It was barely the evening of the day after Ismander arrived, and she had been the talk of Sothfæder. The stories had grown to ridiculous proportions, now Revin was fighting off dozens of monsters and saving an old woman from terrifying demons of metal. Revin didn’t care. He had a hundred questions for the strange monk, but only Hirgen the Healer, Revin’s father, his counselors, and Revin’s mother could visit. He’d tried to sneak in that morning, only to be turned away by vigilant monks. The Healing House was tight. No animals or visitors allowed.

No matter how hard he tried, he could get nothing more out of his mother. He gathered that Ismander had lived here before, as did Narazoth. And there was some sort of… incident. Ismander and a few monks had left. He wondered if Narazoth had gone with them. But… for some reason… they feared Narazoth.

The questions nearly drove him mad.

That afternoon, Revin’s father had made sure the giant lizard received a proper burial. Or at, least, as proper as they could. When Revin returned to the site later, Tungol had been buried under a pile of stones, and the metal men had been buried in the earth. All except for the one that had fallen in the crevasse. Revin made his way down to inspect it, finding a plethora of gears and plates with crystalline lines, like rope or vines, running all through it. He’d never seen a clock with the like. All interspersed with what looked like shards of shattered glass.

After Revin heard that Fendra—the prophet’s second counselor—had arrived in town that afternoon, he knew his father would hold a meeting with Ismander in the Holy House.

Revin smiled. The Holy House had looser security. So, once Revin found and mastered a gecko, he had what he needed to eavesdrop. His father and mother had been closed-lipped, and he was not getting left in the dark again.

On the eve when the meeting had just started, Revin hid himself in a copse of trees near the holy house, lying on his back. Blackfire kept watch as Revin closed his eyes, fully immersing himself in the sensory perceptions of Sprik, his new, tiny gecko. So small that if the monks inside did sense it, it would seem no more than a bug to them.

He felt Sprik skitter along the walls of the Holy House, her body moving rapidly, tiny paws rolling on and off the wall, sticking, then unsticking with surprising strength and ease. Through her eyes, the world looked stretched, her wide and round eyes distorting the view as if looking through a bowl of curved glass. The hallways would be too dark for Revin without a lantern, but Sprik had no problem. She could even see colors with much accuracy, even in darkness.

With a flick of her tongue she licked her eyes, keeping them moist. She heard footsteps and Revin had her pause. Her eyes focused on the wall in front of her, and down the hallway, putting both in focus. It was a disorienting sensation.

A monk bearing a small lantern crossed the hallway far ahead, passing out of sight again. Revin listened through the gecko’s ears to be sure no one else was coming. Thankfully there were many small hiding places in the intricate design of the temple, and Revin had to command the lizard to hide several more times to avoid passersby.

Finally, the gecko reached the council room, and Revin carefully commanded the lizard to sneak under the door and behind some of the furniture, where she could sneak slowly onto an abstract sculpture, glazed with the same turquoise color as the gecko itself. The gecko licked her eyes again, scanning the room.

“Yes, what is written in the Sephitaron is true,” Ismander said, “the world is round. I’ve hardly traveled a mile east.”

Sprik finally made it to the top of the ornate bookshelf. Revin’s parents, the prophet’s three counselors, and Ismander sat on cushioned chairs in a circle. None of them reacted to the gecko’s presence. Revin felt a spike of satisfaction. He had been right. It was too tiny a creature to notice with the senses of Mastery. Revin commanded the creature to relax and watch. He had to concentrate to filter the sounds of speech through a mind which didn’t understand them.

“And once you found yourself there, why did you stay?” Fendra said, “The prophet forbade going to the east.”

“Not all peoples hate truth, as we once thought. I met a simple people on an island. They practice a strange religion, worshipping the spirits of the volcano. But they were kind and gentle.” Ismander adjusted herself in her seat, wincing in pain.

“When a monk leaves home to find a Lord, they are tasked with finding a people that need them, and I did. I served their king … Then Narazoth came.”

“How can that be?” one of the counselors said, “You reported he’d been lost at sea.”

“We were wrong. He found a Lord in the far north. A ruthless man named Jebuthar, a conqueror.” She spoke the name with anger and rubbed her temples. She took a trembling breath, releasing it slowly.

“He conquered some nations, and so brutal were his assaults that other nations surrendered without a fight. My Lord… he was not one of these. The Volisnans would never submit to a foreigner’s rule. The battle went... poorly. You recall the metal warriors that chased me here?”

“Yes,” Fendra said, “they have us very concerned.”

“Narazoth controls hundreds of thousands of them. I don’t know how. They’re not like any animal I’ve seen before... Some great evil is at work I don’t understand. I think they have something to do with the ruins of ancient Kerdun.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

More gasps and mumbles. Kerdun? Revin thought, I’ve read that somewhere before…

“How did you know Narazoth controlled them?” the younger counselor said, it always surprised Revin that one of his father’s counselors was only a couple years older than Revin himself.

“He mindspoke to me,” Ismander said, “almost immediately upon arriving, he wanted me to join him, to make him my Lord after my current one was killed.”

Revin had never thought of declaring another monk to be your Lord. It was just… unheard of. Was it even possible?

Ismander shook her head. “Jebuthar, Narazoth’s Lord, is a harsh man.” Ismander’s eyes watered again as her jaw tightened. “Even when they knew they would lose, the Volisnans fought… So many dead... So many orphans and widows…”

The room went silent.

