“Pax Excelsus, Acolyte of the Order of Mìr: you stand accused before this Order’s Council of Elders. Do you deny the accusations levied against you?”
“No.”
Hushed murmurs reverberated throughout the large council chamber. There were only eight individuals in the room, but the strength of Pax’s pronouncement stirred up such a fervor among the Elders that their whisperings rang out with the same force as a full courtroom. The word still echoed throughout the chamber, its presence lingering in the air with the same fullness of presence as its speaker.
Pax Excelsus refused to contest the charge; he was a killer.
The imposing Postosuchus stood upon a raised pillar at the chamber’s center, his eyes fixed firm upon his five silver-robed judges, the wise and wizened Elders of their Order. At their center was the Coelophysis, Chief Elder Magnus. To his left were the Desmatosuchus, Elder Retunsus, and the Placerias, Elder Sapiens. To his right were the Nyasasaurus, Elder Stultum, and the Eoraptor, Elder Ignavus.
The eldest of the five, Magnus was regal and slender. His sharp, perceptive eyes peered down at Pax with uncompromising authority, and with the same burning intensity as the Postosuchus staring back up at him.
Elder Retunsus was a peculiar crocodilian creature, quadrupedal, heavyset, and long. His whole body was heavily armored by a carapace formed of bony scutes, and a pair of long skeletal spikes jutted out from his shoulders. His mouth was teethed in the rear, but ended in a broad, toothless beak. His skull was tiny relative to the rest of his massive body. Retunsus’s demeanor dutifully matched his appearance; he inspected Pax with dull, listless eyes and snorted a grunt of derision when he had finished.
Elder Sapiens was the youngest of the Elders, though still much older than Pax and the other two subadult monks. He was a quadrupedal, colossal creature, not particularly tall, but instead long and bulky. A bony protrusion stuck out from his broad forehead like a natural helmet, and the beak at the base of his face was flanked on either side by a pair of tusks jutting out from sagging jowls. Weighing nearly a ton, he preferred to move little and always with a sluggish plod. He sat upon his rotund haunches with surprising grace and offered a peculiar expression to the defending Postosuchus. When their eyes met, Pax could detect a hint of quiet intelligence carefully guarded behind the Elder’s brutish appearance.
Elder Stultum, though not older than Magnus, certainly seemed the part. In many ways, he was the opposite of Elder Sapiens: Stultum was tall and lithe, features that may have made him handsome in his youth- but now his body was worn and decrepit; his scaly skin wound tightly against his skeletal frame, making his bones clearly visible through his flesh when he stood at certain angles. He was the one who had also been attacked by a temnospondyl so many years ago, but whether that won his sympathy or his contempt for the young survivors was at this point difficult to discern.
Elder Ignavus was about the same age as Stultum, though he had emerged much better for wear. He too was a lithe, bipedal saurian, but he appeared to have kept his body in a healthier state in his old age- thanks assuredly in part to his wary nature. The little Eoraptor Elder was infamous around the monastery for his nervous, indecisive character. He was faithful to the Order and he did obey their precepts dutifully, but he seemed to hold very little personality or conviction of his own beyond them.
Standing just behind Pax were his friends, a pair of pterosaurs, Tempest- a Caelestiventus, and Zephyr- a Eudimorphodon. Where Zephyr was small and skinny, Tempest stood tall, broad, and muscular. At the moment, he was quite thankful for his natural strength: Zephyr could no longer stand unsupported, forcing Tempest to be his support.
The little pterosaur had been rendered a uniped, one of his legs reduced to little more than a bandaged stump. One of his wings was tightly bound with bandages and gauze, concealing layers of rent and mangled flesh. The Elders who had tended to his wounds had assured Zephyr that his wing would heal, in time, but that it would heal stunted and lame; he would never be able to fly again.
It had only been a little over a week since Zephyr had been attacked, ambushed by a feral blood-starved Mastodonsaurus, a colossal temnospondyl that had also attacked Elder Stultum years ago. The abominable creature would never hurt anyone again; to protect his friends, Pax had killed it.
