Serepheni led him from the sacristy out into the main hall of the outer temple. A group of young girls in green silk robes stood in the choir lofts to either side of the long hall. They sang a long, wavering note in a minor key, filled with a sorrow that chilled Garrett's soul. None of the girls raised their eyes from their hymnals as the two of them passed by.
Garrett followed Serepheni through the narrow, serpentine hallway at the entrance of the temple until they emerged, finally into the gray light of day.
A number of young men in green tabards were milling aimlessly about the circular courtyard in front of the temple doors. To either side of the courtyard, the library and domicile rose, three stories high, each with six great columns of green nephrite, carved into the shapes of many worms, braided together. The temple itself, loomed above it all, its ancient architecture of volcanic stone, inlaid with panels of carved malachite. Thousands of stony green eyes looked down at Garrett from above, watching him in silent disapproval.
"I'll meet you here when it's over," Serepheni said.
"Thanks," Garrett said, "and thanks for writing the letter."
"My pleasure," Serepheni said, leaning close to kiss him on the top of his hood, "Good luck."
Garrett nodded and gave her a worried smile.
Serepheni walked back into the temple, leaving Garrett alone with the other boys. A few of them stared back at him, though most ignored him entirely as he cautiously approached the center of the courtyard. All of them had their hair cut short to the point of baldness. Most of them looked to be slightly younger than Garrett. Even so, several of them were actually taller and broader of chest than him. A couple of the larger boys sized him up and sneered.
Garrett trusted the shadow of his hood to hide his eyes and feigned indifference. Then he saw a familiar face.
"Banden!" Garrett cried out, waving his arm.
A sad-looking boy in the shadow of a stone pillar looked up, his eyes brightening at the sound of Garrett's voice. "Garrett?" he called back.
Garrett crossed the courtyard to take the boy's hand in greeting. "It's good to see you again," Garrett said, "I guess Miss Serepheni got you in here?"
"Yeah," Banden said, "She said that it would be good for me to spend some time here... until I know what I want to do next." His eyes fell as he released Garrett's hand.
"Well, I'm glad you're here," Garrett said, "I don't know anybody else."
"Yeah, I'm glad you're here too," Banden said.
"Go to the center of the yard and form one line!" a woman's voice shouted.
Everyone jumped at the sound and then hurried to comply as a short, athletic woman strode toward the front steps of the temple. She wore brown leather leggings and a green, sleeveless tunic and carried a bundle of short staves under one arm. Her graying hair bounced behind her in a tight ponytail as she walked, her boot heels clicking against the flagstones.
She turned to face them, her face lean and hawkish, scowling at the disorganized shamble the boys had made of their line.
"Line up!" she shouted.
The novices tightened and coalesced into a mostly straight line.
The woman turned to face the temple, her head slightly bowed. "Oh, Dweller Beneath," she cried, "She Who Gives Life from Death! I give you my thanks for trusting me with this wretched lot of mealworms and beg from you the blessing of patience, lest I crush them all in the manner which they deserve!"
One of the taller boys, standing on the other side of Banden from Garrett, snorted with laughter.
The woman spun and hurled one of the wooden staves with sudden and violent force. A loud conk resounded through the courtyard, followed by the disrespectful boy's howls of pain as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his bleeding forehead.
One of the other boys hurried to retrieve the projectile that lay a short distance away.
"Did I tell you to get out of line?" the woman shouted, raising another stick in her free hand.
The boy's face went pale and he ran to take his place back in line.
"Lesson One," the woman shouted, "Never interrupt a priestess at prayer!"
The boy on the ground moaned and tried to get to his feet, but he swayed and fell again.
"Lesson Two," she shouted, "Guard your head!" she tapped the stave in her hand against her own forehead. "One solid blow, even through a helmet, and you're as useless as this little grub here." She waved the point of her stick at the bloodied boy who was still struggling to rise.
Banden stooped to help him, but the Matron screamed again.
"Hands off!"
Banden jerked back, terrified of the woman's wrath.
The woman started to walk toward Banden, a scowl on her face, when she suddenly noticed Garrett, and her eyes went wide. She dumped most of her armload of staves with a clatter atop the one she had thrown earlier. She kept one stick in her right hand as she walked toward Garrett.
"What in the twelve hells is that thing on your head?" she hissed.
Garrett recoiled in terror as she bore down on him but dared not step out of line.
"What are you wearing, little worm?" she demanded.
Garrett's hand went to his hood. "Miss Serepheni said..." he began.
The point of a stave drove up into his belly with a force that knocked the breath from his chest. Garrett doubled over, gasping.
"Stand up!" the woman shouted.
Garrett sucked in a breath and blinked.
"Stand up!"
She lifted his chin with the point of her club.
Garrett stood up as straight as he was able, his hands crossed over his bruised stomach.
