The Chosen (The Compendium of Raath, Book 1) Read Free Page A

standards.
Candles burned with normal fire. Otom mostly put his own Fire in
the fireplace. It was difficult to control tiny amounts of it. A
healthy blaze was easier to produce. The powers of a Monk were
stable and reliable. As long as he was Sacrificing – which he
always was - he would have magic to draw on.
    There was only one other Monk in Kilgane
Monastery that had even a glimmer of the magic that Otom possessed.
The man had trained him when his powers had bloomed. It wasn't a
sure thing, getting that power from God. Many good men led lives of
Sacrifice never to have magic bestowed upon them.
    Otom was a rarity.
    Kilgane Monastery had few allures about it:
it was constantly freezing outside, the days and nights were of odd
lengths, and the food was tasteless. Otom knew for certain that
there were worse things than isolation and penitence. He hadn't
left the island in thirteen years, and he wasn't planning on going
anywhere anytime soon.
    Here he had camaraderie, escape,
purpose.
    There was a small fishing village on the
southern shore of the island and the people there mostly regarded
the Monks of the Kilgane Monastery as a mystery, not really
frightened of them, but not really wanting conversation either. Of
course, Otom couldn't have given them that anyway. To talk would be
to break one of his Vows, and to break a Vow was to give up a piece
of your Sacrifice. He sometimes wondered what his voice would sound
like. He remembered that it was deep and steady, but the last time
he had talked was at the age of seventeen. He supposed his voice
would sound different now if it even still worked.
    He talked mostly in hand signs for
unavoidable essentials. On every First Day he would make the trek
down to the village to trade for fish and cloth and other things
the Monks might need. Sometimes he would trade wood, beads, or
furs, but oftentimes he would simply trade Fire or Calm.
    Monkish Fire didn't consume wood, and could
last a good long time, depending on how much magic was poured into
it. There wasn't a person in the village who could turn down such
an offer, even if they regarded the Monks with wary eyes.
    Calm was more subtle magic, but just as
desirable. If someone had nearly died from falling through the ice,
Otom could Calm them and wash away their fears, saving them years
of fear and doubt. If a fight was about to break out, Otom could
stop it most of the time. These were the kinds of services that
only a Monk like Otom could provide.
    Otom walked over to the door and pulled it
open, the heavy metal knocker on the other side clacking once. The
dormitory hallway wasn't much colder than his room. The Monks kept
the entire Monastery lit most of the time, Otom's magical Fires
joining in with their normal ones.
    Otom walked quickly down the hall so he
could arrive on time for another scheduled Vow. The Vow of Bondage.
He was actually going to be a bit late even if he ran. Everyone
would probably be already waiting for him there. It was fine.
Forgiveness was easy to receive here.
    He had to pass through the cloister in order
to get to the chapel and as he stepped outside the wind whipped at
him, threatening to blow his hood off. He reached up and tugged it
back down so that it covered his forehead down to the top of his
eyes. His bushy brown beard took care of warming the lower half of
his face.
    It was snowing. The fat flakes drifted down
out of a gray sky.
    Thirteen years since my
failure, he thought.
    The cloister was silent as he padded through
the snow, his fur boots would have been excellent for hunting and
tracking, but today they were ceremonial. The chapel door had much
the same design as his room's own door and fires burned around it,
making a glorious arch that kept away the snow and warmed the wind.
Otom swung it open and went inside, closing it heavily behind
him.
    It was quiet, but that was to be
expected.
    But not this quiet . . .
     
-3-
     
    S omething fell on him from above and Otom dropped to his knees
on