“There was once a boy, eight years of age and quick on his feet as only a child can be. He was an obedient boy, for he feared his parents as only a child could fear. He was also an inquisitive boy, curious as any child is. When he was done with his chores, he roamed the woods. He stayed out all day, until the sun disappeared behind the mountains in the west. Every day, he explored a little further, finding a new tree, a new stone, and a new bird.

One day, the boy found not a tree, but the absence of trees. He found not a stone, but the foot of a mountain. He found not a bird, but a trail of paw prints. They were like nothing he had ever seen before. They were not the prints of a deer, for they had more than two toes. They were not the prints of a dog, for they had more than four toes. Counting five toes and claws on each print, he concluded it must be a bear.

The boy had never seen a bear before. Curious, he followed the prints along the edge of the woods. He walked all afternoon, following the trail. At its end, he found a large and hairy beast. A bear was walking up the side of the mountain. On its head sat a blackbird, bobbing up and down with every step.

Curious, the boy left the shade of the trees. He looked up and saw that the bear had stopped. Two pairs of dark beady eyes looked back at him. Frightened by the sight, the boy ran back into the woods. He ran along the big paw prints, all the way back to the road. Standing on the cobbles, he realised that it was getting dark. Good thing the prints had led him back here, the boy thought. It was not far now. Hurrying along the road, he made it home before sunset.

When the boy opened the door to his home, he could hear his mother’s voice. She was in the kitchen, but she was not cooking the evening meal. She was sitting at the table and crying bitter tears. His father was sitting there as well, a grim frown on his face.

“What is wrong?”, the boy asked.

“Nothing, Boy. Not a thing. Do not ask”, his father said.

His mother shook her head. She wiped her tears and got to cooking. She brought out cheese and salted meat. She made soup, and sweet rice for desert. She served her boy all the delights they could afford. She encouraged him to eat as much as he wanted, but she took none for herself.

When the boy was full and tired, he went to bed, but he could not sleep. His mother was crying bitter tears again. He could hear it through the walls. He lay in the dark room, listening and wondering. Why was she crying? He had been told not to ask, so he did not.

When the moon hung high in the sky, the door to the boy’s room opened. His father entered with a lantern in hand. He was dressed in boots and coat, and helped his boy to dress as well. Wrapped in warm clothes, they walked outside.

“We are not supposed to go outside at night”, the boy pointed out.

“We have to”, his father said.

“Where are we going?”, the boy asked.

“Forward. Do not ask”, his father responded.

The boy walked into the dark woods, hand in hand with his father. When the light of the lantern grew dim, they stopped. The boy’s father dug in the pockets of his coat and brought out a large bear tooth, strung onto a cord of leather. He tied it around the boy’s neck and pointed into the darkness.

“Keep walking”, he said.

“Where am I headed?”, the boy asked.

“Forward. Do not look back. Never look back”, his father answered.

Not sure that he understood, the obedient boy walked out of the shine of his father’s lamp. At first, he stumbled over the uneven ground, the rocks and roots, but he learned quick. Soon, he walked though the dark on the same fleet feet as he did in the light of day.

When the boy had walked for a while, he looked around. There was no sign of his father’s lamp.

“Father?”, he called.

There was nothing but silent trees around him. Fear crept into him.

“Father?!”, the boy called.

Only the echo of his own voice answered him. His heartbeat quickened.

“Father?!”, the boy cried.

“Shhh”, a voice hissed in his ear.

Fear clenched around the boy’s soul.

“Keep walking. You are almost there”, the voice whispered.

The boy looked around, but he could not see anyone, or anything.

“Come here, Boy”, the voice coaxed.

The boy turned around again, but there was no one there. He was all alone in the dark. Fear squeezed his soul harder. He ran. He ran through the darkness, stumbling over rock and root until he fell. He landed face first in the mud.

Laughter echoed through the trees. “Oh my, my, my.”

The boy sat up and realised that he was at the foot of the mountain. Before him lay the absence of trees. He had stumbled over the paw print of a bear.

