Page 17 of Triadic

"There is a fourth plane," I prompted, to see whether he wanted to keep going. "The mental plane."

That got his attention. "Didn't you just say thoughts were on the astral?"

"Concrete thoughts and imagination are, yes," I answered. "The mental plane is the plane of consciousness, which is a higher level of cognition. Humans don't have bodies on the mental plane yet—they have to be built, which in our tradition is one of the tasks of living as a human—but for now wejust have a starter sheath. I'm sure you've accessed the mental plane briefly. You can feel it whenever you come to a realization that connects many different ideas and systems and ties them together through meaning."

He scrunched his face up again and propped his chin on his fist, elbow on his knee. "Like the day I realized my parents didn't care whether I was happy, only that I fulfilled my duty to them. That was also the day I realized Yusef had been cheating on me all along and had knocked that poor girl up.AndI'd realized Genevieve's parents didn't care about her happiness either and wanted her to marry me because it afforded better status than the peasant farmer she loved. I'm not sure I like the mental plane much. Just one afternoon of hard truths, and I charged into the forest."

That wasn't even the full extent of it. He would need to examine each of those realizations to find the way to bring his underlying conclusions into a unifying principle he could later apply to other situations, in order to solidify this life lesson on the mental plane.

"You certainly don't need to worry about it while you're recovering," I said gently.

He sent me a knowing look, as if reading my mind that I was trying to divert him from distressing thoughts. "So if I train to become a monk, I'll have to do meditations on things like this every day?"

Timid hope kindled embers in my chest. "You want to train?"

He shrugged, which struck me as a strange reactionto such a heavy commitment. "I want to stay here, at least for now. You, Corbi, and that bard are really great. I want to spend more time with you guys."

"Old Man Ceridor is a fan of you also if he's willing to go all the way to your home village just to bring back news," I conceded. "However, he's been cooped up for weeks on Corbi's orders, for medical treatment and rest after getting mugged. A traveling bard, especially one who has been traveling as long as he has, doesn't stay put. He was about ready to climb the walls till you gave him a ready excuse."

Peter grinned. "I know he's not really that old. Sometimes when I'd look at him, he'd only look like thirty or forty. Other times he was as gray as an old wizard."

Fascinating. Most regular people who did not hone their skills in magic could not see past Ceridor's glamour. "The monastery will have you work off the payment for Corbi's treatments. Even in the winter, there's always chores to do."

"I don't mind cleaning to pay Corbi back," said Peter. "How do I apply for regular training? Do I need to ask the instructors for an interview?"

Hesitating, I contemplated how to phrase the fact that I'd already asked the instructors if Peter could undergo probationary training, and they had resolutely told me there was no need.

"I asked on your behalf, in case you were interested, so I could offer you that option," I hedged. "Your story, I fear, led them to some inaccurate conclusions."

Those sage-green eyes bugged out. "Such as?"

I sighed, crossed my arms, and just came out with it. "They think that since you were living in the forest for months, and you had such magical experiences…you will just dash back into the forest as soon as you regain your health. They think there is no point in training you, because forest mystics encounter their own training through disembodied beings who mentor them."

Peter looked like he'd just eaten a sour plum. "I'm a what?"

"Never mind the fact that isn't how mysticism works most of the time," said Corbi, stepping into the room with his regular monastery robes on, having apparently changed out of his medical robes and done his cleansing practices after his shift. "Most mystics lead regular lives, with jobs in town, even families. What makes them a mystic is that the relationship to their god or gods is what comes first for them. I'm convinced some of the healers I work with would count as mystics. They have a wife and children waiting for them at home, but they were called to healing through a deep commitment to the Christ of a Thousand Ages. The eclectic ones who leave everything behind and follow their gods wherever they may lead are only the tiniest percentage of mystics, but they are the ones who get stories told about them, because others couldn't understand their motivations."

I thought of the letter that summoned Wren to serve deep in the mountains by himself, replacing a mountainmystic who brought mysterious yet consistently protective gods into Danubian lands.

"Marit."

Jerked from my thoughts, I yelped at Corbi leaning over me, then realized what he wanted. I kissed him and cupped his cheek. "Welcome back."

"Danke," he said.

"Love you," I tossed out.

Corbi melted. "I love you too."

"Awww," cooed Peter. "You two…"

I smiled tenderly at my partner. Corbi stepped in front of Peter and put a palm to his forehead, checking his temperature before moving his hands to the sides of Peter's neck and underneath his jaw to check if his glands were swollen.

"How do I find what you have?" asked Peter wistfully.

Corbi chuckled and continued his examination, so I explained. "It's against monastery rules to say we love each other. Corbi and I have only started doing it since Wren left, and we decided to thwart those rules, quietly."

"Who's Wren?" asked Peter.