The Temple

by Cameron Mitchell

  It was hours after the sun had fallen below the horizon when he left, and that was only because Cailin’s father set his dog on him.

  He went to Desmond’s house, where there were still lights on inside, so he knocked instead of going to Desmond’s window. Des himself answered, rubbing his face sleepily. He frowned at Halas. “Halas, it’s late. Go home, go to bed. We’ve got to be at the ship first thing in the morning.”

  “Have you seen Cailin?” Halas asked, ignoring him. Desmond shook his head.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Her father said she’s not at home. Then he sicced his dog on me.”

  “He never was very nice,” said Desmond.

  “Desmond!” came a shrill voice from inside, “who’s that out there?”

  “It’s Halas, woman!” Des shouted. Turning back to Halas, he rolled his eyes. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “Good luck, though.”

  “Thank you. Sorry about Ema,” said Halas, meaning Desmond’s mother, Emaline. She was a constant nag. Desmond shrugged.

  “She’s just Ema,” he said. Halas snorted. Desmond closed the door, and Halas walked down toward the street. He reckoned Cailin was probably at the Duchess. Hurrying down the porch, his foot went through the broken step and he fell on his face, landing squarely in the mud. Like his brother earlier in the day, he came up spitting, and clambered to his feet, cursing and grumbling. He pulled up his torn trouser leg and saw that he was bleeding. Halas swore loudly and walked away.

  It did not hurt, but made him angrier than ever. All he wanted was to find Cailin and say goodbye before he left. Is that so much to ask?

  Apparently it was, because when he got to the Duchess, Old Bert the barman had just closed up and sent all the patrons home. Halas, his breath hard coming now, ran back to her house, only to find the doors shut tight and all the lights off. A dog growled from somewhere in the yard. Sulking, Halas wandered back to Conroy’s. The gnome let him in, looking him up and down. “Are you all right?” he asked, genuinely concerned. Halas shook him off.

  “I need a bandage,” he said.

  “I’ll get the master.”

  “Thank you for taking father in,” Halas said minutes later. He sat in one of Conroy’s reading rooms, his leg propped up on a stool. Conroy was cleaning his wound.

  “It was my pleasure, Halas.”

  Conroy dabbed a wet cloth over the cut. It burned, and Halas hissed. “I am very sorry to see you go,” Conroy said. He dried Halas’ ankle and set to wrapping it.

  “I am as well. Mister Conroy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did I make the right decision? I am of age now. I could have moved into the city—I wanted to move into the city. In three months, Cailin turns twenty. She was to move in with me. What if I am throwing it all away?”

  “You’re not throwing it away, Halas.” Conroy tapered off the linen bandage and sealed it to one of the folds. “Over the past few years, I have witnessed you grow into a wonderful young man. It is true you have changed much, yet you have always been a good person, and always will be. Kind, generous, loyal. Garek needs protection sometimes, and I have never seen you back down from that role.

  “I know that, if you chose to stay here and something were to happen to Garek on that ship, you would punish yourself for the rest of your days. You will keep him safe, and you, both of you, will be back in six month, with many stories to tell.”

  “It just seems like such a long time. Six months! I have to spend the next six months apart from Cailin.” Halas shook his head and rested his chin on his fist. His eyes were cloudy once again.

  “Life is a very long affair. In fact, it is the longest thing you will ever have to do, and six months, even serving in the navy, is just a tiny thing. Cailin will still be here waiting for you, and then you will both move in together, start a family. I know this. I know that she will love you until the day she dies, Halas, because it is impossible not to. Your father will still be here, and life will be as it was. Six years from now, you will have forgotten all about it.”

  “What if I can’t give it up? What if I am like you? You were my age when you first left home, and you did not settle down for many years.”

  “Dear boy!” Conroy laughed. “You are not like me. You will be able to give it up, when you find that adventuring is not all it is made out to be. You do not wish to live a life like mine. No one truly does.”

  “You once told me that no one chooses such a life.”

  Conroy sighed. “Very well.

