James Islington - The Shadow Of What Was Lost

Without adding anything further, he gestured for them to follow and then set off down the road.

They wound their way through a series of narrow streets until they came to a stop outside a large building. Its façade was ornate, with finely carved designs inscribed onto every available surface; unlike the houses and stores around it, its architecture gave it gentle curves. It wasn’t circular, but the entire structure had the impression of having no corners, and as a result was somewhat dizzying to the eye. After a few moments of consideration, Davian decided he didn’t like it.

“Where are we?” he asked Taeris.

“The Temple of Marut Jha Talkanar, God of Balance.” It was Caeden, his expression fascinated as he stared up at the structure.

Taeris gave the young man a sidelong glance, then nodded confirmation to Davian.

Wirr gave Taeris a disbelieving look. “You’re hoping to get help from here ?” He looked around to make sure no-one was close enough to overhear. “Isn’t it a little dangerous? What with the sacredness of Essence, and those who use it being abominations, and all that?”

Taeris started up the stairs. “Just say nothing, do as I tell you, and we will be fine.” He vanished inside without waiting to see if his companions were following.

The other three exchanged glances. “We’ve trusted him this far,” noted Caeden.

Davian nodded, and Wirr gave a reluctant shrug of agreement.

They entered the temple cautiously. Once the doors had closed behind them, the bustling sounds from outside vanished and they were left with only a peaceful hush. Somewhere a fountain burbled, and somehow a fresh breeze from one of the high windows was cunningly directed downward by the odd shape of the walls, sighing in the enclosed space. Skylights meant the large room was well-lit, but scented candles burned in the corners too. Aside from the three of them, the room was unoccupied.

Just as Davian had finished taking stock of their surroundings, a side door swung open and Taeris strode through, followed by what appeared to be a very drunk priest. The man staggered over one of the steps, then tripped completely, sliding along the polished marble floor with an odd grace. Taeris snorted, then hurried over to help him up and check he was uninjured.

“I present to you the high priest of Talkanar, God of Balance,” whispered Wirr to the others.

Davian stifled a giggle which would have echoed quite embarrassingly around the open room, and even Caeden, usually more reserved, hid a smile.

Eventually the priest managed to make his way over to where they stood without falling, though that was mainly due to the assistance of Taeris. Taeris propped him up as they came to a halt, making sure he wasn’t going to collapse again before letting him go.

“Boys, this is Nihim Sethi, someone we can trust. Nihim - this is Wirr, Davian and Caeden.”

The man called Nihim looked at them through bleary eyes. “Pleased to meet you,” he slurred.

Taeris grimaced. “Don’t blame him. It’s the month of debauchery,” he explained with a roll of the eyes. “Of all the choices, getting drunk is about the most moral thing you can do and still look pious.”

“Seems like it should be more popular,” said Wirr, gesturing to the empty space around them.

Nihim snorted. “Popular? No. In fact, these days we only survive through the decree of the Gil’shar.” He shook his head groggily. “This month may be all well and good, but there’s a month of abstinence, too. A month of gluttony and one of starvation. A month of pleasure and a month of pain.”

“So you’d be devout half the year,” said Wirr with a grin.

Nihim winced. “I take it you’re not from around here. Don’t let anyone else hear you talking like that,” he slurred. “Here, you choose one of the nine gods, and that’s your path. Set in stone, no changing, no slacking off. If you don’t follow the precepts, and then get caught….” He made a slicing motion with his finger across his throat.

“They kill you?” said Davian in astonishment.

“We like to think of it as aggressive evangelism,” replied Nihim glibly.

“There’s a reason the Gifted are so hated here, Davian,” Taeris interrupted. “Being devout isn’t just a choice in Desriel. It’s a way of life, indoctrinated and law.” He hesitated. “So you can see what a risk Nihim is taking for us.”

Nihim stared at a spot on the ground. “Taeris. I’m in no state to help you and your friends right now, but give me an hour. We have tonics in the back for… clear-headedness.” It was obvious he was struggling to concentrate. “The others shouldn’t be back for days; I’m basically in charge for the moment. No-one wants to be stuck in the temple during Jil’imor. You shouldn’t be disturbed if you stay in there.” He gestured to the smaller room from which he had just emerged.

Taeris gripped him by the arm. “Thank-you, Nihim,” he said sincerely.

The four of them filed into the side room, Davian glancing behind him to see Nihim stumbling off to another section of the temple. There were comfortable-looking chairs and couches lining the wall of this room, but none of the finery that was on display in the main chamber. It seemed to be a common room for the priests, rather than for public use.

They talked quietly amongst themselves. Davian was full of questions about the Song of Swords; to his surprise Wirr seemed better equipped to answer more of them than Taeris. The last two winners of the Song were fighting in this tournament, apparently, though Selbin Hran – the victor from fourteen years ago – was almost forty now.

Caeden seemed fascinated by the entire concept, but as always, he kept his thoughts mostly to himself. Davian observed him surreptitiously for a while, as he’d tried to do a few times this past week. He liked Caeden, but he knew he had to be careful about his instincts. It was his credulous nature that had landed them in this mess in the first place. He couldn’t just give Caeden the benefit of the doubt - he had to wait until they were safely in Ilin Illan, and their companion’s role in all of this had finally been explained, before trusting him.

Eventually the door to the main chamber opened again, and a much more composed-looking Nihim stepped through. His long black hair was now bound, and the redness around his eyes had all but vanished. He was also tall, Davian realised with a start; he must have been slouching considerably before. He moved with a sure step and confident air that seemed much more befitting a priest.

“I apologise for the wait,” he said to them in a strong, clear voice. “Even with the medicines at my disposal, this time of year can be a trial.”

“Not your fault,” said Taeris amiably. “Do I need to do the introductions again?”

Nihim chuckled. “No, no. Davian, Caeden, Wirr.” He pointed to them each in turn. Then he sighed, giving them a considering look. “So, Taeris, you’ve gathered a small group of friends. I never picked you as the type to enjoy company.” His tone was casual, but there was definitely a question behind it.

Taeris gave him a slight smile. “You’re right about that, but sometimes we don’t have a choice in the matter.” Wirr rolled his eyes at Davian, who grinned.

Nihim just nodded. “I hear there was some trouble down south. Bad stuff, Gifted involved and everything. A man caught helping someone mixed up in that would probably not end up on the good side of the Gil’shar.”

“True. But then, a favour that large would clear a lot of debts, too,” said Taeris.

Nihim smiled at that. “I wouldn’t go that far, but it will be a start.” He clapped Taeris on the back. “So beyond giving you a roof over your heads, what can I do for you?”