Purveyors and Acquirers (The Phosfire Journeys Book 1)

by Unknown

  Zeal began to feel uncomfortable, cold instead of hot from having just run through the wood. A living statue and helpful spirit were beginning to be a little overwhelming for him. “A guardian, you say. Why can I see through him?”

  “There is no need to be afraid. My name is Iris. The guardian’s name is Obin. He is a resident of the mausoleum. His remains have been sealed into one of the niches located in the walls. All of the residents gave a pledge to remain and defend the Temple in time of need.”

  Zeal contemplated Iris’s information. Apparently, the tale he’d heard that the Temple’s dead protected the Temple’s living was true. He made a quick survey of the interior. The only resident he saw was the one at the door. “I’m Zeal, and I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Iris. Master Obin is not alive, is he?”

  Iris smiled warmly. “No, dear one, he is not. Iris will do between us. I know you are being taught to address your elders respectfully, but those who reside here, including me, do not need such honorifics added to our names.”

  Zeal reached out and touched Iris’s foot. Although Iris appeared to be made of hard, smooth stone, she felt flesh-like and was warm instead of cold. “Are you a guardian spirit as well?”

  Iris sat down beside Zeal. She laid the infant beside the kitten. Zeal noticed the babe now looked content, in gentle slumber. “I am many things, one of which is a Steward. Another is a custodian of the Temple. The Temple needs champions to defend it.”

  Zeal sat up straight and puffed out his chest. “I want to be a champion—please.”

  Iris took Zeal’s hand in hers. “Will you promise to protect the young and innocent, not speak of the secrets we share with others, listen, mind, and respect your elders?”

  The hand that held his was soft as normal flesh. Iris smelled like the flowers that bloomed under Lady Izlan’s window all season long. Her touch banished the chill that had attempted to seep into him. Zeal sensed the significance of Iris’s request. He took a deep breath and slowly released it.

  “Yes, I so promise.”

  “I greet you, my new protector. You are welcome to come and visit at any time.” Iris let go of Zeal’s hand and gathered the infant and the kitten in her arms as she stood.

  He rose along with her. “Must I keep you and the rest a secret?”

  “For now, yes. There will come a time when you can tell others.”

  Zeal mumbled to himself, “No one would believe me anyway.”

  Iris laughed. “True. You know the way of it. Come, let me introduce you to Obin. Possibly one of the other guardians will speak with us.”

  He looked toward Obin, who still remained at the entry door, then followed Iris. She paused at each alcove, sealed with a metal plate that bore the likeness of the occupant within, to allow Zeal to read the resident’s name and date of interment. The dates spanned several hundred seasons. He counted twelve plates.

  Obin joined them when they stood at his place of rest. He bowed first to Iris then to Zeal. “Welcome, Champion, to our company.”

  Zeal heard Obin’s voice as a soft whisper. His hand moved almost of its own volition toward the spirit, but he jerked it back before it accomplished its goal. He looked first to Iris, who smiled at him, then to Obin, who nodded acquiescence. Zeal’s curiosity defeated his misgiving. His fingers felt chilled when he moved them through Obin’s translucent form.

  His hand swiftly sought the warmth of his own armpit. “What is it like to no longer live?”

  “Much as when I had flesh. The difference is I no longer acquire new experiences but cling to those from my past. Perhaps you will periodically visit and allow us to share our wisdoms with you.”

  Zeal smiled. “I would like that. What do you wish in return?”

  “Only for you to become the champion we lack.”

  Zeal stood straighter. “I shall.”

  Iris touched him on the shoulder. “It is time for you to return to the Temple. Izlan has need of you.”

