“It is my fault. The Arch-Rike is just. I betrayed Kenatos. I was too proud. Too ambitious. I will be executed, Master. I will bring shame to the Bhikhu temple.”
“Paedrin, I know. I know. The Arch-Rike told me of the plot. He explained what must be done. Listen to me, boy. Listen to my words.”
Paedrin heaved some strangled sobs, unable to control his emotions or his words. He stared at Master Shivu, at the patchwork gray stubble on his head. He saw the tender look in his eyes, not accusatory but full of sympathy. He saw love and forgiveness there. A man who had invested all of his life patiently teaching the Bhikhu way. He loved this man. He was going to resist the Arch-Rike’s will. He would resist it all of his life until he found a way to be free.
“Yes, my Master,” he whispered, clenching his jaw and refusing to speak. His body shook and trembled as he fought the feelings that smothered him.
“This is for the good of the city,” Master Shivu said pityingly. “You were not alive when the last Plague came. You do not understand the terror that overcomes people when they all fear they will die. The savagery. Be grateful that you are spared it.”
Paedrin nodded, his heart shuddering with sadness and firmness. His Master did not know that he was not going to die. Rather, he would live a life worse than death.
Master Shivu clung to his hands between the bars, gripping him fiercely. His nails bit into Paedrin’s skin. “I never spoke of this to you before. The Bhikhu temple is a shadow of another temple. A replica and a poor one. The original Shatalin temple was hidden in the mountains. It did not fall from the Plague. Only Vaettir studied there. Only Vaettir could reach its heights. I came from that temple, when I was a boy. I left with a small band of others who sought to escape its fate.”
Paedrin shook his head, confused. He had never known this before. It made no sense to him. He presumed the original Bhikhu temple was in the woods of Silvandom, not in the mountains.
“There was one among us. A student who bested the masters. He was ambitious. He was fast. Faster than anyone else. He corrupted the temple with his pride. You must understand, Paedrin. He was powerful. Not just in the Bhikhu way but in his words. In his speech. There was a weapon in the temple. A sword. Only the most virtuous of men ever sought to use its power and only to defend the temple from attack. This Bhikhu, Cruw Reon, sought the Sword of Winds to use it to conquer other kingdoms. To place himself at the heights of power. He took the sword from its casing. He drew it from its sheath.”
Paedrin held his breath, staring into his master’s eyes.
Master Shivu bowed his head. “He went blind. He could no longer see. Forever. The Shatalin temple fell that day. He would never give up the sword. And he could never learn how to cure his blindness, for the answer was written in the Book of Shatalin and smuggled away by my master. I have the book now and the secret to Cruw Reon’s blindness. But the sword and the book cannot be rejoined. The book cannot leave Kenatos, for it is in the archives. The sword will never leave the temple. If only someone had acted before Cruw Reon’s madness. If only his ambition had been thwarted earlier. The fate of so many would be different to this day.”
He felt Master Shivu’s grip as hard as stone on his hands. “You are proud, Paedrin. You are ambitious, like Cruw Reon. What we do now is for your best good. To prevent another tragedy. You must die so that the tradition and honor of the Bhikhu shall endure and be restored. You are no longer my pupil. You are no longer bound to the Bhikhu!”
Paedrin stared in shock. Master Shivu rose and stared down at him. His face was hard and tugged with a scowl. His eyes—there was something in his eyes. A look that transcended any specific meaning. He stared at Paedrin coolly and nodded once.
“Do what must be done,” Master Shivu told the Arch-Rike. “I have said my piece. If he must die, as you say, then I wash my hands of him.”
Paedrin’s heart threatened to shatter into a thousand shards. But there was something in Master Shivu’s eyes. There was something in his expression. Some silent words unsaid. His mind twisted and contorted to divine the meaning, but he could not make sense of it. Was he truly, now, abandoned and alone?
“It is a pity,” the Arch-Rike said, nodding gravely. He turned to leave. “He was certainly one with great promise.”