"I asked you what you are wearing on your head," the hawk-faced woman whispered.
Garrett's eyes went toward the temple doors where Miss Serepheni had gone.
"Look at me!" the woman shouted, so loudly that Garrett's ears hurt.
"I'm sorry," Garrett rasped.
"What is that thing on your head?" she demanded again.
"A h... hood," Garrett gasped.
She looked down either side of the line and shook her head. "Do you see anyone else here wearing a h... hood?" she asked.
"No, Ma'am," he said.
"No, Matron," she corrected him.
"No, Matron," Garrett said.
"Then why are you wearing it?" she hissed.
Garrett swallowed hard and dragged the hood off his head. He saw the flash of horror in Banden's eyes beside him.
"Gods!" another boy gasped.
The Matron wheeled to face the other boy, and leveled her staff at his face. "What is the punishment for blasphemy?" she shouted.
The boy's face twisted in fear. "I'm sorry, Matron," he said, "I didn't mean..."
"Shut your mouth before I stuff it full of hot coals!" she said.
The boy started to apologize and then clamped his hand over his lips, blushing red.
The Matron turned her attention back to Garrett. "You must be that grave-robber kid they sent me to punish me for all my hard years of service," she said.
Garrett hung his head and said nothing.
"Don't worry," she laughed, "the Goddess doesn't care how ugly you are." She stepped back and spread her arms wide. "Not one of you here has a face too pretty to hit with a stick."
The boy with the bloody face had finally got to his feet again and stood, wobbling a little, at Banden's shoulder.
"You will call me Matron Brix," she said, "At least that is what you will call me to my face. Anything else... well, you'd better make sure I don't hear it." She grinned, revealing a dark gap where she was missing one of her front teeth.
Matron Brix turned and tossed her stave onto the pile of sticks in the center of the courtyard. She then backed away and gestured toward the pile.
"Break line and take a club, one for each of you," she said, "We're going to find out who knows how to fight... and who doesn't."
The boys scrambled forward to pull sticks from the pile. Garrett held back letting the others go before h
im. He fought the urge to pull the hood back over his head and tried to keep from looking at anyone else.
Banden stepped forward and picked the last stave up from the ground and looked around. "Did someone take two?" he asked.
Garrett looked around as well. There weren't enough staves for everyone.
"You can have this one," Banden said, offering it to Garrett.
"No," Garrett said, "You keep it. I'm not very good at fighting anyway. I'll sit this one out."
Matron Brix laughed.
Garrett looked up at her.
"You don't get to sit this one out," she said.
"But there aren't enough sticks," he protested.
"Then maybe you'll get to the pile a little quicker next time," she said.
Garrett's chest tingled with suppressed rage, and he felt his cheeks flush with shame. He balled his gloved hands into fists and took a breath.
Brix smiled and nodded. "Begin," she said.
The boys looked at each other in confusion, waving their staves warily.
"Begin!" Matron Brix shouted.
One of the larger boys stepped in and whipped his stave hard into Garrett's upper arm. Garrett staggered back, roaring in pain.
Banden was there, suddenly, parrying the other boy's next blow with his own staff in Garrett's defense.
Garrett had to duck to avoid the wild swing of a gangly boy who had just aimed for his head. Garrett drove his fist up into the boy's ribs, earning a satisfying grunt of pain in response.
Another boy took the gangly boy's side, and Garrett abandoned all hope of offence in a frantic defense, taking blow after blow from their staves on his forearms and legs.
A groan and the sound of someone falling down came from Garrett's left, and Banden leapt from his downed opponent to Garrett's side.
"Get his staff!" Banden yelled, interposing himself between Garrett and his attackers.
Garrett glanced down to see the boy who had originally attacked him now writhing on the ground with one arm shielding his battered face. Garrett stooped and wrenched the stave from the stunned boy's fingers.
A sharp rap across Garrett's back announced the arrival of another attacker, and Garrett came up, swinging hard. The larger boy shrugged off Garrett's strike to his chest and landed a stinging blow on Garrett's weapon arm.
Garrett hissed and struggled to maintain his grip on the stick. He crouched low and tried to parry the boy's next swing. He managed to deflect most of the force of the blow, but the glancing hit stung his thigh.
Nearby, one of the boys cried out as Banden neatly disarmed him and then bloodied his nose with a lightning quick riposte. Others took notice of Banden's skill, and soon every other boy still standing had joined forces against Garrett and his friend.
Banden did his best to hold against the circle of fighters surrounding them as he fought back-to-back with Garrett against the others. Garrett did not fare as well.
As Garrett reeled from a stinging blow to his ear, one of his attackers reached in and wrested the stave from his grasp. After that, all he could do was to tuck in and try to protect his head as the other boys rained blows down on his shoulders and arms. A blow to his gut drove him to his knees, and he felt Banden throw his body on top of him in a desperate attempt to protect him from the beating.
