Then she followed
up her verbal reproof with a quick, sharp lash from the riding crop
on each of Henry’s cheeks. The latter of these blows landed
directly across Henry’s right cheekbone and opened a small gash
that began to bleed. Henry felt a sudden flush of anger wash over
him. His hand clenched tightly around the dagger and he thrust it
forward with barely-controlled rage, all the while fantasizing that
the skeleton was actually Macintosh herself.
He was startled when his dagger blow found flesh. He

looked up and, for a brief second, saw not the skeleton, but a flesh-
and-blood man who had somehow taken its place. Both of his
arms were raised to either side and they seemed to be immobilized
by some sort of restraint. Then the man turned his head and made
eye contact with Henry.
Henry was simultaneously shocked by the man’s face and

soothed by his eyes. The facial muscles seemed to be twisted up in

a knot of withering agony, with bright red blood pouring down
across them from the man’s brow. And yet the eyes were perfectly
serene and remained firmly fixed on Henry. Despite the man’s
obvious distress, the eyes did not roll up nor otherwise wander.
The man’s glance was strangely peaceful for Henry and spoke
quiet strength and dignity, compassion for Henry’s situation and
complete forgiveness of Henry’s misdeed.
Henry’s reverie was interrupted by Macintosh. “I think that

will do it,” she said with a chuckle. “I didn’t say you had to
disembowel him, just stab him. But I like your enthusiasm.”
Henry glanced quickly up at her and then back to the dagger.

When he did, he no longer saw the man, but the skeleton once
more. Then he instantly understood how Macintosh had misread
the situation. She had never seen the man at all and had mistaken
Henry’s engrossment in his vision as a single-minded desire to
please her.
“I think that concludes today’s lesson,” Macintosh said in a

voice that was ever so slightly softened from her normal disdain by
a hint of pride at Henry’s accomplishments.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Henry replied reflexively. “And thank

you for all your lessons and your discipline, ma’am,” he added,
knowing that this was that she wanted to hear. “I know that I was
not worthy to receive either, so I thank you for the gift of them.”
“Very well,” Macintosh said with self-satisfied smugness.

“You are dismissed. And remember, tell no one about your
lessons with me.”
Henry cracked a broad, sycophantic smile and made a

sweeping bow toward Macintosh. Then he turned to leave and, his
back to Macintosh, the smile collapsed into a sneer of disgust.
Henry trudged dejectedly across the campus in the direction of his
dorm room. His mood brightened, however, when he recalled that
the new semester began tomorrow and that his friends would

therefore be returning from holiday tonight. When he got to his
room, Henry decided to take a cat nap so that he would be ready to
socialize with his friends that evening. He fell rapidly and soundly
to sleep.
“Wake up, Henry,” Danny called for the third time,

crouching over Henry.
Henry finally roused to semi-consciousness. “What’s doing

on?” he ask sleepily.
“It’s time to get up,” Danny insisted.
“Yes, yes, alright,” Henry muttered obligingly. “What time

is it, anyway?”
“Almost eight,” Danny replied impatiently. “Time to get to

class.”
“How long was I asleep,” Henry asked in a tone of confusion

tinged with panic.
“Apparently quite awhile,” Danny responded. “You were

already asleep when I got in last evening. I didn’t figure I should
wake you.”
“What class do we have?” Henry asked, suddenly drawing a

complete blank on his class schedule for the new semester.
“Countermeasures, of course,” Danny declared.
Henry’s heart sank at the news. Then his generalized sense

of foreboding gave way to a sudden pang of terror when he
recalled the disciplinary lesson that Macintosh had already given
him once before about the importance of punctuality. He leapt out
of bed and hurriedly combed his hair. “Ready,” he pronounced

nervously. The two walked briskly and speechlessly across
campus. They arrived at the classroom with five minutes to spare.
Nevertheless, Henry was still relieved when he saw additional
students trickling in after him. Macintosh appeared right at the top
of the hour.
“Welcome back,” she announced coldly. “I trust that your

sorcery muscles have not atrophied too much during your absence,
because you will need them in tip-top shape if you want to do well
in my class.”
Macintosh was vexed by the fact that few of the students

were hanging anxiously on her every word. In fact, she had not
seen even a single student jot down (or pretend to jot down) her
opening admonition. Instead, most of the class looked as if it were
still sleeping off the aftermath of whatever mischief they had
gotten into during the break.
“Perhaps a practical demonstration would help put a finer

point on the matter,” she sneered. “Mr. Cane, front and center.”
Danny rose reluctantly from his seat and walked somberly to

the head of the class. The other students watched him intently with
expressions that combined sympathetic concern for what might
happen to him with fear that they might be called on next.
“Conjure me a ghost, Mr. Cane,” she commanded.
Danny’s eyes darted quickly around the room in panic as he

struggled in vain to recall this lesson from the prior semester.
Then he hit upon an idea that would both demonstrate his clever
wit while also extricating himself from the situation. “Fogger!” he
cried. “Fogger, come here! Professor Macintosh needs you.”
Henry cringed instinctively in anticipation of the hard blow

that he knew was forthcoming from Macintosh’s riding crop. He
was greatly confused when no such blow materialized.

“Very amusing, Mr. Cane,” Macintosh responded in a tone
much less stern than any Henry had ever heard her use and which
seemed like it might even be tinged with a hint of suppressed
amusement at Danny’s humor. “But this isn’t clown class. Let’s
see how well your jokes play in detention.”
Danny sat down sheepishly with a grin that was both self-
deprecating and triumphant.
“Perhaps someone else can assist us,” Macintosh continued.

“Ms. Plunger, front and center.”
Persephone sprung eagerly to her feet and hustled to the front

of the class. This was the first time that Henry had seen
Persephone since their parting before the semester break and he
was surprised to see her so cheerfully eager. Macintosh gestured
toward Persephone to indicate that she should continue the
conjuring exercise that Danny had failed to complete. Persephone
did so, but with only slightly more success. She managed to
conjure a ghost briefly, but it disappeared almost as soon as it
appeared.
Macintosh looked on seriously, but sympathetically. Then

she turned and glared directly at Henry. “What do you make of her
technique, Henry?” she asked in the grave, humorless tone that
Henry was more accustomed to.
Henry was flushed with embarrassment at her attention, but

dared not show it. Instead, he replied dryly, “Not enough wrist,
ma’am.”
“Quite correct,” she said, turning back to Persephone. “Good

conjuring is all in the wrist.” She then proceeded to correct
Persephone’s wrist movement so that it had more snap to it.
Persephone’s corrected gesture succeeded in summoning the ghost,
after which Persephone was congratulated and dismissed to return
to her seat.

