Victus had only vague recollections about the days following the wreck which killed his parents, but he did remember that his body felt almost as battered as it did today.   There was not a muscle in him that didn’t groan in protest with the slightest movement.  He tried his best to hide his condition from the other boys, but concealing something like that was simply not going to be possible, given his state of disrepair.

If he harbored any hope at all that the other children would not notice his physical state, he had none that Sister Caroline would not see.  “Victus!” she whispered urgently, looking around to confirm their privacy, “Are you all right? Who did this to you?”

Despite his physical discomfort, Victus smiled.  “It’s not so bad,” he said, stretching his arms out to loosen them. “Making a garden is a lot of work.”

“Oh.” His condition was a result of his off-campus visit with his Kenzine friend. “What on earth did he do to you?”

“Nothing!  We gardened.  We broke up the soil to let the water get to the roots,” Vic told her, repeating what Dagen had said, “then we pulled out all the dead weeds so they wouldn’t come back and eat all the good plants’ food.”

 Seeing her young friend limping from place to place did nothing to foster Sister Caroline’s affection for the Kenzine interloper. The man certainly hadn’t looked as if he favored exercise, and the suspicious part of her mind wondered whether he had recruited Victus as voluntary labor. “Did he sit back and watch as you did all the work?”

 “We both worked hard,” Victus reported, his tail brushing slowly back and forth behind him, “and we got almost all of the weeds out.  He said next weekend, we’ll be able to put in the new plants!”

Caroline examined the boy standing in front of her.  Taking a conscious step back from her emotions, she really looked at him.  Upon reflection, she had to admit that what she saw was encouraging.  Stiff and sore though he might be, the translucent veil of emotional pain that so often surrounded the child had lifted, exposing a young man who, although obviously tired, seemed almost...was vibrant the right term? 

She would be the first to admit that she had not trusted the odd little man when he’d just popped onto their playground the previous day, but after speaking with him, it had seemed far less unreasonable that Victus go with him.  The boy had returned in fine fettle and with a heroic appetite, but today was achingly sore.  Her annoyance would have been far easier to maintain had the boy’s eyes not shined so…  She pursed her lips in mock disapproval.  “You must not work yourself so hard, young man!” she said, adopting her best schoolmarm voice. “You can’t concentrate on your schoolwork if you’re busy thinking about sore muscles!”

The excited glow in his eyes practically melted her heart. “That’s what he said!”  Spontaneously, he lunged forward and gave Sister Caroline as ferocious a hug as an eight year old boy could muster before running off to join the other boys in the lunch line.

He was almost finished with his meal when Bront came by and helped himself to one of the last potato chips on his tray.  “Thanks, asshole.”  He glanced over his shoulder and saw his two companions closing the distance between them.  Safety in numbers established, he shot Victus a smug grin.  “You’re walking all funny after being around that priest.  Is he doing funny things to you?”  

Danny giggled at the lewd suggestion and poked Bront in the ribs.  “Is he getting touched in all his funny places?” 

The boys were so busy laughing among themselves that they didn’t see the scowl descend upon the young lupine’s face.  Victus suddenly felt threatened. “Leave him alone,” he said, his voice growing dark.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bront mocked, missing the fact that Victus’ hackles had risen.  He unwisely reached down to steal another potato chip, but found his wrist clamped in the warm, padded vise of a varius handpaw.

“Stop it,” Victus warned, and for the first time since the child had come to live at the orphanage, the boy didn’t look pathetically miserable.  He looked angry.  Realizing that his actions were in direct contradiction to everything he’d been taught about deferring to sapiens, Victus let go of Bront’s wrist only a moment after he’d grabbed it.  “Go away.” 

“Or what?” Bront challenged, rubbing his chubby wrist to massage away the unpleasant sensation. He was bigger than the dog boy, he was stronger, and everyone knew that a varius couldn’t hurt a sapiens, so he had little to fear.  “Come on, guys,” he said, shooting a spiteful look at Victus. “I don’t want anyone to think we’re talking to it.” Danny smirked at Victus as they walked away, making lewd kissing noises with his disgusting little rosebud of a mouth.  

