“What are we going to do today?” Victus asked, brightly. His tail brushed back and forth with restrained energy.

If Dagen had a tail, his would have been wagging as well.  He knew that tail control was high on the list of varius etiquette, but the boy looked so eager and earnest that he simply couldn’t bring himself to criticise.  Some lessons, he thought, could wait.  “No place special,“ Dagen said, “I thought maybe we could go to the park and have a nice walk.  Or run through the trees, if you’d like.” Victus took his hand and gently pulled him towards the front door.  “That sounds like fun!” Victus enthused. “Let’s go!” His paw had Dagen’s in a death-grip, and he was practically dragging the man out the door.

Sensing something unusual, Dagen planted himself where he stood. “You seem awfully eager to be away from here,” he said, carefully. “This isn’t the way you usually behave, and it strikes me as odd.”

Victus stopped pulling, but still he smiled from ear to ear as if the adult hadn’t spoken. “Okay.  Let’s go!”

The non-sequitur caught Dagen off guard, but his confusion lasted for only a moment before he realized his error. It was foolish to expect an answer from a varius from whom one had never asked a question. They could be remarkably obtuse when they wanted to be, and that was precisely what this child desired.  “Victus,” he said, looking his charge square in the face, “Is something wrong?  Are you in trouble?”

The boy’s positive affect dipped a bit, but he made a valiant effort to buoy it up again. “Not yet!” he said, hopefully. “Can we go?”

Dagen answered by leading the boy to the parlor’s small couch and taking a seat across from him. Now that Dagen recognized the pattern of behavior, he knew what he must do. “Do you find me untrustworthy, Victus?” he asked.

The boy’s ears drooped.  “No, sir,” he answered.

“Thank you,” Dagen said.  “I appreciate that.  The greatest gift you can give someone is your trust.”  He put a hand under Vic’s chin and gently lifted until the boy’s eyes met his own.  “Tell me what is wrong, please.”  He was better than most at reading body language, and every move the boy made exuded worry.

Victus took a few uncertain breaths, trying to think of what to say.  Before he could answer, an unwelcome figure rounded the corner.  “There you are!”  Bront’s piggy eyes narrowed as he sneered.  He wasted no time on pleasantries.  “Think you can run away before I tell your friend?”  

Victus’ hand tightened for a moment on Dagen’s, then virtually cast it away from him as if ashamed to be seen holding someone else’s hand. “Go away, Bront!” Victus wailed, his handpaws balling into frustrated little fists.  

Dagen did not hesitate.  He acted quickly, but his voice maintained its usual, calm tone.  “Come here please, Victus,” he requested, even though the two were within arms reach of one another. Victus immediately took two steps toward him.  Dagen put a comforting arm around his shoulders and pulled the boy close by his side.  Upon feeling the warm, steady strength of a man he viewed as an alpha, Victus immediately calmed.

Never one to miss an opportunity to humiliate, Bront guffawed. “You came when he called, just like a dog!”

Victus wanted to lash out, but the momentary tightening of Dagen’s arm around his shoulders forestalled any retaliation.  “No,” the teacher said, calmly, “He came to me like any respectful varius child would, to an adult.   You are a sapiens, and you behave like a sapiens child.  Victus is a varius, and he behaves like a varius child.  There’s nothing at all wrong with how he’s acting.”

Bront didn’t seem to hear.  “I’m going to tell,” he threatened. He waited for Victus to cringe in fear and shame, but he was disappointed when the varius child’s face didn’t lose its impassive expression. Now that Victus was with an adult he trusted, Bront’s venom had lost its potency.

“Tell me what, Bront?” Dagen invited.  “Whatever it is, I welcome hearing it.”

Bront’s eyes gleamed with avarice.  “I know about your secret hideout!”  His smile was malicious. “He told me all about what it’s like, inside.”

Dagen nodded and looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking to Victus.  “Did you tell him anything that was untrue?”

Victus sounded scandalized. “No!”   

Dagen put a hand up to quell the boy’s indignity.  “It is as I thought.”  He turned back to Bront.  “Do you wish to share with me what he told you?”

“He told me what it’s like inside, and about everyone in there!”

Dagen looked interested.  “Do you feel he described them in adequate detail, or would you like to know more?” he asked, solicitously.  “Even with a memory as good as his, no one would expect him to remember everything he heard and saw inside the monastery.”

Bront was put off balance by the Kenzine’s calm reply.  He had expected indignant outrage, not lukewarm interest. “He also told me about your secret Kenzine powers!” he bluffed, hoping to spark a more interesting reaction.

