Revin, Blackfire, and his new badger entered Sothf?der. Revin grinned. Revin mastered a handful of rabbits on the way to the badger, using them as bait for his trap, drawing the badger out of his sett.

  He walked past Kirkly and Beda, who stood next to an old tree. They looked tired and sweaty after hours working and eyed Revin with suspicion. They were only a year or so his juniors, but they were already following Orlaith’s attitudes toward Revin.

  When they saw the badger, Beda jumped back and Kirkly’s eyes widened.

  “Are you daft?” Beda said. “Do you know how dangerous those are?

  “Considering I just had to wrestle it to tame it? Yes. Yes, I do. But they’re far less dangerous if you know how to prepare.”

  Kirkly shook his head. “You’d think being the son of the prophet would’ve given you a little more common sense. What are you even going to do with a badger?”

  Revin frowned. He hadn’t considered too much of that.

  “A horse pulls a cart,” Beda said, “a bird keeps watch, a sheep gives wool, what use is a dirt-ridden meat-eater?”

  Revin’s frown deepened. “A lot more use than you know.”

  His badger, who had been so bored for most of the walk, started to growl, feeling Revin’s annoyance.

  Beda flinched. “So, you’re going to use it to scare people then?”

  Revin gave her a look of confusion, then looked to his badger. He encouraged it to calm down, which it did reluctantly.

  “See! With a little encouragement, they’re plenty friendly enough.”

  At that, the badger growled at Blackfire and nipped in his direction, causing Blackfire and everyone else to flinch back.

  “Revin!” his mother shouted from down the road, fast approaching. “What is that?” She motioned towards the now grumpier-looking badger.

  “It’s a badger.” Revin said.

  His mother gave him a knowing look, then turned her gaze to the others.

  “I’m sure Revin has it under control, no need to worry,” she added, looking to Revin. “Come with me.”

  Revin ignored Kirkly and Beda’s disapproving looks and followed his mother down the road, urged his badger and Blackfire to follow.

  “Revin,” she said, her voice firm. “This is not behavior appropriate to a Hiriv monk.”

  Revin set his lips into a thin line. “Nobody was in any danger.”

  “I want you to send that badger home,” she said as they walked away, headed towards their house.

  “What? But I just mastered him!” Revin looked to the badger, feeling its annoyance at the village itself. It didn’t like it here.

  “And you’ve crossed it off of your list,” she said. “You’ve released all the other animals you’ve mastered. Why not this one?”

  “Look, I’ll keep him out of town so no one will have to feel nervous about it.”

  His mother shook her head. “Revin, there’s only so much spare wildlife around here. Just enough to feed your wolf. Remember when you mastered two dozen polecats and wanted to keep them all? How did that go?”

  Revin let out a sigh. It hadn’t gone well. They’d eaten half of another monk’s flock of chickens before he’d finally agreed to let them go.

  Revin stopped in the middle of the road and dropped to a knee, looking the badger in the eyes. It wasn’t necessary when giving commands, but he liked to look them in the eyes when he was sending them away. He commanded it to return to its home tunnels a mile or so north of the village.

  With what felt like the emotional equivalent of a shrug, it complied. He made sure to see through its eyes, watch it as it progressed northward, around the backs of huts and out of the village. It continued north, heading back to its sett.

  “How far is your range now?”

  “A mile, give or take.”

  Her eyebrows went up, but she said nothing. “So, it is done?”

  Revin nodded.

  “Good, now follow me.”

  They walked quietly for a time before his mother broke the silence, concern clear on her face.

  “Why do you provoke them so?”

  “I just walked into the village.” Revin scoffed. “They were the ones provoking.”

  “Your beasts may be mastered, but they aren’t tame. They’re still wild. And to someone not their master, still dangerous.”

  She motioned to the swinging bench on their home’s front porch. And Revin took a seat, his wolf at his feet.

  His mother eyed it. “If I were to threaten it enough, that wolf would lash out faster than you could stop it.”

  Revin let out a breath, realizing she was right. “Alright, I get it. I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.”

  She nodded. “Now, what have you been doing for the last ten years?”

  Revin thought for a moment, still unsure where this conversation was going. “Mastering different beasts?”

  His mother shook her head. “Partially. But why? What does mastering these beasts do to your human relationships?”

  “What relationships?” Revin said. “You’re the only person who cares enough to talk to me for more than five minutes.”

  “That’s because I’m your mother. One of the few people you can’t drive away.”

  “Drive away?” Revin said. “They drive me away. They think they’re so much better than me. They couldn’t care less what happens to me. In fact, I’m sure they all want me to leave. Then I’ll stop interrupting their important work. Stop getting in the way of their duty.”

