Prologue
Standing at the entrance to the sanctuary dressed in black robes, the dark man waited. Vincent could not see his face. He did look past the gate that was covered with withering vines and scant brown leaves clinging to thin stalks. Down the path the stones were overgrown and strewn with fallen leaves. Once there was a garden. Wilted roses lay in beds, beautiful in death, their petals fallen and scattered by the winds of time and strangled by weeds. Clouds gathered, the sky was an impenetrable marbled gray except for a brief moment when a thin ray of sunshine broke through cascading light across the landscape. The light illuminated what had been in shadow so that even the withered leaves sparkled - some silver, some copper.
The stranger stood motionless, as if enraptured. Was he a mendicant or a postulant? Or did he understand that they are the same? He focused not on the shadow but the light, as brief as it may be. As the cloud covering closed off the shaft of light a cold wind came up. He wrapped the cloak tighter about him.
The gusts howled as if the air wished to speak. The stranger closed his eyes as he listened to the sounds before he spoke, “When told not to trespass, for the way is haunted and the spirits seek to take possession of your soul only a madman would continue on. For the fear of what might wait for you will not keep you from the knowledge of what does wait for you.” He opened his eyes. They were black like his hair and the robes whipping behind him in the wind. He stared at Vincent. “What will you do?”