  He bowed to Iris and Obin. “I’ll be back soon.” Zeal placed the candied twist in the hands of the sleeping infant. He hoped the other guardians were as nice as Obin and wondered what Lady Izlan needed from him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IZLAN SAT AND WATCHED the man known as Tinker, also his profession, mend one of Cook’s pots in the Temple’s front courtyard. She used this rare moment of leisure to review the small blessings which had graced the Temple since that night, seasons ago, when Zeal arrived. She still had the pouch that had been tied around his waist and the small green crystals it had contained. Two morns after that fated night, a team of roofers had arrived unannounced and placed a new, blue-tile roof on the Temple. They informed her that they had already been paid. Every six moons, twice a season, Tinker arrived to fix what needed repairing and left a donation of clothing and shoes for the children. He also refused payment. The Ladies of Life made a small income and would have been happy to provide compensation.

  Izlan didn’t demonstrate any reaction to the person who purposely allowed his shadow to appear from behind her. Whoever it belonged to wanted her to know he was present. That did not stop her from loosening the knife she had up her sleeve from its sheath, as she stood and turned to face him.

  “My name is Slag. I have come to look for children to apprentice. I would like to meet the younger ones, as they will have the most potential. Boy or girl, it makes no difference.”

  “I know who you are and what you do.” Izlan studied the man in front of her. Slag had a kind face, but his eyes told her he could be ruthless when needed.

  “Then you also know I will make sure they are well taken care of and will, while they are juvenile, allow you to mediate their training.”

  “What do you intend to do with them?” Izlan asked cautiously.

  “Initially, teach tumbling and acrobatics, how to swim, to read, write, count, and study the histories. This will allow me to assess who will be permitted to continue on as an apprentice, plus provide you time to better determine my intent.”

  Izlan felt Slag was telling the truth, but what was he not saying? “They’ll be taught other things, as well?”

  “Yes, if I keep them on, you know they will. Do you think your wards will have many choices offered to them in life? You won’t be able to find a trade for all of them.”

  Izlan heard the truth in Slag’s words. “Come in, then, and be welcome.”

  Slag accompanied her into the Temple through two stout, metal-bound ironwood doors that had been propped open to allow air inside. She smiled briefly to herself as the adults they passed waited for her to signal all was well. She did so with a subtle lift of her brow and gesture with her hand.

  ***

  Slag studied the interior of the Temple as they entered. The doors opened directly into the great room of the Temple, a large area that, if it were still used as a house of worship, would have accommodated more than five hundred people sitting in pews. The space was now broken down into a common room for dining, an area for play, and another for crafts. Windows were set high up to let in light; they also could be covered by metal-bound shutters.

  He knew the building could still be fortified, as it had been in the past, and held by only a few determined defenders. He suspected a cistern below provided fresh water. Doors in the back led off to other areas. He was curious about the rest of the layout of the Temple but chose not to ask for information. The building was fairly well maintained. Slag had discovered the Temple made a modest income from cultivating and selling herbs and from donations for the services of the healers, who resided there.

  Izlan rang a small bell on the entry table. A young girl ran up to attend her. “Liddea, have the children assemble. We will have an early lunch.”

  Liddea bobbed her head and ran out of the room. Shortly after she left, a gong rang loudly.

  The tone had not long ceased when girls and boys of varying ages began to enter the room through the back doors. Tables were pulled from the walls, and chairs placed around them by the f
irst to enter. Others started to set out plates, cups, and eating utensils. The oldest assisted the youngest to their places. A few adults joined them at their tables. Food and drink was soon brought out. All bowed heads in a moment of silence. Food was passed around, with everyone taking or being given a share depending on age. Drink was poured from pitchers, milk or water for all.

  Izlan directed him to a table with four occupants, offered him refreshment, and then made introductions. “This is Charion, Landis, Martell, and Patrice. They are my assistants. Everyone, let me present to you Master Slag.”

  Slag acknowledged each with a nod. “Well met.” He gestured toward the children, who were loudly enjoying their food. “I would like to observe them. Do you mind if I stay awhile after I finish eating?”

  Charion gazed at Slag over her cup. “What is your purpose here, Master Slag?”