None was forthcoming.  Dagen pulled his comm from his pocket and glanced at the screen.  “Look at the time,” he said, sounding bored.  “We really must be going.  Thank you for the discussion, Bront.  It was most illuminating.”  And with that, he turned and escorted Victus through the front door and into daylight.

Victus had the idea that Dagen desired his silence, but he could hold his tongue no longer than it took them to close the doors of the groundcar. “He’s lying!” he spat, angrily defending himself.

“Of course he was lying,” Dagen said, calmly.

Victus looked annoyed. “Why didn’t you say something?”  

Dagen chuckled.  “Oh, Victus… We all knew he was lying, so what good would be served by making an issue of it?  Arguing with him would be a waste of time on such a beautiful day.”

The cabin of the car was quiet for a few beats.  “Are you angry at me?” Victus asked, softly.

Dagen looked surprised.  “Angry?  For what?”

Victus sounded frustrated.  “For talking to Bront!”

“For…” Dagen stopped himself, then shook his head.  “No, I am not angry with you.”  He looked at the boy in the passenger seat.  “Did I ask you not to tell anyone?”

Victus twisted his fingers together anxiously.  “No,” he said, uncertainly.

“That’s correct,” Dagen assured him.  “What I have shown you is no more than any new student sees on their first day in the academy,” he said, as he pulled the car to a smooth stop at the the park and turning off the car’s power.  

Dagen stepped out, waited for Victus, then continued. “You’re more than just a student to me,” he said, walking next to the young man, “you’re my friend, and sometimes I might tell you things that it would be best if other people didn’t know.  Because I trust you,” he said, emphasizing the words, “and I know that if I tell you that something is to remain private between you and me,  I am confident that it will remain that way.”

Remembering what Dagen had said earlier about trust being a great gift, Victus suddenly felt very mature at being granted such privilege. “Bront came to me and wanted to talk,” he admitted.  “He said you seemed nice, and he seemed interested in what I was saying.”

“And you trusted him,” Dagen observed.  “But then he turned around and used what you’d shared against you.”

“Yes!” Victus said, sounding disgusted.  He kicked a stray pebble into the grass.  “I’m never going to trust him again.”

Dagen nodded his head.  “I’m sorry he tricked you,” he said, “and I know it’s hard, but I do hope you’ll try not to hate him for it.”

Victus sighed deeply and thought about how he felt about Bront.  “I don’t hate him,” he said, finally. “I just wish he’d go away and never come back.”  His voice lowered to a point where Dagen almost couldn’t hear him, and he muttered, “Everyone I love goes away, and everyone I don’t stays put.”

“I have some good news on that front,” Dagen said, encouragingly.  “Master Nolan is going away for a time, and I’ve been assigned to teach his class while he’s gone.  It’s temporary, but now I know I’ll be here for at least a few more months.”

Victus smiled at him, but Dagen thought it looked a bit forced, like he was getting a temporary reprieve from an inevitable hurt.  “What about your class?” he asked, remembering how sad Dagen had seemed to be away from them for even a short time.  While they had been gardening, he’d told Victus a little about each of them.  They all sounded like active, intelligent young men, and Victus had wished he could be one of them, even for a day.

“They’ll be assigned to a temporary teacher while I’m away,” Dagen told him.  “The abbot likes to keep all of his masters in the classroom as much as possible, while they’re not doing other things.”  He chuckled.  “He thinks it keeps them fresh, but I think he really does it as an encouragement for them to stay busy with other important things.”

“I’m glad you’re going to be here for a little while longer,” Victus said, quietly.  “Maybe you can stay.”

“For a little while,” Dagen said, his heart a leaden lump in his chest. “I eventually need to get back, though.  Earth is my home.”

They walked in silence for a time.  Dagen had said something about a run, but neither of them felt very energetic at the moment.  “Are your parents back on Earth?” Victus asked.

The question brought a sad smile to Dagen’s face.  “I’m afraid they both died years ago, trying to help a bunch of people who really didn’t want to be helped.”

“Oh,” Victus said, feeling sorry for bringing bad memories back. He reached out and took Dagen’s hand.  “I’m sorry.”

Dagen squeezed the small handpaw in sympathy.  “Thank you, Victus.  They died doing what they love, and I’m confident that if the same situation arose again, they’d make the same choice.”

“Aren’t you sad?” the boy asked.

