Maddox slowly opened a puffy, painful eye.

  The five bullies had turned around. It sounded as if they talked to someone. Yes. Maddox heard the taunting in their voices. It seemed they had someone better to bully than him.

  Maddox would have slunk away, but he was too weak, too exhausted. Past their legs, he saw an old man in a monk’s robe trying to lecture them.

  “We said go away,” the heaviest youth told the monk. “If you don’t, we’ll beat you raw and spank your bum.”

  “I have no money,” the monk said, spreading his frail hands. “Let me take the boy with me. You’ve already stolen his copper.”

  “Are you calling us thieves?” the heaviest youth demanded.

  The monk sighed. He seemed sad as much as tired. “Yes. You’re thieves. You’re bullies, and you enjoy preying on the weak. Please, leave before I do something I will regret.”

  The five thugs glanced at each other. Who was this old man anyway?

  “What do you think you’re going to do to us?” the leader asked, jerking a thick thumb against his chest.

  “So be it,” the monk whispered. “Do not forget that I warned you.”

  “Let’s knock him around,” the leader shouted. “Let’s pull off his robe and whip him with it.”

  Maddox wanted to close his puffy eye. Instead, he watched, transfixed by the monk’s courage. Surely, the old man must know what was going to happen to him. Where did he find such serenity? More than the drunkard at the store had wanted his copper, Maddox lusted for the monk’s courage.

  As the thugs closed in with raised fists, shouting as they swung, Maddox saw the most amazing and wonderful thing in the world. The monk moved deceptively slowly, leaning in odd ways and twisting his arms in weird contortions. The bullies began to stumble and tumble, several flying through the air before thudding onto the ground, often onto their backs. It was wickedly delightful, even funny.

  The youths were tough, however, and didn’t stay down long. After the first round that lasted a good thirty seconds, four of them managed to regain their feet. They panted, huddling together as the monk waited patiently.

  Maddox couldn’t take his gaze off the old man’s calm demeanor. Oh, how he wanted to be brave in the face of danger like that.

  Finally, the thugs parted to face the monk. He told them, “I grant you peace. Take your unconscious friend and go.”

  The leader no longer boasted. Instead, he warily approached the monk. The others fanned out, circling the old man.

  “Please,” the monk said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “That’s why we’re going to win,” the leader said, “because we want to hurt you bad, old man.”

  The monk gave another of his sad smiles, setting himself in a strange stance.

  “Now!” the leader shouted.

  The four pulled out hidden knives and charged, two of them almost immediately flying through the air as the monk flipped them. That was when the gang leader did the dirty, punching his knife through the robe and sinking it all the way to the hilt into the old man’s stomach.

  The monk’s serene, wrinkled face changed into one of shocked surprise. The gang leader yanked out the bloody blade and tried to stab again. The monk reacted, and the youth went skidding face-first across pavement.

  One of the other fallen youths had scrambled back onto his feet. The thug had some brains, too. He crept up quietly from behind.

  Maddox saw this. He opened his mouth, trying to shout a warning. The fear in him had returned with redoubled strength. It paralyzed him from uttering a sound.

  The second knife sank into a kidney. It caused the old man to straighten in agony. He whirled around, though, trying another of his amazing hand-arm combinations. The thug proved faster, throwing a powerful right cross. The fist connected with a crack against the old man’s chin, sending him reeling until he tripped and collapsed onto his back.

  “Let’s finish him!” one of them howled.

  Like fang-beasts, the remaining thugs leaped at the stricken man, plunging their knives again and again into his body. In their bloodlust, the youths killed him.

  Only as they panted afterward, drenched in his blood, did the bullies realize what they had done. They stared at each other in dread.

  “Let’s get out of here,” the leader said. “We killed a monk. We can’t let anyone find out. Come on.”

  In their fear and haste, they forgot about Maddox. He lay motionless as they dashed away, taking their unconscious friend with them.