Henry was even further surprised by what happened next.
Macintosh continued to call on individual students to attempt
conjuring exercises in front of the class and continued to consult
Henry for a critique of each student’s performance. Each time, she
addressed him simply as “Henry.” Henry felt increasingly
awkward and could sense the jealousy and resentment welling up
among his classmates.
Henry felt himself unclenching in relief when the class was

finally over. He slinked away as inconspicuously as possible, but
not without drawing a number of dirty looks nonetheless. Henry
had made up his mind to make a break for it and jog to his next
class without stopping to talk to anyone when he spotted
Persephone milling about outside the classroom. He felt
magnetically drawn to her out of a combination of concern and
curiosity.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Henry asked in his most nurturing

voice.
Persephone responded in a surprisingly sunny tone. “No

worries, Henry. It’s not your fault that Macintosh decided to use
you to play head games with the rest of the class. Plus, you were
right about needing more wrist.”
“Thanks,” Henry replied flustered, “but that’s not what I

meant.”
Persephone stared blankly at him for a few seconds before

blurting out, “Oh, you mean my brother.” At this, Persephone’s
tone changed dramatically. However, to Henry’s confusion, it was
not a tone of mourning but seemed decidedly nervous instead. She
spoke quickly, as if eager to reach the end of a pre-rehearsed script.
“My brother’s passage was a great tragedy for our family. I
personally lost not only my brother, but one of my closest friends
as well. However, his memory will live on and the joyous
remembrance of his life has brought our family closer together.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Henry consoled.
“His memory will live on and the joyous remembrance of his

life has brought our family closer together,” Persephone repeated
vacantly.
Henry was not sure what to make of this, so he simply

wandered off before another, less understanding classmate
attempted to engage him in conversation.

Chapter 13
“When last you sat in that chair,” Apollonius intoned

dramatically, “I explained to you why you couldn’t return home
for the mid-year break because of the NAMELESS ONE. Now,
I’m afraid he has spoiled your summer vacation plans as well.”
“What do you mean?” Henry asked incredulously.
“The NAMELESS ONE has not lost interest in you,”

Apollonius warned. “Indeed, his interest has never been greater.
You are in very great danger.”
Henry remained skeptical. “If he’s so interested in me, why

doesn’t he just come and get me?”
“You are safe here,” Apollonius reassured. “We can protect

you within the walls of Hemlock. But you can’t leave.”
“What? Ever?” Henry demanded.
“At least not until your own powers of sorcery increase,”

Apollonius explained. “Professor Macintosh has graciously
offered to provide some additional advanced instruction over the
summer. She speaks very highly of your abilities.”
“No,” Henry replied defiantly. “I don’t want to go through

that again. I want to see my family.
“I’m afraid that simply isn’t possible,” Apollonius insisted.
Henry was unpersuaded. “Why isn’t it possible?”
Apollonius seemed unsure what to say next. He glanced

anxiously from behind his desk over to Macintosh, who was seated

to Henry’s left. Then he glanced over to a dark, hooded figure
who seemed to be lurking in the corner of Apollonius’ office.
Henry had made a mental note of him when Henry first entered the
office, but had nearly forgotten about him since then because he
did not speak at all. No words passed between Apollonius and the
hooded figure, yet the two seemed to communicate nonetheless.
“It seems that the time has come to tell you the whole story,”
Apollonius observed. “The status of your family is somewhat
more complicated than you know.”
“Meaning what, exactly?” Henry probed.
Apollonius turned back to the hooded figure for further

confirmation before continuing. “The NAMELESS ONE has
struck at them. Your mother was seriously injured and barely
clings to life.”
Henry choked back tears as he sought further information.

“What? How?”
“I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this,” Apollonius

said in a faux apologetic tone. “Your mother was in a serious car
accident. She’s in a coma.”
“How could she be in a car accident?” Henry asked, grasping

to comprehend the terrible news. “You told me that my family
would be frozen in time until I returned.”
“Right. About that,” Apollonius began before he trailed off

nervously and glanced pleadingly at the hooded figure once more.
Fortified by further guidance from the figure, Apollonius turned
back to Henry. “It doesn’t exactly work that way.”
“Explain,” Henry demanded.

“We can’t really freeze time,” Apollonius admitted. “There’s
no sorcery powerful enough to do that.”
“But I saw them frozen,” Henry protested.
“Well, temporarily frozen in place like statutes, yes,”

Apollonius replied. “But not actually frozen in time. We can’t
actually do that. That’s a horse of a different color, you might
say.”
“So you lied to me,” Henry observed angrily.
“We told you what you needed to know,” Apollonius

responded with cool detachment.
This only further agitated Henry. “What does that mean?”
“The episode with your parents was your first exposure to

our world,” Apollonius continued. “To give you too much
information would have been overwhelming and confusing.”
“Too much information?” Henry repeated in disgusted

disbelief. “Too much information like your magic isn’t as
powerful as it seems. I understand that many two-bit lounge act
magicians often have the same concern. By the way, do you do
any card tricks?”
Apollonius affected a patronizing air. “I’m afraid you’re

missing the point.”
“No, I want to get to right to the point,” Henry retorted.

“What the hell did you do to my mother?”
“The NAMELESS ONE targeted her,” Apollonius noted

evasively.

“And caused her car to crash?” Henry asked disbelievingly.
“I’m afraid so,” Apollonius replied.
“I must go to her,” Henry declared.
“We can’t allow that,” Apollonius said firmly. He then

added in a tone with more affected empathy, “We can’t risk you
suffering a similar fate at the hands of the NAMELSS ONE.”
Henry would not relent. “You must be able to do something

for her. Heal her!”
“I’m sorry, but her injuries are too great,” Apollonius

responded grimly. “Our sorcery has its limits, you know.
“And yet you want me to spend all summer with Professor

Butch leaning how to summon bigger and badder demons?” Henry
asked angrily. “How is that supposed to help my mom?”
Heretofore silent, Macintosh responded hotly to Henry’s dig

at her. “You ungrateful little jerk! How dare you speak to us that
way after everything we’ve done for you!”
“What exactly have you done for me?” Henry demanded

defiantly. “Nearly killed my mother? Destroyed my family? Beat
me like a rented mule?”
Macintosh did not immediately reply verbally. Instead, she

quickly flushed crimson with rage. A few seconds later, her
temper only barely controlled, she turned to Apollonius and asked
through clenched teeth, “May I please administer the discipline
that Mr. Shepherd so clearly needs?”
Apollonius, in turn, looked once more at the hooded figure.