For this, Pax Excelsus was now on trial before their Order’s Council of Elders, facing excommunication. They were monks of the Order of Mìr, peace- strict pacifists charged never to kill, even in self-defense. Upholding peace mattered more even than death.
Peace without life. How could that be right? Tempest thought, bitterly. Pax did what he had to to save Zeph. How could that be wrong?
Zephyr lifted his good wing to readjust his spectacles (his poor eyesight, though before a significant blow to his self-esteem, was now the least miserable of his many injuries) and nearly lost his balance, shaking Tempest out of his thoughts. Tempest shifted his body weight to catch his little friend, and then gripped his wing a little tighter, just to be safe. Zephyr grimaced and Tempest loosened his grip.
Poor Zeph. And poor Pax. They didn’t deserve this. It should have been me. Tempest sighed, flexing his wings. Images- the same images that had been haunting his dreams every night since the incident- flashed through his mind; those awful jaws snapping, Zephyr’s blood pouring out on the beach, and he, despite all his strength, still being too helpless to protect his best friend. If I had been stronger, or braver, or faster, I would have fought it. I would be up there instead of Pax, being judged by the Elders. Poor Pax.
But Pax bore his burden dutifully, standing before those condescending, judgmental glares with resolute conviction. He stood unwavering, unbowed, to accept his fate. Tempest could hardly fathom what it must have taken to be so brave, to stand before the Elders so calmly and confidently.
The fervor of the Elders’ whispers continued for several minutes, the chamber’s echoing build turning their quiet voices into a cacophony of accusing words. Finally, Chief Elder Magnus held up a claw to silence the other Elders, and their whispers died out with an immediate hush. The sudden stillness of the air was oppressive and unnerving after all the noise before, but it hardly seemed to faze Pax. His eyes were firmly locked with Magnus’s, suffering the Elder’s insistent, exacting stare with unflinching defiance.
After a long moment of wordless appraisal, the Chief Elder spoke. “We have approached a determination,” he pronounced, his voice, though wearied with time, still carrying all the authoritative vigor of a young high-court judge. As he issued his proclamation, he reared as high up onto his legs as he could manage and craned his neck to glare down on the defendant. Tempest hated the way he glared, how full his eyes were of exalted contempt; he wished he were just a little bigger, his wings just a little longer, that he might be able to shield his friend from those awful, judgmental eyes. “But, in the interest of furthering a peaceful resolution, so as to bring credit upon our Order…”
Nothing about this worthless trial brings credit to our Order.
“…and after considering the words of the Most Venerable Elder Dilectus, ‘Mìr, merely enforced from above, can bring no lasting peace. It can last only after it has been chosen from against all other accounts,’ we have permitted to allow the accused to offer his account and speak in his own defense, before we render our judgment.”
It was no surprise that Magnus would quote from the long-deceased Elder Dilectus, the founder and most highly revered member of their order. Nevermind that Dilectus never would have stood for a trial like this, or that his quote was referring to a dedication to inner peace. Magnus was quite sly, and he was no stranger to discarding context when his reference might offer him some appearance of probity. Tempest was sure that the Chief Elder had already made up his mind; he merely wanted himself to at least appear open-minded.
Still, when Pax reared up onto his hind legs and cleared his throat to begin his speech, Magnus narrowed his eyes and leaned in, apparently earnestly interested in what the Postosuchus had to say for himself.
“I stopped a monster from killing my brother. I only did what was necessary to save him.” Pax dropped back down onto all fours and glanced back at Zephyr, who returned his gaze with a thankful nod. After a short pause, Pax looked back to his accusers and finished. “I do not regret my actions.”
Pax cleared his throat again and bowed his head, grimacing. It was clear that he had a lot more on his mind, but he was holding his tongue.
Tempest knew that Pax hadn’t said enough, and he was sure Pax did too. They had grown up here, raised by these same five Elders their entire lives, and so they already knew how each of them thought and how this trial would end. But maybe he could have changed their minds. Maybe if he had just apologized, or asked for forgiveness, or just denied having meant to kill that thing, maybe then they would go easy on him! But he had confessed entirely and unrepentantly. And in the eyes of the Elders, there was no room for a killer- justifiable or not- in their Order.