  Once they’d left, Maddox dragged himself to the old dead monk. The man had saved his life and he didn’t even know why the monk had helped him.

  It shocked Maddox to see the peacefulness on the dead monk’s features. He’d expected twisted agony and fear. The dagger thrusts must have hurt something awful and knowing you were dying…

  Maddox wept beside the corpse. It was a combination of pity for himself and for the old man. He’d wanted to ask the monk the secret to being brave. He’d been sure someone who had fought for him like this would be willing to tell him the priceless secret. The tears also came because Maddox wished there was something he could do for the only person who had ever done something heroic for him. Why had the monk interfered in the first place? What had the old man planned to gain from it? He’d received nothing but hatred, knife wounds and death.

  As Maddox huddled there, he remembered how the monk had flipped and thrown the thugs. If only he’d been able to help the old man.

  I’m weak. I’m small, and I’m always afraid. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.

  The feeling, the wanting to shed his fear grew in Maddox. The desire became so powerful he decided to do something about it. His hands kept opening and closing. What could he do? Maybe he could at least drag the monk off the street. He crawled to the front and reached for the neck of the robe. That’s when he noticed a glint of metal around the bloody neck.

  Curious, Maddox pulled…a chain. He removed the chain, pulling a golden medallion out from under the bloody robe. The gold was heavy. In terror, Maddox clutched the gold coin, hiding it from sight, glancing around wildly in case someone else had seen it. No. He didn’t see anyone else.

  With a thumping heart, Maddox opened his hands, peering at the incredible treasure, at his newfound wealth. If he hawked this—

  A feeling of shame welled up. “No,” he whispered. He couldn’t just trade the monk’s gold. Besides, as he considered the situation, another thought welled up, one of cunning.

  Maddox wanted to fight like the monk. He wanted to be brave. Those things were worth more than money.

  Shoving the chain and medallion deep into his good pocket, Maddox limped away from the murder scene. A plan had begun to form in his heart. He had to reach the monastery. He had to bargain with them.

  It was then Maddox-who-was-Garth began the greater journey, one that would lead to spaceships, lasers and vile Ur-Beasts. It was doubtful, though, that Maddox would have turned back even if he’d known the outcome of his decision. More than anything in the world, he wanted to get rid of his stinking fear and helplessness. He would do anything to find real courage…anything.

  -27-

  Maddox trekked five long kilometers to the old stone monastery outside the city. His feet hurt, his side ached and he was thirsty. He was also hungry, but that was a nearly constant state and thus didn’t figure into his calculations.

  The gold medallion had grown heavy in his pocket. He had his doubts about this now that he was almost to the destination. The monastery was big and scary, with a statute of Saint Benson crossing the gap in his scout ship to find Remus. The bronze-cast saint struck a heroic pose, with one of his knees thrust forward. He looked courageous and determined as he stared into the distance.

  As Maddox went over his plan, he feared the monks would just take his medallion. Well, take back the old monk’s medallion, he supposed. He would have to make them promise first before he showed them the gold.

  Maddox might have turned around and sought a thuggish fence if he could have figured out a sure way to make the dealer in stolen goods keep his word. Once he showed the fence the medallion, the man would probably swipe it and drive him onto the street.

  Didn’t the monks of Saint Benson keep their word?

  The fear stirred in Maddox, making him wince painfully. Everyone picked on him. Maybe he should just dig a hole and hide the gold coin in it.

  How does that help me, though?

  Maddox closed his eyes, trying to drum up the image of the old monk tossing the bullies into the air.

  A bell clanged, making Maddox yelp as he jumped. He covered his ears, staring at a bronze bell that tolled back and forth. What a terrible noise. He almost bolted, never to return.

  A big oaken door opened and a beefy man in a brown robe swept dirt onto a wooden landing. He stepped outside and brushed that onto the ground. The man noticed Maddox staring at the steeple.