He nodded agreeably as if receiving unspoken instructions. Then
he blurted aloud in surprise, “Are you sure?” Realizing his gaffe,

Apollonius regained his composure and turned back to address
Henry condescendingly. “Mr. Shepherd has just received a great
deal of new and confusing information,” Apollonius began.
“When he has had an opportunity to reflect upon it at greater
length, he will be able to get beyond his initial emotional response.
Then he will understand matters as they truly are.”
“I understand perfectly fine already,” Henry shot back. “I’m

a prisoner here.”
“Only if you choose to look at it that way,” Apollonius

soothed. “I prefer to think that Fate has thrust us all together and
does not intend that our union be put asunder.”
“We will soon see,” Henry retorted. He then stormed out of

the office without any of the niceties that Macintosh would
otherwise have insisted upon (on pain of corporal discipline).
Before he passed completely out of earshot, he heard Apollonius
reassuring Macintosh that, “Lord Magister says to let him go for
now.”
Henry did not return to his dorm room, instead making a bee-
line for the library. He searched in all the locations that he would
have ordinarily have expected to find Persephone, but to no avail.
He started to head toward the healing spells section, but then
remembered about Persephone’s brother. Finally, Henry
encountered her in a most unexpected place – the dark corner of a
storage room brimming with what looked like excess furniture and
equipment, but not a single scroll nor spell book in sight.
Despite the absence of scrolls and spell books, Persephone

seemed to be performing some sort of unusual incantation. It was
like no incantation that Henry had seen before. Persephone’s
hands were clasped in front of her and she was staring intently up
at the ceiling for some reason. She also seemed to be muttering
under her breath.

“Persephone,” Henry called out in a sharp tone.
“Persephone, what are you doing?”
Persephone bolted reflexively at the sound of Henry’s voice.

It took her a few seconds to regain her composure, after which she
responded with affected nonchalance, “Nothing, just meditating.”
Henry did not believe her, but also did not wish to get
sidetracked from the purpose of his visit by cross-examining her.
Instead, he said earnestly, “Persephone, I need your help.”
“What is it?” Persephone asked sympathetically, intuitively

surmising that it was something far more serious than his prior
request for assistance locating the Sword of MacGuffin.”
“My mom’s in a coma,” Henry said, choking up as he spoke.

“I must go to her, but Apollonius refuses to let me.”
“Wait, back up a moment,” Persephone said with genuine

confusion. “How is your mother in a coma?”
“Apparently she was in a car crash,” Henry responded

ruefully. Then he added, “They lied to me, you know.”
“Who lied to you?” Persephone asked calmly.
The resentment in Henry’s voice rose steadily as he spoke.

“Apollonius – all of them! They told me that my whole family –
my whole world – would be frozen in time until I returned. I was
so stupid to believe them!”
“I’m so sorry,” Persephone replied sympathetically.
“And the worst part is,” Henry continued, “they can’t do

anything to help her and they won’t let me go see her.”

These revelations did not seem to surprise Persephone in the
least. She did not ask any skeptical questions to test the
plausibility of the conspiracy theory that Henry was advancing
with respect to the Hemlock administration. Instead, she simply
asked, “How can I help you?”
“I need to find a teleportation spell to escape Hemlock and

get back to my mother,” Henry posited with grave determination.
Persephone studied Henry a long while before responding.

She carefully weighed the wording of her response. “Spells are not
the answer,” she said at last. “Spells cannot help you. But I know
someone who can.”
“Who?” Henry asked confused. “What are you talking

about?”
Persephone answered his question with a question. “Do you

trust me?”
This time, it was Henry who took a long, reflective pause

before responding. “Yes,” he said at last.
“Then trust me know,” Persephone insisted. “I know

someone who can help, but we must take a long journey to reach
him. And you must tell no one.”
Henry nodded his agreement silently and solemnly.
“We must travel deep into the Forbidden Forest,” Persephone

warned.
“That’s off limits,” Henry declared in surprise. “What have

you done with the real Persephone?”

“Sometimes you have to break one rule to honor another
one,” Persephone rejoined soberly.

Chapter 14
“Where are we?” Henry asked with fatigued frustration.

“We’ve been walking for hours.” Henry was referring only to the
approximately six hours that he and Persephone had been walking
today, not the full eight hours of walking that they had put in
yesterday. They had made camp last night in a peaceful clearing
that reminded Henry of the one where he and Danny had
encamped during his previous venture into the Forbidden Forest.
There was, however, one crucial difference from this last

venture – the absence of a GPS unit. Henry had confronted
Persephone about this fact shortly after their departure yesterday.
She had responded cryptically that she chose to rely upon a
“different type of compass” and refused to elaborate further until
they arrived at their destination. Henry noticed that she
periodically clasped her hands together and gazed skyward while
muttering to herself as she had done in the library. He failed to
discern how this was supposed to help them.
“Do you not recognize this place?” Persephone asked.
“We’re in the middle of a forest. How am I supposed to . . .”

Henry trailed off as he contemplated a suddenly familiar object.
“Is that rock . . .” He trailed off again as he walked over to
investigate. When he did so, he noted the Sword of MacGuffin
protruding from the side of the rock, exactly as he remembered it
from his last visit. “Why have you brought me here?” he asked at
last.
No sooner had Henry spoken than he had the sensation of

being surrounded. His fight-or-flight instinct went into overdrive
as he counted ten figures moving in toward him from all sides. He
was about to break into a panicked sprint when he suddenly
recognized one of them – Mr. Caleb, the kindly Nature Spells
instructor. This recognition only partially reassured Henry and he
remained on edge. What transpired next only added to the anxiety.

Suddenly, in the very midst of the whole group of twelve,
another figure appeared. It was a young man, in his thirties Henry
guessed, with a long beard and a face that seemed almost to glow
somehow. He was dressed in a simple peasant robe, and yet he
somehow conveyed a strangely reassuring sense of calm authority.
“Who are you?” Henry inquired nervously.
“I have many names,” the man replied in a tone that

combined dignified authority with sympathetic understanding of
Henry’s confusion and misgivings. “Many titles bestowed upon
me by my father. But this world rejects me, so I have no name
here.” He paused slightly before adding, “I am the NAMELESS
ONE. But you can call me Joshua.”
Henry shrank from the man, trembling. He turned to

Persephone and asked pleadingly, “What have you done?”
“Peace be with you,” Joshua soothed. “I am not here to harm

you, but to help you. To save you.”
“It’s true,” Persephone added emphatically. “This is the man

who saved my brother.”
“Your brother?” Henry probed, struggling to comprehend.

“Your brother died last semester.”
“Yes he did,” Persephone conceded. “But he lives again.

