"Pass the wineskin, Diran, if you would be so kind."
Diran did as his teacher asked. Tusya shook the wineskin once, then frowned.
"That's all we have left? There can't be more than a couple swallows in there."
Diran smiled. "I have even worse news: that's the last of the wine."
Tusya slapped a hand to his chest. "Say it isn't so! Your words strike me to the very quick!"
Diran chuckled, but Leontis only continued staring at their campfire, scowling as he stirred the silvery-white coals with a stick. Tusya had added silverburn to the fire, a common-if somewhat expensive-practice among the Purified. It symbolized the Silver Flame offering light to its followers and warding off the darkness. Diran had been surprised by their teacher's largesse. Normally, he was by necessity a thrifty man, for wandering priests possessed little but what they could carry with them on their travels. Indeed, this was the first time Diran had known Tusya to use silverburn, and he wondered what the occasion might be. For certainly there was some reason; despite Tusya's seemingly haphazard way of approaching life, he always had a reason for the things he did, even if that reason wasn't readily apparent to those around him.
Like Diran, Leontis Dellacron was in his mid-twenties. His brown hair hung almost to his shoulders and was in need of a good trimming, and he'd recently begun growing a beard that looked as if it might never fill in properly. Both Diran and Leontis had served as acolytes under the tutelage of Tusya Vanarden for the last six months. Before petitioning for admission to a seminary, acolytes of the Silver Flame were required to serve under a priest for an undetermined period of time, learning the basics of the faith. When the sponsoring priest thought they were ready-and only then-could acolytes be accepted as seminarians. During their time as Tusya's students, Diran and Leontis had become companions, if not the closest of friends. Leontis tended to be moody and withdrawn, while Diran, due to his training in the Brotherhood of the Blade, was stoic and guarded.
Leontis's longbow sat within easy reach, but though it was the signature weapon of the order of the Silver Flame, neither Tusya nor Diran carried one. Diran had practiced with bow and arrow on occasion, but he had yet to develop any skill with them. Instead he carried a dozen daggers-the tools he'd employed in his previous life-secreted about his person. Tusya, however, carried no weapons at all. Diran had once asked his teacher why he chose to go about unarmed. Tusya had simply given Diran a mischievous smile and replied, "What makes you think I'm unarmed?"
The best word to describe Tusya, Diran thought, was nondescript. There was nothing physically about the man to make him stand out in any way-a quality that would serve an assassin well, Diran mused, but could at times be something of hindrance to a priest engaged in the holy task of ridding the world of evil. Tusya was hardly a commanding or intimidating presence, and thus it struck Diran as no surprise that he had chosen to serve in the Order of Friars as opposed to becoming a templar. Tusya was in his late sixties, of medium height, and carried a rather sizeable paunch, especially considering how much he walked. Only a few wisps of snow-white hair clung to his bald pate, but he'd grown a full beard as if to make up for it. He smiled easily and often, and he spoke with a soft, gentle voice though his laugh was loud enough to scare the birds out of the trees. His eyes were kind, but if you looked beneath the surface, you could see a sharp, calculating intelligence that belied the priest's easygoing veneer.
"Is something brothering you, lad?" Tusya asked Leontis. His tone remained good-humored enough, but his voice now held an edge of seriousness.
Leontis continued stirring the coals for a moment longer before responding. "Forgive me for saying so, Father, but your… fondness for wine confuses me."
Diran wasn't surprised to see Tusya grin at Leontis's words. Where others might take offense at being challenged-even in such a mild way-Tusya always seemed delighted, as if he thrived on conflict. No, that wasn't right, Diran amended. In his former life as an assassin for hire, Diran had seen many men and women who lived for conflict… and died because of it. What energized Tusya was the chance to engage in a lively dialogue.
"How so?"
Leontis glanced up from the fire to look at Tusya for a moment, before turning his gaze back to the flames. Diran liked Leontis, even considered him a friend, the first real one he'd made-not counting Tusya himself, of course-since the priest had cast out the dark spirit that Diran had shared his soul with for so many years. But though Leontis and Diran were close in age, they were very different in terms of experience. Diran had begun training as an assassin during childhood, and he'd been a full-fledged member in the Brotherhood of the Blade for over a decade before turning away from the dark path of the killer and embarking on his studies to become one of the Purified. Leontis, on the other hand, had grown up as a cobbler's son in Danthaven and had become interested in the priesthood because his maternal aunt served as a priest in a temple of healing there.
Leontis continued looking at the fire as he spoke. Diran had long ago noted his friend often had trouble meeting others' eyes when he was discussing what he thought were sensitive matters. "You are Purified, are you not? Strong drink can impair one's judgment, causing one to lose control of one's emotions. As you've taught us, becoming Purified-and staying so-requires the constant vigilance of both a strong mind and a strong heart."
Tusya finished off the last of the wine before answering his young charge. "I'm not sure I'd call this vintage particularly strong, either in alcohol content or taste." He smiled as he laid the empty skin on the ground next to him. "There are many lessons to be learned from the symbol of our faith, many truths and insights to be gained. For example, Leontis, what shape is our campfire?"
Leontis turned to Tusya and frowned. "What?"
"The shape, son. It's a simple enough question. Square, round, triangular… which is it?"
Leontis scowled. "Forgive me for saying so, Teacher, but sometimes I wish you would just come out and say what you mean." But the acolyte looked back to the fire and answered. "It has a general shape, one that's not like anything else except other fires. Our campfire is smaller than some, larger than others. Its specific size and dimensions vary with the amount of wood used to fuel it, and the flames themselves dance and move about."
"So would you say that while the essential nature of the fire remains the same, its particular shape varies from one moment to the next?"
"Yes," Leontis answered.
"And thus it is with Purification. The shape it takes varies from person to person, depending on their personalities"-Tusya glanced sideways at Diran-"and what demons drive them. Some men drink alcohol as if it were water, without experiencing any significant lasting effects. Others merely take a few sips of strong drink and become its lifelong slave. For these latter souls, resisting their need for alcohol is a struggle far greater than battling couatls or lycanthropes. You have little taste for wine, Leontis, so abstaining from it would be no hardship for you. I enjoy wine, so abstaining would be more difficult for me, but I could do so with minimal effort. So it would be no great feat for either of us to forgo strong drink. And the lesson in this, Diran, is…?"
Now it was Diran's turn to smile. "Without struggle, there is no Purification, and what defines the struggle is different for each person."
Tusya nodded, pleased. "And it also varies for individuals in different circumstances and at different times in their lives."
Leontis frowned, as he so often did after one of Tusya's lessons, but it was an expression of contemplation rather than consternation.
Diran noticed a moth dip precariously close to the fire. "What insight might that insect have to offer us, Teacher?"