“You did what?!”

  Hazel imagined a lot of possible scenarios for her next conversation with Shadow. Being scolded wasn’t one of them.

  “I taught you to be cautious!”

  “That’s a very vague instruction, don’t you think?” she snapped.

  Samhain knew him clearly well enough to guess this reaction.

  Now he paced around the hall and darkness in the corners seemed deeper and waiting.

  “Don’t play dumb. I also told you you can’t trust anyone,” he snarled.

  That was also true. He did, throughout those few last weeks. And yet he couldn’t give her a better cue: “Oh, I remember that,” Hazel nodded solemnly, her voice cold as the winter forests outside, “but you’ll have to help me here, Shadow. Because right now it seems you are the one with the frailest story.”

  That stopped him on the spot - struck by the very lightning he was expecting from the beginning.

  “What did she tell you then?”

  That wasn’t even really angry anymore. A bit desperate, a bit resigned. Scared perhaps.

  Hazel had no memory of her own life but she wasn’t stupid. Whatever pulled her here, whatever made her to take his deal, had to be a tragedy. And tragedy had a common denominator in the world up there.

  “She called the war yours,” she answered and every word fell into the silence of the ancient, surreal caves. “I have to know why. I have to know what you are so stubbornly silent about.”

  The answer didn’t come immediately. The dark spirit recoiled slightly, looking down at her.

  “I haven’t lied to you,” he said quietly and the long shadows leaned closer to him like a second cloak.

  “You haven’t told me the truth either,” she finished for him.

  Shadow took a deep breath. Of course he would tell her - eventually. At last. In some digestible way. Preferably without Samhain’s prelude.

  Now - what was the chance that she would trust his word now? And why should she, when no one else did?

  He came closer to her, holding her gaze. Was this the first step of her leaving? Could just her promise keep her here? He doubted that.

  “Why not ask Samhain herself? She’d be eager to tell you.”

  Hazel tilted her head: “I’m asking you.”

  “So you can judge me,” he looked at her bitterly.

  “So I could trust you,” she sighed.

  She didn’t add you fool, but he heard it anyway. And he wasn’t sure what won her that quarrel in the end - the respect she showed him by not saying that or the familiarity of the tone. Or the simplicity of her wish to trust him. Either way Shadow gave up.

  “Fine then. Come, you’ll get your story.”

  Hazel smiled and followed him.

  They sat down above the lake. The water mirrored high walls of the Palace one end and dark halls on its other side, where the light from the outside never reached.

  Shadow watched the reflections for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Then he started: “Lots of it is written here, around us, you know. It wasn’t always so quiet and lonely down here. This place… it used to be the heart of our world and a crossroad of spirits from all corners.”

  “That’s hard to believe,” Hazel noted, used to the silence of the underground Palace already.

  “I know,” he agreed, “just as unimaginable as picturing it empty - once.

  You have to understand: we used to be many. Fear was there to secure the belief, spirits kept their duties, guided mortals and guarded the edges of the world. As they should. As we were always supposed to do. Then…”

  “Something changed?”

  He smiled sadly: “Someone new came around. Mortal turned spirit, like you. Bertie was… exceptional. No one spent so much time in the library down here as he did. No one ever studied us so thoroughly. We called him the Scholar and he seemed to guard the thirst for knowledge intact,” he sighed, “we were all shortsighted idiots and I was the greatest one.”

  Hazel looked up, the guilt in his voice startling her. But Shadow wasn’t looking at her. He was staring in the water, looking for answers he was supposed to have back then.

  “I still don’t know if he simply craves power over others that much or if he truly believes his cause. Anyway - back then more than three centuries ago he started a true revolution. He came up with a shiny idea: freedom. True freedom, unbound power, no more repetitive duties… no dependency on mortals.”

  “But - the human belief sustains spirits?” Hazel cut in, confused.

