The body was wrapped in white linen and adorned with a black ribbon; the dark bonds of death which encircle life. Candles formed an oval around it, illuminating the cloth, and the front row of monks around it. The cloudy sky left all but those immediately around the body in shadow.

  Revin stood further back, letting other monks stand in view of the shroud. Sadness echoed around him, but he only felt… hollow. Empty. Glancing around, he noticed tears, and looks of worry. The death had been so sudden, so unexpected, so violent.

  Revin rested his hand on Blackfire’s head, who looked up at him, puzzled.

  Revin frowned and looked back towards the candles. All were silent. There were a few sniffles and a sob or two as Werig’s family stood near, trying to be strong.

  Then, he heard the familiar steps of his father onto a small, wooden platform. It wasn’t higher than the funeral table Werig lay on, but the extra foot put his father’s head above the crowd.

  His father bore a tight frown, his own emotions hardly in check. He took a slight shuddering breath through his nose, then began to speak.

  “Rarely does one so strong and so fit among us perish so soon. Werig was a faithful Hiriv Monk. He worked the fields hard. He obeyed his ceremonies dutifully, and his kindness was great. But along with his strengths, he bore weaknesses too. Impatience. Critical of that which he didn’t understand. Flaws many of us share.”

  Revin had met Werig before his death on more than one occasion. Though not openly hostile, he always eyed Revin’s wolf with suspicion. And, since he was a few years Revin’s senior, they didn’t have the same friends.

  Revin almost laughed at himself. Friends? Revin had one friend. Blackfire.

  “We are here to remember his life, mourn his passing, and look forward to when we will meet him again. Death is not the end of life. Pain is not the end of peace. Sorrow is not the end of joy.”

  Others nodded in agreement. Revin thought about it. What would the life after be like? The Sephitaron only said that the next life would be good and that Father God and Sephitaro would guide us as our existence continued.

  He glanced up to the sky. To the gods. He felt guilty, standing calmly as others wept.

  His father stepped down and the monks began to pay their respects. Each walked past the shroud, nodded in respect, closed their eyes, and muttered silent prayers. Prayers that his soul would find its way, that his family would have peace.

  #

  A short while later, the monks were gathered in smaller groups in the burial field, speaking quietly among themselves. Telyu, Orlaith, Beda, and Kirkly stood nearby. After standing awkwardly alone, he approached the group.

  Telyu smiled at him, but the others did not. Kirkly didn’t even look at Revin.

  “So,” Telyu said, “you sent it away, right? You didn’t kill it?”

  Revin cocked his head. “Of course I didn’t kill it.”

  Kirkly jumped in to speak. “Why not?”

  Revin was taken aback by the violent suggestion. “Why would I do that?”

  “It killed Werig,” he said.

  “What if it comes back,” Beda said, grabbing on to her sheep’s wooly coat. “What if it’s gotten a taste for monk, and wants more?”

  Revin frowned. “It’s gone, Beda. I sent it back to the mainland, where it belongs.”

  “It belongs in a grave, after what it did,” Kirkly said, holding his mouse close.

  Revin ignored him, not taking the bait for another argument.

  “What was it like?” Telyu said, breaking the silence. “In its head?”

  Revin paused. “She was… logical. Instinctive. Like the grand clock at the Holy House. She does what she does, not much intent to it. If an action gives her food, she repeats it. If it doesn’t, she ignores it. One of the smartest and simplest creatures I’ve ever mastered.”

  Telyu nodded.

  The conversation shifted to other topics, how the harvest was going, Kirkly’s carpentry skills, Orlaith had even found a new patch of berries nearby.

  That only reminded Revin of a mountain-locked valley with the most delicious strawberries imaginable, a valley that Orlaith would never find unless she finally explored beyond the growing-fields.

  He stepped away quietly before the conversation put him to sleep. He and Blackfire approached a flowing wooden bench which sat near a gnarled olive tree. The monks still gathered around the grave, some approaching the grievers.

  Revin rested his forehead on his fingers, massaging the bridge of his nose. He desperately needed more rest. A couple of days walking and wrestling a giant serpent would do that to you.

  He looked out again at the crowd. Once again, he wondered why he felt so flat.

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  Below, his father comforted the family. He hadn’t said a word to Revin since their conversation the night before. Likely he’d been off organizing this very funeral.

  There was movement to his right, and he jumped. He turned to see his mother sitting down next to him. She was tall, taller than his father, with kind blue eyes and graying brown hair which fell past her shoulders. She wore the plain brown and grey robes of a monk. Her muntjac deer, Fleotig, eyed Blackfire cautiously and sat on the opposite side of the bench.

  “So, how are you?” she said, her smile kind.

  Revin shrugged. “Honestly…. I don’t know. It… doesn’t feel real.”

  She nodded as if she understood, looking down toward the family.

  Revin couldn’t hear what his father was saying, but he had his hand on a man’s shoulder. The man wore… different clothing. Not the traditional robes of a Hiriv monk. He was standing next to Werig’s mother, his arm around her.

  Revin turned to his mother. “Who’s that?”

  His mother followed his extended finger, then nodded. “That’s Werig’s father.”

  “He’s not a monk, is he?”

  She shook her head. “He’s one of the northern woodsmen. I think he met Werreth on a trading trip, decided to stay.”

  “So, he’s not a follower of Sephitarism?”

  His mother shook her head.

  “Why would she marry someone out of the faith? How can you trust someone like that?”

  “How can we trust your wolf?” his mother said, raising a reproachful eyebrow.