Dagen swung Victus’ paw back and forth. “No,” he said, casually. “I miss them very much, but I’m not sad. Look all around us,“ he said, pointing at the park surrounding them.  “One day I’m going to die, you’re going to die, all these trees are going to die…” He shrugged. “Nothing lives forever, and it would be a shame to spend our lives being sad about something that we can’t change. “ He gave Vic’s paw a gentle squeeze.  “If you’re busy being sad, you might miss out on the happy things that happen every day!”

“Will you be sad when I die?”  the small voice asked.

Dagen used his grip on the boy’s hand to pull him into a hug.  “Very much so,” he said, honestly.  He patted Victus’ back and let him go. “Now, how would you like to see my new office? I was hoping you might tell me what you think.”  He smiled down at his young friend.  “I thought perhaps you might give me some insight into what pictures to hang on the wall.   I have the whole space to myself now that Master Nolan has gone, and I have no idea what to do with it.

“Sure!” Victus said, his mouth quirking down at the corners. “As long as we’re not gardening again.”

Dagen chuckled at the boy’s expression.  “I’m sorry, but that’s on the agenda as well.” Victus groaned theatrically, but Dagen could tell that he was still smiling. “A garden does not tend itself, my friend.  But with just a few minutes of care each day, it will pay rich rewards!”

Dagen sounded so enthusiastic that Victus felt his spirits lift.  There was plenty of time to do fun things too, he thought, and today he was going to see where his friend lived and worked!  His tail swayed slowly back and forth in anticipation.  Bront was crazy about the Kenzine, and would have given his left arm to see the inside of their monastery.  Even though Victus wasn’t as fascinated by them as Bront was, the fact that he was there and Bront was not made this even more delicious. It would have been rude to boast about something like this, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t drop a hint or two into Bront’s jealous ear.

Dagen walked through the heavy, carved door of the Monastery training center and held it open for the young lupine varius to follow.  Victus hurried in behind him, tucking his tail close to his body so that it would not be pinched by the closing door. After navigating a series of winding corridors which seemed more like a maze than an office building, they came to a nondescript door set into the wall between two potted plants.  It looked so much like the door to a closet for mops or linens that Victus wondered why they’d stopped.

Dagen put his hand on the plant’s simple ceramic pot, and a moment later the lupine boy heard a very soft click.  The man opened the door and held it open for Victus.  They passed into a second small room that held nothing at all, not even another potted plant.  Dagen stood patiently at the door for a moment before the boy heard another soft click.  When they passed through the second door, what Victus saw stretching out before them seemed quite surreal.

The walkway upon which they stood ran the full length of the building.  On either side of the elevated path, geometrically-precise pits had been dug into the earth, and in each one Victus saw a different activity taking place.  As the two walked along the observation deck, Victus saw that some of the pits held classrooms and laboratories, others were set up to be exercise rooms and practice areas.  Directional lighting illuminated the pits effectively, yet still managed to be unobtrusive.

Dagen moved with unhurried calm, allowing his young charge ample opportunity to take in the sights. “Look up there,” he said, directing Victus’ attention to the ceiling far above their heads.  It was shaped like the ceiling of the church that Sister Caroline sometimes took them to, but without the fancy carvings. “I’ve always loved that style of ceiling,” he said, enjoying the view with his young friend. “Those are called rib vaults.  And do you notice that it’s covered in small cones?”  He pointed to a spot nearby where the gracefully curved ceiling blended smoothly into the back wall. “Why do you suppose that is?”

Victus thought for a moment.  “Because they’re pretty?”

Dagen rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “They certainly are attractive,” he agreed, “but they also make the room quieter by breaking up reflected sounds.” He didn’t tell him that each of the thousands of cones was also a sensitive acoustic receptor, together functioning much like a bat’s echolocation to track objects as they moved through the immense space.

Victus had stopped above one pit, apparently entranced by the flowing motion of the group of students below. The adepts’ crisp cotton robes snapped and fluttered as they moved from pose to pose with carefully orchestrated precision.  Victus was utterly fascinated by the repetitive motion. “What are they doing?” he whispered, in a reverent hush.

“I believe it is supposed to be TaiJi Dao,” Dagen answered, “but it’s somewhat sloppy.”  At the young boy’s curious backwards glance, Dagen smiled.  “I’m playing with you, Victus.” He pointed at the group of boys. “It looks like a dance, doesn’t it?”  He softly began humming a tune.  When paired with the music, Victus could see that it did indeed look very much like some sort of ritual dance.

“Have you ever danced, Victus?”  Dagen asked.

