The Pelagius Game: Book One: Valstain

By R.J. Jerome

You fool. Armageddon is weeks away, right under the Church’s nose, and the Order that is appointed to watch and protect the world doesn't even realize it.

Through The Pelagius Game series, R.J. Jerome introduces the reader to Valstain, the magical realm between Heaven and Earth.

Valstain follows the life of Timothy Anderson as he reveals his haunted past to Father Michael Olshefski, the new headmaster of The Pelagius Order. The Order’s seminary is the training ground of a secret religious society whose job is to find and prepare gifted warriors to fight evil.

But someone on the inside has a different idea.

Now, Tim must expose the true wicked desires of the Order’s leaders to the kidnapped priest. He needs this man’s trust and permission to enter the Holy ground so he may once more venture into Valstain and claim his revenge on those who betrayed him. However, Tim knows mere words will not convince the priest—only tasting the memories locked inside his magical blood will.

It is said once a man has entered Valstain, and experienced the horror within, he is never the same again—that is exactly what the forces of evil are depending on. The Pelagius Game has begun, and the journey into Valstain is only the beginning.

Valstain is a must read for anyone interested in fantasy adventures with plenty of sword fights, vibrant characters, and intricate plot twists.

Genre: Fantasy, Thriller, Paranormal, Occult

• Language: English
• Publisher: eTreasures Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Oct 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781937809508

Book preview

Book 1: Valstain

By R.J. Jerome

Published by eTreasures Publishing, LLC at Smashwords

ISBN 978-1-937809-50-8

*****

Copyright 2013 R. J. Jerome

All Rights Reserved

Cover Artist: Christie Caughie

No part of this book may be reproduced, except for review purposes, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any format or by any means without express written consent from the publisher. This book in electronic format may not be re-sold or re-distributed in any manner without express written permission from the publisher.

Print version is available at eTreasures Publishing, LLC.

Visit Author Website at http://rjjerome.com/

This book is entirely fiction and bears no resemblance to anyone alive or dead, in content or cover art. Any instances are purely coincidental. This book is based solely on the author’s vivid imagination.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prologue

Present Time

Michael Olshefski, the new headmaster of the Pelagius Order, shut off the outside security lights and blessed himself. His gray hair was lathered in nervous sweat that dripped onto his bronze robes. He tried to control his breathing, tried to silence the fear and doubt welling up within him.

Come on, he murmured anticipating the darkness.

When the final light dimmed, he dashed through the massive tunnel that ran underneath the seminary’s large castle structure and out through the secret, stonewall door. Outside, he scouted the main gate for a discreet exit, until his eyes locked on a black van.

There’s my way out, he whispered. The dark parking lot shrouded the headmaster in secrecy as he crept toward the van.

Heavy footsteps behind him froze him in place. He glanced around nervously, expecting an attack from the rear at any moment.

Headmaster, is that you? A loud imposing voice called out through the darkness.

Olshefski halted. His wrinkled hands trembled. The guards. How did they find me?

A hulking, baton-wielding guard stepped toward him. His black suit blended in with the night’s darkness.

Slowly, Olshefski turned around. Yes, it’s only me, he replied, trying hard not to sound suspicious, because sneaking around the dangerous grounds of the Pelagius Order, especially at night, could get one killed. I’m just going out for a drive. Don’t wait up.

Sir, it’s nightfall, and those woods have—terrible things prowling inside them. Please, get back inside.

Don’t be ridiculous. I’m old, but I’m not helpless.

Sir, the council never informed me that they gave anyone permission to leave the grounds. Am I making myself clear? The guard gritted his teeth. Get back inside.

Olshefski furrowed his brow. How dare you? I’m the headmaster. I give the orders. Are we clear?

As you wish, sir, the guard scowled.

Olshefski realized how unconvincing he sounded, but he nodded, entered the van, and drove away.

Part One

Chapter One: Ride of Terror

The wind howled from above, forming swirling dust clouds on the dirt road that obscured the headmaster’s vision. A copse of towering pine trees blocked the moonlight and he slammed his fist on the steering wheel. I can’t see a damn thing. Olshefski searched for a clearing until he discovered a small trail dipping down into a path surrounded by stone. There’s a good spot to pull over. Now, what was that address again? His hands rummaged through his robes, revealing a letter with a red wax seal in his upper pocket. He turned on the interior light and squinted as he read.

Headmaster Michael Olshefski,

You are in great danger. I request a private meeting at my home at eight p.m.

