Chapter 1
The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled

Calkin shivered as he knelt on the cold cobblestone floor of his room. Each shaky breath he gave turned to a silvery mist as it left his lips. The boy was cold and yet he knew he could endure this for he had done so every night since he could remember. When he was dismissed to his room for the night the young zoatrin male would kneel and begin his prayers as he had been taught. They had changed and become longer as Calkin aged and was better able to withstand the prolonged kneeling and biting cold. Should he live to be as old as the Abbot, Calkin imaged he’d spend hours reciting scripture in his mind and reflecting on it.

For now, though the time seemed to stretch on forever in his mind the boy knew he actually spent relatively little time kneeling before his bed compared to many of the abbey’s other inhabitants. Calkin wasn’t sure if he looked forward to being give new scriptures or not. On the one hand at his age it was sign of maturity and rising rank to receive more. On the other it would mean less sleep as more time was devoted to prayer and reflection. One of his greatest loves, Calkin was incredibly fond of a good nights sleep, or mid afternoon nap if he could manage it as well.

Eventually the nightly ritual was complete and Calkin rose on stiff shaky legs to stumble towards his bed. It was soft and welcoming compared to the floor and the thick wool blanket he pulled over himself trapped his body heat and quickly warmed him. Calkin knew his was not the most lavish of rooms in the world; that his pillow and mattress were not as plush as someone who lived outside the abbey. He used simple candles for reading or navigating in the dark, not scented oil lit lanterns and he had less money to his name than the poorest man he’d ever met. Still, as he began to drift off to sleep Calkin was content, he did not have the best of everything but he had all he needed.


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