“I believe we have reached our determination,” the Chief Elder declared, looking to each of the Elders in turn, all of whom returned his gaze with a nod. “Elder Retunsus, you may pronounce your verdict.”
“Excommunication,” the burly Desmatosuchus thundered, his low and gravelly voice echoing through the chamber as a lingering accusation. The judgment was off to a terrible start. Retunsus leaned over the edge of his judgement bench to leer over Pax and raised one of his foreclaws to point at the accused. “Our Order has rules. Rules we expect to be followed if our acolytes desire to remain with us. There are certain innocent acts of youthful defiance- sneaking out of the monastery at night, for example,” Retunsus fixed one of his cold, listless eyes square on Tempest, before returning his gaze to glare on the accused. “-that we are willing to forgive. But such a flagrant violation of our most chief tenet cannot go unpunished. And the defendant’s stubborn lack of repentance demonstrates either that he does not realize just how egregious his conduct was, or that he simply does not care. Neither possibility speaks well to his character, his commitment to our ideals, or his devotion to Mìr itself.”
Retunsus punctuated his final remark with a stamp of his raised foreclaw and a shake of his head. His burning glare remained fixed on Pax even after he finally leaned back on his seat and relented from any further verbal accusations.
“Elder Retunsus is hereby recorded as being in support of excommunication.” Chief Elder Magnus catalogued Retunsus’s verdict before nodding to the next judge. “Elder Sapiens?”
“With all due respect to my esteemed brother Retunsus, I find his aspersions regarding Acolyte Pax’s character to be detestable trespasses against Mìr, as per the revealed words of our Most Venerable Elder, as he reminds us ‘to speak evil of no one, to avoid quarreling, to be gentle, and to show perfect courtesy toward all people.’ It seems you have spoken much evil of the acolyte. Am I wrong, brother?”
This won’t end well, Tempest thought, gripping Zephyr a little tighter. He had a feeling the atmosphere was about to get much more exciting. Retunsus was the last person anyone wanted to get angry, and Sapiens’s words were tantamount to an accusation- and no one accused Elder Retunsus of impropriety without a very sharp response. He has to know that’ll get him furious. What is he doing?
Despite Magnus’s attempts at maintaining an air of professionalism to the trial, all regular decorum dissipated in an instant. Elder Retunsus was up on his feet now, snapping and snarling at the colossal quadruped beside him. There was nothing actually violent occurring- Retunsus was merely growling and biting at air- but a passive observer would have been forgiven for thinking the room had turned into a bloodbath.
“Don’t cite Dilectus at me, Sapiens! I’ve been reading his works long before you were ever even walking this planet,” Retunsus had sufficiently worked himself up that he had begun to involuntarily shake, causing his shoulder spikes to scrape off some scales from along his upper back. He had risen up as high as his stubby legs could manage and he very nearly achieved the height of Sapiens’s shoulder- of course while the Placerias remained seated, a placid expression fixed upon his jowls. “I assure you, I did not reach my conclusion lightly, and I find your assessment of my character- implying not only that I have slandered another member of our Order, but also that I am ignorant of our sacred texts- to be wholly repugnant!”
“My most sincere apologies,” Sapiens offered, though his expression remained completely unmoved. “I meant nothing beyond it more than a mere observation of your words. You, as a most esteemed Elder of our Order, most certainly embody all of our high virtues and rightly represent Mìr by them.”
He can’t be serious. In what world does a display like that represent peace? More scales shed from his back as Retunsus glared at the Elder beside him, his claws clenched. He was still snarling. Sapiens was unfazed by the display. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice it at all as he turned his attention back to the defendant, who looked equally amused and bewildered.
“Let us not forget the rest of the Most Venerable Elder’s words,” Sapiens continued. “‘For we ourselves were once foolish, disobedient, led astray, slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in malice and envy, hated by others and hating one another.’” After his quotation, Sapiens paused and turned back to face Retunsus, who had finally stopped shaking. Sapiens lifted one heavyset foreleg to point at his fellow Elder. “The phrase of note being ‘were once.’”
Retunsus practically leapt at Sapiens- or, he would have if he were even marginally more agile- before Magnus finally shouted for order, pounding his tail against the floor like a gavel.