For your own safety, tell no one of this.

1845 Mill Rd.

Mill Road? Olshefski muttered. Oh, thank God. That’s less than a mile from here. As he folded the note, a whiff of burning electronics wafted through the air. The headlights on the vehicle dimmed and the engine shut off.

Damn it, he yelled, exiting the van. Showers of bitter rain poured down on him. He tugged at his robe, pulling it up over his head. Can this day get any worse? he asked, slamming his palm on the hood of his vehicle.

The sound of an ear-shattering wail spilt the air, causing Olshefski to cringe. Behind him, the top of a tall pine tree bent and shook, and several pinecones fell to the ground.

Is someone there? he called into the darkness.

Suddenly, a shadowy form leapt up to the opposite side of the road. I’ve a flashlight! Show yourself! You can’t hide!

A low-pitched growl quelled his anger and he focused his gaze deeper into the trees. There, in the center of the pine, thin crimson eyes peered back at him. Dear God, help me. He shuddered.

The shadowy form lunged downward in frenzy, crushing the roof of the van, and the headmaster raced down the dirt road.

Get away from me, Olshefski shouted. His feet slid on the muddy ground and he crashed into a tree, blooding his palms.

There were shrieks from other unseen forces out in the distance. Terrified, the headmaster rose, ignoring his injuries. With a burst of adrenaline pumping through his body, he dashed down the road.

Leave me alone, he pleaded as a forceful push knocked him forward, face down onto the wet ground. Again, he picked himself up. He wiped the mud from his eyes, and continued to flee. You’ll not take me! You will not!

His faith was strong and, as he ran, he recited the Hail Mary. Then, unexpectedly, the forest went silent. He glanced back through the blistering rain, but the shadow had vanished.

Oh, thank Jesus. I must’ve run at least a mile. He bent and exhaled with great force. Now what? The van is destroyed and I can’t go back the way I came. Olshefski stared at the letter, struggling to read the water-stained paper. 1845 Mill Road. He spun to get his bearings. That’s still a bit of a walk. But, I guess I’ve no other choice.

A bird cawed from its perch on a nearby branch. Olshefski straightened and clutched his chest. He swung his flashlight and discovered a blackbird glaring at him through milky dandelion pupils.

You scared me, he gasped toward the fowl. The blackbird squawked again and a sudden rush of flapping wings surrounded Olshefski as nine more birds flew in to perch strategically around him. What the hell’s going on? What madness is this?

The flock leader swooped forward, attacking Olshefski’s hand. The letter he held fell into a sludge puddle and the cries of the remaining birds swelled into a horrific choir. Then, the birds lunged at the headmaster. The points of their beaks ripped into his robes, knocking him to the ground. Excruciating pecking wounds spread across the helpless headmaster’s body.

Help me, he screamed. Somebody, please help me! As if in answer, a furious wind swept through the forest and, just as suddenly as the attack had commenced, the wild birds flew away from him. Their maddening squawks silenced. The flock leader grasped the fallen letter in its beak and took flight; the others followed.

Bleeding and frightened, Olshefski darted to a clearing in the woods.

Two pale headlights shined faintly through the darkness and the headmaster raced toward them. Desperately, he waved his hands. A dark-colored van slowed its pace to a stop and a burly driver exited, calling the headmaster to him.

Oh, thank heaven you arrived when you did, sir, gasped Olshefski. You’ve no idea—

Hurry, headmaster, we don’t have much time, the stranger interrupted.

How—how do you know me?

Hurry, damn it! We must leave now!

Chapter Two: Timothy Anderson

Timothy Anderson stood on the third-floor balcony of his grand mansion, and gazed out upon the city sky as the last remnant of blue made its transition to black. His lengthy thick mane of brown hair whipped in the wind while a black leather trench coat, wrapped around an ivory silk shirt and brown dress pants, complemented his thin, muscular stature. Lifetimes of sorrow played like a symphony in his mind.

Never before have I witnessed the world so hopeless, so chaotic. Is it possible my companions and I are responsible for all this madness? And if so, what kind of God would allow me to live after all I’ve done? Perhaps I’ll abandon my plans and disappear into obscurity. But where would I go? Where would someone like me be accepted?

Approaching footsteps disrupted his concentration.

Boss, are you awake? whispered Edward Knish, Tim’s husky, curly-brown-haired assistant, entering from behind the painting that hid the secret corridor. Edward’s dark T-shirt and jeans snagged on the frame of the entrance. Is this passage shrinking or am I gaining weight?