  Revin frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Assumption and hearsay are poor indications of truth,” she said.

  Her rebuke stung. She’d caught him in his hypocrisy. He frowned.

  “Humility is important, Revin,” his mother said. “Always believe you might be wrong. That way, you’ll be prepared for Father God’s instructions.”

  Revin let out a huff through his nose. She may have been right. “So… what’s father saying to him?”

  “Probably offering words of comfort, of his own beliefs that they will see Werig again.”

  Revin nodded, his lips pursing in thought. “I was talking to Telyu and the others.”

  His mother turned to look at him. “And?”

  “Kirkly was asking if I’d killed the serpent. As revenge.”

  She nodded. “He isn’t the only one who wished you’d done that.”

  “Now that confuses me. Why, why would the village-bound monks want me to kill? I’d think they’d appreciate me sparing its life.”

  “Dislike for carnivores runs deep. People can be odd that way.”

  “Another thing I don’t understand. I can’t find anything in the Sephitaron about not mastering carnivores. Yet they call me a heathen for doing it.”

  “Revin,” she said, “though they resent your… unorthodoxy, they also expect it. They resent that you weren’t there, the only one who’d be brave, or foolish, enough to master the thing. They were terrified, families holed up in their homes for hours when it had entered Sothf?der, unsure of what to do. It was only when it had attacked that we finally gathered the courage to chase it off.”

  “So, they hate that I’m different, and hate that I didn’t do the thing they hate me for? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I told you that people are odd,” she said with a remembering smile, looking up as if reviewing a past memory. After a moment, she continued. “We need people like you, Revin. Even if we don’t always appreciate them.”

  Revin scoffed. “Father doesn’t need me, he’s always discouraging me from going on my trips, wants me to study.”

  “Your father bears a heavy burden,” she said, “being the Hiriv prophet is no small load.”

  Once, Revin had thought that he was his father’s greatest burden. With his inclination to wander, his complete disinterest in farming, woodworking, or even clocksmithing. But, after a while, he felt more and more that he wasn’t a burden at all. Revin was just someone his father ignored until he did something bad enough.

  He blinked as he realized his father was approaching.

  His father gave Revin a short nod then turned to his mother. “I haven’t spoken to Werig’s promised and her family. You know her mother, yes?”

  Revin’s mother nodded.

  “Good, come with me.” He turned and started walking to Revin’s right. His mother gave him a comforting smile and a squeeze to his hand, then got up to follow, her muntjac deer hopping behind her.

  Revin shrugged. Why should he be surprised that his father hadn’t acknowledged him? Revin turned to Blackfire. The wolf’s keen eyes focused on his face. Through their mental bridge, Revin felt Blackfire’s strongest emotion.

  Concern.

  Though Revin preferred scholarship to farming, he’d still rather hike than read. Even if his studies were directly related to leaving, how could his father take something as exciting as preparing to travel off the island and make it feel like another chore?

  #

  Revin and Blackfire walked down the main road of Sothf?der, breathing in the fresh fall air. The trees were browning, and the monks were gathering the harvest, preparing for the coming winter.

  The names of nations and basic phrases in various languages were hard enough, but his father insisted he study their history and their religions too. Though he admitted the monks’ books wouldn’t be up to date on current events.

  One aspect of Revin’s study, however, had been quite intriguing. Learning the names and appearances of the beasts of the west. Hell pigs, terror birds, stag mooses, river cats, mammoths, dire wolves, cave lions, sabertooths, and more. So much like the animals of his island, yet so different.

  That titanoboa (the proper name of the giant serpent) had been the largest thing he’d ever mastered. It lived there too. He wondered if, perhaps, he would meet her again? Remaster her? A giant serpent was a handy thing to have around.

  The biggest obstacle to his studies was imagining trapping and mastering these beasts. And finding a good lord to serve? What would his Lord expect of him? To defend him? To scout and relay messages? What did a monk do when he found a Lord? If Revin had his way, he’d leave now. No more memorizing. No more preparation. Just leaving on the next ship out of the Hiriv.

  Revin retrieved his list from his pocket. It was worn over time, and it bore a random scattering of dirt and blood spots. The list had a series of beast names, some of them crossed out. At the top of the list were milder animals, goats, birds, sheep, even woodsman’s dogs. Further down the creatures became more dangerous.

  The red fox was when he’d finally tossed his leatherweave mastersuit and had spent almost a year creating his full body metalweave. The red fox had torn a hole in his old suit, leaving a long scar on his leg.

  After that, and an investment in woodsman traps, the list grew. Bison could be fierce, full-grown male elk had been a tricky catch, the adder had tried to bite him, but his metalweave held. It had taken him weeks to figure out how to master the poison tree frog. Those had been easy enough to catch, but almost impossible to master, since touching them would poison you. He’d found a good lotion that helped him resist, but it had still left him ill for a few days. That was the only one he regretted.

  Once winter ended, he would tame a brown bear. It would require a great trap, something that would immobilize it. Ropes, like the elk? Maybe it was time to use a sleeping dart, like the woodsmen in the north did. Probably near a short cliff leading to water in case he needed a quick escape. But swimming in his metalweave suit had to be a short activity.

  Other than the brown bear, there were few names that were still unmarked. Midway down the list was the badger. He’d skipped it after the fox and had gone for the wolf instead.

  One of the woodsmen attending the funeral claimed to have been chased off by a badger in the north woods, Revin thought, then he smiled.

  “Do you fancy a little trip, Blackfire?”