“Ismander…” Revin’s father leaned forward and said with a tenderness Revin rarely heard from him, “What else do you know? What are Jebuthar’s plans?”

Ismander took a deep breath.

“Jebuthar wants to conquer all of the eastern lands, and then the world. He wants monks, oathbound to Narazoth, controlling armies of metal warriors. He’s already conquered a few nations, but many still resist him. Especially Ateya.”

“The Tribes of Ateya, the heathens?” Fendra said.

“Yes, Ateya. They worship Sephitaro now, after a fashion. But they’ve discovered exploding powders that pierce armor and have incorporated saurians into their armies.”

“That hardly sounds like a nation in danger of conquest,” Alrin said, “Surely they can stop Narazoth and Jebuthar?”

Ismander turned toward him, “Other nations had guns and saurians, and they were conquered just the same. Jebuthar’s ships fly, and his weapons multiply the pull of the earth…”

Ismander paused, closing her eyes, she took several steadying breaths. She opened them again, lips set in a firm line.

“I haven’t spoken to him in years, but Beadoróf came to know the ruins of Kerdun well. Whether he is captured or dead I do not know.”

Revin’s father’s eyes widened. The room went quiet.

“What of the others? Herwurd, Broklan, Aelfhai?” Revin’s mother said, her eyes conveying concern and worry.

Ismander shrugged. “I haven’t spoken to them since we left. They went south and west.”

“The smallest nation in the east could conquer us easily. And Ateya, the largest nation in the east, will soon be conquered by Jebuthar. They stand between Jebuthar, and us.”

“If you and Beadoróf were unable to stop him,” Alrin said, “what can we do against him?”

“Narazoth was one of us,” Ismander said, “More powerful than any before or since.”

“I can think of one who may challenge him in talent,” one of the counselors said, “Someone who could stand against Narazoth, should he return.”

Alrin frowned at the older counselor. “Yes, he may have similar potential, but he also has similar pride. Revin isn’t ready for that kind of responsibility. And who knows what stoking his already large ego would do to him.”

Revin gasped. Neither his father nor anyone else had spoken about him like this before. Similar potential?

“Your son, right?” Ismander said. “He had a wolf, but that’s hardly impossible for someone of average skill.”

Alrin sighed, not answering. Revin focused, Sprik’s ear turning toward Revin’s father.

“Yes,” the older counselor said. “But he also mastered a great serpent from the west and drove it home. Did it all on his own.”

“He is, first and foremost, my son.” Alrin said, growing firm, “I will not set him against Narazoth. Revin is strong, but he doesn’t wander with four dozen bound-beasts as Narazoth did.”

“He’s mastered two dozen,” one counselor said.

“And those were polecats, not large creatures,” Revin’s mother said. Sprik’s eyes saw that her look of concerned had deepened. Revin was sure he could master even more.

“We have to do something!” Ismander snapped, “Tungol died so I could bring you this message!”

“That has always been your argument!” Alrin said firmly, “You and Beadoróf! You could never accept the will of Father God if it was to wait. If it was to let him handle it.”

“If we hadn’t chased him off,” Ismander said, her tone growing sharp, “Narazoth would still be here. Or have you not told the newer generations about him? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you forbidding the younger monks from talking to me.”

“We don’t need your radicalism,” Alrin said, “We are a people of faith.”

“But we are also a people of action! Or, at least, we once were.”

Revin smiled. This argument sounded very familiar.

“No, Revin is going west. As for Ateya, we have no army. What good can simple monks do in war? Even when we seek a Lord, it is to serve. To help. To guide in planting, in talks of peace. You fight with a sword and gun, but we have no such skills. Even if we commanded the greatest beasts in the world, what could any army of beasts do against constructions of metal and dark magic? You said yourself, even the mighty nations of the east cannot overcome his weapons.”

“I believe that certain saurians-”

“Stop.” Alrin said firmly. He closed his eyes and the room went silent. Revin listened closely now, Sprik twitching at Revin’s concentration.

Father sometimes did this when he was getting revelation.

The silence stretched on for a time, Revin’s father’s eyes moved slowly under his lids, and he nodded his head in obeisance.

“Father God has spoken.” Alrin opened his eyes. His look was calm, no longer frustrated. He took a deep breath. All around him, the monks were silent. Even Ismander seemed to be frozen in reverence.

“He said: Do not send any monks into this conflict. The people of the Hiriv must be patient. Keep a watchful eye on the southern shores. I will send what is needed.”

“And yet again you choose inaction,” Ismander said bitterly.

Alrin frowned. “I follow Father God’s will. I regret what happened when we were younger, but I am confident now. We must wait for His timing.” Alrin pointed to the sky.

Ismander’s glare slowly shifted into a sigh of resignation. “Then, in the morning, I will leave, to keep the fires of war from reaching your shores. As I have always done.”

Ismander stood with a wince and a grunt. She headed for the door without waiting for a response or a dismissal, favoring her side.

Revin’s father and the other councilors spoke in soft tones, but Revin had heard everything he needed to. He commanded Sprik to leave.

Revin knew Ismander would be returning to the Healing House. Revin might be able to sneak in. But what would he say to her? And what was all that talk about Revin being almost as talented as Narazoth? What had Narazoth done? No one had agreed to tell him anything.

Apparently, no one had been telling him anything for years. Why hadn’t they encouraged him to develop his talent? What was his father so afraid of? Weren’t they supposed to develop their skills? Master their chosen craft? They had, at least, admitted his talent. And that made Revin smile.

Either way, Revin had to speak to Ismander before she left for good.