“Elder Sapiens! If you have a point,” the Chief Elder thundered with all the vigor his wearied voice could muster. “Then make it. Else, still your tongue.”
Retunsus had taken his seat again, but was still glaring at Sapiens from the corner of his eyes. Sapiens held up his placid expression, but there was a subtle hint of some new emotion at the corners of his jowls; if his natural disposition wasn’t so dour, he might almost look pleased. His point had already been made, and he didn’t even have to make it; Retunsus had done a good enough job of demonstrating it for him.
“Of course,” Sapiens said, fixing his attention back on Pax. “I only mean that we were once young too. We sought after Mìr, but not always rightly. But by the guidance of the same Elders that taught us, we grew and developed. Acolyte Pax is young, and we all should know him well enough to know he holds a zealous heart for peace. He did what he felt was necessary to save his fellow acolyte’s life, and I know I speak for all of us when I say we are most thankful he did; it would be grievous to have lost such a bright mind and soul so young. We can debate whether his actions were erroneous or contrary to our teachings, and I accept that he shed blood in violation of our code. But if the Elders that had nurtured us had been so readily willing to dispose with us for our mistakes, how could we have ever grown past them? Our acolytes deserve a gentle- but firm- hand to guide them on their path to peaceful maturity. It would be wrong of us to withdraw that hand for a mistake made in the service of protecting a friend. I vote to pardon.”
Elder Sapiens’s jowls finally parted into a warm smile.
“Elder Sapiens is hereby recorded as being in support of a pardon,” Magnus sighed, nursing his temples with his claws. “Elder Stultum?”
“Yes,” the withering Nyasasaurus croaked, rising (with painstaking effort) to his feet. His taught skin clung fiercely to his throat as he spoke and his aged voice could barely carry his words. Both Pax and Magnus leaned in closely to hear his strained determination. “Well, I certainly don’t intend to mince words or play to some theatrics like Brother Sapiens. I will keep this brief. I met this same monster once, many years ago.”
Stultum traced a path along his chest with a single claw. The scar from his attack. The area had healed over long, long ago, and was so overlaid with scales that it was completely obscured from the naked eye. If he hadn’t pointed it out, it would be almost impossible to notice. But as the old saurian traced over the area, it became apparent that there had once been serious damage there; the scales had grown back at irregular angles, there were peculiar nicks in their corners, and they didn’t fit back together quite right.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
“I understand that some of us have met temnospondyls- fine, civilized folk. This thing is not one of them. I do not know what caused its declination from sentient being to feral beast, but make no mistake: it most certainly made that turn. If you had seen those snapping jaws and those mad, blood-starved eyes, you would know I’m right. Yes, Acolyte Excelsus spilled its blood, but I don’t have an ounce of sympathy for that mad beast.” Elder Stultum paused, not for dramatic effect but because he needed to catch his breath. Those few sentences had really winded him. “I feel no more pity for it than for any other feral, mindless prey we eat. In fact,” he paused again, this time for dramatic effect. His withering presentation didn’t really lend itself to that end, but it was a noble attempt. “I am thankful it has finally been put down. Pax Excelsus has my full pardon- no, endorsement- for his actions.”
Tempest exhaled a sigh of relief. He had been holding his breath but hadn’t realized it. Two votes meant Pax still had a chance! The decision was purely a democratic vote; no one Elder, even Chief Elder Magnus, had more pull than any other. All Pax needed were three votes, and surely Ignavus could be reasonable!
“Elder Stultum is hereby recorded as being in support of a pardon. His further opinions of the incident are disregarded. Elder Ignavus?”
The little Eoraptor stood and swallowed nervously. Judging by all the frantic glances between each of the other Elders, it was evident his mind wasn’t made up. As per usual. He sighed, opened his mouth, shut it, and then swallowed again.
Come on, Ignavus. Do the right thing!
Elder Sapiens pled with Ignavus with silent eyes and a warm smile. The Eoraptor’s eyes darted between Sapiens and Pax, before he finally shut them and took a long, deep breath. The room stood dead silent, hanging on his decision. Opening his eyes, Ignavus finally spoke.