  “There is indeed a chance that you will not be able to settle down, to live out your life rooted in one place. Few receive the call, and fewer still are able to ignore it. It is a great and terrible thing, one that may very well consume you, as it did me. But I know you will resist. People do not choose to return to the wild; it is thrust upon them like a knife. Circumstance piles up until the journey is impossible to resist. Those that return to it deliberately are fools.

  “When you return to Cordalis you will have had your fill of adventure. I will be here, your father will be here, Cailin will be here. There will be no urgently pressing matters that call you away. Your life is here, Halas, within the walls of this city. In my days, I had no one, but you have people who love you. There are many who love you, and that, you will find, can give you strength, strength enough to deny the call, to allow you to settle down.

  “I know this, Halas, because I have faith in you. And you must as well, or else everything you work toward will be for naught.”

  There was something strange on Conroy’s voice, Halas thought, but he did not know what it was.

  The old man seemed pained.

  There was no time to see Cailin in the morning. Conroy had a wagon ready when Halas awoke, and the gnome had prepared breakfast. He wolfed his eggs down quickly and went outside to Conroy’s stable. Two white mares were hitched to the wagon, shifting from foot to foot and whinnying quietly. It was an open wagon, a cart designed to fit several people. There was room left after everyone on the small company had boarded, baggage and all. Conroy drove the horses, whistling a quiet tune to himself as he went. Halbrick smoked his pipe. Halas and Garek were quiet, which was a good thing, because Halas was sure that if he spoke he would lose his breakfast, and last night’s supper as well. His stomach felt like it would soon explode, and his heart was heavy.

  He was leaving. He and Garek, and Desmond, were going to be away for six months. Six whole months. Halas wished he hadn’t signed on for this terrible voyage, that he and Garek and Halbrick could just be a family together, with no disputes or issues.

  But that was not to be. Halas swallowed. To say that he was nervous was an understatement. Halas was on the verge of panic. What things would happen to him out in the world? From all the tales Halas had heard before, Aelborough was not a place for the weak. Dragons, warlords, malevolent sorcerers—he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  Relax, he told himself. Everything is going to be all right.

  Is it?

  Halbrick smiled reassuringly at him, and patted his hand. That helped his nerves, a little. But it was enough to take him from his thoughts.

  After leaving through the Shoreline Gate, the wagon stuck to the cobbled road, and Halas admired the open fields all around. He’d never been to Aelworth’s Dock before. The road twisted and turned through the hills, and as they got closer to their destination, Halas wished he could go home. They passed by many farms and groves, some men and some women waving happily, others ignoring their presence completely. Past the hills and past the farms, they came to the Red Hall. A fortress of brick and iron, it looked very strange to Halas. Halbrick and Conroy paid it no mind.

  Halas wondered if his father would be okay. He’d lost over half of his money, and now both of his sons. Aside from Conroy, he was utterly alone.

  Six months!

  Despite the chill breeze, it was a fairly nice day. The sun was shining, with only a few shreds of cloud dotting the sky. Halas could see gr
een patches in the dying grass and leaves, little bits of nature struggling against the oncoming winter. If there was one good thing about this voyage, it was that Halas, Garek, and Des would miss winter entirely. He’d studied a few maps, and they were going all the way up the Inigo River to the city of Earlsfort. Halas wasn’t sure where they would go from there—no official charts said. They all ended at Earlsfort. Perhaps that is when we turn around.

  They stopped for lunch by a little stone bridge that arched across a brook. Here was the Bramford Intersection, Conroy told them, leading away in four different directions. Going north would eventually lead you to the Frigid Peaks. South took you to the Inigo River, and then even as far as Sayad. West were the docks, and east Cordalis. Home. Tethering the horses in the grass, the four men ate their sandwiches. No one had said much of anything since leaving Cordalis. In truth, no one knew what to say. All four were worried for each other, and all four had no words for their fears.