Victus did everything he knew to settle himself down, wishing he understood why he was suddenly feeling so angry.  Until today he’d always been able to shrug off Bront’s torments.  Perhaps he was in an especially foul mood because his muscles hurt.  He realized that he still held the remaining corner of his pimento cheese sandwich in his other hand. He lifted it to his lips, but tossed it back onto the tray without finishing it.  The adrenaline coursing through his system had stolen his appetite.

Their minor confrontation had put Bront in fine form, and he spent the next two classes sharing excited whispers with his cohorts.  At recess they burst out of their classroom with unfettered enthusiasm, charging onto the hardscrabble playground with one goal in mind.  They descended into swordplay, parrying and thrusting with a great deal of noise but little eye toward realism. 

“I’m a ninja!” Bront yelled, for Victus’ benefit. “Oh, I’m sorry!  I’m a Kenzine!”  He held his arms out theatrically as if preparing to bestow a blessing, and yelled, “Woo woo woo woo woo woo!”  His minions graciously accommodated him by falling dead.

Bront grabbed the shortest of his followers and pulled him up and into a bear hug from behind.  “I’m gonna take you away to my Kenzine compound and make you walk funny, too!  But, wait-”  He let the boy go and dropped to his knees, grabbing him again once he was a foot shorter.  “I’m a short, fat little Kenzine, and I’m going to hypnotize your parents and steal you away!”

The boy shrieked in feigned terror and tried to run away, but Bront’s mass was far too great for him to manage anything but a ponderous waddle.  From thirty feet away, Victus could only stand and watch. The disrespect they were showing his friend made him angry beyond reason.

Several boys outside their group had stopped what they were doing and turned to watch the commotion.  A few of them laughed at the farce, encouraging Bront to continue. “I’m gonna turn you into a dog-boy, just like that little troll did!”  At that, a hand reached down and snatched Bront to his feet.  Soreness be damned, Victus was angry.

“Shut up, Bront!” he hissed through clenched teeth, backing the other boy up against the brick wall of the school house.  “I’ve put up with enough from you, and I’m tired of it!  Leave me alone, and leave him alone!” He drove his point home with a final shove against the wall, then let go of the stunned boy.  

Stalking off, Victus didn’t notice that all of the other boys who had, in the past, gathered around any conflict to cheer the participants on with their hoots and hollers, were conspicuously silent.

***

Dagen veritably jumped out of the groundcar in which he’d covered the distance between the monastery and the orphanage.  He’d spent the day helping Teacher Nolan pack his belongings and store them in the residence’s basement.  The man had gone on and on about his passion for Aboriginal medicine, and how excited he was to have the chance to study it in-depth. 

While carefully packing Nolan’s collection of exotic seashells, Dagen had attempted to learn how long the man would be gone, but the best he could get out of Teacher Nolan was, “several months.” Dagen thought it was a good bet that he’d be stuck on Galese for at least as long as Nolan plumbed the depths of the African jungle, but beyond that he could not guess.  

He’d left a class of his own on Earth when Abbot Wesley had sent him out here, and he was eager to have them back under his wing.  He was fond of them, and despite the fact that they could occasionally be a trial, he missed them. 

Sharing time with Victus had reminded him how much he learned from those he taught, and he looked forward to seeing the boy again today.  He wanted to show Victus his new office, and get his opinion on how things were laid out.  The windows let in a beautiful evening light, and he wondered if his desk shouldn’t be put in front of them…

It was after normal school hours and he could hear no excited voices coming from the playground, so he assumed that the children must be inside working on their homework, or doing whatever else children are wont to do while inside on an early summer day.  Stepping up to the orphanage’s front door, he rang the announcer and waited patiently. 

The appearance of Sister Caroline brought a smile to his face. “Good afternoon, Sister!” He beamed at her, holding up a crumpled sheet of paper.  “You’ll be pleased to see that I have my paperwork with me today!”   His smile faltered when he saw that she was not sharing in his good mood.

“I’m sorry, Teacher Dagen,” she said, formally, “but it may not be possible for you to take Victus out today, as planned.

“Why?” Dagen suddenly felt concerned. “What’s wrong? He’s not sick, is he?”