“I think, erm, considering the circumstances-”
Elder Retunsus stamped his foot and uttered a low growl, causing Ignavus to leap in shock. When he landed and recomposed himself, the poor startled dinosaur gulped sharply and finished.
“Pax broke the rules of our Order. That is unforgivable,” he offered a furtive glance to Retunsus, who returned a slow nod. “I’m sorry. I vote for excommunication.”
“Very well. Elder Ignavus is hereby recorded as being in support of excommunication. That only leaves myself.”
Tempest’s heart sunk. That vile snake! Even despite being currently involved in a trial regarding peace and violence, the pterosaur had half a mind to wring Retunsus’s neck. This was the final death knell to Pax’s chance of staying with them; Magnus had made no attempt to disguise his own biases on the matter.
Chief Elder Magnus rose as high as his hind legs could manage and approached the edge of his judgment seat, once again craning his long neck to leer down on the still-defiant Pax Excelsus. There was no expression upon his regal snout but cold, lordly condemnation.
I have to say something! I have to do something! I can’t just leave Pax there alone, defenseless. He doesn’t deserve this. But what could be do? There were rules to these proceedings, as much as he wished there weren’t. What was the point of all this pomp and formality if it was just a smokescreen to punish someone they hated? If he were braver he would march up onto that stage beside Pax, stand by his friend and defy this mockery of justice. But he wasn’t that brave. And there was nothing to do but watch. There was nothing anyone could do but-
“This is wrong!” Zephyr wrenched his way free of Tempest’s grip and burst forward toward where Pax stood.
“Zeph!” Tempest shouted, rushing to help his friend, but he wasn’t fast enough. Zephyr stumbled and fell, but just as quickly was back up on his foot. There was no way he should have been able to walk at all, but he had managed to, alternating with every stumble between his one good foot and one good wing until he scrambled and clawed his way up onto the pillar beside Pax. The Postosuchus wasted no time catching him and bracing him before he fell again.
“Zeph, what are you doing? This isn’t your-”
“This is wrong!” Zephyr repeated, cutting Pax off. Magnus cocked his head and drew back slightly, but he made no move to correct the little Pteranodon or otherwise prevent whatever it was he was doing. To him, this was certainly a most interesting development. “Pax Excelsus is a good, loyal servant of Mìr. He’s a faithful member of this Order and a loyal friend and everything about this trial is disgusting! If it wasn’t for Pax, I wouldn’t be alive right now. He's a hero, and you are all treating him like some murderer! He saved my life, and I’m not going to just stand by any longer while you all disparage his good name.”
Pax clutched at his friend’s good shoulder and tried to dissuade him from going on any further. “Zeph, please-”
But Zephyr had no intention of stopping now. He returned Magnus’s piercing glower with one of his own, pushing his glasses up his beak to make sure he could glare back at the Coelophysis with the full extent of his visual acuity. The Chief Elder had lost a lot of his lordliness in the face of the tiny, defiant pterosaur. It was one thing to lord over a great, powerful person like Pax; it was quite another to be defied by a creature half your size and still wholly unafraid.
“If you do this,” Zephyr said, his burning gaze holding steadfast. “Then this is no Order I want any part in. If you excommunicate him- then I leave too.”
Magnus’s eyes widened and he finally withdrew his eyes from the pterosaur to survey his fellow Elders; they all mirrored his surprise. He inhaled and leaned back, his neck withdrawn and gait lowered.
“That certainly leaves much to consider, Acolyte Zephyr,” Magnus said, his eyes flitting between both Pax and Zephyr. “But Pax Excelsus’s conduct was a grievous violation against the precepts of our Order. It is still not easily overlooked.”
Zephyr did not relent. He was trembling now, the weight of his ultimatum finally coming to bear upon his shoulders, but he did not back down. Magnus had ceased the indecision of his gaze and locked his eyes against Zephyr’s. No one moved; most refused to even breathe, to dare to disturb the palpable tension. A royal visage locked eyes against a spectacled beak, held fast in deep, silent contemplation. Neither blinked.