  Shadow cackled with freezing irony: “See? You are a spirit a few weeks and you know that. The first rule. Belief gives life - and there is none without it. The famous Scholar couldn’t piece that together - or maybe it was exactly what he wanted to exploit from the beginning ” he smirked, the sarcasm not helping against the ache, “he was persuasive. Charming his way around those who were bored or unsatisfied or simply on a quest for something more… or naive enough to get themselves caught in nicely sounding nonsense. He told them that believing in themselves is enough. That all they lack is true faith in their own powers. That they can sustain themselves and reach true freedom - if only they’ll follow him of course.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Sounds like a cult to me,” Hazel shook her head, “how could they fall for that?”

  “We are hiding behind our long lives and power, Hazel,” Shadow shrugged, “but you’ll soon find out we are just as foolish as mortals are. But no one had ever tried to sell faith to spirits ever before. It’s just… too absurd. And that’s probably why it worked so smoothly. We had no defense against it - some fell for it, some underestimated it. I underestimated it.”

  The dark spirit took a pause, running his hand across his face. Then he continued:

  “There were fights. Battles. Arguments. But nothing helped when many kept digging their own graves with enthusiasm of lunatics. Then they’ve started to vanish-“

  “-and he told the others those were the unfaithful ones, no?” Hazel raised an eyebrow.

  “Of course,” Shadow nodded, “so together, over the course of the years, they managed not only to get rid of many of themselves, they broke and thinned the belief in general. It was… like a snowball causing avalanche. There was no ending to it. There still isn’t.

  Then, about thirty years ago, I almost got lost, too. I was weak enough to be locked in here for three decades,” he clasped his hands, even mentioning it made him brace himself in a way. “I don’t remember much of it. Just darkness, claiming me back, losing layer by layer of myself in it… Without a chance to escape. And meanwhile one whole generation… your generation… grew up without the fear curating their belief, their magical thinking, their superstitions… A brave, fearless generation.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and Hazel looked away, unable to stay with the disgust and pain in his voice. That was fitting. The night games she and her friends were never scared of, to the bewilderment of the adults around. No real nightmares in her childhood. Never really understanding what the stories and others meant by being scared of darkness or night. All the things they were doing, dangerous things, hunting the feeling of thrill. The excitement when the war started…

  “When they started the war, the fear came back, flooding human minds that were more unprepared then no one in history before them. That called me back, Hazel. And ever since then I've been chasing that wild fear - but it’s fixing holes in a boat already torn apart.”

  She listened in silence then. But there was one last thing to be cleared.

  “Why does she hate you? Samhain I mean.”

  He rested his elbows on his knees, letting his hands sink down: “She has more than one reason but in the first place: I was the one supposed to protect the boat for everyone. And I clearly failed. Samhain is not alone on that.”

  “And who else-?”

  “Everyone.”

  For a moment Hazel had no idea what to say. She watched him there, staring into the dark water and all she felt was an unbearable weight. Too heavy for one being to carry.

  There was only one meaningful thing to do. She reached for his hand, clasping his fingers firmly in her own palm.

  “I’m sorry. For all of that. I’m sorry for what you had to go through.”

  He almost flinched - her gesture was a surprise, an unexpected shock. And yet her touch lingered. Calm, kind and warm.

  It certainly didn’t fit the story. And Shadow thought, that maybe he made a terrible mistake. That she didn’t fit in here.

  But perhaps that was exactly the reason why it helped. So he didn’t pull away and covered her hand with his other one instead.

  “Don’t be sorry for that,” he smiled faintly, “that’s simply the story I owed you. And the mess I dragged you in.”

  “A couple of centuries of a mess,” Hazel tilted her head to side, “I suspect there will be enough follow up to this for a few more afternoons.”

  That earned her a relieved chuckle from him: “I think you suspect right.” But then he gave her a much sharper, thoughtful look:

  “So. You said she was very interested in you…”

  Bertie was a man of reason.

  That had to be clear.

  He was serious, reliable and absolutely devoted to the idea of science. More than that. He despised all that belief and faith nonsense. You wouldn’t find him in church - a testament to his absolute dedication to empirical knowledge.

  And he went further than that. In his household there was no Father Christmas, no Easter Bunny, no house elves or faes. No superstitions. And when his children were afraid in the darkness under the bed, he made them sleep on the floor to understand that they are safe. That there is nothing hidden in the dark and that the night is only a time of missing light.