Sister Caroline backed out of the doorway, making room for the man to enter.  The worried look in his eyes did more to allay her concerns than any verbal reassurance would have. “He’s not sick,” she told him, “he’s on restriction.  And to be honest, there’s been talk among the junior staff about how coincidental his behavior is with the time he’s spent with you.”  She waved him to an overstuffed and overworn chair in the orphanage’s parlor.  “Please, sit down.

Dagen rocked back in his heels, stunned.  “On restriction?  For what?”  Belatedly, he took Sister Caroline up on her offer of the chair.

“He’s been accused of assaulting another boy,” she said, sounding as surprised as Dagen looked.

“Are we talking about the same child?” Dagen asked, perplexed. “Victus wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

“I’ve seen the security tapes, and they back up the other child’s story.   The other boys were rough-housing, and Victus suddenly came over, grabbed one of them and slammed him into the wall.”  She rested her chin in a delicate hand. “It certainly didn’t look provoked.  Bront - the victim,” she clarified, ”has a history of teasing Victus, but they were across the playground when it happened.  From the video, it just looks like something inside of Victus...snapped.”

Dagen was now actively worried. “Do you think that anything I did contributed to this?” His forward-leaning posture conveyed his concern. “I assure you, I never consciously encouraged misbehavior.”

She looked at him carefully, and after a moment, nodded her head. “I believe you.”  She saw tension drain from the man’s shoulders. “But that doesn’t mean that your being here has nothing to do with this behavior,” she clarified. “Two years ago, Victus lost the two people who were most important to him in the world. Ever since then, he’s had nobody to lose.  But now that you’re here...”

She shrugged her shoulders.  “I’m no psychologist, but I think he’s terrified that you’ll leave him, and he’s acting out in response to that.”  She sat back in her chair. “It’s not uncommon,” she assured him, “we often see it in children like him.  Children who’ve lost their parents,” she clarified, “not varii.  He’s the only varius child we’ve ever had here.”

Dagen quietly absorbed her words.  “You may not be a psychologist,” he said, finally, “but I think you’re a remarkably perceptive young lady.”   He ran a hand across his face.  “I’ve been very up-front with him that my position here is temporary.  I’m certain I’ll be here for at least the next few months, but after that, who knows?”

They shared the silence for a few moments, then Dagen asked, “Is there any way I can see the video, so I can know exactly what happened?

She looked regretful.  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid not.  This home may have its failings, but they do take the privacy of the children seriously.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised they let me see it.”

 Dagen hummed sympathetically. “I understand.” Then after a moment, “What is his punishment to be?”

“Nothing unusual,” she said. “Same as the other boys who act out.  We isolate them in a quiet room for a time, under close surveillance, of course, to make sure they don’t hurt themselves.  Once a counsellor has had a chance to…” she trailed off. The man across from her looked almost frantic. “What?”

Dagen marshalled every scrap of patience in his possession and hoped it would be enough. If this silly cow of a woman didn’t understand the first time and get out of his way, he was going to climb over her. “I understand that you have no experience with varii so you had no way of knowing,” he explained, quickly.  “Even if Victus doesn’t like the other boys, keeping him away from them in forced seclusion is the closest thing to torturing him that you can do. Please,” he said, earnestly, “Let me see him. 

Something in Dagen’s demeanor told her the depth of their mistake, and she wasted no time.  “This way,” she said, grabbing his arm and leading him into the dormitory.  Each doorway they passed revealed a bedroom with a half dozen bunk beds with a small amount of exposed industrial carpet showing between them.  Most of the beds had one or more boys on them, using them as everything from desks to tables to chairs. 

She stopped at a small door at the end of the hallway.  It had no latch, but did have a small window, and a handle so it could be held shut from the outside, if needed.  Through the door, Dagen could hear the pitiful keening of a canine whose misery was absolute. 

Dagen immediately pushed the door open to find Victus, curled into a tight ball in the back corner of the tiny, carpeted room.  “Victus!” he cried, his heart exploding in his chest. 

Faster than Dagen ever would have imagined possible, the boy launched himself from the corner of the room and into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.  “I’m sorry!” he said, over and over again, “I’m so sorry!  I’ll never do it again!” 

