and the third year of the minority reign of Emperor Tanasius II, the scholar monk Sipio of Cosi was sent from his remote monastery by the Patriarch of the church of Cosia to investigate claims of a new, heretical branch of the faith that had sprung up in the wilderness plains of South-Eastern Cosia.

Sipio of Cosi was a tall man, contemporary scribes have recorded, thin and sharp-nosed. His mind was said to be sharper still, honed by years of studying the heretical faiths and beliefs of barbarian civilisations around the world.

He took with him on his quest thick rolls of parchment, numerous quills and several pots of ink so that he could record his findings, as well as a young novice-monk, a donkey, and enough provisions to last until he reached Sica, the first of several towns along his route.

— Excerpt from The Chronicles of the Church Of Cosia

Two hours after they'd left the comforting, grey, half-stone, half-dried mud walls of the monastery behind, the novice, Lius, looked down at the scholar-monk Sipio and said, "Please, Brother. We've got a long way to go before we reach Sica. Try riding the donkey."

Sipio didn't even bother to glance up at him. He just kept walking, his fresh-cut cedar staff tapping on the dust track that would eventually join on to the main imperial road that led to Sica.

"No, thank you."

Lius winced as a cramp shot through his buttocks, and shifted position on the donkey as silently as he could. "It's really very comfortable, Brother."

"Then I won't deny you the pleasure of it. You have a hard and challenging life ahead of you, Novice. Enjoy any comforts you can get from it."

Lius sighed as the donkey plodded on beside Sipio's brisk pace.

Above, the endless blue sky stretched to cover the entire world, and the track they were following looked like it arrowed toward the very borders of the empire. Lius refused to let his mind dwell on the amount of sheer, terrifying space around him. Given to the monastery as an infant, he had never been outside its walls before and already, he felt homesick.

He had no idea why he'd been chosen to accompany Sipio on his quest, but he did know that the muscles in his thighs were aching, and that he wished he hadn't been chosen. He should be in the monastery's olive plantation by now, helping to trim the branches.

Brother Peter, the cook, had told him that Sipio had specifically asked for Lius to come with him. Why though? Until yesterday, Lius hadn't been aware that the monastery's most famous monk even knew of his existence—or anyone else's, for that matter. He was too caught up in his studies and writings.

The scholar rarely left his cell. The scrolls, parchments and occasional wood-bound books he needed were brought to him from not only the monastery's library, but also by self-satisfied and supercilious monks from the labyrinthine library inside the Church of Cosi two hundred miles away.

Veza, another novice, often took the scholar's meals from the kitchen to his cell. He said it was the largest cell in the monastery, larger even than the dormitory cell where the ten novices all slept. It had a single bed with narrow slats and no mattress, and a hard wooden chair was pushed into a large round table, below the square-cut hole in the wall that served as a window. A white candle always stood on the table, splatters of dried wax surrounding it like low-hilled islands. On the stone floor around and under the table, parchments and scrolls lay open; their ends weighted with large pebbles, wooden bowls, and even the table legs.

Brother Peter had once said that the scholar never ate breakfast or dinner, so that his mind would always remain sharp from hunger. The cook had then sniffed, as if to register a wordless rebuttal of such practises.

"Are you hungry?" Sipio asked around mid-morning.

"No, Brother."

"I am," Sipio said. He stopped walking and glared at the donkey through watery eyes unused to the bright sunlight. "Make it stop."

"Yes, Brother," Lius said, pulling at the reins.

The donkey kept trotting for a moment, before jerking to a sudden stop. Lius pressed his thighs into its flanks and curled his fingers through its mane to stop from falling.

Sipio walked up to the donkey's side, opened a brown cloth saddlebag, and pulled out a grease-coated, cubic parcel. He tore the wrapping off to reveal a slab of white goat's cheese.

"You're sure you don't want anything?"

Lius shook his head.

Sipio broke the cheese into quarters, wrapped three of them back up and returned them to the saddlebag, then bit into the remaining quarter. He closed his eyes as he chewed, and only opened them again when he had finished swallowing the first mouthful.

"You should have some. It'll go off before long, in this heat."

"Maybe later, Brother," Lius said. "May I walk beside you for a time?"

"Walk? You've got a perfectly healthy, comfortable donkey there."