The boy nodded. “They sometimes make us do it in PE class. They say it’s exercise, but it’s still fun.”  His head canted to one side, one ear quirking itself toward Dagen.  “Why?”

“When you first started to dance you weren’t very good at it, were you?”

“No,” Victus’ admitted, and then his lips pulled back in a canine grin. “but I am now!”  The boy whirled his body around in what looked to Dagen like an awkward cross between a gymnastic routine and a palsied seizure.

“Oh,” Dagen said, uncertainly. “I suppose I never realized what a good dance move looked like.”

He moved a few feet away and turned his back to the adepts. “This is essentially the same thing, Victus.” Without looking at the group below them, he duplicated their motions as he spoke. “We break down each of the movements involved in...defense...and...combat,” he punctuated his words with jabs from stiffened fingers and chops with the edges of his hands. “And combine them in a type of dance.” He executed a graceful foot sweep, followed by blocking movements with his arms. “So when the time comes to use them we don’t have to think about it. The movements happen, as if...by...themselves.” As if planned out, his speech ended as he settled in the resting position, in precise synchrony with the class below them.  The class bowed to their instructor, and Dagen bowed to Victus, making the boy wriggle with delight.

“We also use them to help our mental focus,” Dagen went on, relaxing back into his usual stance, “Like we did with the other boys on the playground last week.  It can be a type of meditation, if you wish it to be.  It can be quite relaxing.”  He took the boy’s hand in his.  “Come on,” he encouraged. “I want you to see my new office.”

As they walked past each of the pits, Victus looked down upon practice rooms and study halls, and the students working in each.  “Why are they down there and not up here?” he asked.

“It does seem unusual, does it not?” Dagen said. “Over the years, we have learned that it is much easier to dig down than it is to build up, so that is what we do.  We compact the dirt and fuse it solid, then remove the part we don’t want to use.  When we’ve used up all the space, we dig a stairway down, then build another level!”

He shook his head in disbelief. “The machines that do the job are really quite extraordinary!  One day, perhaps we can see one at work.  Aah!” he exclaimed, stopping at a wooden door at the end of the hall, “We have arrived.”  

The unlocked door swung open at a touch of Dagen’s hand, and the bright, natural light drew Victus into the room.  Wall-to-wall windows let in so much light that it was almost dazzling.  “Ooh, that’s somewhat excessive,” Dagen muttered.  He twisted a rheostat on the wall, and the windows dimmed to a more comfortable level. “That’s better.”

Victus and he spent the better part of an hour looking at different paintings by a variety of artists before Dagen settled on four they both liked.  Dagen sat back in his chair with a satisfied whoof of air. “There!” he exclaimed, with an air of satisfied accomplishment. “Done!”

Victus was gazing at the Matisse they’d chosen, losing himself in the rich colors and bold shapes.  Dagen took advantage of the momentary silence. “Master Franchesca conducts classes on meditation through using the sword,” he said, “and from time to time she has outside students join their class, to see if they have an aptitude for it.

Victus turned to him, his brow furrowed. “An...what?”

“An aptitude,” Dagen repeated.  “Whether they have any natural ability.  Would you like to join them today?”

Victus first looked excited, then doubtful. “Will you be there?”

“No,” Dagen said, ‘it’s Master Franchesca’s class, so I would not be permitted. But you’ve met her,” he reminded, “she’s very nice.”

“Would there be any other boys there?” Victus asked, doubtfully.

Dagen smiled. “Yes.  But they’re all friendly.  No one would be unkind to you.”

Victus was torn.  He was excited at the thought of learning how to use a real sword, but he didn’t want to leave Dagen out.  

“Go ahead,” Dagen encouraged, “I know you want to.  I have a friend back on Earth I should call, while you’re occupied.”

Victus looked at Dagen with squinty eyes.  “Do I have to?”

Dagen shook his head.  “Nope.”

Relieved of their self-imposed pressure, Victus’ ears perked. “Okay, then I want to!”

***

Dagen held the comm away from his face and looked at it as if it suddenly smelled offensive.  He was astonished that his mentor, his friend, would even ask such a callous question.  But perhaps he had heard wrong.  Sometimes, the billions of kilometers of space between them worked in odd ways to distort the signal.   "What did you say, Abbot?  I'm not sure I heard - "

"You heard me, old friend," Abbot Wesley cajoled him.  "Drop the crap.  We've known each other for years, and this is pure insanity.   You know as well as I do that to take that young man under your wing like that would require more than just throwing robes on him and tossing him into classes with the others."