Dagen didn’t bother fighting back his own tears.  “It’s okay,” he soothed, trying his best to be supportive while at the same time keeping the young arms from strangling him. “I’m here,” he reassured, “It’s all right now.”  He glanced back at Sister Caroline to see her holding a hand over her mouth, utterly horrified at what they’d inadvertently done to a child in their care.

Jerking his head toward the sobbing boy, he motioned her to them.  Once closer she still didn’t seem to know what to do, so Dagen gently reached out, took one of her hands and stroked it across Victus’ trembling back.  Thankfully she understood, and began petting him in long, comforting strokes.

The sobs gradually stilled, and after a few minutes Victus had calmed sufficiently to un-bury his long nose from underneath Dagen’s chin. “I’m sorry,” he snuffled, working hard to keep from breaking down again. “I didn’t mean to huh...huh...hurt him!”  That was all he got out before the tears returned, his eyes squeezed shut, and his nose wedged itself back under Dagen’s chin.

Sister Caroline moved her hand up to rub the base of the boy’s neck.  “Bront’s okay,” she said, soothingly, “you just scared him, that’s all.”

Dagen moved a hand to clear his own eyes, then looked pointedly at the sister.  “This cannot happen,” he said, meaningfully.

She nodded.  “I know.  We just…” she trailed off, confused, but never stopped petting the young boy.  “The door wasn’t even locked!  If it was so bad, why didn’t he just come out?”

Dagen shut his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that this woman had no experience with varii.  “Probably because somebody told him to stay in here.  And he’s a good boy,” he said, emphasizing his words to Victus by giving the child a squeeze, “and he does what he’s told.”

When he thought enough tears had been shed, Dagen patted the boy on the back and lifted his chin. “Okay,” he said, brightly, “Time to get up.” 

Obediently, Victus disengaged and climbed out of his lap.  Sister Caroline backed away, re-assessing her opinion of Master Dagen’s physical fitness when she realized that the man had been maintaining his half-squatted position on the strength of his legs alone for the better part of fifteen minutes. The man was obviously far stronger than he looked.

Dagen took Victus by the paw and walked out of the small, stuffy room with Caroline following close behind.   He spoke to her quietly as they walked past the open bedroom doors. “I’m certain you will agree that what punishment Victus has endured was more than sufficient to atone for whatever sins he may have committed.” 

This, she noted, was not a question.  Neither was her reply.  “Wholeheartedly. And I think it would be a very good thing for you to take Mr. Entrades out for a while, to take his mind off what happened.”  Digging in her pocket, she emerged with a crumpled bill.  “Perhaps some ice cream would be in order.“

Despite his annoyance, Dagen chuckled. “I think you’re getting it.”

They paused at the outer door, and Victus turned to give Sister Caroline a one-armed hug goodbye.  She didn’t fail to notice that his other hand still had Dagen’s firmly clamped in a vise-like grip.  “I understand if you’re angry with us,” she said to Dagen, over Victus’ shoulder, “but we had no idea.” She shrugged, helplessly. “He’s never done anything that merited use of the quiet room before today.”

Dagen considered her words, then wrapped his other arm around her as well.  “Mistakes happen, and this was just a mistake.”  He patted her back and stepped away, taking Victus with him. 

Sister Caroline stood and re-established her formality. “We eat at five thirty,” she said, properly. “if you have him out after that, you must feed him a nutritious dinner before he returns.”

“Thank you, miss Caroline,” Dagen said, with formality to match. Then he reached out to touch her shoulder, smiling softly to let her know that his ire was not for her

At the car, Victus did not appear to want to let go of Dagen’s hand, even for the time it took the man to walk to his side of the cabin.  Once seated in the vehicle, Dagen handed the boy the corner of his cloak to hold onto.

Dagen fully expected Victus to be less playful than usual, given the events of the day, and he should have been anticipating the question.  Unfortunately, he had not. “When are you leaving?”  The small voice cleaved through the silence like a sharp axe. 

“I’ve been granted a temporary teaching position here,” Dagen said, looking over at the young boy who was clutching at the hem of his garment like a lifeline. “That means I’ll probably be here for at least a couple of months.”

Victus sat quietly for a few moments.  “I don’t want you to go.” 