The scholar tapped the donkey's rear with his staff. It brayed and took an uneasy step forward.

Lius clung even tighter, terrified that the beast was about to break into a gallop, but it soon stilled again.

Sipio's throat bulged as he swallowed some more cheese. "Get down if you must, but only to give the creature a rest. I expect to see you riding it again shortly, if it's as comfortable as you claim."

"Yes Brother," Lius said. He swung his leg over the donkey's back and slid down.

Sipio smiled and shook his head.

"What, Brother?" Lius asked.

"I think you assume that I know as little about the world outside the monastery as you," Sipio said.

Lius felt a thrill of shame course through his blood. Could the scholar read his mind? "I don't, Brother."

"Yes, you do. You assume, like all young novices, that the reins of knowledge and even of our faith are yours to grasp. Have you read the transcript of the monk Simeon's journal of his thoughts and experiences as he travelled through the northern kingdoms two centuries ago?"

Confused by the change of subject, Lius shook his head. "No, Brother."

"No? But it's in our own monastery's library. What have you read?"

Without waiting for an answer, Sipio began walking again, his staff in one hand and the cheese in the other.

Lius had to call out his answer as he rushed to grasp the donkey's reins, pulling it along as he struggled to catch up with the scholar. "What we've been told to. The Light of the God, by—"

"I know who it's by," Sipio said without slowing or stopping. "What else?"

Lius searched his memory for another text but nothing came to mind. "I— We get read to a lot, Brother. Often, we aren't told either the title or author of the work."

Sipio kept walking. "Read to," he said flatly, after a moment.

"Yes, Brother."

"But you can read?"

"Yes, Brother."

Finally, Lius drew level with the scholar, but the donkey, without warning or apparent reason, stopped walking. Sipio didn't slow at all as Lius urged the donkey forward again.

"Then do," the scholar said. "I have several scrolls with me, that I managed to smuggle out of the library. You can start with one of them tonight. The Light of the God is a most illuminating work, Novice, but it won't broaden your mind or teach you about the wider picture."

"Thank you, Brother," Lius said, still pulling at the reins.

The donkey wouldn't move. Lius walked back to it and smacked its rump. The beast glared at him with malevolent eyes and bared its teeth in an evil warning.

Lius scurried back several steps. "Brother, do donkeys eat humans?"

Sipio stopped walking, although he didn't turn. He arced his neck to gaze at the infinite blue sky.

"If you'd read Brother Simeon's journal, Novice, you would know the answer to that question. Our holy Brother Simeon, may he forever look down at us from the God's side, had a lot to say about the donkey he rode upon through the northern kingdoms. At first he hated it, then he came to respect it, and finally, a bond of perhaps not love, but certainly friendship grew between them. Eventually, one mid-summer in Bihan, he had to kill and eat it. Note that I did not say it killed and ate him."

"Yes, Brother."

"Brother Simeon worked out very early in his travels that when his donkey behaved as ours is now, it was hungry. Let it eat some grass."

Lius let the reins slip out of his hands. The donkey's head dipped, and it turned and started chomping on the clumps of grass by the side of the road.

"You shouldn't have let it see me eating," Sipio said, only now turning around to look at the grazing donkey, and Lius. "That's probably what made it feel hungry."

The remark seemed so unjust that for a moment, Lius couldn't respond. Eventually, he said, "You shouldn't have taken anything from the library."

Even from thirty yards away, he saw Sipio's eyebrows shoot up in amusement.

"Don't be sullen, Novice. You made a mistake. Just don't do it again."

Lius dropped his gaze and stared at the dusty ground. "Sorry, Brother."

"Simeon's relationship with his donkey improved when he decided to name it," Sipio said. "I suggest we do the same. I further suggest that 'Simeon,' in honour of our illustrious brother, would be fitting."

"But, what if it's a girl donkey?" Lius asked.

"I can see there are several other things you need to read about," Sipio said. "It isn't a girl, Novice."

"How can you tell?"

"I just can. Are we agreed upon the name, then?"

"Yes, Brother."

"Excellent." Sipio turned round and faced the open, empty track again. "I'm going to keep walking. Bring Simeon when he's eaten enough."

"Yes, Brother."

"And tonight you can start reading Brother Simeon's journal. If nothing else, you'll learn how to handle a donkey by the end of this journey."