Brother Obos followed Orrock to the table on the courtyard. The Guar’s other farewells had been said the night before in a lengthy and joyous ceremony that, nevertheless, was tinged with sadness; Orrock had grown to be a favorite in the order, winning over even those older monks who had argued against his initiation at the beginning. He would miss them all.

They sat together at the table and savored the meal Obos had prepared for them: fine fruits, various bird meats, wine from the monastery’s own vineyard, bread made fresh late in the evening by Brother “Baker” who, to Orrock’s knowledge, seemed to live and sleep in the

Order’s kitchens.

When they finished, the two wiped their mouths with sturdy woven napkins. Obos met his tall friend’s golden eyes unerringly. Orrock was, even now, overcome by the compassion in the monk’s wrinkled features.

“It is time, Brother Orrock.”

“Yes, Brother Obos.”

“Let’s not make a fuss,” Obos said, clearing his throat. “Give me your vows.”

Orrock rose carefully from the stone bench and knelt on one knee. He bent his head toward the courtyard gates.

“I am a creation of the one true god, Anyi the Holy Creator. My place in his heaven is secure forever and ever, with all the lives in this world and all others. To him I vow to show compassion and kindness, courtesy and love. I will protect the weak, I will feed the hungry, I will clothe the naked. Only if asked will I proclaim what I do, I do for him, for Anyi is present in my action not my word. Amen.”

“Amen,” Obos said gently. “Rise, Brother Orrock.”

The Guar stood. Obos had somehow procured a thick staff as tall as Orrock and a satchel appropriate to his great size while Orrock spoke his vows. These he handed to the Guar.

“The world outside these walls has not changed so much since your arrival,” Obos said, guiding the larger creature toward the gate. “I expect your skill and strength and faith will be called upon soon enough.”

“That, too, I fear.”

Obos chuckled and went to an iron wheel embedded in the monastery wall. He turned it slowly, cranking the gate open on an ancient, massive hinge. “I have nothing but confidence in your judgment.”

“I do not share your confidence.” Orrock’s heart rate sped up as the gate swung open.

“You needn’t. You need only trust Anyi’s confidence in you.”

That steeled Orrock’s will, at least in the moment. Obos returned to his side and waved Orrock down.

“You are too tall,” he said, a phrase he’d been using for ten years now to indicate Orrock should bend or kneel. This he did, struck by the thought that he would likely never again hear Obos say those words. So many other monks had left since his arrival, and none had returned, as was their way.

Obos placed his hands on Orrock’s mighty shoulders, careful not to impale himself on either of Orrock’s horns as he approached.

“Go now, Brother,” Obos said with a sad smile. “Go and live your vows. Kassia needs creatures like you.”

He clapped Orrock’s back twice before sliding the satchel over Orrock’s right horn and onto his shoulder. The old monk stepped backward to give Orrock room to rise.

Orrock stood, clenching the staff in one hand. “I will not forget you, or my vows. Thank you for saving me, Obos.”

“Anyi saved you. I was only his agent.”

Orrock nodded once. “Goodbye, Brother.”

“Anyi’s peace go with you.”

Orrock stepped past the threshold of the monastery. He kept his head high as his nostrils flared, filling him with the aroma of evergreen trees. The giant monk strode into the forest, swinging his head to and fro as needed to bat branches out of his way. He crunched over dead needles and leaves, startling small mammals and birds.

Only after he heard the great gate close behind him did Orrock permit one bulbous tear to spill from his right eye. He brushed it away, not with shame, but determination.

“Guide me, my god,” he said aloud, and continued his way through the woods as the sun rose behind him. Eventually, Anyi would show him his path, of that he was sure.

He only wondered if he, or anyone else, could survive it.

# # #

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