Chapter 9 Part 1
In Which the Fourth Piece is Accounted For
The gates at Lord Death’s northernmost
temple were known for never having been closed. The priests and acolytes were
known for never denying entrance to a person in need of shelter or healing, no
matter their species. It was the only place where the war between the species
was said to not be fought. That was untrue, of course. The war may not have
been a physical presence on those in the temple, but since actual fighting had
broken out no watu had attempted to enter the temple, and the permanent
residents of the temple grounds had their own opinions of the watu and the war.
Cain
had pulled out the sash of the high priest and donned it once more over his
simple grey robes. As they rode their horses through the gates into the wide
courtyard of Lord Death’s main temple a somber bell was rung to call the
priests into their nightly prayers. As the temple’s residents hurried out of
buildings toward the sanctuary for the dusk service they noticed the party’s
entrance and two people hurried over to help.
Bowing
low in front of Cain’s horse one of the brown robed apprentices said, “My Lord
High Priest, I’m afraid that our own High Priest Michel is leading the service
tonight and will be unavailable to speak with you until after his duties for
the gods are done.”
Cain
dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to the acolyte. We’ll be staying
for a while so we’ll need rooms, and the girl is injured so you’ll have to have
somebody show her and the boy where the infirmary is.”
The
acolyte nodded, “Yes of course, Lord Priest.” He turned and snapped out some
orders to the waiting initiate girl while handing her the reins of Cain’s
horse. By this time the others had dismounted. The initiate girl was a tiny slip
of a thing, swimming in her brown robes. She did not look at all cowed by the
older acolyte. She moved to take the reins of the other horses and headed
toward the stables, not even looking twice at Shula’s dress covered in dried
blood. The acolyte turned toward Cain once more, “My Lord High Priest, if you
would care to follow me, I can show you to where you can wait comfortably until
the High Priest Michel is…”
Cain
interrupted him. “I’ve been here before I know my way around. Get the girl to
the damn infirmary then get some food for the rest of us sent to the snow hare
room.” The acolyte did not look happy to be interrupted or told off like that
by someone younger than he was himself, but in a place like this the high
priest was the highest form of command, save for the gods themselves. Even the
king was beneath the high priests in the chain of command when inside the
temple grounds.
Gesturing
imperiously for Seok and Shula to follow him, the man headed toward a long, low
building connected directly to the temple’s northern most wall. They walked
past the main hall where the sanctuary was and the shrine to Lord Death would
be housed, as well as the hall where the treasures of the temple would be kept.
Shula’s walk was unsteady, dizzy. Seok kept a hand on her arm to support her should
she fall. He had tried to put her arm around his shoulder so he could take her
weight without actually carrying her, but she had shoved him away.
The
young man picked up a lamp from a stand beside the door to the infirmary and
lit it with the flint that sat beside it. “I doubt there will be a doctor on
duty during the ceremony, but you’ll get a dedicated to look at whatever’s
wrong with her at least,” the acolyte told them.
“Regular
cock rooster isn’t he?” Shula muttered to Seok in the language of the gods. The
different tongue caught the attention of the acolyte, who had yet to so much as
look at the people he was leading. In the light provided by the lamp he held he
could see Shula’s blood covered condition, as well as the shocking orange of
her hair. His eyes widened, then he turned abruptly back toward the building.
Slipping off his sandals befire he crossed through the doorway. “This way. Take
off your shoes.” His voice was clipped and he walked stiffly, placing his sock
covered feet down with enough force that they made a solid thud against the
wooden floor with each step.
Seok
squatted down to untie his boot lacings and Shula flopped onto the ground next
to him, careful not to use her injured hand to catch herself. “I feel like
shit,” she mumbled, still using the language of the gods, she had not spoken a
word of the human’s tongue that day. “You unite my boots for me. I’ve only got
one hand.”
“Are
you still cold?” Seok asked her, choosing not to comment on the command she had
given, only starting on her shoes when he had finished untying his own.
“My
left hand feels numb, it’s so cold. What the hell was on that arrow?”
“Left?
It was the right that got hit.” Seok’s voice was concerned. “Do you think it
had poison on it?”
“I
should have let you beat the bastard that shot me to death instead of making
you stop.” Shula’s head fell forward and she groaned, “It hurts...”
The
acolyte leading them had stopped, and was waiting impatiently in the hall. Seok
pulled Shula to her feet by her good hand, which did not feel at all cold, but
rather too warm against his healthy skin. Leading her by the hand, Seok
followed the acolyte down the hallway. They passed two doors before the man
stopped. He paused to knock softly on the door before sliding it open to reveal
a well lit room with an old woman wearing the white shirt and loose crimson
split skirt of temple dedicates under a blue apron kneeling before the low
writing desk placed in the far corner of the room.
The
woman stood as Seok entered, pulling Shula behind him. “Oh, my,” she murmured
with only one glance at Shula. “Sit her down in that chair there, young man,
and tell me what happened,” the grey haired woman commanded Seok.
“Healer,”
the acolyte’s stiff voice said from outside the door. He had not entered the
room. “That girl, she’s...”
“I
can see she’s got watu hair just fine for myself, acolyte,” the woman snapped. She
knew as well as anyone living near the border that the easiest way to tell a
human from a watu was their hair. Humans only had black ranging to brown hair.
Watu hair came in all shades of red and orange. “Lord Death does not take sides
in the war, and neither should one who professes to follow him.” She lifted
Shula’s bandaged hand and pursed her lips as the girl flinched at the pain
caused by the movement. Without looking away from Shula’s wrist as she began to
unwrap the bandage she said. “Return to your duties acolyte.”
When
he had slid the door closed the old woman addressed Seok, “Do you speak the common
tongue boy or are you watu as well?”
“I’m
not a watu,” he answered, “but I speak any language you want to talk to me in.”
The
woman nodded. “Take that bucket by the door and go get some water from the well
behind this building. She’s got a high fever and will need cooling down.”
“Is
it from the hole in her arm?” Seok asked.
“That’s
a nice thing to call it,” Shula muttered, looking down at the brown stains on
the bandage the old woman was trying to pluck away from the wound. The blood
had dried to the linen and Shula flinched when the cloth pulled at the wound.
Her flinch pulled the bandage off the wound the rest of the way, taking with it
the scab that had covered the hole. As soon as she had pulled away, Shula’s
wrist started bleeding again.
“Hold
still!” the woman admonished. “If you speak the watu language, boy, tell her to
hold still or I could end up hurting her, then get going and fetch that water!”
“She
understands you fine, the fever’s just confusing her so she hasn’t been
speaking the human language since this morning.” Seok grabbed the bucket and
hurried out the door. When he came back the woman had Shula laying down on a
bed in the corner of the room and was pressing a poultice of some kind of herbs
onto the girl’s wrist. Shula was biting the base of her left hand thumb in
order not to scream at the pain in her wrist at the hands of the old woman,
blood coated her lips where they met skin and she could not stop the moan when
the woman shifter her grip to wrap a new bandage around Shula’s arm.
The
woman looked up from her ministrations when she finished tying the bandage and
commented on the new wounds on Shula’s other hand. Gesturing for Seok to come
over, she dipped out a bowl of the water Seok had just brought in and handed
him a dry rag and told him to keep it cool and bathe Shula’s forehead with it.
“If the fever was from infection in the wound then I would probably have to
take her arm off. It’s a nasty looking thing, and she’s luck she can still move
her hand and fingers, but it’s not at all infected. The fever can’t be from
anything except for poison,” she explained to Seok when he asked.
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