  The big monk gathered his breath to shout at the obvious thief. He would bellow at him to go loiter somewhere else. Something stilled the shout, however. Maybe it was the pathetic fear etched on the boy’s gaunt face. Maybe it was the spot of blood on the sleeve of the filthy shirt.

  “Hey, boy,” the monk said in a deep voice. “Come here.”

  Once more, Maddox nearly bolted. It was his answer to almost every problem. He stared wide-eyed at the monk, trembling like fang-beast bait.

  “I won’t hurt you,” the monk said, softening his tone.

  Step by slow step, Maddox approached the massive monk. This one could have easily swatted the thugs aside. He was like an oak tree. Finally, Maddox reached the man, staring at him in growing fear.

  “Is there a reason why you’re here?” the monk asked.

  It took some doing, but Maddox nodded solemnly.

  The monk raised his eyebrows in a questioning way.

  Maddox licked his lips, and in a quivering voice, he said, “I want to speak…” He closed his mouth, realizing that wasn’t the way to speak to monks. “Please, sir, I…I would like to speak to your boss.”

  “You want to speak to the Deity?”

  “Does he rule here?”

  “Everyone knows He does,” the monk said.

  “Oh. Yes. I would like to speak to him.”

  “Well…pray then.”

  “What is pray?” Maddox asked.

  “Talking to the Deity,” the huge monk said, half annoyed. Was the boy a simpleton, a drooling halfwit?

  “That’s why I’m asking you,” Maddox said. “I want to see your boss.”

  The monk used the top end of his broom handle to rub his forehead. “Do you mean you want to talk to the headmaster?”

  “If he’s the boss, I’d like to,” Maddox said, thoroughly confused.

  “The headmaster is our leader.”

  “Yes,” Maddox said, wondering if the big man was simpleminded. “I’d like to talk to him.”

  “Why?”

  Maddox’s resolve finally began to waver. Each question seemed harder to answer, and the big monk seemed to be getting angrier by the moment. The fear beat faster in Maddox. He instinctively reached into his pocket, clutching the medallion, trying to leech some of the courage from it. He recalled the serene old monk facing the thugs. That helped to keep him from running.

  “I can’t tell you why,” Maddox said. “I have to tell your headmaster.”

  The burly monk almost shouted at the boy to hurry up and spit it out. The headmaster didn’t have time to waste with idiot scoundrels. But the table talk last night had been devoted to recognizing the Deity’s hand in small things. Something about this skinny runt seemed…off. Maybe that was another way of saying the boy was different. Maybe the Deity was testing him.

  Maddox had already edged one foot away. The monk might swing that broom at him like a weapon. He would dart away if—

  The monk smiled, putting creases in his leathery face. “Wait here, my boy. I’ll get the headmaster.”

  The next few minutes were torture. Maddox leaned from one foot onto the other. The monk had left the door open. Maddox could smell tantalizing beef, cooking potatoes, beets and carrots all mixed together in a delightful stew. The scent made his mouth water uncontrollably. He was so hungry and tired. These monks obviously had fantastic wealth, eating like merchants with gold coins dangling from their necks.

  Maddox couldn’t decide if their riches would harm or help his chances with the plan. Maybe it would be better if he slunk away and—

  Floorboards creaked. The huge monk reappeared, stepping outside. Maddox’s heart sank. Did that mean the headmaster had refused to see him?

  “Here he is, Father, just like I said.”

  An old, withered monk in a brown robe stepped out next.

  Maddox took a quick step back, his mouth opening and closing in superstitious dread. The monk looked exactly like the old dead one lying in the slums. Had the dead monk come back to life and beaten him here? Was he angry, wanting his medallion back?

  “Is he a mute?” the old monk asked.

  “Boy,” the big monk said, a huge hand descending toward Maddox.

  Maddox twisted aside, jumping back, his heart thumping wildly. This was crazy.

  “Leave off, Jacob,” the old man said. “Boy, I’m the headmaster, Father Benedict. You wanted to see me, yes?”

  Maddox nodded as logic came to his rescue. If this was the dead monk come to life, where was the blood, where were the scars and bruises from the knifings and beating?