In front of the boy, a dark figure separated from the surroundings. It stepped out of the shadows and revealed itself in the light of the full moon. It was an elegant man, draped in long silken robes. He wore chains and rings of gold. The many buttons on his white clothes were lined with crystals, each one glistening like a star.

“Come here. I know you are scared, but I will make sure you never feel this way again.”

The boy came to his feet and inched toward the edge of the woods. He placed one shaky leg in front of the other. When he stood by the very last tree, he hesitated.

The man reached up and removed the large hood of his cloak. He revealed a young and kind face. He bore the blue markings of the mountain folk, but he did not scowl or roar as they did. He was the most enchanting man the boy had ever seen. He was the master of the mountains. Holding out one moon pale hand, he smiled the softest smile the boy had ever seen.

“Come. Never fear again.”

The boy left the woods and took the master’s cold hand. In that single touch, his fear melted from his soul like ice in spring. He felt no fear of the stranger, of the night, or of the lack of trees. The boy walked up the side of the mountain, hand in hand with the master.

They walked to the very top of the mountain, and then down into a valley, before climbing anew, until they reached a large house nestled into the rocks. Around the house lay lush fields. In one field, a blackbird rested its wings. In another, a bear was sleeping.

The boy felt no fear. He let go of the master’s hand and walked toward the bear. It raised its mighty head. Two deep black eyes watched as the boy came closer. The bear felt the boy’s calm and remained equally so. The boy let his hands run through the thick fur of the bear, until it lay its head down again, and fell back asleep.

When the boy turned around, the master was still standing on the road, one hand outstretched. Returning to him, the boy took his hand.

“You prefer the bear over the blackbird”, the master said.

“The blackbird is clever and fast, but the bear is strong and hardy”, the boy answered.

“It is, as you will be”, the master agreed.

The inside of the large house was even more magnificent than the outside. The floor was covered in thick carpets, and the walls were lined with tapestries. There were many rooms and corridors in the house. In the first room was a big vase, made entirely of pitch black stone. Behind it stood four statues.

The boy walked around the vase and peeked inside. He saw nothing within, not even air.

“What do you keep in it?”, he asked.

“The night”, the master answered.

The boy looked at the four statues next. They were bears, their mighty heads eternally turned toward the vase. On each of their heads rested a bird. The boy looked at each pair, inspecting the big stone teeth of the bears, and the vigilant eyes of the blackbirds.

“What are they doing?”, he asked.

“Protecting the night”, the master answered.

The next room contained large paintings. One painting depicted a man standing alongside a bear. He was tall and slender, and on his face were many blue markings. His clothes were as white as the moon.

“Who is he?”, the boy asked.

“He is me”, the master answered.

The boy inspected this painting for a long moment. The man in the picture had long pitch black hair, while the master of the mountains had short white hair.

“He does not look like you”, the boy observed.

“It was long ago”, the master said.

Another painting depicted a small and sturdy woman. Her face was also marked with blue symbols. Her clothes were bright and shimmering. On her shoulder sat a blackbird.

“Who is she?”, the boy asked.

“She is also me”, the master answered.

The boy looked at the painting again. The woman had short white hair as well, but this was the only trait she shared with the master of the mountains.

“She looks nothing like you, either”, the boy said.

“It was long ago”, the master repeated.

Leading the boy further into the house, the master sat him down to eat. He served the boy a beautiful meal of fresh meat and stewed vegetables. Then, he let the boy sleep in a large soft bed. Full and warm, the boy slept long and deep.

In the morning, the sun rose early over the tips of the mountains. The light woke the boy from peaceful dreams. He sat up and saw that he was in a small crude bed, in a small crude room. This was not where he had fallen asleep. He was sure of it. Bewildered, he got out of bed. His clothes were gone. Instead, he found fitted trousers, a tunic, and a cloak, all in black.

The boy tried the door, but found it locked. The window had no lock at all. Looking out, he saw a barren rocky landscape. There were no fields, and no animals, but there were people. They were all pale, grey, and lost. The boy banged his fists against the glass, but the figures outside did not hear him. Disheartened, he sat down on his small crude bed and waited.