This man saved my brother from death itself.”
“How is that possible?” Henry wondered, his mouth agape.
“With my father, all things are possible,” Joshua interjected.
“Who is your father?” Henry asked.

“I AM THAT I AM,” Joshua responded serenely. When
Henry continued to gape in non-comprehension, Joshua added,
“My father is the author of the Deep Magic.”
“I still don’t understand,” Henry protested. “What Deep

Magic?”
“It is what brought you here,” Joshua explained. “And what

saved Persephone’s brother. Any what can save your mother.”
“So, what, you’re just some renegade sorcerer?” Henry

scoffed.
“I am not a sorcerer,” Joshua replied. “I am a seer and a

statement and a sacrament and sustenance and a sacrifice and a
savior. And besides all this, I am of course also the Son.”
“What does that even mean?” Henry demanded. “This is

crazy. You’re crazy. I’m out of here.”
Joshua laid his hand gently upon Henry’s shoulder. “I don’t

think you really want to leave yet.”
“The hell I don’t,” Henry shouted, misinterpreting Joshua’s

words as a threat. Then he proceeded to waive his hands in a
vigorous conjuring gesture. Soon, an imposing red demon
appeared, belching fire and emitting a horrible, high-pitched
shriek. All of the twelve – including Henry – took several steps
backward in fear. Joshua, however, stood unmoving with beatific
calm before the demon. After a few seconds, the demon took note
of Joshua and scrutinized him carefully. It stopped shrieking and
took a large step toward Joshua. Henry looked on with a pang of
perverse glee in the expectation that the demon was about to
squash Joshua. However, something entirely different transpired.
The demon, only vaguely resembling a human, fell to what Henry
guessed were its knees. It continued kneeling silently before

Joshua until the latter made a small, casual gesture of dismissal,
whereupon the demon vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Henry gaped in stunned silence. Joshua met Henry’s

disbelieving stare with a beatific smile. After a few moments of
this stand-off, Henry relented and asked, “How did you do that?”
“This is the power of the Deep Magic,” Joshua replied.
“You keep talking about this Deep Magic,” Henry

interjected, exasperated. “What exactly is it?”
“Allow me to illustrate my point with an example,” Joshua

replied. “Take for instance this sword and this stone,” he said
gesturing toward the Sword of MacGuffin. “What do you see?”
“A sword in a stone,” Henry responded uncertainly.
“Is it a sword in a stone, or is it a stone that happens to have a

sword in it?” Joshua questioned.
“Is there a difference?” Henry asked.
“What about now?” Joshua continued as he reached down

and effortlessly drew the Sword out of the stone. “Now we have a
sword and a stone, right?”
Henry nodded vacantly, stunned that Joshua had so easily

accomplished the feat that had so long eluded Henry.
“What is it useful for?” Joshua continued, holding up the

Sword.
“Lot’s of things I suppose,” answered Henry hesitantly.

“Defending yourself, or killing a beast, or . . . .”

“But all of its uses involve cutting or stabbing, right?” Joshua
probed.
Henry made an apathetic shrug in the affirmative, as if to say

that he was not certain of the veracity of the proposition, but was
willing to assume it for the sake of argument.
“And what about this stone?” Joshua asked, gesturing.
“Well, I guess you could use it as a weapon also, if you were

strong enough to lift it,” Henry quipped.
Joshua smiled pleasantly but continued in a serious tone.

“Yes, I suppose so. But that’s not all its good for. What other
purpose might you put it to?”
When Henry did not respond, Joshua offered him a further

explanation. “What about as part of the foundation of a building.
It could serve as the cornerstone.”
“It seems a little bit too small for that,” Henry observed
skeptically.
Joshua responded with warm enthusiasm, “The very stone

which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. That
is the difference between Hemlock’s magic and the Deep Magic.
The foundation of Hemlock’s magic is death and destruction.”
“What do you mean?” Henry inquired.
“Well, Henry,” Joshua began, “have you noticed what a

prominent role ghosts play in Hemlock’s magic? So much of it
involves summoning ghosts, summoning the dead. Manipulating
the dead, in fact.”

“That’s true,” Henry agreed with nascent but growing
comprehension.
“Any that is why Hemlock’s magic cannot help your

mother,” Joshua explained. “It can only kill and destroy, it cannot
heal. But the Deep Magic can, if you believe.”
“What do you want of me?” Henry asked earnestly.
“Walk with me,” Joshua answered reassuringly. He then

approached Henry, placing his arm around Henry’s shoulder in a
semi-embrace. Henry experienced a warm, blinding flash of white
light.
When Henry’s vision returned to normal after the flash, he

could see that he was no longer standing at the clearing in the
Forbidden Forest. Instead, he was in a hospital room. It was like
every other hospital room he had ever seen – sparse and antiseptic.
But there was something wrong. Henry did not hearing the
reassuring drone of monitors and other medical instruments
beeping periodically. Then, Henry was struck instantly with horror
when he realized that the immobile form in the hospital bed was
completely covered with a sheet – its head was not exposed.
Henry approached the lifeless form in the bed with anxious

dread. He hesitated a long while before drawing back the sheet.
Then he began sobbing uncontrollably. He felt a wave of guilt
engulf him as he mourned over his mother’s corpse. His mind
raced with regret. He regretted taking her for granted for so long.
He regretted judging her too summarily and presumptuously
simply because she was not as intellectual as he was. He regretted
not thinking of her more while he was enjoying his ascendency
into celebrity at Hemlock. However, the only verbalization of
thoughts that he could manage was to mutter repeatedly “I’m so
sorry,” between his sobs. After a few minutes of this, he turned
and looked pleadingly at Joshua.

“They took her off life support about two hours ago,” Joshua
informed him.
Henry’s mood instantly switched from guilty grief to blind

rage. “You bastard!” he shouted as he approached Joshua. “You
knew and you let it happen anyway. Apollonius was right – you
are a monster!” Henry hastily clenched his hand into a fist and
flailed at Joshua, smacking him across the right cheek.
Joshua’s head pivoted to the left with the force of Henry’s

blow. Joshua calmly turned his head back to center so that he was
once again looking directly at Henry. Despite the punch and
Henry’s rush of emotion, Joshua’s eyes were thoughtful, calm and
clear. They contained no trace of anger or spite. Joshua smiled
broadly, turning his head to the right to expose his left cheek and
said, “This is actually my better side. Do you want to strike me
here as well?”
Henry gaped with dumbfounded non-comprehension as his

rage temporarily gave way to confusion.
“Did I not tell you,” Joshua continued, “that if you believed,

you would witness the power of the Deep Magic?”
Joshua approached the bed. Standing aside it, he began the

same type of curious meditation that Henry had previously seen
Persephone perform, with hands clasped, eyes rolling skyward and
barely-audible muttering. Then Joshua called out in a loud voice,
“Daughter, arise!”
Henry looked on with awe as the figure in the bed began to

move. At first, it was only slight twitching, but soon the whole
body was animated. Elizabeth stretched and yawned as if waking
from a deep sleep.
“She will be fully conscious momentarily,” Joshua informed

Henry. “But before she is, there are some important things I need
to tell you. First, she will not be able to see me, only you can.

