t was after morning song and Mog walked with his mentor, Cantor Nuine, behind a gaggle of chattering acolytes. He enjoyed the sense of peace that fell over him after morning prayers. In his short life, he had come to appreciate such simple moments and savored them. Always an eager and attentive student, he had mastered all the proper rituals that a Cantor must know and was braced to become a Priest. It was something he had been striving toward since the day he had first come to the Temple of the Sacred Twins with his mother and heard music flowing over the walls. Here was home; this was where his soul yearned to be.

“Do you still plan to surrender yourself to Lyssa?” Nuine asked as they moved away from the bustle of the central chamber and strode toward one of the cloisters where only the Cantors and Priests could go.

“Yes.”

Nuine studied him for a moment, her face lined with care.

“You are very young, Mog. Once you take those vows, they are not easily undone.”

He looked away as her warm brown eyes gazed up into his face. She took his hand and bid him sit down on the low wall that overlooked an enclosed garden beneath the covered walkway. He loved this cloister and the old cedar tree that cast its fragrant shade upon the tender green grass. Little birds hopped around grubbing for insects or the stray crumb of food. They did not fear the holy people and would take offerings from his hand when he came with a crust of bread for them.

“Running from your true nature is not going to solve your problems, Mog,” she said quietly, “We both know that Lyssa has chosen you to be one of her champions.”

“I do not wish to go to Nolani. If my father learned of my true nature I would have little choice but to fight for his guild and I want no part of that.”

While Mog had been assured that the temple would pay for his tuition in the event that his father refused, Mog had pleaded with them not to reveal his true nature to the man. He had received a few letters from home, enough to tell him that his father had not abandoned hope that Mog had bred true. Belenus was a disappointing failure in his father’s eyes. He lacked focus and drive and expended his energies upon banal pursuits.

His father never wrote him, of course, it was all passed on to him second hand by the semi-annual letters from his mother. He had received one that morning, the very day he had decided that his only real choice was the priesthood. His mother’s emotionless missives were little more than a dry recounting of his father’s guild, the results of tournaments, the duties assigned by the king. The word love had never passed her lips, not for her children and certainly never for her husband.

How could he explain this to Nuine? He considered showing her the letter he had received, that perhaps she would at last understand he was not running away but seeking refuge. She worried he would lose the opportunity to fall in love and have a family, but he had lost that the moment he had been born a Simagh. Shedding his heritage and vowing himself to Lyssa was a step up.

“Why did you never become a priest?” Mog asked her. It had been troubling him for some time. She was older than his mother. Her gentle face was lined with care and her shoulder-length nut brown hair was streaked with silver. Her Cantor robes were embroidered with touches of gold to indicate she had reached the highest level of attainment. For her, there were no greater goals, just more service to the temple and those who sought spiritual sanctuary. When she was not mentoring him, she worked in the sanitarium treating the mad and broken hearted.

“I fell in love with a perfectly ordinary man,” she chuckled, “We had two sons before he died in the war. I raised them and now I am happy simply to live out my days doing good work where I am needed. I have learned there is value in giving only what you are capable of giving and I know my limitations.”

“I’m sorry about your loss.”

She smiled, her warm hazel eyes twinkling.

“No need to be sorry for me. I was sad when he was gone, but he also gave me much joy that I would not have known otherwise. I am grateful. And my boys are grown and married now. I would not have known them, either.”

“I will never marry,” Mog announced, “I am a natural to serve Lyssa.”

“How old are you, Mog?”

“Sixteen.”

“You’ve been with us since you were thirteen, yes?”

He nodded.

“Your parents petitioned the High Priestess for your return and they were refused. Now you are of an age when nothing they request can be forced upon you.”

“You do not know my parents.”

She shrugged and laughed.

“You are not the first child of a lordling to seek sanctuary in this temple. I have heard many variations of your tale. If you believe you’ll avoid dealing with your past by seeking the life of a priest, then you are doing so for the wrong reasons. It will lead to regret, Mog, very deep regrets. A choice made in fear and weakness is a bad choice.”

“I don’t want to go to Nolani. That is the only other choice.”

“It is the only other choice that makes sense to you. You know Lyssa’s way, Mog. Even refusal and ignorance is a choice.”

“I know, it’s just… this is home for me, the only place I have ever felt wanted or loved.”

To his embarrassment he began to weep. Nuine said nothing, only sat closer and took his hands into her lap as if they were precious.

“I used to tell my sons that home is not a place, it is carried in the heart,” she said softly, “and do you think I will stop loving you because you are at Nolani?”

“No,” he chuckled through his tears.

“You are very loveable. That warmth of spirit belongs out in the world, not behind these walls. Not all who serve as Lyssa’s champions take to the battlefield, some are needed to preserve the fragile threads of civilization. Go master the talents you were given. If after that, you wish to return, do so having explored all the possibilities. Perhaps you would be just as happy to dwell here as a temple guardian than as a cloistered priest.”

“But I don’t want to be a mesmer,” he sobbed, “Everyone hates and fears them.”

“Except their allies,” Nuine chuckled, “Think about it, Mog. Please. You can choose to become a priest at any time, but once you do, you will be expected to pledge many years of your life in service to the goddess. Most of the priesthood have experienced the world beyond these walls and went to her with a joyful yes. I fear that will not be so for you.”

He dried his tears, feeling embarrassed. He was a man, now, albeit, a very confused one. For two years Nuine had been beside him every step of the way, his mentor and friend. She was the mother he had always wished for, patient, wise and loving. Leaving her would be difficult, but he could no longer deny what he was.

“If I agree to seek training, would it be possible not to tell my parents?”

“If that is your wish, I will arrange for it.”

“How long must I go?”

“Two years at a minimum. I will ensure that your place here is reserved for breaks from study. You may come home to the temple at need.”

He blushed as the next question came rushing from his mouth.

“Will you write to me?”

“Of course I will,” she said, taking him into her arms and kissing his crown, “You may become the most ferocious mesmer the world has ever known, but to me you are as a son and will ever be.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I will miss you, too, but I am proud of you and I know you will make the temple proud.”

“I still miss you.”