The Beast of Ten

by Beth Brower

“Do you see how this tree’s roots have grown around and around in circles, more concerned with itself than with stretching out into the earth? That is why it could not survive the storm.”

You can’t fight darkness by creating more darkness, don’t you see?

“Because things that were not built for darkness cannot contain it without great pain.”

“Yes, my lady. But no matter what’s inside you, no matter what you’re meant for, if you take counsel from the dark, there it is that you will be led.”

for it is like encountering the beginning and the end of a day, wrapped together.

“One does not start with denying hope,” he instructs, taking another step, then another, a predator approaching its prey. “You begin by denying value to whomever you wish to destroy. For once they doubt their value, hope simply drains away through their cracked worth. A much simpler way to claim souls.”

Decisions, it seems, are acts of power in themselves.

I step away, but I do not diminish my light. I am on an errand to keep it; I will not weaken myself for him.

“But I do know that these lanterns wouldn’t be half so remarkable were they not set in darkness. Dispelling darkness is the province of light.” I hold his gaze but don’t answer. “Light is the only thing that grows stronger when darkness deepens,”

Grief is holy.

beauty ministers to the heart in a way nothing else can.

Days filled with nothing—like days overwhelmed with too much—wear you out just the same.

“You can’t rip yourself into little pieces and give them away. You must learn to remain whole and let the Lights work through you. Some tasks do mean giving of yourself, but in a way that doesn’t make you unable to finish them.”

grief is never cheated.

“Sometimes truth is kind,”