Second, I’m afraid that your reunion with your mother will be very
brief. You must return to Hemlock.”
Joshua’s words sank in only slowly with Henry, who was still
staring in amazement at his mother. When they did, Henry asked
with disappointment, “Why? I don’t want to go back to Hemlock.”
“You must,” Joshua calmly replied. “You must bear witness

to what happens next.”
“Henry?” called Elizabeth, now fully conscious. “Henry, is

that you? How? When?”
“Mom, it’s me,” Henry assured her tenderly. “Are you

alright?”
“It was raining,” she said, suddenly recalling the events

leading up to her accident. “I had been driving for hours. I must
have nodded off. Then I remember seeing a bright light.”
“It’s okay mom, I’m here now,” Henry soothed.
“I was looking for you,” she continued. “Ever since that day
you were taken, I never stopped looking. Anytime I heard some
report that someone might have seen you, I just had to go and see.”
“It’s okay now,” Henry repeated.
“And now you’re here,” she said softly. “Am I dead?”
“No, mom,” Henry replied. “You are very much alive. And
this is real. It’s me.”
“How is this possible?” she inquired.

“I don’t have time to explain it all,” Henry said sadly. “And I
have to leave again. But believe this, I love you and I will come
back to you somehow.”
“But where are you going?” Elizabeth asked with confusion.
Henry’s brain raced to generate an explanation that was

accurate enough to at least partially assuage her curiosity without
engendering a raft of additional, troubling questions that he knew
he would not have time to answer. “The people who took me,” he
began. “I escaped from them, but they’re still looking for me. If I
stay here, I will be endangering you as well.”
“I don’t care,” Elizabeth rejoined. “Let them come. I don’t

want to loose you again. I couldn’t bear that.”
“I’m sorry mom,” Henry replied, fighting back tears, “I can’t

let that happen. I have to go. But I promise that you will not lose
me. I will return to you.”
“No, no, I won’t let you,” Elizabeth protested. She hopped

quickly to her feet and immediately fell back to the bed, unable to
gain her balance. Undeterred, she rose again after a few moments
and walked uneasily to the door of the room. Peering out into
corridor she called out in a loud voice, “Come quickly, I need your
help. This son of mine was dead and yet he is alive again. He was
lost, but now is found.”
Elizabeth’s plea elicited horrified silence from the nurses and

orderlies who appeared after she had repeated her cries several
times, each time with escalating urgency. They looked
disbelievingly at each other and were afraid to approach Elizabeth.
Eventually, they would summon a doctor who would defuse the
situation by calmly assuring Elizabeth that she had been the
beneficiary of a medical miracle but that, alas, her visit from Henry
was merely an hallucination – a by-product of the shock that her
body and her brain had sustained.

Henry struggled to choke back tears as he watched her
standing in the doorway. Then he felt the gentle touch of Joshua’s
hand on his shoulder and suddenly Henry was no longer in the
hospital room, but was back in the Forbidden Forest. Henry turned
and looked at Joshua with a wounded glance as if begging him for
just a few more minutes with his mother.
“I’m sorry we had to leave,” Joshua said softly. “And I

promise that you will see her again. But first, you have a different
task to complete.”
“What task?” Henry asked puzzled.
“You will soon see, the time is at hand,” Joshua responded

knowingly. “But before that happens, there is one last thing I need
to tell you. You will betray me.”
“No, no I will not,” Henry protested.
“You won’t want to,” Joshua explained. “But you will do so

nonetheless. Let not your heart be troubled, it is all part of the
plan.”
“There he is!” an unrecognized voice suddenly called.

“Seize him!”
Henry turned to see a large group of people approaching

Joshua carrying torches. At the head of the group were Apollonius
and Macintosh. The appearance of the mob caused the eleven
other original bystanders (including Mr. Caleb) to scatter in panic.
Persephone alone hesitated, as if wanting to rush to Henry’s side.
However, Caleb grabbed her (practically bear-hugging her) and
hustled her off to safety.
“A reception fit for a king,” Joshua called out in a bold,

bemused voice.

In response, Macintosh broke from the mob and approached
Joshua. She leaned in close to him and planted a long, sensual wet
kiss on his cheek. “Hail, king,” she whispered. “I’ve been waiting
for this for a long time.” As she spoke, she cracked her knuckles
behind her.
Henry interpreted Macintosh’s knuckle-cracking as a threat

of imminent harm, as opposed to the long, drawn-out and painful
session that she had in mind. Henry noticed the Sword of
MacGuffin still sitting next to the stone from which Joshua had
drawn it. Henry grabbed the Sword and swung wildly at
Macintosh, severing her ear. She recoiled in shock and pain. She
put her hand up to the side of her head where her ear had been and
moaned in disbelieving terror at the blood on her hand.
“Henry,” Joshua announced sternly, “all those who take the

sword shall perish with the sword.” Then he approached
Macintosh, who had fallen to her knees clutching her head and
sobbing in pain and fear. He reached down and gently replaced
her hand on the side of her head with his. When he then withdrew
it, all the blood was gone and Macintosh’s ear appeared to be intact
once more.
Macintosh rose slowly to her feet, repeatedly clutching at her

ear to make sure that it was still there. “You will come to regret
that,” she vowed spitefully. “Both of you.”

Chapter 15
“Your name?” Apollonius demanded angrily for the third

time. He was seated at his familiar dais at the front of the dining
hall, which had been hastily converted into a makeshift courtroom.
Every seat on the dais was occupied, given that the entire Hemlock
faculty was present. On Apollonius’ left side sat Professor
Macintosh. To his right sat the shadowy Lord Magister.
The long banquet tables throughout the hall had been

removed to make space for rows and rows of chairs. At the back
of the hall, bleachers had been brought in to provide extra seating,
but to no avail. Every seat in the hall was taken, with many people
standing at the back of the hall and many more loitering outside the
hall hoping to at least hear the proceeding over the PA system.
Joshua stood alone before the dais, vastly outnumbered by

the Hemlock faculty. He was slightly hunched over because his
hands were chained in front of him to a low post protruding from
the floor. Henry was situated roughly the same distance from the
dais, but off to the side of the hall. He was also chained and seated
on the floor.
“Let the record reflect that the prisoner refuses to identify

himself,” Apollonius proclaimed condescendingly. “Prisoner, you
stand accused of blasphemy. How do you plead?”
“Do you say this yourself, or have other told you this?”
Joshua responded.
“The prisoner evidently does not understand the rules of

these proceedings,” Apollonius replied hotly. “He stands in
contempt of this Court.” Apollonius sneered while adding, “I will
ask Professor Macintosh to administer the discipline.”

