“The holy mother of the people sent him to aide you?” Kour asked, looking Lorit directly in the eyes as if trying to discern the truth of his response. “A Wizard?”
“She said he was going to help us,” Lorit said sadly.
“Come, join us,” Kour said. He guided Lorit and Chihon out of the large room and into a more comfortable space, hung with decorative tapestry, similar to the competition room. Large pillows were stacked up in one corner. Kour grabbed the large pillows one after another and tossed them into the center of the room until there were enough for all of them. He nodded his head to the pillows and said, “Please sit.”
Lorit lowered himself cross-legged onto one of the pillows, facing their host. Chihon took the one next to him.
A second man entered carrying a tray filled with crystal glasses, each holding a large measure of dark green tea steaming profusely in the cold of the evening. Kour motioned to his guests and Lorit took one of them. He held it to his nose and breathed deeply, taking in the scent of mint along with the bitterness of some root he could not precisely identify. He took a sip to find it sweet to his tongue.
“You are indeed honored ones, and you honor us with your presence,” Kour said. He sipped slowly from his tea.
“Honored?” Chihon asked.
“Indeed,” Kour said.
Just then, another monk entered the room, carrying a large, ornately decorated book. He took a seat near Lorit, folding his legs beneath him as he descended onto the large cushion.
“I am Denghau,” the monk said, “keeper of the legends.”
He opened the book and held it up, so Lorit could see the illustration. It looked remarkably like Du'ala, the head of Mu'umba's tribe. As he held the book up, Denghau said, “The Holy Mother.”
He turned the page to a second illustration. It showed Du'ala holding out her hand towards a tall man with a shaved head and black robes. Fire shot from her fingertips to engulf the man, who directed his staff back at her.
“The wars of old,” he intoned. Lorit wondered what this was all about. It sounded as if the monk was explaining that Du’ala had fought the temple priests with magic in the ancient past.
He flipped the page once more to show an illustration that either depicted Zhimosom, or was a striking resemblance by coincidence. The Wizard spread his arms out wide, holding his staff in one hand. Before him was a broad plain of fertile fields. From his staff a purple light emanated and where it struck tufts of tall grass sprouted up.
“Does that look like Zhimosom to you?” Lorit asked.
Chihon peered at the illustration in the book. “It sure does.”
“The mighty one raised the Plains of Grass to isolate the people of magic from the Wizards of Old,” he explained. He closed the book and latched it shut with the brass lock.
“He stopped the wars and raised the Plains of Grass as a barrier to keep the people of magic separate from the Wizards,” Denghau explained.
“When did all this happen?” Lorit asked.
“Long ago. Before the time of my grandfather’s grandfather,” Denghau said. “The people of magic do not deal with the wizards any longer. How is it that you, a Wizard, came to cross the Plains of Grass?”
“Zhimosom directed us this way. He said it was the most expeditious route,” Lorit explained.
“The Mighty One directed you to the Holy Mother?”
“Yes, he did,” Lorit said.
Denghau shook his head. “The time has come, then,” he mumbled so quietly that Lorit almost missed it.
“What time has come?” Lorit asked.
“Time of great change,” he said absently. He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Don't pay attention to the mutterings of an old man like me. We have much to prepare.”
“Prepare?”
“We have a funeral to prepare. You said you had this one of the magic folk with you. His body is here, in Mistwind?”
“Yes, he’s in our room at the inn,” Lorit answered.
Denghau's eyes filled with tears. “I can barely believe we are so honored,” he said. He signaled to someone outside the room. Another monk in orange robes appeared and silently bowed, “You desire?”
“Bring the boy,” he said.
“As you wish,” the monk said, bowing as he backed out of the room.
Shortly, the boy appeared in the doorway. He bowed deeply, “You requested my presence?”
“Itqua, please sit down,” Kour said.
The boy quickly took a seat next to Lorit.
“What did he tell you?” Kour said to the boy.
The boy looked over at Lorit. “He said his friend told him that his spirit would inhabit the body of the winning competitor. He was to secure the winner to take with him.” As he spoke, he nervously placed his hand over the lump in his robe where the clay pot containing his cricket was hidden.
“Just so,” Kour said. He inclined his head towards Lorit.
The boy reached inside his robe and withdrew the clay pot. He stood up and faced Lorit. He held the pot carefully, as he bowed deeply, extending his hands. “I would be honored,” he said.
Lorit reached out to take the pot. “I offered to pay for it,” he said.
“Please,” the boy said. “It would be a great honor. I only ask that you allow me the honor of escorting your friend to his resting place.”
Lorit followed his gaze over to Kour, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
“That sounds like a fair trade,” Lorit said. He carefully placed the clay pot into the pocket of his coat.
“Thank you,” Kour said to the boy, who rose and backed out of the room, bowing as he left.
The old monk stood, using his staff for support. “Come; let us show you the preparations we are undertaking for the ceremony.” He waved for Lorit and Chihon to follow him.
Lorit and Chihon followed Kour into the adjacent chamber. The room was formed of highly polished marble that glistened and glittered, throwing back the reflection of the oil lamps that ringed the room. In the center was a raised marble block supporting a short, squat casket adorned with carvings of flowers, clusters of grapes and nuts. It was gilt with gold and reflected the sparkle of the lamps that had been placed beside it.