  “Howdy there!” called a voice. Looking back down the lane, they saw a cart approaching, driven by Desmond’s father. In the cart was Des, wearing his uniform proudly, his long black overcoat above it, and a skull cap to keep his ears warm. Beside him sat his mother, looking cold and sad. His parents were not very happy with Desmond’s decision to sign on. Garek, finished with his lunch, rose and walked down to meet them. Desmond’s father dismounted and tethered the mule near Conroy’s. “Thought I was going to beat you folks there,” Desmond said with a grin.

  “I suppose not,” said Conroy. “Come, sit with us for a bit.”

  They did, and had a lunch of their own. Halbrick and Conroy tried to make conversation with Desmond’s parents, but they were not in the best of moods, and nibbled on their food in silence. Halas could see Ema’s face beneath her veil, speckled with little bits of frozen tears. Halas and Garek changed into their uniforms. Halas was still curious about how his fit so well.

  After lunch, they all moved out together, the Mallons riding beside Conroy’s wagon. Conroy, ever the entertainer, tried to occupy them with songs and poems and tales, lighting up his pipe as he did so, but they were unreceptive. Desmond, however, listened intently.

  The road and brook were almost parallel now, winding through the fields together. Crossing a second bridge, they came into view of the docks.

  Shabby wooden buildings dotted the coast, but only one really stood out. That was the lighthouse. A tower of stone, it stood higher in the air than anything Halas had seen, even higher than King Melick’s palace. He could not help but stare. A great beacon shone from the tip, one of the mysteries of this ancient place. No one knew what powered the light, or how to replicate it, and it never went out. The secret had died with Captain Aelworth. Piers stretched out to smaller boats and skiffs, and in the distance, Halas could see larger ships with broad sails. Sailors milled about near the lighthouse, talking with family and lovers, giving their final farewells. They all wore the silver uniform. Looking at the ships, Halas wondered which one was The Wandering Blade. They hurried down to the sailors.

  A porter met them with a long list and a pencil in his scarred hands. “Garek Duer, Halas Duer, Desmond Mallon?” he asked. How he recognized them, Halas did not know. They nodded. “Very good. First Mate Cloart is by the lighthouse. He’ll help you with whatever you need.”

  “Thank you,” said Halbrick. They dismounted, and the porter led their horses off to a stable. They found Cloart inside the lighthouse, speaking with two other sailors. He walked over to them. Watching the sailors, Halas was a little surprised by the informality of it all. The men were just milling, like horses out to pasture. He’d expected rigid formations and the captain shouting orders. Halas had imagined it many times: the captain barked commands and the men moved efficiently onto the ship.

  Halas had really just expected the captain to be there.

  “Hey there,” Cloart said. “Yer runnin a little late.”

  “Sorry,” Halas said.

  “No problem. Better late than never, I s’pose. We’ll be headin over to the Blade any minute now, once everybody else gets here. Who’s that?”

  “Darius Conroy.” Conroy bowed and shook his hand.

  “First Mate Cloart. Just Cloart, thank ye.”

  Desmond’s parents had led him away somewhere, Halas noticed. As Cloart left them, he exited the lighthouse and looked around. He saw them then, both hugging their son tightly. Halas turned to his father. “Goodbye, Father,” he said. Very suddenly, Halas felt four years of age again, and rushed his father, embracing him tightly. He felt Halbrick’s arms tighten around his back, and buried his head in the man’s shoulder. He didn’t care if the others were watching.

  “Be careful,” Halas whispered. “Please, Father, be careful. I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.” Halbrick pulled away. He gave Halas another smile and clapped him on the shoulder. “Goodbye Halas, Garek. See you in six months.”

  “G’bye,” said Garek. Halbrick put an affectionate hand on his arm.

  “I have a friend,” he said, almost as an afterthought, “in Earlsfort. If you’re there for very long, you should pay him a visit. His name is Jaden Harves; we served together. He’ll help you with anything you need.”

  “Yeah, we’ll do that. Thank you.”

  Halas turned to Conroy, and they, too, embraced. “Have a safe journey,” Conroy said. “May your luck shine, bright as the stars.” Halas cocked an eyebrow, and Conroy laughed. “It is an old saying,” he explained. “Though it is a little silly, I think.”