“But while it is true Acolyte Pax’s actions are not easily overlooked, these circumstances were indeed exceptional. We would have been sorely aggrieved to have lost young Acolyte Zephyr and it is inarguable that, less Acolyte Excelsus’s timely intervention, he would have been. Let me be clear that I wholly disapprove of the accused’s choice to forsake the path of Mìr and spill another sentient creature’s blood.” His eyes finally broke contact with Zephyr’s. “But that the acolyte judged it was necessary to take a life to save another, I do not doubt- and that his decision was in fact successful in achieving that aim, I judge to be worthy of exceptional consideration.”
Magnus let out a long sigh, and the rest of the room took it as their permission once again to breathe.
“I therefore assent to a conditional pardon, wholly excusing the accused’s offense while subjecting upon him minor personal penalties we shall discuss in private.”
Zephyr very nearly collapsed right there, wholly overcome by relief. Pax caught him before he fell and offered a gentle squeeze of unspoken thanks to his shoulder. He had survived the trial.
“The Chief Elder is hereby recorded as being in support of a pardon. With the joined assent of Elders Sapiens and Stultum, and against the dissent of Elders Retunsus and Ignavus, the accused is forthwith issued a pardon for his iniquity and is permitted to remain within our Order. This Council of Elders is hereby adjourned and all present are dismissed.”
Magnus thumped his tail-gavel against the floor for effect, and the trial was brought to a close.
I guess that’s the best thing anyone could ask for, Tempest thought, his heart finally returning to its normal rhythm. Pax made it! They both made it. As Pax helped his loyal friend down from their pillar, Tempest couldn’t help but feel guilty for his inaction. Someone had to do something, and he didn’t. They barely survived- and I did nothing to help but watch.
----------------------------------------
Zephyr was left alone.
There had been no sinister motive behind his abandonment; in fact, he didn’t get the impression that it had even been intentional. After the trial, Tempest had escorted him back to his room, left him in the care of Pax, waited a few moments for him to make a quick trip to the library, and then promptly left the monastery. Zephyr was perceptive enough to know the events of the trial were weighing heavily on his friend, even despite Pax’s victory. Tempest announced that he simply needed some time alone to process everything that had happened (of course, by ‘alone’ Zephyr knew Tempest really meant ‘alone with Celeste’). There was nothing sinister about needing time to yourself.
Pax had stayed with him for a few hours, at least until Chief Elder Magnus came by to discuss the specifics of his conditional pardon. That had been several hours ago, but judging by the angry stomps leading back to Pax’s own room, the discussion had ended- and not very favorably.
And so Zephyr had been left alone.
Or, rather, mostly alone. There was the issue of the individual lurking outside the archway to his room, doing his best to remain still, silent, and enshrouded by the many shadows lining the monastery’s dimly-lit hallways. Zephyr had been fooled once or twice by his impressive stealthiness, hardly to be expected from anyone the lurker’s size, but he had since learned to pick up on the subtle tells one gives off when they’re trying to be sneaky and think that they are.
Zephyr lifted his beak away from the stone tablet clutched in his good claws. He wouldn’t be getting anything more out of it tonight. It wasn’t that easy for him to read anymore- especially at night, but that didn’t dissuade him from trying anyways. Only having one functioning wing and one functioning leg meant he had to lean against something to stay upright. Usually he could just prop himself up on his wing for that support, but since he was using that wing to hold the tablet up to his eyes, that wasn’t really an option anymore. So he was now relegated to propping himself up against a wall and straining to keep his balance with his one (very sore) good foot. His eyes didn’t want to cooperate anymore either; he was nearsighted, so seeing things close up was no difficulty, but the low light forced him to squint to see. Even the torchlight couldn’t do much to help all the little squiggled indents in the stone- actually letters, words, sentences, paragraphs- from looking just like mere squiggles.
Ah well, he had already got what he wanted out of the work- Volume IV of Elder Dilectus’s very, very expansive Memoirs. That would have to do for tonight.
“Did you know,” Zephyr spoke to the darkness and its not-quite invisible inhabitant. “That the quote Elder Sapiens cited to the Most Venerable Elder wasn’t actually his?”
“I remember the Elders saying a lot of things. Which quote?” The voice in the shadows asked back.
“The one about ‘speaking evil.’”
“Whose is it?”