I believe it’s the latter, replied Tim. Am I wrong, or are you early?

One hour early to be exact, confessed Edward, rubbing his foot against the stone floor. He walked to the corner of the musty room and lit a silver candelabrum. Tim winced.

What’s so damn important you’d disturb me at this hour? Go away.

But the man from the church, Headmaster Michael Olshefski, is here to speak with you. He was attacked on the way here. I rescued him.

I’m aware he’s here. Tell him to come back in one hour.

Ah, sighed Edward.

Tim extinguished the flames with his fingers and glared at his assistant. What?

The headmaster says he’s in a terrible rush and if you wish to speak with him, it must be now. Edward walked past Tim. He closed the balcony window and placed a fallen book onto a warped mahogany bookshelf.

Tim exhaled and nodded his approval. Fine. I’ll be down shortly.

The words brought a smile to Edward’s face and he turned to exit.

Edward, wait. Make sure the curtains in the meeting room are drawn and the lights are dimmed. My pale face may frighten our guest.

Of course, boss, Edward replied. I know what you require.

****

Headmaster Olshefski raised his eyebrows, squinted, and scanned the renaissance art of Hubert and Jan van Eyck that adorned the walls of the dimly lit meeting hall. It’s so damn dark in here. How much longer do they expect me to wait? He frowned and plopped into a large high-back leather chair, one of many surrounding a vast dark wooden table sitting before him.

The sound of Edward’s approaching footsteps brought a smile to his face.

Ah, you’re back. It is absolutely freezing in here. Where is, uh…I’m sorry, but in the letter, he never revealed his name. Will he be much longer?

Not much, exclaimed a voice from behind the headmaster. Olshefski spun toward the voice and the long-haired man appeared seated behind him.

Where in the nine hells did you come from? Olshefski asked.

Edward turned to conceal his laughter at the headmaster’s confusion, but his jiggling fat gave way to the ruse. The headmaster frowned and reached for his coat. He glared at the laughing Edward. Thanks for saving me on the road, but I need to get back to the seminary.

Leaving so soon, are you, headmaster? Before our business is concluded? asked Tim.

The headmaster squinted. Are you the one who sent the letter?

I am, replied Tim, unabashedly looking him over from his feet to his head.

Why do you stare at me so?

Your bronze robes. They remind me of someone from my past.

And who might that be? asked the headmaster.

The Weeping Man, Father Tobias.

Na—never heard of him, replied the headmaster, gulping on the words.

Curious, said Tim. Please, take a seat.

But you can’t see a damn thing in this place and it’s freezing. What’s with you people, anyway? You live in this grand mansion, but you don’t pay your bills?

Tim laughed with a hint of sarcasm. Afraid of the dark, headmaster?

Not afraid, but this is uncomfortable. He looked back over his shoulder at Edward.

The light no longer complements my face, declared Tim. Nor does the cold cause my bones to ache as they once did.

What are you? Some sort of victim looking for charity?

With a graceful motion, the stranger stood and paced. What I am is a victim of a calculated murder attempt upon my life and a mourner of a slain family. Your organization endorsed this.

Heat rose to the headmaster’s cheeks. If it’s blackmail you’re after, you won’t get one red cent from the Institute. We don’t take kindly to threats.

You miss the point. We’ve more than enough luxury here to suit us for several lifetimes.

The headmaster scratched his head. Well, what is it you want, Mr…uh, Mr…?

Tim will be fine.

Well, Tim, what exactly do you want? I drove all the way here against my better judgment with only a note claiming I’m in some terrible danger. So, tell me, what’s so important you couldn’t inform me over the telephone?

Tim’s heels clicked on the stone floor. I’ve waited five years—five long years—to find the only priest I believe I can trust.

Well, out with it! exclaimed the headmaster, waving his hands. If you haven’t noticed, I was attacked on my way here and all I really want to do is tend to my wounds.

Tim bit into his lip. A thin stream of blood rolled down to the tip of his chin, and he directed the crimson drops into a tiny glass vial that hummed as it was filled. Then we’re in agreement, headmaster. I too wish to heal your wounds. We’ve much to discuss and very little time. Tim slid the vial forward. Drink the vial. My blood will make you well.

You’re mad, retorted the headmaster.

Am I?

I’d rather die than take part in your sadistic rituals.

We can arrange that. I’m sure the crows already miss the taste of your flesh.

Ha—how did you know about those sanguinary birds?