The floor around it was carefully ringed in small, dried, pressed floral buds and leaves. The room smelled heavily of scented oils and the incense that was burning in small golden pots arranged carefully along the edge of the casket.
“As you can see, the preparations have already begun,” he said. He indicated another table containing rich white robe trimmed with gold and silver. Beside the robe was a pair of slippers made of the finest silk and trimmed with intricate, detailed silver embroidery, to match the robes.
“What is all this for?” Lorit asked.
“To honor the holy one.”
“Mu'umba?”
“Yes,” the monk said.
“But you only just found out about him,” Chihon said.
“We have been preparing for the past two days,” Kour said. “We heard of his approach two days ago.”
“We were still a long way away,” Lorit said. “That’s about the time he fell off the mountain,” Lorit said.
“Yes,” Kour said, “We learned he was coming here quite some time ago. We only learned how he would honor us in the last few days.” He leaned heavily on his staff as he spoke.
“Please, let us prepare now,” Kour said. “We have much to do before morning.”
He escorted Lorit and Chihon to the front room, once again signaling to the monks as he did. They gathered in a long double line, waiting.
“Shall we go and retrieve the body, so we may prepare it?” Kour asked.
“Yes,” Lorit said.
He departed the temple aside the old monk, who leaned heavily on his staff as he walked along.
Lorit opened the door to the room and made way for Chihon to enter. She walked over to the still form of their friend and knelt down. She leaned over and gently kissed his fo
rehead. “Goodbye Mu’umba.” She stood up and backed away, so Lorit could pay his respects.
Lorit stood before the body of the tribesman. He felt even more grief now, believing that he’d led the unusual little man into trouble. He was glad that Mu’umba was getting the respect of these people. It didn’t help lessen the anger he felt at himself for letting him down, but at least Mu’umba was going to his rest among friends.
Lorit nodded to Kour. The monk and two others entered reverently. They knelt down, bowing their heads to the floor and pausing for a long moment; then they rose and approached the body of the tribesman. They removed the blankets and furs, until the silver hair and scaly skin of Mu'umba was evident.
Once more, they bowed deeply, their heads touching the floor, and paused. Kour motioned to the doorway, where another monk stood holding a set of long, polished wooden poles, wrapped in brilliant red cloth. The monk entered and unrolled the poles to reveal a litter decorated with floral patterns and intricate embroidery.
Carefully, they stripped the splints and heavy clothes from Mu’umba. They straightened his body and placed it on the litter. They reverently smoothed out his scaly hands and legs. They massaged his expression, until it appeared as if Mu'umba was merely resting from his travels, ready to awaken refreshed and ready to go once again.
The four of them bowed their heads again, and each took an end of one of the poles. They lifted the body up to their shoulders and started for the door.
“Please, come to the temple to prepare for the ceremony at dawn,” Kour said, pausing.
“Thank you for letting us watch,” Lorit said.
“You are not just there to watch,” Kour said. “You are honored guests and a special part of the ceremony,” he added, bowing reverently.
“We will see you tomorrow then,” Lorit said.
The next morning they rose before the sun and headed to the temple. Lorit led the way through the drifting snow. The temple yard was decorated with paper lanterns and streamers of every imaginable color. Decorations were hung across the streets leading to the temple.
When they reached the temple, Itqua was standing by the massive doors, waiting for them. He ran up to Lorit and said, “Welcome, honored Wizard.” He bowed low and opened the door, motioning them inside.
Inside the temple, the air was warm and comfortable. Itqua escorted them to the chamber where the gold gilt casket sat upon the marble base. Itqua bowed deeply, his head touching the floor. He rose and motioned Lorit and Chihon over to the casket.
Lorit peered inside to see Mu'umba as if he were resting peacefully. He had been cleaned up and dressed in the white robes with the silver and gold trim Lorit saw the night before. In his hands, he held an empty clay pot similar to the one Lorit had received from Itqua the evening before.
A low chanting came from all around as the monks went about their business; they repeated their chant in a language that Lorit did not know. The tune was peculiar to his ears. The smell of the scented oils and incense was stronger now than it had been the night before.
“He looks at peace,” Chihon said.
“He does look happy, doesn't he?” Lorit remarked.
Denghau arrived while they were paying their respects. “I’m pleased to see that you could both make it,” he said, bowing to Lorit and then Chihon. “We are most honored to have you here.”
“Thank you,” Lorit said.
“We’re just about ready for you,” Denghau said. “If you would come this way?” With a sweeping gesture he led them to a side door.
He paused in front of a closed door and rapped gently. The door opened and a young girl appeared. Denghau motioned to Chihon. “If you would be so kind.”
Chihon followed the girl through door. Lorit started to follow them when Denghau held out his arm to block the way. “You will be prepared in the next room,” he said, leading Lorit to another door down the hallway.
Once again, he rapped softly on the door. Another young girl stood there smiling. She bowed to Lorit and said, “Please come in.”