Hours went by. Eventually, there was a knock on the door. The master of the mountains stepped into the room and the boy’s unease melted from his soul.

“Come”, the master said.

“Where are we going?”, the boy asked.

“I will teach you magic”, the master answered.

He led the boy through a long wooden corridor, into a small room with many shelves. The boy looked around at the many books and flasks. Then, he looked at the stone chair in the middle of the room. From the armrests and along the legs of the chair, hung straps of leather.

“Sit”, the master offered.

Feeling no fear, the obedient boy took a seat. He watched the master tie the leather straps around his arms and legs.

“Why the leather?”, the boy asked.

“So you do not fall out of the chair”, the master answered.

That made sense to the boy. He watched the master gather a few flasks, read from a book, and mix some liquids. Offering a flask to the boy, the master helped him drink. The brew smelled sweet. It tasted like honey and milk. Licking his lips, the boy asked for more, but the master shook his head.

The boy felt warm inside. Then, he felt hot. Then, he began to sweat. His stomach burned. He felt no fear, but he did feel pain. Looking up at the master, he saw the same soft smile, and so he smiled back. The master came to his side and crouched down. He met the boy’s eyes and raised a hand to the boy’s temple.

“Fear”, he whispered.

The boy screamed. He screamed so loud it echoed in the room. He screamed so loud, all of the grey figures heard it. He screamed so loud, his mother began to cry anew.

All the fear the boy had ever experienced burned through his soul at the same time, one worse than the last. He feared the mountains. He feared the neighbour’s dog. He feared the baker’s fire and the smith’s hammer. He feared the dark, and the night itself. He feared his mother’s tears and his father’s belt. He feared the bear and the blackbird. He feared pain. He feared to die. He feared his master’s soft gaze.

The boy’s soul strained in the cold grasp of terror. It groaned and creaked, and shattered like glass.

The master of the mountains held his hand high, his fingers splayed. He drew the shards of the boy’s soul out of his chest, one by one, until only a single slender sliver remained. The boy stopped breathing. His eyes turned white and his skin turned grey. The master smiled and untied the boy.

“Now you will never feel fear again”, he said softly.

It was true. The boy never felt fear again, and he never asked another question. Part of the night itself, the boy was not seen for many years.

One cold winter eve, the boy returned as a grown man, a wizard, no less. His parents greeted him back with great joy. They prepared his favourite meal, because they did not know that he no longer ate. They called him by his name, because they did not know that he had lost it. They asked about his magic, for they did not know of its terrible origin. They searched his eyes to see his soul, because they did not know that he had none. So they met their end at their hollow boy’s hand.”

Sylvia glanced up and found Afi sitting rigid at the other end of the bed. His hands were cupped together over his knees.

Afi met Sylvia's eyes and sighed. “Jeesh. That is not a very entertaining story.”

Sylvia nodded in agreement. “I would not expect anything more light-hearted from a book titled ‘The Hollow Boy’.”

Afi shrugged. “It is not like I knew the title when I bought it.”

He watched Sylvia for a long moment. Her lips were pressed together and her eyes were fixed on the book in her hands. She stared at it as though trying to intimidate the cover.

“Did it make you uncomfortable?”, Afi wondered.

“A little”, Sylvia admitted. “Do not have a nightmare now”, she teased.

Afi barked a laugh. “I could say the same to you.” Taking a calm breath, he added, “I hope you can still sleep after…well, after everything.”

“I can. I am not sure why, but I can. Maybe I am too cold-hearted.”

Before Afi could respond, Sylvia smiled and closed the book. Neatly placing it back on the bedside table, she rose to her feet. Truth be told, she knew she would have trouble sleeping. Not because of the events of the past days, but because of the book. It was merely a story, surely, but she could feel her soul shivering inside of her. The inaudible voice of the master of the mountains was echoing in her head, as though she had heard it for herself.

“Oh, my my my.”