Our eyes see all. Our ears hear all. Isn’t that the Order’s motto? Now, I suggest you quickly drink this vial. You’ll need your strength for what I am about to show you.

Not interested. The headmaster was terse.

You can be interested by choice or you can be interested by force. Drink the damn vial!

The headmaster’s eyes widened. I was right, he whispered. You are mad. Dear God, I must get out of here. But how? I could jump through the window. No, that won’t work. I’m too old, too slow. I am going to have talk my way out of this one. I’m sorry, uh, Tim was it? I’m just a priest from a simple seminary. As much as I would like to, I just can’t help you.

You’re Headmaster Michael Olshefski, are you not?

Uh, yes, but I don’t see how that…

And you work for Archbishop Orlandis? Tim interrupted.

The headmaster wrinkled his brow. You mean Pope Demetrius Orlandis.

So, he made Pope, did he? Well, I guess it was only a matter of time.

Tim, Demetrius Orlandis became Pope five years ago. Where’ve you been?

Tim stepped toward the headmaster, allowing him a brief glance at his face. I’ll be the one asking the questions.

I…I mean no offence. I just want to get out of here alive.

Don’t worry yourself, old man. I’ve no interest in killing you. Unless you deny me what I need.

And what might that be?

The Sword of the Spirit, the holy artifact the Order has demanded you find. I need it.

The headmaster’s chest tightened and his breathing sped up. How does he know this? Nervous, he stood and grabbed his coat. I have no idea what you’re talking about. You have wasted enough of my own and the church’s time. Good day to you, sir.

Timothy’s burly assistant, Edward, took a firm hold of the headmaster’s shoulder and pushed him back down on his seat. Going somewhere, headmaster? Edward snarled. The chair made a thumping sound from the force of Olshefki’s body slamming into it.

He’s not going anywhere, said Tim, laughing. His wounds are great and the things that lurk outside are significantly worse than the things in here. No more deception, headmaster. I want to discuss the game that we’re playing. God’s challenge to Satan that will cause the demise of this world as we know it.

The headmaster struggled to free himself.

Hold him tight, Ed, ordered Tim.

We’ve been watching you for some time, headmaster. It’s in your best interest to cooperate, Edward added.

Watching me? For what purpose? I already told you, I don’t know anything.

Lift up your right sleeve, Tim commanded through a dreadful scowl.

The headmaster hesitated and pulled his arm away. Angered, Tim leaned in close toward him and the headmaster recoiled instinctively upon seeing his captor’s blue-gray eyes and smooth pale skin.

I asked you once. I’ll not ask again. Lift your sleeve.

Fine. Is this what you want to see? asked the headmaster, rolling his sleeve upward.

The headmaster’s inner arm revealed a tattoo with the letter P sitting on top of a golden cross. Tim grimaced, first toward Edward and then back to the headmaster.

Odd—someone who claims to know nothing wears the mark of the Pelagius Order.

What do you know about the mark? Olshefski asked, nervous beads of sweat now evident on his brow,

Tim narrowed his eyes and placed his own arm in front of the headmaster. He rolled his sleeve upward, revealing an identical tattoo.

How in the world did you get that? Who are you?

Oh, I was once like you, headmaster. A priest, a student, and a member of the Order. But now I am so much more.

I’m not blind. Your features show me that, and your burst of anger terrifies me.

I’m not speaking of my blue-gray eyes, or my pale skin. No, that is an unfortunate situation, which has little bearing on this story.

Well, then, what’s this all about? Why do you need the sword?

Because you and your precious Order are in immense danger. God’s challenge to Satan, or as the Order has named it, The Pelagius Game, is about to end in failure, and you and your Order don’t even recognize we are losing the challenge to the unholy one.

What? The headmaster chuckled. Tim, I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. The last game ended five years ago and we obviously won or none of us would be here. We won’t likely see another game in our lifetime.

The tension in Tim’s face told the extent of his rage. He reached for a glass, shattering it against the wall to silence the headmaster’s mockery. I’m afraid it’s you who’s misinformed. The headmaster recoiled, holding his hands up protectively. Tim smirked and mediated his tone to a deliberate calm. You see, if I were just a lost, former member, you’d walk out of here thinking me nothing more than a madman.

I’m no member, Tim whispered, bending low. I’m perhaps the most important person in this cursed game. For I’m God’s last surviving game piece—man’s only hope for salvation. But in order to help you, I’ll need that sword.

You’re delusional. The members of the Order would be aware of this.