  He thoughtfully considered the four pairs of eyes that stared intently at him. “I am here to offer apprenticeships to some of the children.”

  Izlan took a bite of food, slowly chewed, and swallowed before she addressed him. “What ages do you seek?”

  Slag casually glanced around the room. “No younger than four and no older than nine. I might consider someone a little older if I see promise. It would help if I returned a few times to study the children, before I made any choices. I’d like to bring one or two instructors with me, if that is acceptable.”

  “Yes, it is. One of us here will be available to assist you whenever you return.”

  Slag easily interpreted Izlan’s comment. His actions, and any instructor’s, would be observed. He appreciated Izlan’s lack of trust.

  It was at that moment that Zeal ran up, having arrived last to the meal. Somewhat breathless, he asked, “Do you need me, Lady Izlan?”

  Slag kept his face passive. He did not reveal the sudden excitement he experienced at seeing an older Zeal after so many seasons.

  Izlan set the bite of food she was about to consume back on her plate. “Not right now. Where have you been? You look like you have been attacked by a bramble beast.”

  Zeal spoke a little hesitantly. “I was outside.”

  No other information was forthcoming from the scamp. Izlan told Zeal, “Go eat. We will talk later.”

  Slag followed him with his eyes till Zeal found a place amongst the younger children and began to eat. He grabbed another roll. “You have a good baker. Who was that lad?”

  Izlan passed more food around the table. “Our cook is exceptional. We are lucky she decided to offer us her service. The boy? His name is Zeal.”

  Slag took a drink from his cup. “What is he, four or five seasons?”

  “He is almost six seasons. Zeal is small for his age.”

  Slag observed the children with a critical eye. He purposely picked a child at random and inquired about the child’s temperament and how he or she reacted to others. After the meal, he spent the rest of the afternoon with the youths. He asked them their names and what they liked the most about living in the Temple. What were their dreams, and, if they could have anything they wanted, what would they wish for?

  Before the evening meal, Slag made ready to go. Izlan walked him to the gate. He stood quiet a moment. “Thank you. I will return tomorrow, after they have had their morning meal.”

  “I look forward to seeing you then.” Izlan closed and locked the gate behind him.

  Slag proceeded down the street. When he was sure he would not be seen by Izlan, he reached into his belt pouch and removed a folded piece of paper. The likeness was a good one. He had been able to recognize the boy, Zeal, even before Izlan identified him. Five other portraits were included with Zeal’s. He had made sure he’d met and spoken to each of them.

  Slag had discovered the paper on his desk that morning, with a pouch of coin on top. An ongoing investigation was underway to determine how such items were being placed in his workroom unobserved, just as in the past, when Slag had found instructions and coin to hire the roofers and the tinker.

  Time to earn my pay, he thought quietly to himself. He folded the page and put it away, then continued his journey back to his workroom to contemplate what to do next.

  ***

  Izlan met with Charion, Martell, Patrice, and Landis in her workroom, where they would not be overheard.

  Charion sat at the table with the others and stirred sweetener in her tea. “So, what is Slag all about?”

  Izlan took a sip of her own brew then answered, “I am not completely sure, but I intend to find out.”

  Martell took out a small knife and began to clean his nails. “Slag has never offered to apprentice one of our wards before. Why now, I wonder?”

  “I doubt he has plans to sell them. He can’t be stupid enough to want to intentionally bring harm to one of them.” Landis looked around the table at the others. “I am not the only one here who would hand him his stones, if he did.”

  Izlan laughed along with the rest as she pictured Landis in action. “Slag is the head of Trade here. You are correct in assuming he is not stupid. He is in the dark about us, but I know a little bit about him.”

  “Any intelligence we should have?” Patrice took Martell’s knife out of his hand, splashed it with spirits from a decanter, and then used the blade to slice a stone fruit.

  “My nails are clean,” Martell protested.

  Landis elbowed him. “Not enough for our prime healer.”

  “Well, she should carry her own knife then, instead of always borrowing mine.”