“It’s not insanity, it’s common sense,” Dagen defended, trying very hard not to sound defensive.  Kenzine teachers were logical, they were pragmatic, and they were well-considered.  And right now, this particular Kenzine teacher wanted very much to reach through the comm line and throttle his best friend for not agreeing with him.  “You said it yourself, Charles.  He needs to be in a place that is more accommodating to his unique needs.  But I'm not suggesting-"

"Yes you are, Dagen!"  the abbot interjected, not allowing him to finish. "Quit pretending otherwise.  What you're suggesting would require nothing less than adopting the child and guiding his training yourself, and you know it."

“And what if I want to do precisely that?” Dagen announced, with a raised eyebrow.  

Abbot Wesley did not look impressed.  “Now, you’re just being stubborn.  With the political atmosphere of the council these days, what you're suggesting will bar you from serving at any but the most backwater of posts," he said, reasonably. “The conservative faction on the council is in the majority, and you know how they feel about varii.  They’re more than happy to let a few of them study at the academy, but the mere hint that one might ascend beyond adept status makes them dig in their heels like stubborn mules.

"For as long as I've known you,” he continued, “you've wanted to hone your skills and fortify your wisdom under the best men the Order has to offer, and I assure you, none of those men serve on Galise."  He sighed impatiently,  "Is this really the right thing to do, Dag?  This is going to tank your career."

"Career be damned, Charles! I will not stand by and watch while this exceptional child rots in an institution!” Belatedly, Dagen remembered who he was talking to and lowered his voice to a more reasonable volume.  “He deserves it.”

"Fine," Wesley said, giving in on that one point.  "I've read your evaluations.  I've pored over them, in fact.  And I completely agree with you that he's worth training.  But why should it be you?"  When Dagen remained silent, he continued, "There are dozens of others who already have children who could raise this boy, and honestly, they could probably do a better job of it.  Not that you aren't as capable as the next man," he added, "and you may have experience with varii, but you have none when it comes to raising a child. You don’t even have any siblings!  You have no support system there.  You have no history."  He repeated, emphatically, "Is this truly the right thing for you to be doing?"

Dagen said nothing.  Not because he had nothing to say, but because his throat had closed up.  The beautiful day had encouraged Master Franchesca to take her class outside and practice in the brilliant sunlight, and from his vantage point Dagen had only to look to his right, out the window of his small office, to see the object of their conversation swinging his practice sword with the monastery students on the abbey's back lawn.  What his old friend had said came through loud and clear, even from a billion miles away.   Adopting this young man as his own would alter his life in a hundred obvious ways, as well as a thousand others he had yet to consider.

Even this far away he could see that Victus held the bokken quite correctly, and he watched with unwarranted pride as the boy knocked the sword out of his practice partner's hand.

The forceful blow stung the other boy's hand, and after picking up his bokken, the child shook his hand back and forth to rid it of the unpleasant sensation.   Dagen watched as the boy he'd met while wandering the bazaar reached a handpaw out to touch the shoulder of the other child in concern.  He was too far away to see what Victus said, but whatever it was eased the tension on his partner's face.  Dagen knew that however he could, Victus wanted to help ease the other boy's pain.

He'd long ago accepted the fact that he would never have a child of his own as the inevitable consequence of his life path, and in the back of his mind he suspected that he wouldn't make a good father anyway.  He felt in no way ready for this leap of responsibility.  His life was busy and full, and his mind was certain that there was no room for a child.  But the tears wetting his cheeks reminded his heart what was right.

Suddenly, his throat cleared.  "Yes, Charles," he said with unshakable conviction. "This is, by far, the most 'right' thing I will ever do."

"Thank God!" the voice on the other end of the line boomed.  "It took you long enough.  The adoption paperwork will be in your office in two days."

"It takes four days for the courier to get all the way out here," Dagen reminded the abbot.

"Does it?" The face of the abbot grinned back at him across the miles.

Dagen sighed in exasperation.  "If you already know what I'm going to do two days before I do it, what's the point of making me figure it out?"  He wiped the drying wetness off his face with the hem of his robes.

"Because you needed to work through it," his friend said.  "Besides,” he shrugged, “it's more fun this way." Abbot Wesley's voice was businesslike again.  "It's time for me to go do less important things, Master Dagen.  Watch for the paperwork."  And with a click, his image vanished.

Dagen was left in a moment of deep thought. Not only was he to teach Vic, but he was to adopt him as well.  He chuckled. If Sam could see me now. A father and..Wait, he thought...Master?