Would they? Tim laughed. You fool. Armageddon is weeks away, right under the Church’s nose, and the Order that is supposed to watch and protect the world doesn’t even know it.

I can’t listen to this…I just can’t, cried the headmaster.

I agree. Mere words will do nothing to prove my point nor will documentation. I must show you what’s happened.

Show me? I don’t understand, said the headmaster, shrugging. Tim nodded to Edward, who grabbed the back of the headmaster’s neck forcing his head upward. Tim snatched the blood-filled vial from the tabletop. Uncorking the lid, he leaned into the helpless headmaster’s ear and whispered, Drink this and see the past.

The headmaster clenched his jaw, but Tim pried the man’s mouth open with ease. The warm crimson liquid buzzed and splashed into the headmaster’s mouth. The priest shook, his face became cherry, and his pulse raced. A jade light covered the claw and the beak wounds on his body and like magic, they healed.

Drink, headmaster, and discover the past, whispered Tim. Through my eyes, you will see what I have seen. You will hear what I’ve heard and you will feel what I’ve felt…you will become me.

The headmaster collapsed in his chair, and Edward carried him to the sofa.

Chapter Three: Youthful Memories

1997

Run! Move! Get out of the way, yelled terrified teenager, Timothy Anderson, pushing his way between shopping pedestrians on Market Street. The consumers scattered as Tim leapt upward onto an outside display counter. His feet smashed the salesman’s wares of fruit and vegetables. Get them away from me, Tim cried, looking back over his shoulder.

Timothy Anderson, get off my table. When I tell your father what you’ve done, it’ll be curtains for you, promised the salesman. Get back here and clean this mess up!

A sudden gust of wind pushed the salesman backward. He fell to the ground, and a display of oranges tumbled down on top of him.

Tim, unable to see his adversary, was pure instinct, sensing his enemy’s movements. He leapt upward, grabbing a flagpole, and spun around one time. At the pinnacle of his loop, he released into a midair roll. In a flawless display, he landed on a rooftop and continued to run, but a wavering, shiny force of magical energy just as suddenly knocked him to the ground. Tim rose to his knees as a malevolent shadowy form slithered toward him.

Why won’t you leave me alone? Tim cried.

The shadowy form hissed in a violent reply and reached out toward Tim.

Tim darted to the left and rolled, barely evading a blinding flash of exploding lightning that smashed several windows. Sharp fragments of glass showered the boy. His eyebrow was cut and bled down the side of his face. Dazed, he stepped backward and lost his footing, yet, with one hand, he held firm to the rooftop.

The dark entity grinned and slid toward him. Tim’s eyes narrowed, but he remained alert, scouting his surroundings until his once tense face suddenly showed relief. Not today, demon, Tim retorted as he pressed his feet hard against the wall and pushed backward with a tremendous force. His body gracefully arced backward into the air and he landed, uninjured, on a tree several feet below.

The shadowy figure postured for a lunging attack, but abruptly stopped. The entity glared down at the youth, who smirked from a church’s flowery courtyard.

Your luck will eventually run out, Timothy Anderson, the fiend threatened in a scratchy dark tone.

What’s the matter, demon? Are you afraid to follow me into the church?

You can’t hide on holy ground forever, boy. Eventually, you will be mine.

****

Tim, where are you? a visibly fit middle-aged man called from the porch of his small white house.

Coming, Dad, sighed Tim, his feet slowly scraping the cobblestone street, his hands brushing the picket fence. Oh, I know that look, Dad. Did they call you already? Does Mom know? Please, tell me she doesn’t.

I don’t understand you, Tim. Last week it was detectives telling your mother and me they caught you computer hacking a bank. And this week, Mr. De’ Salvo calls to tell us you destroyed his vendor stands. What’s going on?

Dad, I told you, I only wanted to see if I could crack the bank code. I didn’t steal anything—the detectives even told you that. And I didn’t mean to destroy Mr. De’ Salvo’s stands. Honestly, I had no choice—I was being chased.

Was it the sword-wielding ghosts again, son?

No, it wasn’t the ghosts. This one was different. It was sinful.

The sound of a screen door slamming shut interrupted their conversation.

Great, John. Keep encouraging him, intoned a thin middle-aged woman pinning back her shoulder length chestnut hair.

Molly, I’m not encouraging him. He’s a boy. He’s supposed to be adventurous. It’s not out of the ordinary for a child to have imaginary friends.

John, he’s no longer a child. He’s a little old for imaginary friends.