It didn’t sound to Dagen like Victus was trying to change his mind or make him feel guilty, it was simply a statement of fact, an acknowledgement of yet one more unpleasant truth in the boy’s life.  And it broke his heart.  Sweet Jesus, Dagen said, to himself, what am I doing?  “I don’t want to go, either,” he said, the road ahead of them swimming through the tears in his eyes.  “I don’t want to go.”

A few minutes later Dagen pulled the car into a parking lot at the corner of the city park. The city government had not seen the wisdom in providing their citizens with green space, so the four religious monasteries had banded together - with considerable financial assistance from their Kenzine “red-headed stepchild” - to turn a muddy field into a lovely testament to cooperation.  Dagen’s favorite part of the park was the pond in one corner.  Although small, it had a fountain in the middle of it that made pleasant sounds, and was ringed by optimistic little trees that, in a decade or two, would provide cooling shade for passers-by. 

On their way in, Dagen stopped at a vending cart and bought Victus something to eat.  “This probably doesn’t exactly fulfill Sister Caroline’s requirement for a ‘nutritious dinner’,” he said, handing Victus what looked like a giant cattail, “but it will do for now.”

“What is it?” Victus asked, looking at the thing, dubiously.  It looked quite odd but smelled absolutely tantalizing, and in cases like this varii always trusted their noses.  His mouth started to water.

“It’s called a corn dog. I used to love them when I was your age,” Dagen said, smiling at the memory.  “Be careful, it’s probably quite hot.”

Victus put the entire end of the corn dog into his mouth, felt the heat, and thought better of it.  He pulled it out, shinier than when it had gone in, and held it out to Dagen to offer the first bite.

Dagen hadn’t been tempted by the corn dog when it was dry, and found it even less tantalizing now that it had been in someone else’s mouth.  He smiled pleasantly and blew on it to help cool it down for Victus, pretending that that was what the boy had wanted all along.

As they walked between the trees, Victus gave the corn dog a cautious nibble, and found it to be delightfully crisp and tasty. Once he was occupied eating his snack, Dagen said, “You realize you’re not in trouble with me, right?”

Victus stopped eating for a moment.  “I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, you’re not,” Dagen reassured him.  “But I do want to talk with you about what happened today.”  Remembering who he was talking to, he added, “Will you tell me?”

Victus thought about it, then nodded his head.  “Yes.”  He went back to chewing on his snack.

Clearly, Dagen thought, he was not looking forward to recounting this.   He reached out a hand and scratched between the boy’s shoulders.  “What happened?"

“Ont ahway eezes ee an I ot ired o ih,” Victus said, while gnawing the last bits of fried batter off of the stick. 

He looked betrayed when Dagen gently took the stick out of his hand.  “Could you say that again, please?”

He sighed. “Bront always teases me.  Every day, he teases me, he takes my food, he pushes me when nobody’s looking, and he makes fun of me. “  He impulsively grabbed Dagen’s hand again, wanting to feel that the man was there.  “I know it’s wrong to hurt a sapiens, but I couldn’t help it!” he said, earnestly.  “When he started talking about you too, I just…” He shrugged, helplessly. “I had to make him stop."

After his young friend had stopped speaking, Dagen nodded slowly.  “It’s important to know what happened, but sometimes it’s even more important to know why it happened.” He looked carefully at Victus. “Do you know why you felt so strongly today, when you never have before?”

Victus thought for a moment, but came up empty.  “I don’t know…” The look in his eyes when he found Dagen’s was almost frightened.  “Is that bad?”

“I hope not,” Dagen answered, with a wry smile.  “I’m quite sure that many people in the world have no idea why they do what they do.”  He put an arm around the boy and drew him close to his side.  “But when you grow up, you’re going to be bigger and stronger than everyone else, and it’s even more important for you than for most people that you understand why you do things.”

“Do you know why you do things?” Victus asked. 

Dagen looked down at him, then reached a hand out to ruffle the fur between the boy’s ears.  “Most of the time,” he said, casually.  “but not always.”

***

“Huge damage,” Dagen repeated, trusting his friend to remember their previous conversation.  “Huge. Today, I found him in a room all by himself, lying in a corner and crying his eyes out.”

