A flock of black crows flew across the sky towards the monastery looming in the distance, cawing a discomforting song.

‘Worrying as far as omens go.’ Folker said to himself, looking up at the darkening sky.

After pondering the meaning of the crows, he turned his head back to the letter that sent him here. It was a letter from the Fellowship of Sorcerers ordering him to come to the monastery of Midhovel as quickly as possible. Apparently one of the novices showed signs of magical potential and he had to see if she had to be taken away to the Academy. Folker thought it was probably just some girl having prophetic dreams, which was not unusual or something that should cause worry. Yet as he drew closer Folker noticed the forests surrounding the monastery were different than he remembered.

The monastery of Midhovel was a place he visited at times. In the middle of nowhere on the edges of the civilized world it was a great escape from the hectic Olise academy and the constant demands from the Fellowship. Last time he visited was in the summer, some two years past. The woods had been full of live then with birds in the trees chirping a cheerful song, all manner of animals rustling in the undergrowth and the occasional deer crossing the road. There were peasants in carts making their way towards the monastery, to sell their goods, talking in loud voices making it so that you could almost not hear the singing of the priestesses in the distance.

Now there hung an awful silence in the air, broken only by the occasional cawing of the crows that were now circling the monastery, that rose ominously from the mist.

‘Something is not right’ Thought Folker getting ever closer to the monastery. ‘I should have known the Fellowship would not have sent me away on a trivial matter.’

He carried on the path uneasily dreading what he might find ahead. The monastery’s walls were green, overgrown with creeper plants and moss. He stopped at the monastery gate. He was not greeted by anyone nor did the doors open. Folker was now sure something had happened to the priestesses. He examined the oaken doors closely, before pushing them open. The wood looked old and rotten as if the doors had stood there in disrepair for decades. With some effort he pushed the gate, the rusted hinges creaked so loudly Folker lost all hope of entering quietly. Whoever or, whatever was inside the monastery now knew he was coming.

The courtyard, like the rest of the monastery looked to be in ruins. The garden was full of weeds, the fountain at the centre was dried up, and where before there had been chickens wandering the grounds, there were now only two crows picking at the lifeless body of a woman in white bloodstained robes. Folker drew his sword from its scabbard preparing for the worst. He slowly approached the corpse, his cruciform hilt feeling heavier in his hand with every step. The crows did not fly off at Folker’s approach, instead they studied him intently with their black eyes. He had to shoo the creatures away from the body with his sword and then looked upon the woman lying in a pool of dried blood. Her face was mostly gone, eaten by the crows, but by the amulet around her neck Folker recognized the woman as a high priestess. He had come too late.

‘What could have done this to her’ Folker asked himself as he looked over the wounds of the high priestess.

She had deep cuts on her chest, belly, and neck, many, Folker judged, inflicted post-mortem.

He stepped away from the high priestess and turned his head towards the monastery. The crows had stopped circling in the sky and had landed on the roof of the monastery examining him from a distance.

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‘The novice must have lost control of her abilities.' He took another look at the body. Doubt filled his mind.

Folker opened the door to the nave of the monastery and was greeted with the scent of blood and death. The corpses of priestesses and novices were strewn across the room. The white marble floor was splattered with dried blood. Most of the pews were broken into splinters as if thrown aside in a rage. The stained-glass windows, that used to depict stories from the True Book, were shattered into a thousand pieces. By the high alter kneeled a girl in grey robes, as if in prayer. The faint light of the sun, hidden behind dark clouds, shone down on her through the broken stained-glass windows. It had to be the novice.

‘I have been hoping one such as you would find me for quite some time’ The novice said in a soft voice. ‘I was afraid I would be forgotten in this godforsaken monastery. Mother and father would have liked that.’

‘Who are you’ Folker asked.

‘Why. I am like you, a discarded child of sorcerers. A terrible tainted monster that must be hidden from sight. A freak of nature, even more so because I do not look it.’

‘How do you know what I am?’

‘I sensed your pain. Same as you sense mine now.’

He did sense her. Not her pain but the mutated magical blood inside her. He had it inside him as well.

‘You are sent by them aren’t you. To kill me.’

‘I don’t know.’ Folker said gravely. ‘Did you kill the priestesses intentionally?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It matters a great deal… To me at least.’

‘I did, and I do not regret it.’

This was what Folker had feared.

‘Why did you do it?’

‘You do not know?’ The voice of the novice turned angry and sinister ‘Of all people I thought at least one such as you might understand. You of cursed blood like me.’ She turned around to him with fire in her eyes ‘This is a message to those who abandoned me. To those sorcerers who sit high and mighty in their towers. That they can’t just forget about me! That they can’t just hide me in a far-flung monastery expecting me to rot in solitude with these fools! That I hold the greatest contempt for those who brought me into this world and that this is my vengeance on them! The blood of innocents flowed here, and it was their doing, and you will tell them about it!’ Her voice echoed through the dead monastery.

‘I will, though I am afraid they won’t listen.’ Folker said sullenly

‘That they know is enough.’ A solemn silence fell. Then, dark wings began to erupt out of the novice’s back, terrible claws grew from her hands and the crows outside began to caw loudly. ‘Now ready your sword and end this!’

With a beat of her large black wings, she flung herself across the room towards him. Folker, not expecting the sudden attack, was unable to dodge and the novice threw Folker with surprising strength against a stone statue of the prophet Haelman. The world grew dark and Folker was deprived of breath. His vision, though blurred, returned just in time for him to dodge the black blur charging at him. Instinctively he counter attacked after his dodge but missed. The novice had sprung up and was now diving down on him. Once again Folker dodged in the nick of time and once again he slashed nothing but air. The novice was circling him in the sky. Folker with his sword in both hands braced for another attack. It came from above. The novice dived down vertically. Instead of stepping back Folker jumped forward, ducking under the novice and with an agile turn slashed backward sharply. The novice let out a piercing scream that forced Folker to cover his ears. It was a scream of anguish, rage and relief.

The black-winged girl left a trail of blood as she crawled over the marble floor of the monastery. Folker with his ears still ringing walked over to the bleeding girl to fulfil his duty. He stood over her ready to plunge his sword in her back, when in a sudden desperate attempt, the novice slashed her left claw across his face. Though the cut was shallow, it was painful, and blinded by pain and the blood flowing down his forehead Folker thrusted his sword through the chest of the dying girl.

‘You must tell them.’ The girl whispered, a tear rolling down her face.

As the life left her eyes the novice let out a faint sigh of relief, her wings and claws subsiding. Folker no longer looked upon the monster from before but on an innocent girl with his sword stuck in her chest. Folker let himself fall down next to her. He felt sick and tired. The blood kept running down his face, but he did not care, he just wanted rest.