Macintosh rose slowly from her seat at the dais. She was
attired in a full-length black leather dress, with knee-high jack
boots, black leather gloves and a military-style leather beret. In
her right hand, she held the riding crop that Henry was so familiar
with. She casually sauntered over to Joshua as if she were going to
hug him. She suddenly and violently snapped the crop over each
of Joshua’s cheeks. Joshua’s head recoiled.
“Did you hear the Court’s question?” she demanded. “How

do you plead?”
Joshua remained silent. Macintosh responded with a steady

barrage of blows from her riding crop. She repeatedly struck one
cheek, then the other, until both were bleeding profusely. Still
Joshua said nothing.
“Permission to break the prisoner,” she growled, turning to

Apollonius.
“Granted,” Apollonius replied smugly.
With this, Macintosh walked over to her bag behind the dais
to retrieve an item. She returned holding a formidable bullwhip in
place of her riding crop. She slowly circled Joshua several times,
eyeing him closely like a combination of a lion stalking its prey
and a golfer lining up a putt. Suddenly, she struck a vigorous blow
that landed squarely across Joshua’s back and immediately opened
a large bleeding gash.
Macintosh thereafter settled into a steady rhythm of beating.

She alternated her blows back and forth until Joshua’s entire back
was criss-crossed with hideous gashes. Joshua grunted
occasionally in response to a blow and his legs seemed
increasingly wobbly from the pain and the loss of blood. But still
he said nothing in response to the same query that Macintosh
barked over and over again as she beat him.

After about ten minutes of this, Macintosh began to fear that
she was losing the crowd. Despairing of her inability to break
Joshua, she feared that he would loose consciousness before she
could finish her task. She sensed that the crowd’s novel
fascination with the bloody spectacle was starting to wear off and
sympathy for Joshua might be creeping into its consciousness.
Deciding that she had better do something quickly, she opted for a
slightly different (and she thought more devious) approach.
“Are you a king?” Macintosh asked bluntly.
Joshua struggled to reply in a hoarse voice, “My kingdom is

not of this world.”
“Are you a practitioner of the Deep Magic?” Macintosh

pressed.
“No,” Joshua replied to Macintosh’s disappointment. But

then he continued, “I am the Deep Magic. And henceforth you
shall see me coming on the clouds of heaven with power and great
glory.”
Macintosh turned back to Apollonius, beaming broadly at the

statement the she had elicited from Joshua. She triumphantly
flounced back to her place at the dais.
“I will take that as a plea of guilty,” Apollonius announced.

“Seeing that we do not require any evidence, we may proceed
directly to sentencing.” Turning to Joshua he proclaimed, “You
are hereby adjudged guilty of aggravated blasphemy.” Then,
turning to the crowd, he wondered aloud coyly, “Now, what
sentence should I impose?”
The question elicited an increase in the volume of the

crowd’s murmuring, but not the frenzied, single-minded chanting
that he was hoping for. Apollonius decided to prompt the crowd
more directly by asking, “Should I execute him?”

Slowly the crowd caught hold of Apollonius suggestion and
began repeating it over and over (slowly at first, but then with
escalating volume and fervor). Apollonius continued to foment the
crowd by asking repeatedly, “Should I execute him?” At last, the
cries of “Execute him!” became deafening.
“Far by it from me to deny the will of the people,”

Apollonius remarked glibly. “By the power granted to me by the
Ancient Sorcerers, I, the great and powerful Apollonius, condemn
you to death. The sentence will be carried out immediately.”
Apollonius paused dramatically before adding, “by our own Mr.
Shepherd.”
Henry looked up at Apollonius in stunned panic. Suddenly,

he felt a strange cold sensation radiating through his body,
stiffening his limbs and rendering them non-responsive to his
mental impulses. The next thing he knew, Henry was on his feet
and involuntarily lurching toward Joshua like a marionette (his
chains clanking as he awkwardly moved forward). Henry
struggled unsuccessfully to regain control of his limbs.
“I believe, Mr. Shepherd, that you have long desired to

possess this,” pronounced Apollonius, dramatically raising the
Sword of MacGuffin above his head for all to see. “I think now is
a most propitious time.”
With that, Henry found himself suddenly lurching toward

Apollonius. When he arrived, he felt his hand clasping reflexively
around the hilt of the Sword. Although he could not turn his head
and his gazed was fixed straight ahead, Henry could see Macintosh
out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to be manipulating a
small object that she held in her hands, perhaps a doll. Her
manipulations of the object seemed to be synchronized with
Henry’s lurching gestures. Henry next found himself heading back
toward Joshua, Sword in hand.

Henry arrived next to Joshua and was for one brief, terrible
moment perfectly still. In that moment, Joshua’s eyes met Henry’s
with an anguished, sadly compassionate gaze. Then, Henry felt the
Sword arm drawing back to deliver a killer blow. It next thrust
violently forward, plunging the Sword deep into Joshua’s side.
The Sword blow brought forth a gush of fluid from Joshua’s

abdomen, some of which splattered on Henry. It looked like pure
blood, but when it landed on Henry’s face, it felt like it might be
mixed with a less viscous substance like water. A wave of
writhing agony washed over Joshua and then he collapsed forward,
his arms still chained to the post and the Sword still protruding
from his side.
The watery blood felt very warm against Henry’s skin. So

warm, in fact, that Henry could feel the heat radiating throughout
his entire body and pushing out the coldness that had crept over it
when Macintosh had seized control of him moments ago. Her
spell broken, Henry suddenly found himself able to control his
limbs once more. He dropped to his knees and knelt tenderly over
Joshua’s lifeless form, his eyes welling with tears.
Henry next felt the floor shaking under him and looked up to
see the entire hall shaking. There was suddenly a steady tinkling
of broken glass as windows shattered and framed pictures fell off
the walls the entire length of the hall. The crowd began to murmur
with panic as people stood to their feet and scanned about
frantically for the nearest exit. Seeing that he would be unable to
prevent a mass exodus, Apollonius tried to sound calm and in
control as he announced, “The proceedings are adjourned until
tomorrow morning, at which time we will conduct Mr. Shepherd’s
trial.”
While the rest of the crowd scampered about frantically,

Henry remained on the floor grieving over Joshua’s corpse and
ruefully recalling Joshua’s prophetic words. Then Henry felt a
sharp, blunt pain at the back of his head and everything went black.

