Blood Tempered: Book 1 of the Sword Monk Saga

Blood Tempered: Part 21

Caida woke at dawn in the tiny, dust-choked room the mercenary captain's man had shown him to. He'd had barely an hour of sleep before the crisis in his heart drove him to wakefulness again. The cot he'd slept on was sturdy, the sheets clean, but the air was thick with dust motes dancing in the early morning light that streamed in from the single, tiny window set high in the wall opposite the door. Nearly claustrophobic by most people's standards, it was still larger than his stone cell in the monastery in Drum.

Beside the cot, there was a wash stand with a chipped jug half-full of water. He splashed a little into the basin, cleaned his face, then, lacking a cup, drank directly from the jug.

He'd gone to sleep with his mind in turmoil. It was in no better shape when he woke, so he knelt down on the stone floor, then stretched prone once again, forehead pressed to the dusty flagstones, and prayed. He pushed away the memory of the lady Anya's naked flesh, the feel of her hair and scalp on his rough, calloused hands. It was not easy, and once he had mastered it, her words flew into the void the memory left in his thoughts.

Parts of the Book of Andos have been suppressed.

The very thought made him feel ill.

"Andos," he murmured to the dusty flagstones, "beloved martyr, sword arm of the righteous, blade of the meek, guide my soul. Andos, you who shed your blood to keep the helpless whole, guide my sword." Over and over. But there was no answer, no sign other than the three familiar words, which he had heard and repeated a thousand thousand times.

Protect. Obey. Pray.

But they rang hollow, now. Not meaningless, never meaningless. But a gnawing doubt had entered his heart, his soul. Protect who? Obey who? Pray to who? If the very words of his patron had been censored, was his faith just foolishness, a travesty? If the holy texts he had spent hour upon hour meditating upon were not the true, complete testament of Andos, then was his life based on a lie, or at best a half-truth?

Protect. Obey. Pray. The words circled endlessly in his mind, but gave him no comfort. He remembered the Abbot's final words to him: "When doubt comes, remember your vows, and look to Andos for guidance." How was he to look to Andos, if what he had been taught of his patron was not the whole truth?

So lost was Caida in his prayer, his meditation, his misery of doubt and crisis of faith, that it was some time before the commotion in the courtyard impinged upon his consciousness.

It seemed Andos had sent a sign after all.