Tales of Empire, written a century previously by one of the Brothers with a vivid imagination, which told stories of heroism, love and sorcery.
At present he was immersed in the Enchiridion of Laslow and the philosophical discourses arising from the author's lifetime of learning alongside the scholar Solvan Jenshan, one of the initiators of the Brotherhood and advisor to Emperor Cailech. Cassien loved the presence of these treasures in his life, imagining the animal whose skin formed the vellum to cover the books, the trees that gave their bark to form the rough paper that the ink made from the resin of oak galls would be scratched into. Imagining each part of the process of forming the book and the various men involved in them, from slaughtering the lamb to sharpening the quill, felt somehow intrinsic to keeping him connected with mankind. Someone had inked these pages. Another had bound this book. Others had read from it. Dozens had touched it. People were out there beyond the forest living their lives. But only two knew of his existence here and he had to wonder if Brother Josse ever worried about him.
Cassien lifted his legs to be in the classic handstand position before he bounced easily and fluidly regained his feet. He was naked, had worked hard, as usual, so a light sheen of perspiration clung to every highly defined muscle ... it was as though Cassien's tall frame had been sculpted. His lengthy, intensive twice-daily exercises had made him supple and strong enough to lift several times his own body weight.
He'd never understood why he'd been sent away to live alone. He'd known no other family than the Brotherhood - fifteen or so men at any one time - and no other life but the near enough monastic one they followed, during which he'd learned to read, write and, above all, to listen. Women were not forbidden but women as lifelong partners were. And they were encouraged to indulge their needs for women only when they were on tasks that took them from the Brotherhood's premises; no women were ever entertained within. Cassien had developed a keen interest in women from age fifteen, when one of the older Brothers had taken him on a regular errand over two moons and, in that time, had not had to encourage Cassien too hard to partake in the equally regular excursions to the local brothel in the town where their business was conducted. During those visits his appetite for the gentler sex was developed into a healthy one and he'd learned plenty in a short time about how to take his pleasure and also how to pleasure a woman.
He'd begun his physical training from eight years and by sixteen summers presented a formidable strength and build that belied how lithe and fast he was. He'd overheard Brother Josse remark that no other Brother had taken to the regimen faster or with more skill.
Cassien washed in the bucket of cold water he'd dragged from the stream and then shook out his black hair. He'd never known his parents and Josse couldn't be drawn to speak of them other than to say that Cassien resembled his mother and that she had been a rare beauty. That's all Cassien knew about her. He knew even less about his father; not even the man's name.
'Make Serephyna, whom we honour, your mother. Your father must be Shar, our god. The Brothers are your family, this priory your home.'
Brother Josse never wearied of deflecting his queries and finally Cassien gave up asking.
He looked into the small glass he'd hung on the mud wall. Cassien combed his hair quickly and slicked it back into a neat tail and secured it. He leaned in closer to study his face, hoping to make a connection with his real family through the mirror; his reflection was all he had from which to create a face for his mother. His features appeared even and symmetrical - he allowed that he could be considered handsome. His complexion showed no blemishes while near black stubble shadowed his chin and hollowed cheeks. Cassien regarded the eyes of the man staring back at him from the mirror and compared them to the rock pools near the spring that cascaded down from the Razor Mountains. Centuries of glacial powder had hardened at the bottom of the pools, reflecting a deep yet translucent blue. He wondered about the man who owned them ... and