  His mother raised an eyebrow. “It seems we are no longer discussing monks in general.”

  Revin scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

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  “Your father has a lot more to take care of than just us,” she said.

  “What do I care who he takes care of.”

  “He’s been paying close attention to your preparations.”

  “Oh, so the only time I matter to him is when I’m about to leave?”

  His mother took a calming breath, releasing the tension apparent on her face. “That’s not true.”

  “I wish it weren’t,” Revin said. He obeyed a sudden impetus to move and got up, pacing in front of his mother. He needed to be up and moving. The other saddle-brained monks spent so much time in the same spot.

  They stayed there, quiet for a time, Revin leaning against the porch railing, watching the monks return home from the day’s labors, now preparing the evening meal and tea ceremony.

  Revin turned to go inside to do the same.

  “Stop,” she said.

  Revin paused, turning to her.

  “I want you to lock your wolf in the shed.”

  “Why?” Revin said, surprised.

  “Because you need to learn a what happens when you don’t perform your ceremonies.”

  “Why would I need to do that? I’ve always performed them. Every day. Even when I’m travelling.”

  “Exactly. Now, do as I say.”

  Revin looked at Blackfire, who began to whimper in reaction to Revin’s worries.

  “Sorry friend,” Revin said. “Come on.”

  Even as he sat down on the porch, Blackfire’s discomfort echoed in his mind. Why was he being locked up? What had he done?

  He turned to his mother. “Ok, now what?”

  She motioned her head toward the other homes. In their front windows, Revin saw other families sitting down to perform their evening ceremony.

  He looked back to his mother. “Why aren’t we doing ours?”

  “Because there is a lesson that you must learn, Revin. A truth you must understand.”

  “Why are you showing this to me now?”

  “You’ll see.”

  It felt weird, just sitting, and watching the sunset instead of preparing for the ceremony. The sun made its way to the mountain peaks, first touching, then slipping slowly behind them.

  Revin’s connection to Blackfire began to tremble.

  Revin winced, as did Blackfire. He felt a headache growing, like a nail driving slowly through his skull, slowly. The sun was more than halfway past the mountains, and now their connection was crumbling. Blackfire’s mind scrambled for Revin’s as if the wolf were tumbling off a ledge.

  Revin had released many beasts before, but this was different. Not only was this Blackfire, but this was the first time he’d missed the evening ceremony. He’d never wanted to take the chance of losing his mastered beasts, even if he were unsure if they were necessary.

  Then, as the last sliver of sun disappeared beyond the horizon, their telepathic connection snapped, disappearing.

  Revin felt totally and completely alone. He had no beasts tamed now, it was just him, and his own thoughts. What was once a door to another mind had become a sealed wall.

  Revin clenched his fist in discomfort. He turned to his mother. Fleotig hadn’t moved, despite her own severed connection, as she hadn’t done the ceremony either.

  “How is it still here?” Revin said. “Why hasn’t it run off?”

  “If you’ve had the beast long enough, an emotional attachment remains, even when the bond is broken,” she said. “But I want you to think of how you feel right at this moment.”

  Revin frowned. He felt… a hole in his chest. An ache. How could he do this? What was this… gash through his soul?

  “I feel terrible,” Revin said. “I want my wolf back.”

  “And yet no matter how much you want it, unless you Master it again, you’ll never get that wolf back. He might even stick around, if you let him loose, but wolves have natural aggression that hasn’t been bred out of them, like the woodsmen’s dogs. At this moment, Revin, you are nothing more than a man.”

  “Why are you showing me this?” Revin said softly.

  “Because this is what I want you to learn before you go: the pain of loss. The monks on this island gain little and lose little. But to go into the world is to agree to loss. You will feel it. Many times. Before you leave you must be willing to lose that which you hold most dear.”

  Revin didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t want to leave to lose anything. He wanted to gain. A lot. Beasts, adventure, purpose. He turned again to his mother; her gaze unyielding.

  “When you go to the west, you will encounter many faiths. Some believe in one god; some believe in many. Most do not believe in Sephitaro. But here, now, in this very moment. You know beyond just my words the limits of your power. You are just a man, granted a little extra ability, to serve your fellow men. Not to seek for yourself, but to be willing to lose it all to give your neighbor that which he lacks. You will serve good men whose faith is different than yours.”

  “Why don’t I just find another person that follows Sephitarism to be my Lord?”

  “Because you will find very few in the west that aren’t beastspeakers.”

  “I guess if they’re brave enough to head west, I’d like them enough to be my Lord.”