Henry awoke slowly and groggily several hours later to find
himself confined in a small dark room. Through the dim light, he
could barely perceive a short, heavy iron door. He walked over to
it and tested the door, finding it securely barred. He retreated to
the middle of the room and sank down to the floor in a sadly
pensive pose.
Henry ran through the amazing and terrible events of the last
24 hours in his mind. He relived the vast sweep of emotion, from
his reunion with his mother to the trial and his role of Joshua’s
death. He was so preoccupied that he did not immediately take
notice of the clinking sound starting to emanate from the outside of
the iron cell door. However, he looked up in surprise when the cell
door suddenly swung open, admitting a rush of bright light from
the hall outside that temporarily blinded Henry. He raised his arm
to cover his eyes.
“Hurry, Henry, we must get you out of here quickly,” a

familiar voice instructed. Henry squinted and strained his eyes to
identify the speaker. After his eyes had adjusted to the light, he
could see Caleb standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” Henry asked, puzzled.
“I’m getting you out of here,” Caleb replied in a nervous,

hurried voice very different from his typical easy-going demeanor.
“If you’re still here in the morning, they’ll execute you as well.”
“Where am I supposed to go?” Henry inquired.
Caleb sighed heavily before responding. “Your only chance

is to reach the Port of Ephesus. It lies on the other side of the
Forbidden Forest, many days’ journey away.”
“Why Ephesus?” Henry probed.

“It is the only way you can possibly escape this land,” Caleb
said gravely, “and maybe find a way back to the world you come
from. No more questions now, follow me.”
Henry stepped out of the cell into the hall. When he did, he
could see that he had been in one of the cells in the basement of the
Hemlock library. Henry fell into formation behind Caleb and the
two proceeded silently and anxiously through the library’s maze of
corridors and out the back. They moved at such a determined,
brisk pace that Henry struggled to refrain from panting audibly.
Finally, the two arrived at a wooded area on the fringe of the
Hemlock campus. Henry was relieved when Caleb finally broke
stride and Henry could take a quick breather.
“This is as far as I can take you,” Caleb advised. “You must

continue, however. Don’t stop until you have walked for the rest
of tonight and all of tomorrow.”
“What direction should I walk in?” Henry requested.
“Follow the drinking gourd,” Caleb instructed.
Henry was puzzled. “The what?”
“Look at that cluster of stars,” Caleb directed, pointing

skyward. “Some people say that it resembles a drinking gourd or
dipper. That star at the tip of it lies due East. That is where you
want to be. Follow the star to the East.”
“But I don’t have any supplies – no food or water,” Henry

protested.
“Assuming that you walk without stopping, you should find a

small cottage in the midst of the Forbidden Forest tomorrow
evening,” Caleb reassured. “It belongs to a man that we can trust.
He will give you what you need for the rest of your journey.”

Henry nodded in sullen acceptance of the daunting task ahead
of him. Then he said earnestly, “Thank you. Truly, thank you.
You’re putting yourself at great risk.”
“All part of the Deep Magic,” Caleb responded. “As Joshua

used to say, ‘Love one another as I have loved you.’”
Henry began to tear up at the mention of Joshua’s name. He

turned hurriedly in the direction of his journey, hoping to embark
before he completely broke down crying. He was above to start
moving when he heard another familiar voice call his name. He
turned about to see Persephone emerging from the shadows.
“What are you doing here?” Henry asked in surprised.
“I wanted to see you off,” Persephone responded. “And to

tell you how sorry I am.”
“For what?” Henry asked curiously.
“For abandoning you and Joshua when you were arrested,”

she replied chagrined.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Henry assured her. “There

was no point in all of us being caught.”
“But I was caught,” Persephone confided. “Professor

Macintosh questioned me later that day.”
Henry was confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Professor Macintosh asked me if I was in any way

associated with Joshua,” Persephone continued. “She asked me
three times. I denied it each time.”
“I’m sure you were scared,” Henry observed sympathetically.

“I was scared,” Persephone agreed. “Very scared. I’m so
ashamed of my cowardice. You must hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. In fact, I love you,” Henry declared,

emboldened to bluntness by the extraordinary circumstances.
Henry’s heart sank when Persephone took a long pause to

assess the emotional impact of his profession of love. However, it
leapt for joy when she then proclaimed, “I love you, too.”
“And I promise that I will return for you,” Henry continued.
“Oh, please let me go with you,” Persephone pleaded.
“No, it’s too dangerous,” Henry warned. “Not only for you,
but for your whole family. If Macintosh let you go, it means
they’re not interested in you. But they won’t stop until they kill
me.”
Persephone nodded sadly in agreement. “Then you take care

of yourself, Henry Shepherd,” she ordered. “And promise that you
will return to me.”
“I promise,” Henry replied softly.
“I love you,” she repeated.
“I love you,” he rejoined.

Chapter 16
Henry staggered toward the cottage door, nearly collapsing

with fatigue before he got there. He had heeded Caleb’s
instructions exactly and thus had been walking continuously for
more than 18 hours. He barely had strength enough to knock on
the door and so he simply held his arm out as he lurched toward it.
The stone cottage seemed ancient even by the standards of

Hemlock’s medieval-looking architecture. It was composed of
irregularly-shaped stones that fit together only very poorly and
were held in place by a primitive type of mortar. The roof was a
highly weathered thatch that looked like it might not survive the
next big thunderstorm.
At first, there was no response to Henry’s knock. Henry

tested the door and found it latched shut from the other side. He
knocked again, but to no avail. He briefly considered forcing his
way through the door, but quickly concluded that he did not have
enough strength left to do so. Finally, Henry heard some
movement behind the door. A moment later, the door swung open
to reveal a small, frail, white-haired old man.
“Welcome, brother,” the man said warmly. “Come in.”
Henry half walked and half fell through the doorway. Once
inside, he gravitated instinctively toward the warm fire blazing in
the hearth.
“Sit down and relax a moment,” the man invited. “Then you
can join me for supper.”
Henry was too tired to reply. He collapsed in front of the

hearth and fell soundly to sleep. It was a heavy, dreamless sleep.
When Henry awoke, the old man was seated in front of him,
scrutinizing him closely but solicitously.