  He wasn’t of an ordinary townsfolk either. He was a scholar. A professor on one of the oldest universities in Europe. One of leading minds of science of 17th century.

  There was only one thing he believed. That the time on enlightenment is near.

  So it was quite an irony that he died in a great fire started by a candle his wife put into a window to cast away a storm. She didn’t share her husband’s sentiments- unfortunately for him.

  Even choking on smoke he didn’t pray, didn’t hope for the afterlife. Firm to the very end.

  Imagine his rage when he woke up as a spirit.

  It turned out that people got it all wrong and started to believe in science.

  Those unspeakable morons.

  Loyal to his whole life approach, he started to study this new world though. It was easy - spirits considered it a matter of honour and good manners to take care of every newcomer. It made things go smoother, prevented mishaps - and if the new ones worked well sooner, the belief they brought was a good sign for everyone.

  That was how he got to the Shadow’s library. The underground Palace served less as a fear spirit’s home and more as a public property. Spirits were coming in and leaving again, the library - a vast collection of books and scrolls - always open. The first time Bertie went in, he almost forgave the fate for dragging him to this miserable, absurd existence. The place was magnificent. A shrine of knowledge and magic.

  It was also there where he met the master of this place for the first time.

  Unlike others, Shadow didn’t need to consult the registries before finding the books he needed. He treated the caverns filled with old books like a simple bookshelf. The dead languages, nor even deader alphabets didn’t bother him apparently.

  The dark spirit was mildly interested in getting to know the new face, polite and willing to help Bertie find what he needed. And then he was gone.

  Eventually the spirit of fear became Bertie’s obsession for a long time. Apparently, he was ancient. Being around since the beginning of time. He held a lot of power and an even a greater influence both human and in spirit world. Despite that he was focused on his duty almost solely. Rarely to be seen down in the Palace, Shadow was wandering the world, shaping fears and nightmares, keeping superstitions running, occasionally stirring up a new tradition or custom just for fun.

  Night after night, day after day. For months, years, centuries, millennia. All that time the same shtick.

  How he did not die from pure boredom was beyond Bertie’s comprehension.

  If at first the Scholar didn’t understand Shadow and spirits like him, later he learned to despise him. The society of spirits was stuck on the infinite repetition of the same routines.

  Dedicated, dutiful, focused on their sense of being - infinite rows of spirits proud of their own limits. Seeing their slavery as honor. And then, first among equals, the spirit of fear who had enough chances to change it all, but never did anything.

  Bertie firmly considered reason, personal liberty and progress the highest values in life. While mortals disappointed him deeply, he was willing to to give spirits a try. And maybe the Greater Good could ripple out, changing both worlds.

  “Should you really be defined by whims of creatures that don’t posses a fraction of your powers and knowledge?” he kept asking others. “Do you deserve to spend eternity in servitude?”

  It took time but he found ears eager to listen. And to their fears, he had firm reassurance: “Belief is like a natural force. What does it matter who filled the bottle with water, if you can always drink it? Believe in yourself and believe in each other. No need to bribe mortals for that!”

  The more spirits listened faithfully, the stronger the Scholar was. So he saw that he was right. Their belief nurtured just as well as human one could.

  When the first ones got weaker and vanished, he was shattered, obviously. But then he understood: not everyone can reach true freedom. Not everyone is giving enough. Of course it was sad - but you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.

  And when the system of belief got finally twisted enough to leave spirits in ruins, he saw that his work is almost done. The spirits that survived did so on limited belief - they were the strong ones. Those whom he gifted liberty.

  And mortals, free of magical thinking, thrived. Mostly. Definitely enough for him to be proud.

  So when that new one appeared, Bertie thought it was just a rumour first. No spirit should be born from raw belief now.

  But when Samhain sat casually across him, confirming it all, he was absolutely sure that something had to be done to fix it.

  “Well,” the autumn spirit rested her chin on her hand gracefully, “I thought you’d love to know who brought her here.”

  “And who did?” Bertie had little patience for her games,

  “Shadow did.”

  Of course. Who else.