Mom, they’re not imaginary, Tim insisted.

Don’t interrupt me, Tim. His mom was visibly impatient. See, John, something’s obviously the matter with him.

Molly, how much more money are you willing to throw away on these damn psychiatrists? They’ve told you at least a dozen times that he’s fine.

I’m not talking about psychiatry, John. More church is what he needs. First thing in the morning, he’s going to visit Father Peterson. She pointed her finger at Tim’s face. And you will be on time.

Mom, I love going to church. I always have. I think I want to be a priest when I’m older. He wrinkled his face. Everybody listens to them.

A priest who hacks into bank computers? Molly retorted. That’s really good.

I will be a priest one day, you’ll see. And then people will listen to me.

Fine. I’m going inside to finish supper. When you’re finished speaking with your father, go wash up for dinner. I have to be at work early tomorrow. I have a teacher’s meeting with the principal.

Both father and son remained silent until Molly was out of earshot.

Tim, you’ve got to learn to control yourself.

Dad, you do believe me, don’t you?

Son, I know you’re special. I do believe something haunts you, but to the Catholic Church and to your mother, these things are evil. Stop focusing on them. Don’t listen to the voices. Some things aren’t meant to be heard.

I’m trying, Dad, I really am. Tim giggled and his eyes widened. I wish you had been there to watch me escape that demon. My backward roll was perfect and my hollow body hold was worthy enough to win me an Olympic Gold—just like you did.

John rubbed his son’s head and smiled. It better be. We practiced that move for three months. When you’re ready, get cleaned up for dinner.

Tim nodded and sat on the edge of the porch. A warm autumn breeze tousled his hair, and he gazed at the setting sun, which hid behind orange clouds, and exhaled.

Ah, finally silence. Nothing chasing me—nothing to view but sky. When I’m big, the ghosts will be scared of me, but I’ll have to be important. Yes, I think I’d like to be a priest. No one talks back to them. Tim frowned and brushed some dirt from the porch ledge. But does that mean I’ll never kiss a girl? I think I should kiss before I become a priest. Maybe the red-headed woman from my dreams. She has the most beautiful blue-gray eyes.

Tim, get washed up for dinner, Molly yelled from inside.

I’m coming, Tim sighed.

Chapter Four: The Odd Visit

August 31, 2004

The sound of a closing car door startled Timothy Anderson. He glanced toward the wall clock. Odd, it’s too early for Mom or Dad to be home. He brushed back the tan curtains and peeked outside. A thin young bearded man, holding a black briefcase and wearing a priest’s collar, advanced up his driveway. The man’s look was one of perfect confidence. He walked with his chin high and his back straight. Curious, Tim opened the door before the priest could knock.

May I help you with something, Father? asked Tim.

Ah, Timothy Anderson, it’s a great honor to meet you.

Tim scratched his head. I’m sorry. Have we met?

Tim, I’m Father Thomas from the Order of Pelagius. I’m here to discuss your application.

The Order of what? Tim asked, confused, but curious.

Pelagius. It’s a grand seminary here in Pennsylvania.

What? I don’t remember applying to a college seminary in Pennsylvania.

Special applications get sent to my office. My superior wanted me to come here in person and discuss the possibility of you attending our elite seminary.

Tim glanced past the priest and into his bushes looking for pranksters. Is this a joke?

We’ve little time for humor, Tim. May we go inside?

Well, sir, my parents aren’t home right now.

I’m aware, Tim. We prefer to meet in private. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m rather pressed for time.

Well, okay, after you, Father. Sorry about the mess. I...

Father Thomas pushed past Tim and sat on the worn couch, placing his bag on the coffee table. Let me get your files from my briefcase. Now, it says here you’re a straight-A student. Is this correct?

Yes, but I don’t understand why—

And ever since you were a child, you’ve gone to numerous priests and psychologists claiming to see sword-wielding spirits? interrupted the priest.

Tim slumped into a chair and lowered his eyes. Yes, I did. But how do you know?

Tim, the school interested in you isn’t an advertised seminary. One doesn’t simply apply to it. Father Thomas tightened his brow and waved his finger. You have special skills, young man, the kind of skills we’re looking for. The Order of Pelagius can help you control and advance these abilities. You should feel privileged that I am even speaking to you. We accept only seven or eight students a year, each one with his special uniqueness. None, however, are like you. Father Thomas stood and paced the floor.

How do you know all these personal details of my life? Tim was wary.

"Our eyes see all. Our