  Desmond’s family met them, and they walked out to the end of the pier, where the sailors were piling into rowboats. They stood near a towering man, with broad shoulders and deep blue eyes, a heavy sword at his back. With him was a boy. The boy was much younger than Halas, only fifteen years or so. He wore his hood up. Garek touched his forearm lightly. “Who’re you? Your face is familiar to me.”

  “Aeon the Great,” the boy responded with a sneer.

  “No…really?”

  “No you moron, I was being facetious.”

  As the two moved away, Garek leaned into Desmond’s ear. “What’s that mean?”

  “Sarcastic,” Des answered.

  With that, Halas, Garek, and Des said another round of goodbyes, and climbed into one of the boats, struggling to get their baggage to fit. Older men rowed toward the bigger ships. The Wandering Blade, they discovered, was a huge galley, with three masts nearly as tall as the lighthouse, white sails and Agerian flags flapping in the wind. Webbed netting was cast over the side of the ship. The sailors climbed up it like spiders. The ropes were cold and stiff. Halas, Garek, Des, and the boy they had seen earlier had trouble, but made it. Setting their things down on the deck, they looked back toward the coast.

  “Well,” Desmond said, “that’s that.”

  Sub Chapter Four

  “Why are we doing this?” he asked, overcome once again by his curiosity. Raazoi lay naked up against his chest. The rich moonlight shone through their window. It made her raven hair and pale skin glow in sharp contrast to each other. Her eyes seemed to shine brighter than ever before.

  “It is important,” she answered, and Nolan suddenly felt very sleepy.

  Pain’s a funny thing. After a certain point, you stop feeling it, and yet you feel nothing else at the same time. It pervades your entire body like a cruel flood. Nolan was at that point. He couldn’t imagine a world without pain. Time was gone, rational thought was gone. There was nothing else but the faceless thug and his club.

  After an eternity it stopped. Nolan flopped on his back. His clothes were torn nearly away, but what was left clung to him, matted with blood. He wanted to groan, wanted to do something to convince himself he was alive, but he could not. A dull gray blur pressed closer to his face, and he heard filtered words. “Have we learned our lesson?” the Inquisitor asked.

  “Good. Next time you steal in this city, you’ll do what?”

  Nolan nodded.

  Nolan opened
his mouth. He coughed blood. He tried to find the words, and they were there, he could feel them, but he couldn’t speak but for one: “Dar.”

  “What? You’ll have to speak up.”

  Nolan coughed again, but this smug bastard wasn’t going to get the best of him. Getting the living hell beaten out of me wasn’t bad enough? Now he wants to be arrogant about it? Nolan would have sneered if he’d been in control of his face. Still, he managed to speak, and was glad for it. It made him feel in charge. “I’ll give to Dar. I promise.”

  “Good!” The thug scooped Nolan up. Nolan yelped, and things were dark for a while.

  He opened his eyes. It was dark still, but Nolan thought that was because it was night. He tried to sit but could not. His back was on fire. From his position, he looked around. Buildings were on either side. He was in an alley. He’d been dumped. Lovely.

  Nolan rolled over on to his belly through sheer force of will. His muscles cried out against him, but the bastards wouldn’t mutiny, not until he was indoors somewhere in a warm bed. He wouldn’t let them. He reached forward, felt the cold pavement, and crawled. Inch by inch, Nolan crawled down the alley. There was no breath with which to scream.

  Nolan didn’t know how long it took him to reach the street. He knew he’d blacked out a few times. When he was there, he slumped against what he thought was a tree and rested. It wasn’t a bed, but it would do, for just a few minutes. He swore it would be just a few minutes.

  The thundering of horses brought him to. Nolan rolled over and looked. Two children stared at him from the back of a carriage. Their parents drove on, oblivious to the poor dying man. Nolan managed a yell, but the carriage kept on. How late was it? Certainly there were few carriages out and about during the late hours, but how many of them carried families? People wandered the city at all hours, but once the taverns closed they were few and far between. If the hour was that late, Nolan’s life rested in the hands of the drunks, an idea that did not appeal to him in the slightest.