The abbot leaned forward, instantly concerned.  “What happened?”

Dagen sighed.  “It was all a big misunderstanding. They thought he assaulted another child without provocation, and Victus thought he’d hurt the other boy.  Their standard treatment for violent behavior is to isolate the offender, but they had no idea what that would do to him.

Wesley looked disturbed. “Isolation?  Have they lost their minds?”

“Patience, Charles,” Dagen teased, echoing something the abbot had told him on a great number of occasions. “I'm certain that they operated out of ignorance and not malice. They know now. Or at least, Sister Caroline does. I’m sure she’ll relay the information to the rest of the staff in the morning. She was as horrified as I was when she found out what they’d done.”

Wesley was hardly mollified.  “Is he all right now?”

“I took him away for a few hours to get his mind off what happened.  When we returned, we met with the little…” he chewed back the word he wanted to say, substituting it with, “boy.. who was teasing him. Victus apologized, and the other boy looked sufficiently cowed that he might stop picking on him, at least for a while.”

“Hmm…” Wesley hummed, thoughtfully. “Where did you take him?”

“We took a walk through the park and talked about what happened, then I brought him back here for dinner, and then,” he said, as if dangling a tempting treat, “we went for ice cream!”

“Sounds lovely,” Wesley acknowledged.  “What did he think of Master Franchesca’s cooking? Was he put off by the lack of meat?”

“Funny you should mention that.  He didn’t seem to notice.  I don’t think the home can afford real meat very often.  But I got him a corn dog at the park, just in case.”

“Mmmm!” Wesley raised his eyebrows. “Nutritious!  Just be careful you don’t accidentally poison him.”

“Don’t worry, I checked,” Dagen said. “As hard as it might be to believe, he didn’t even know what his own chemistry is. I had to read it off his lip tattoo.”

Now, the abbot looked concerned. “Really?  How does he keep from poisoning himself?”

“He’s been lucky so far,” Dagen said, ruefully.  “The home offers a very limited menu to the children and he’s not allergic to any of the foods they serve.  He’s a B2, so he’s probably not any more sensitive to foods than we are.  He does need to be taking supplements to maintain his good health though, and I doubt he’s getting them.” 

“Why wouldn’t he be, when the government supplies them for free?”

“Not if you don’t ask for them,” Dagen said, pointedly.

“Shall we get in contact with whatever ministry handles that on Earth, and see to getting him supplied?”

“That’s the D.V.A., and they’re sending out a pack.”

“You don’t think it odd that a varius child would know so little about his own dietary needs?”

Dagen shrugged.  “I’m sure his mother managed his diet.  He was still quite young when she died.”

Wesley suddenly looked uncomfortable, an expression which was so out-of-place on the man that Dagen picked up on it instantly.  “What?”

Abbot Wesley held a finger to his lips as he ruminated, a clear signal to Dagen that he needed a moment to parse his thoughts.  After a long moment he made his decision and reached out to tap a code into the corner of his vid screen, initiating an encrypted connection between them.  When the indicator lights on both sides of the line blinked green and he felt free to speak, his voice was absent all mirth, and his slow, carefully-considered words sounded almost too formal.  “My friend, I know you well enough to understand that this young man is special to you. 

At that, the abbot paused long enough for Dagen to respond. "Yes.  Go on?”

“You are no doubt aware that the Kenzine order has a very special relationship with varii,” the abbot said, “and honestly, you know more about varius behavior than anyone other sapiens I know. But what you may not know is how much you do not know.”

“I know I’m ignorant of some things,” Dagen said, now sharing his friend’s unease. “A long time ago, Sam told me about things that the varii don’t share with us, or even with each other, unless there’s a need to know.”  He shrugged.  “Everybody’s got their secrets, I guess.”

“This is a little more involved than just keeping a few secrets, I’m afraid,” Abbot Wesley said, suddenly sounding tired. “And it’s nothing you’re going to learn from the Department of Varius Affairs. Are you absolutely certain there’s nobody around who can overhear our conversation?” he asked.  “The number of things you don’t know is about to be reduced.”

Dagen wondered how long this would take. “Should I brew tea?” 