Lorit followed her into the room. She led him to a chair where he was seated. Several more young women appeared, each carrying a tray of assorted grooming utensils.
One of them pushed Lorit back into the chair and pulled out a steaming towel. She wrapped it around his chin and face, letting the warmth drive away the cold winter chill he had experienced on the walk from the inn.
She stirred up soap in a golden cup, removed the towel and lathered up his chin and cheeks. She picked up a gleaming straight razor and approached Lorit's chin with it. “Hold still for this part,” she whispered in his ear. She carefully and quickly shaved his beard stubble leaving him smooth, and cleaner than he’d been since leaving the homestead.
She ran her fingers through his hair several times and looked at him. “Do you wish a proper cut?” she asked, holding up the razor. “You would look handsome shorn as the monks are,” she added.
“No, thank you. I’ve grown accustomed to my hair the way it is,” Lorit said. His usual short haircut had gradually grown out to shoulder length. Chihon had said it made him look more like a wizard. He was getting used to it longer and certainly didn't want it shaved.
She laughed and said, “Just a trim, then.” She pulled out a comb and deftly trimmed his hair. After the cut, she sprinkled some scented oil onto her hand and carefully ran it through his hair several times, styling it as she did.
While the girl was shaving Lorit, another went to work washing, then cleaning, his feet. She trimmed his nails and rubbed his feet with oil. Another performed the same task with his fingernails.
After they finished their ministrations, the girl who’d cut his hair led him to a large brass tub filled with warm water. She motioned to him to undress and get in. He protested until she brought out a screen which she erected around the bath. Lorit relaxed and let the warm water soak the dirt of the road from his skin, finally drying off with the towel provided.
The girl left a robe draped over the screen similar to the one that they had dressed Mu'umba in. As Lorit donned the robe, the girl called to him from behind the screen. “Are you ready yet?”
“I believe so,” Lorit answered.
“Good,” she said, folding the screen. “We don't have much time left.”
Once more, the attendants rushed to Lorit, to assist him in his dressing. They soon had him wrapped in the rich thick white robe, and shod with white leather boots trimmed in gold and silver.
The girl who’d shaved him placed a white fur hat on his head and stepped back to look him over. “You look proper,” she said. She looked around the room and found his staff, which she brought and handed to him.
Lorit grasped it, feeling the comfort of the familiar wood, in all of this strangeness.
“Now, you are ready,” the girl said, as she motioned Lorit towards the door. His guide stopped at the next door and gently knocked twice. Almost immediately, Chihon appeared.
She was similarly clothed in white robes. Her hair was braided in dozens of small neat strands tied with gold ribbon. She wore a light gold and rust color makeup that accented her eyes and hair. Lorit was taken by surprise at the transformation in his traveling companion. Not only had her usual rugged attire been transformed, but somehow her whole character seemed more elegant.
“You look very formal,” she said when he failed to speak.
“And you look beautiful,” Lorit responded haltingly as he struggled trying to make the mental shift from thinking of her as his magic partner to this. It was going to take him some time to adjust to this new Chihon. Lorit wasn’t sure he liked it. It could only complicate his life.
“Please, come,” said the girl, motioning them forward.
They were escorted to a pair of gold gilt chairs decorated with intricate carvings and cushioned with rich red velvet. The girl motioned each of them to sit.
Several monks in orange robes appeared, carrying stout poles of shimmering brass, which they threaded through ring
s on the chairs, and hoisted them to their shoulders.
As they jerked along atop the monks’ shoulders, Lorit called over to Chihon, “All this for poor little Mu'umba?” he asked.
“Quite a show,” she replied.
They burst through the gates of the temple and onto the streets lined with throngs of people shouting, cheering and calling out. The streets were decorated like those leading to the temple, as they wound their way through the city of Mistwind.
Ahead of the procession, Lorit could see the gold casket being carried on a litter borne on the shoulders of the monks, just as they were. Orange robes crowded around the casket. The monks chanted as they walked, swinging long strips of orange cloth which made intricate designs in the air around them.
They arrived at the cemetery and entered through large gates that stood open and inviting. They were carried to a stand beside an alabaster marble crypt that shone as if polished and lit from inside of the stone.
The doors to the crypt appeared to be made of solid gold. The crypt was filled with dried flowers and lit candles. The monks lowered the casket from their shoulders and reverently placed it on a raised marble platform inside.
Lorit and Chihon were deposited on a raised platform looking into the crypt. Shortly, Denghau arrived. He stopped inside crypt to offer a short prayer, and joined them on the platform.
“You honor us by your presence,” he said to Lorit. He bowed deeply to each of them in turn and then faced the crowd.
“Long have we lived atop these mountains, keeping the balance between the priests of old and the people of magic,” he intoned.
“Today we are supremely honored to accept the earthly vessel of one of the people of magic, who has chosen to bless our city with his transition to a new life form.
“This holy brother was sent to guide and aid these Wizards,” he said gesturing to Lorit and Chihon, “and has chosen us to care for the vessel he has discarded along his path.
“We shall care for it until such time as he chooses to return and take it up once again.”
Foundling Wizard (Book 1) Page 30