  “You cannot choose another beastspeaker as your Lord,” she said, her eyes growing wide and her lips tight. “You must choose someone else, man or woman. A king, perhaps. A farmer. Do you remember what your father told you? Of the monks who returned?”

  He’d only been worrying about that for weeks. “That some of them had found bad masters and had to give up their powers and return home.”

  “I am one of them,” she said.

  He turned to consider her once again. She motioned for him to sit down. He did so.

  “Before you were born, before I married your father, I lived in the west. I served a good king, for nearly five years.”

  “What happened?”

  “He died, and his son… ended up being a poor Lord. And a worse king. You’d have a hard time finding a more terrible person. I refused to serve him any longer. He sent assassins after me. I fled. I fled all the way back home.”

  Revin gaped. His mother had done this?

  She laughed bitterly. “He even wanted me to turn him into a beastspeaker. He didn’t believe me when I said I couldn’t do it.”

  Revin looked at Fleotig. She still sat at his mother’s side, falling asleep.

  “Then how do you have access to Mastery again?”

  She shrugged. “He must have made quite a few enemies. Fifteen years ago, he died, and my powers returned.”

  She looked Revin in the eyes “There are no perfect Lords, Revin, and power often attracts the corruptible. My five years with that man’s father were some of the best of my life. Helping his people, protecting them. It is like the toss of a die; you can’t know beforehand what will happen. I want you to remember one critical thing.”

  She grabbed his hands and leaned in close. “Just like your Mastery relies on your devotion to the ceremonies, your life depends on your devotion to Father God. You may disagree with the other monks’ way of life, but one thing you must remember. Your father is the prophet, he does speak for Father God. And if you doubt your father’s words, then speak to Father God. He will tell you the truth of all things.”

  Revin’s temptations toward levity evaporated under that serious gaze.

  “Forget your list,” she said. “Stop wandering. Sit still. Listen to your father. I know that Blackfire is important to you, keep him. But the others you consider, let them go. Your father says that you’ll be ready very soon.”

  “How soon?”

  She let go of his hands and laughed. “One answer at a time. God makes you wait.”

  She stood and made a clicking sound at Fleotig. The muntjac’s ears perked up and she rose, sniffing Revin’s mother’s hand affectionately.

  “How did you-”

  “When you can’t read an animal’s mind, you learn other ways to understand them. Ones that don’t involve any extra gifts, just extra time.”

  She headed toward the door but stopped. “Would you like to come in? Evening ceremony?”

  Revin shook his head. “I’ll come in a few. Don’t wait for me.”

  She nodded, then entered the house, the deer following close behind.

  Revin had been sitting outside for almost an hour when he saw his father making his way up the road toward their home. It was dark, only the lamp on the porch giving off a flickering yellow light.

  His father looked at Revin up and down. Then, he smiled. “So, she had you skip the evening ceremony tonight?”

  “Yes,” Revin said. “My wolf’s still in the shed.”

  His father nodded. “Well, you better re-master him before someone stumbles in.”

  Revin gave a nod of agreement.

  “Have you performed your evening ceremony yet?”

  Revin shook his head.

  “Off to it, son.”

  Revin stood, but paused, thinking of Blackfire. He turned back to his father as he approached the door. “I’ve never seen you with a mastered beast before.”

  “That is true,” his father said.

  “Why haven’t you mastered any beasts?”

  His pursed his lips. “I’ve had no need for an animal companion in years. There are far more important reasons to perform your ceremonies than just Mastery.”

  Revin nodded. He didn’t want to press further.

  “Now, I’ve got some duties to perform,” his father said, looking distracted. “Good night, Revin.”

  “Good night.”

  Revin took a deep breath. This would have been crazy to do with that badger. But he’d had Blackfire for years. It had to be safe, right? After he’d finished his tea ceremony, he’d stepped outside, to the shed. He hadn’t put on his mastersuit and didn’t want to. He and Blackfire had been together for years. Surely that meant something, even unmastered?

  He turned the handle, and slowly opened the door. Its creak was painfully loud in the quiet night. A pair of eyes reflected the lamp in his hand. Blackfire gave off a low growl.

  This is dangerous, Revin thought. He bent down in a squat.

  “Hey Blackfire,” Revin said, extending a hesitant hand. “It’s me. Revin.”

  Footsteps padded across the shed as Blackfire approached, his black fur glistening with the light of the lamp. Revin reached out further, hesitant. Remembering how viciously Blackfire had fought when he’d first mastered him.

  The growling stopped. Revin flinched, expecting a pounce.

  None came. Blackfire stepped up to Revin with a whimper and licked his hand. Revin sighed with relief.

  “That’s it,” Revin whispered. “Good boy. Good boy.”

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