“I don’t know, actually. In Volume IV of his Memoirs-”
“You really read four of these things?”
“No, I’ve read all eleven. I just remembered seeing it in Volume IV. It wasn’t Elder Dilectus’s quote; he said he found it, just a fragment of some ancient writing carved into a shattered tablet. He said he knew it was the truth as soon as he read it and it changed his life. He had no idea who wrote it or why, but it inspired him to devote himself to the truth, and to seeking after Mìr.” The figure outside groaned and Zephyr paused with a frown, realizing that his listener probably didn’t find this history lesson particularly interesting. “You know you can come in here, right? I don’t mind. It’s a little weird to be having a conversation with myself and the shadows in the hallway.”
The figure outside let out a little grumble and then slunk into the room from out of the dark, flickering torchlight quickly bringing detail back to his gargantuan form. “Sorry,” Pax said, offering a half-hearted bow. “I was told to stay isolated- a ‘penance of solitude,’ Magnus called it, but I didn’t want to leave you in here all by yourself.”
“Day one of your sentence and you’re already breaking the rules? You don’t need to be lurking around in the dark, I can take care of myself.”
“I know,” Pax took a seat on a high moss-covered stone cutout in the wall, Zephyr’s bed. To Zephyr, the tiny Eudimorphodon, it was quite a few feet off the ground; to Pax, the massive Postosuchus, it came up to his thighs. “But like it or not, you’re still half-crippled. Making sure you have somebody to help you up if you end up falling over is the least I can do for what you did for me.”
“Then I’ll try not to fall over. Besides, do you really think no one will notice you hiding out there?”
“You would be surprised; people tend to most overlook the things hiding in plain sight. And I wouldn’t have to be out here at all if you would just go to sleep already, do you have any idea how late it is? It’s been a long day, you’ve gotta be tired.”
Zephyr scrambled his way up the stone alcove to sit beside Pax. “I am tired,” he sighed. “But I also have a lot to think about. Everything that happened today left a lot on my mind.”
“You and me both.” Pax was staring off into a middle distance, lost in his thoughts. Probably just to offer himself a distraction, he spoke again. “Out of all the things the Elders said today, a quote is the one you were curious about?”
Zephyr laughed.
“I wouldn’t say it was the only thing. Just the easiest thing to look into. But the more I think about what that quote says, the more I think my problem runs deeper than just its misapplication.” Zephyr paused his thought there and the room went silent. Both he and Pax were staring off into space, caught up in their own personal internal struggles. He knew Pax probably didn’t care much about the deeper philosophy behind their Order- he was always the grounded, realist, utilitarian type- but it was weighing on Zephyr. “I think that maybe we’re wrong to be so devoted to Mìr- to this abstract idea of ‘peace’ as some end-all-be-all for what we should aspire to.”
If Pax had eyebrows, he would have been arching them. Instead, the terrestrial crocodile worked with what he had, arching the scaly ridges above his eyes.
“I know that probably sounds crazy,” Zephyr stammered. Their Order was founded on the pursuit of peace, the ultimate ideal. They had just been through a whole trial about it! But maybe that was the problem. The Elders had been on the verge of kicking out one of their own- whom they had brought up from his youth- for the crime of saving his friend’s life. “But hear me out. Peace is what we aspire to, to represent to the world. That’s why we’re kept isolated out here in this monastery, to learn to live among each other and cultivate that spirit of peace to bring out into the wider world. If peace means letting monsters hurt the people you cared about, how could that be worth devoting to? Maybe we’ve become so obsessed merely with being peaceful that we forget how to fight for good things. Maybe that was the point Sapiens was trying to make today. Maybe there’s another virtue out there, higher even than Mìr. But I wish I knew what it was.”
“Don’t let the Elders catch you saying that. Mìr is something I understand, but you’re right: it has to have its limits too. I know you’re not stupid- far from it, really- so I know that you know that the world outside’s been pressing down on me, hard. These are things I prefer to talk with Tempest about, you know, but today I saw that you’re brave enough to handle them too.”