  “Well,” Benedict said, “You wanted to see me. Here I am.”

  Maddox tried to speak, but found he couldn’t.

  “He must be a lunatic,” Jacob observed.

  Maddox gave the big monk a sharp look.

  “Hush, Jacob, he’s frightened nearly out of his wits. Anyone can see that. But he clearly doesn’t like your assessment of him.” The old monk put his hands on his knees, leaning forward as he half crouched. “What is it, my son? Why did you come here? I sense it was for a purpose.”

  “I…” Maddox managed to say. “I need you to promise me first.”

  “Promise what?” Father Benedict asked.

  “I have a thing, a costly thing. I want to trade it with you.”

  “What do you have?” Benedict asked, curious.

  Maddox’s trembling grew worse. Could he trust the monks? The twin to the old man had fought the bullies for him. Maybe he could trust this one. Yet, he wasn’t sure.

  “Promise you won’t steal it first,” Maddox said.

  “What’s this?” the big monk said, sounding outraged. “You think we’re thieves?”

  “Jacob, please go inside.”

  “Father,” the big man said, sounding crestfallen.

  “You may stay,” Benedict said. “But you must remain silent.”

  Big Jacob nodded, taking a step back.

  “Do you promise?” Maddox asked the old monk.

  “Yes,” Benedict said. “I promise not to steal your treasure, whatever it is.”

  That made Maddox hiccup as he drew a deep breath too fast. This was the moment, as he had actually gotten a promise. He closed his eyes, pulling out the medallion and chain, holding them before him without looking.

  When nothing happened, Maddox opened his eyes.

  Benedict had straightened. He was pale and swayed slightly. Jacob leaned heavily against the monastery, with his big fingers wrapped around the broom handle so his knuckles were white with strain.

  “There’re specks of blood on the medallion,” Benedict whispered.

  “Your brother fought five thugs by himself,” Maddox managed to say.

  Benedict moaned, closing his eyes, beginning to shake his head. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no…”

  “Tell us what happened,” Jacob said in a soft voice.

  Benedict opened his eyes, staring at Maddox expectantly.

  Maddox began to speak, telling them what had happened.

  By the end of the story, Benedict was nodding with a sad smile on his face. At first, he had looked at the medallion. By the end, his gaze had fixed onto Maddox.

  “You came here to make a trade,” Benedict said in a soft voice.

  “I did,” Maddox said. “I…want to learn courage. I want to learn how to fight like your brother. I will trade you his coin and the story of his passing for teaching me these things.”

  Father Benedict clapped his hands over his mouth. He had begun to tremble and now his knees seemed to give out. His knees crashed onto the dirt, and he bowed his head. For a time, he said nothing. Then, he took his hands from his mouth and positioned them in prayerful reverence. He spoke in an alien tongue with his head bowed. Finally, he raised his head, showing red-rimmed eyes.

  Maddox stood transfixed, understanding none of this. As Father Benedict looked at him, Maddox proffered him the medallion.

  “Is it a deal?” the boy asked.

  Father Benedict climbed slowly to his feet. He stepped to Maddox. With both hands, he took the boy’s small, trembling hand, closing the fingers around the medallion.

  “It is yours by rite of passage,” Benedict said. His voice choked up. He bowed his head. A moment later, he looked up, saying in a whisper, “My brother had a dream several years ago. Ever since the dream, he believed he was supposed to find an acolyte, a special warrior. He searched for but never found the one. Surely, though, you bringing his medallion here is a sign. It must be a sign from above.”

  Benedict smiled serenely. “I will take you to his cell and show you his belongings, as they have now become yours.”

  “Father?” Jacob said in surprise.

  Maddox heard the words but couldn’t comprehend them. They were too incredible. Someone was going to give him things. His native cunning came to his aid. Before he blurted anything, his wits caused him to close his mouth and keep it shut. This seemed like a good time to watch and wait.