  Izlan shifted to a comfortable position in her chair. “Let’s just say Slag has an honorable past. I don’t have all the details, or I would share them with you. He accepted blame to keep his family from being disgraced and was thanked with exile. That was before he remade himself in Arlanda and took the name Slag.”

  Patrice cleaned the blade, wiped it with a cloth, and handed it back to Martell. “But can we trust him with our children?”

  Martell accepted the weapon and placed it back in its hidden sheath. “I will trust him as far as I can throw him. But I say let him and his kind have a chance to prove themselves.”

  After a lively discussion, Izlan finally sighed. “You’ve given me good counsel. We will allow Slag to select his apprentices.”

  That night, as Izlan readied for sleep, she wondered if working with Slag was the right thing to do for her charges. The meeting she had just completed with her four lieutenants had provided more questions than answers. The general consensus was that this would be a chance for some of the children that might not come again.

  Instead of turning in, she decided to check the watches, make sure the children were all in their sleepers, and then go for a walk in the wood, all the while wondering who would be chosen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Seasons tumble, seasons fly. Sometimes it helps if you can cry.

  —Book of Seasons by T. A. Feneas

  MEHRLE STRODE UP to Kaid where he sat on Cook’s step, outside the Temple.

  Kaid had come every morn with Master Slag. Kaid actually played with them all; he didn’t want to be called Master, just Kaid.

  “How come most of the others can’t be in our group anymore?” Kaid stood and took her hands. “Dance with me.” Kaid began to hum a tune softly.

  Mehrle sighed. In all her eight seasons, she had never met an adult as strange as Kaid. He had even been sitting with her and the others through the four morning marks of learning taught by Lady Patrice.

  As Mehrle concentrated on the steps of the dance, Kaid spoke to her.

  “That’s it. Keep the beat in your mind. Pretend there are musicians playing. Know this, you have been chosen along with five others by Master Slag.”

  “There are only going to be six of us?” Mehrle was able to appreciate how Kaid used the pretense of dance to enable them to hold a quiet conversation amongst the listeners who played and worked around them.

  “Yes, there are you and Fronc….”

  Mehrle pictured in her mind Fr
onc, who never realized how much his size was an advantage.

  “…Tulip…”

  Tulip had such a stupid name. Mehrle knew she would never want to go through life being called a flower. But Tulip was as tough as any of the boys.

  “…Liddea…”

  Liddea was smart but not very strong. Mehrle wondered if Liddea would be able to keep up, since she was so prissy.

  “…Nester…”

  Well, Nester was sneaky. Mehrle appreciated how successful he was in avoiding Torin and the other bullies.

  “…and Zeal.”

  Zeal needed looking after. Incidents happened around him, but not all were bad. Mehrle had observed that Zeal was a frequent target of Torin.

  She wondered if she dared ask why she and the five others in particular had been chosen.

  “You are saddened by my news. Why?”

  Mehrle missed a step as her eyes began to well. Kaid gently guided her return to the dance. “I am glad I was picked, but so many haven’t been.”

  Kaid stopped, knelt in front of Mehrle, and wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. “Remember this feeling. One day you will need these tears. It is a strength that you care about others. Now be happy for yourself. Feel free to talk to me regarding anything, anytime, Mother Mehrle.”

  Mehrle laughed. “You’re making fun of me. I’m not a mother.”

  Kaid smiled. “True, but you are a leader.”

  ***

  Tulip was tired and sore. Winter had arrived and driven training inside. She rose early to straighten her portion of the room she shared with Mehrle and Liddea and also complete her chores. Everyone who lived here lent a hand to care for the Temple. This morning, she had helped clean out the ashes from the fireplaces. After breakfast, schooling began but ended with the midday meal. The afternoons were becoming physically a challenge.

  Kaid had taken off earlier and left Lady Landis in charge of training. “There they go again. Why does the day always end with wrestling for them?” Tulip asked Lady Landis.