In answer, Wesley reached off-camera and pulled his own tea service into view.  “Please do.  And go to the bathroom as well,” he advised, as he poured his own cup.  “I don’t want any interruptions.”

“I don’t have to go,” Dagen said, pushing back from the screen, “so talk while I work.”

Wesley quirked an eyebrow.  “I don’t intend to repeat myself.”

“Should I take notes?” Dagen asked, as he filled his electric kettle.  The iron one he normally used was fine for daily use, but he had the idea that this conversation might take a while, and a continuous supply of hot water might come in handy.

“Absolutely not.  In fact,” he said, after double-checking the integrity of their secured line, “you can’t even tell anyone we’ve had this conversation.”

“Huh.”  Dagen plugged his kettle into the wall and arranged himself comfortably.  “It’s just you, me, and the lamppost,” he said, “Shoot.”

Wesley’s face darkened ominously. “The lamppost must never learn of this.”  He took a deep breath, clearing his thoughts.  “Many varii have abilities which they keep secret so that underinformed sapiens don’t freak out.”

“Such as?” Dagen asked, curious now.

“In the spirit of varius culture,” Wesley said, “I’m not going to tell you more than you need to know.  Still,” he warned, “that’s a hugely important chunk of knowledge.  Every varius who’s born has a mental link to their mother.  It’s not the, ‘I looked into my newborn baby’s eyes, and instantly there was a bond there’ woo-woo crap, I’m talking about full-fledged telepathy.”

Dagen sounded dubious. “They can read each other’s minds?”

“It goes beyond even that.  A baby varius isn’t born with all of its biochemical feedback mechanisms in place.  It has functioning endocrine systems, but no way to regulate them. Regulation comes from the mother’s side of the bond until the child’s body develops the ability.”

“So Victus might not have those controls yet?” Dagen asked.

 Wesley shrugged. “They’re supposed to be developed in the first two or three years, so I think he’s safe on that one.  But that’s not the only thing a child gets from the bond.  There’s also a huge amount of social and behavioral information that’s shared between a growing child and its parents, and that’s what you’re going to have to watch out for.  There’s a whole laundry list of things that can go wrong if a child’s bond is broken prematurely,” he warned, counting off on his fingers. “insecurity, clinginess, violent instability, trust issues, sexual dysfunction, rage control… the list goes on and on.

“Everything we have to be taught, from ‘don’t hit’ to the birds and the bees, a varius child learns through their bond.  That’s the primary reason why varius children seem to mature so quickly.  They never have to be taught about the world, they discover it through their parents’ senses.”

Dagen felt confused.  Twice now, Wesley had said ‘parents’ instead of ‘mother’. “The father shares in this bond?”

The abbot pursed his lips. This information was technically beyond what he’d wanted to share, but he supposed it would prove useful. “Indirectly.  An adult varius has one further opportunity to bond.  Normally that occurs with their lifemate, and it lasts the rest of their lives. The mother acts as a conduit between the father and the child, so the father has input, but the mother has control.”

Dagen spoke carefully. “How do we know if any of this is going to affect our little friend in there?”

Wesley leaned in toward the camera.  “We don’t!” he said, expressively. “That’s why you need to approach this child with caution!  His own family doesn’t want anything to do with him, for god’s sake.  That has to tell you something about how significant this might be.”

Both men sat still for a few moments, sipping their tea and absorbing the information.  When Wesley finally did speak, he was quiet. “I don’t want you to think that I’m telling you this to scare you away from the boy, because I'm not."

 Dagen chuckled. “In all the years I’ve known you, Charles, I’ve never once known you to turn your back on someone in need.  I can’t imagine you’d even think of encouraging me to do so.”

 “Absolutely right,” the abbot agreed.  “But to serve his needs, you do need to understand what you’re getting into.   However late in his childhood it occurred, his premature separation from his mother may have contributed to his outburst.”

 “So he may have biology to speak in his defense,” Dagen said, hopefully.

 Wesley was blunt. “Not a chance.  They don’t know anything about the bond, and you can’t tell them.  You can’t even hint at it.  If you do, I’ll have to hunt you down and have you killed.”

 Much as he would have preferred to think otherwise, given his abbot’s somber expression, Dagen didn’t think he was joking.