Poor Tempest, Zephyr thought. He hadn’t thought about him much since he left earlier that afternoon, but his friend had to be hurting just as much as they were. Tempest was a stoic sort, not one to freely pour out his feelings or inner turmoil. At the pond, Tempest saved his life, dragging him up from the hopeless depths and taking a defiant stand against the encroaching monster. Since then, he had stood as Zephyr’s support, holding fast to his side while he healed and keeping him upright all throughout every day since. Zephyr had leaned on his friend for support, of both kinds, and yet he hardly spared a thought for the toll these last few days must have born on him too. He doesn’t deserve this.
“Tempest,” Pax continued. There was an unusual gleam in his eyes, one Zephyr hadn’t seen before. It was just a small crack behind his gentle gaze, a tiny fissure revealing some dark, angry core buried deep behind his kind eyes, but the brief sight of it sent a chill down Zephyr’s spine. What was that look? “Heard from Celeste and his other contacts at the village that there had been a disaster at the capital. We only know snippets and rumor, but we know the government there collapsed- a coup or a revolution or a civil war or something of that sort- and now the world outside is spiraling into oblivion. The High Cities have pulled back, taking their soldiers away from the roads, and bad people have noticed it. The roads aren’t safe anymore; evil people are taking advantage of the chaos and are preying on anyone unlucky enough to cross them. I haven't told Tempest yet- I didnt want him to bear the weight of it- but I found out a few days ago that the nearest village to the west has been overrun, razed to the ground by looters and bandits. The world is going mad.”
Zephyr knew things in the outside world had been bad, but he had no idea that it could be anything like this. So this is what’s been tearing them apart.
“And the day we went to the pond, the Elders took up a secret council and they made a vote: to seal us off from the outside world. No aid, no refuge, no shelter to anyone outside. They think they can just hide in these walls and lecture to us about peace while people- good people- suffer on the other side!” Pax shot up, the rage he had kept buried throughout the day now wholly unveiled, overflowing and boiling out across his face. It was all he could do to restrain himself from shouting or breaking something. He had spent the whole day being lectured to by cowards and hypocrites and finally the injustice of it had caught up to him.
“Pax, I-”
“Don’t!” Pax snarled, instantly rendering Zephyr silent. “Don’t say another word! Don’t make excuses for them, or apologies, or anything else you want to say. You don’t need to. You said enough today when you climbed up by my side and took a stand against those smug, self-righteous hypocrites!”
Zephyr shrunk back. That was a compliment, or so he could suppose, but Pax’s explosion had been so sudden, so violent that he couldn’t help but feel afraid. Pax was a powerhouse, but he had always been a calm, patient powerhouse. Right now, he didn’t look anything like the friend he knew- and Zephyr was scared.
As Zephyr shriveled back and away from him, something clicked in Pax’s head. He looked into his friend’s fear-stricken eyes and collapsed right there.
“Zeph, I’m… I’m so sorry,” he stammered, tears welling up in the corners of his bestial eyes. He took a deep breath and dried them again. In a moment, all of that pent-up anger had poured out and he had returned to the gentle friend Zephyr knew. “All of this, it’s… it’s too much. I’m so damnably angry, Zeph. Angry about what that thing did to you. Angry about the Elders’ cowardice. Angry about what they put me through today.”
Pax went still, struggling again to fight back tears. Zephyr hopped forward to the edge of his alcove and then leapt down to land beside his friend. It wasn’t a graceful landing by any means, his lack of ballasting appendages forcing him to land in an awkward roll. Still, he clawed and scrambled his way beside his friend and lay a tiny wing over his gargantuan shoulder.
“I know,” Zephyr said, doing his best to comfort the aggrieved Postosuchus. Pax lifted his great head to peer into Zephyr’s eyes and he forced one big, toothy smile. “And I think that’s okay. I’m here, no matter what.”
“I don’t deserve that, Zeph. I don’t know what that greater virtue is,” Pax wasn’t holding back any tears anymore. “But whatever it, what you did for me today, what you’re doing now: that’s it.”
By the light of a flickering torch, Zephyr bore the deepest sorrows of his friend’s heart. In time to come he would finally learn the name of that highest virtue: Agápe- charity, holy, self-sacrificial love. He did not know the word then, but that night, surrounded by darkness encroaching on all sides, it was there by his side.