“Hello,” Henry said. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself
before. My name is Henry.”
“Nice to meet you, Henry,” the man responded. “I’m

Simeon.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Henry continued. “If you

don’t mind, I would be glad to join you for supper now.”
The man chuckled slightly. “Certainly. Although

technically, its breakfast time.”
Henry was seized with a sudden panic at the thought of all of

the hours that he had lost to potential pursuers from Hemlock. “In
that case, I will thank you for some breakfast and than I must be
off straightaway.”
“Why the hurry?” the man wondered with confusion.
“I must reach Ephesus,” Henry stated resolutely.
“Ephesus?” the man repeated in surprise. “That’s many,

many days from here. Why do you need to go there?”
The man’s response elicited a slight twinge of suspicion in

Henry. “That’s what Caleb said,” Henry continued cautiously.
“Who’s Caleb?” the man asked blankly.
Henry’s suspicion metastasized into full panic. “Caleb from

the Hemlock school,” he posited.
“Can’t say I know him,” the man responded sympathetically.

“Do you perhaps mean Apollonius, the headmaster?”

“No matter,” Henry mumbled.
“Are you feeling alright?” the man inquired. “You were in

pretty bad shape when you arrived last night. Perhaps your mind is
still a little hazy.”
“I’m fine,” Henry assured him.
“No, really,” the man protested, “I think you should rest up

here for a few days before continuing.”
“I’m sorry,” Henry apologized, “but I can’t do that. I must

get to Ephesus.”
“What’s your rush?” the man probed in a sharper, more

suspicious tone than he had heretofore used. “Are you mixed up in
some sort of trouble?”
“I should go,” Henry announced. “I’m sorry to have

inconvenienced you.”
“If you’re in some sort of trouble, you should tell me,” the
man chastened. “You’ll never make it all the way to Ephesus.
They’ll catch up to you.”
Henry said nothing, but simply turned to leave. He took a

long moment to compose himself and hide his disappointment and
dread. He was about to commence walking when the man finally
called after him in a more conciliatory tone.
“Come back here,” the man invited cordially. “At least take
some bread for the journey.”
Henry turned back to see the man holding a loaf of bread in

front of him. Henry hesitated momentarily and then approached
cautiously. As Henry neared him, the man snapped the loaf in

half. When he did, something truly magical occurred. Suddenly,
the figure standing before Henry was no longer a frail old man, but
Joshua. Henry blinked repeatedly in disbelief. Then he fell
instinctively to his knees.
“Henry, it’s me,” Joshua comforted him, embracing him and

raising him back to his feet with a single elegant gesture. “The
price is paid. The battle is won. I have arisen.”
“Are you a ghost?” Henry inquired, still not understanding.
“No,” Joshua reassured. “A ghost does not have flesh and

bones as I do.”
“But how?” Henry stammered.
“It’s all part of the plan,” Joshua explained. “The fulfillment

of the Deep Magic.”
“I’m so sorry for what I did,” Henry fumbled.
“That was part of the plan, too,” Joshua noted warmly.
“So what do we do now?” Henry asked eagerly.
“You must still make the journey to Ephesus,” Joshua

instructed. “And you must tell everyone you encounter about me
and about what you have witnessed.”
“Of course,” Henry agreed. “But will I really be able to get

there alone?”
“You won’t be alone,” Joshua promised. “I will abide in

you, if you abide in me. And if you need something, you only
have to ask.”

“Ask? How?” Henry wondered.
“Let me show you,” Joshua replied. Then, clasping his hands

together in front of him and looking skyward, Joshua spoke these
words. “Father, please guide and protect Henry on his journey.
Send your spirit upon him to sustain and empower him to do your
will and further your works and message to the honor and glory of
your name.”
Henry ratified Joshua’s petition with a hearty but humble

“amen.” Then he embraced Joshua one last time and set about his
journey.

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Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages

© 2009, Richard E. Salisbury

Henry Shepherd sat transfixed as he watched the smoke

Regardless, the Hemlock Limited was unquestionably an

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 1

On the inside, the Hemlock Limited’s Pullman rail cars

Perhaps if Henry had grown up in a traditional, two-sorcerer

Henry had always been shy and bookish. He retreated from

Henry’s parents also encouraged him to be more athletic, or

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 2

All of this academic flavor seemed to be lost on Henry’s

Among his family, however, his grandfather was nothing

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 3

As the introduction wrapped up, Henry edged his way into

Listening to the introduction, Henry had been intrigued.

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 4

He continued, “In fact, this language bears no discernable

Dr. Caligari paused briefly to allow this point to sink in.

“Finally, individual Unknown Texts have thus far been

Henry’s rapt attention quickly turned to dumbfounded

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 5

Henry could not recall the precise sequence of events that

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 6

Henry’s daydream was interrupted by the approach of

Persephone had walked up to Henry – at that point a

Persephone’s appearance matched her personality, Henry

As Henry sat on the train, he could see that Persephone

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 7

“I’ve been wondering,” Henry began, “whether this fellow

“Apollonius,” Persephone interjected, correcting Henry’s

“Anyway,” Henry continued, feigning slight annoyance, “is

Persephone did not immediately respond. Instead, the

Finally Persephone spoke. “I’m sure I’m not qualified to

Sensing that she was about to launch into an extended litany

Persephone waffled. “I didn’t say necessarily that

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 8

Persephone was suddenly and uncharacteristically taciturn.

Persephone again averted her gaze out the window as if

“I’ve never heard of him,” Henry responded matter-of-factly

“If you had been raised by sorcerers instead of Dingles, you

“Ghost stories you mean,” interjected Henry. “Dingle kids

“But the NAMELESS ONE is no mere ghost!” Persephone

“Yeah, but that was my question, is he more powerful than

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 9

Henry pressed the point regardless. “Well, if the

“Not to me,” Persephone snapped. “I prefer to think about

At this point, Persephone decided to change the subject.

“No. Does it make any difference?” Henry was growing

“Oh, yes,” Persephone bubbled. “My sister says that your

“That’s good,” Henry responded somewhat sadly.

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 10

“Hallo,” he declared cheerfully in a voice that crackled with

Startled, Henry was unusually brusque in reply. “Who are

“That’s two questions,” the boy rejoined playfully. “My

“What can I do for you, Danny?” Henry inquired, still

“Oh, I just wanted to meet you. I’ve heard so much about

Henry was now confused in addition to being groggy. “What

“Now, that’s three questions,” Danny protested with mock

Henry Shepherd and the Rock of Ages by Richard E. Salisbury 11

“Oh don’t be cross,” Danny pleaded. “You’re practically a

“If that’s true,” Henry remarked wryly, “then Hemlock has a

“Why, because you can read the Mystical Texts of course,”

“Doesn’t every sorcerer?” asked Henry.

“No, not at all.” Danny lowered his voice slightly before