"Stop!" Matron Brix yelled.
At once the others withdrew, standing back in a sweating, panting, bruised wordless after-rage.
Banden helped Garrett to his feet. A little trickle of blood ran down from Banden's eyebrow, and the side of his face was starting to swell, but he looked ready to continue the fight.
"Thanks," Garrett whispered. His whole body hurt.
Banden nodded, still trying to catch his breath.
"So you see," Matron Brix said, waving the boys back into line, "even a skilled foe may be brought down through teamwork."
She looked at Banden with a critical eye. "Where did you learn to fight?" she asked.
"My sister taught me, Matron Brix," Banden panted.
Brix nodded. "You, at least show some promise," she said.
She looked at Garrett and shook her head. "You fight like a toddler," she said, "Do you know how to read?"
"Yes, Matron Brix," Garrett answered.
"Good," she said, "The librarians have been asking for some help. You'll report there tomorrow. You're useless to me."
****
Garrett touched a fingertip to the swollen spot on his lip and immediately wished he hadn't. He grimaced. Even that hurt. He tasted blood on the tip of his tongue. The cold stone of the bathhouse floor felt good against the soles of his bare feet as he walked, stiffly, to where he had left his boots in the outer hall. He wore a green neophyte's tunic with his medallion tucked safely beneath against his skin. His own clothes now lay in a sweaty heap beside his boots. A damp towel hung, cool and heavy, draped over his head as a sort of makeshift hood. At least he was clean again, and most of the bleeding had stopped.
The sound of chimes drifted in through the high windows of the bathhouse, and the distant voices of girls talking as they walked by on their way to somewhere else. Garrett slumped against the smooth stone wall and slid down into a sitting position beside his boots. He dragged the towel off his head to dry his feet. Max would understand if he didn't come back.
He tugged on one boot with some difficulty. The leather kept sticking to the clammy skin of his leg, and his feet felt swollen. His heel finally seated into the base of his boot and he paused to catch his breath before moving on to the other foot. If Max wanted a necromancer in the temple so badly, maybe he should come down here and get the sense beaten out of him. No, Max would have figured some clever way to avoid the whole thing... probably by tricking someone else into doing it for him.
Garrett fumed, imagining a dozen ways to tell Max off the next time they met.
"Garrett?" Serepheni's voice called out from beyond the bathhouse doorway, "Are you in there?"
"Yeah," Garrett answered. He started to get to his feet, but then decided against it. Sitting down felt really good... well, at least less bad.
"May I come in?" she asked.
"Oh... yeah," he said. He thought about quickly throwing the towel back over his head, but he pushed the thought, and the towel, away.
Serepheni walked around the corner, smiling tensely. She carried a small malachite jar in her hands. She winced when she saw his face, from the sight of his bruises, he hoped.
"May I sit with you?" she asked.
Garrett looked down at the puddled floor and then up at her green silk habit, and scrambled to his feet. "How about over there?" he said, indicating a long wooden bench nearby.
Serepheni followed him to the bench and sat down beside him, opening the lid of the jar. A minty aroma wafted from the lime-colored cream inside. "I thought you might need some of this," she said, dragging her fingertip across the surface of the cream.
Garrett flinched but did not pull away as Serepheni massaged the tingling cream into the bruised skin of his cheek. She worked it down along the line of his lip, dabbing gently against the cut. Garrett breathed in sharply when he felt the balm's sting, but he quickly resumed his stony expression.
Serepheni brushed her thumb across his chin and grinned. "It looks as if you need a shave," she said.
"Huh?" Garrett said.
"You've grown a bit bristly," She said, "Do you intend to grow a beard?"
"Oh, no," Garrett said.
"Good," Serepheni said, leaning back to study him, "I think you look very nice without a beard."
"Thanks," Garrett said.
"All right," she said, "shirt off."
"What?" Garrett said, his eyes bulging a little.
"I need to tend the rest of your bruises," Serepheni said, "Take your shirt off and let me see them."
Garrett shook his head. "No, I'm good, really," he said, "Just the face really, thanks."
"Don't be such a baby," she said, "I'm a trained healer."
Gar
rett jumped to his feet and swung his arms at his sides. "No, I'm really all right," he insisted, "I feel much better already."
Serepheni laughed. "All right," she said, "but I'll leave this with you... in case you need it later." She sat the little jar of salve down on the bench beside her.
"Thanks," he said.
Serepheni nodded. "Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For... enduring this for me," she said, "I know it wasn't easy."
"What? Oh, yeah, it wasn't that bad, really," Garrett said.
"You're as bad a liar as Max," she said.
"No, I mean, it hurt... a bit, but I've had worse."
Serepheni's eyes fell. "I'm sorry I keep asking so much of you," she said, "I just... I think we need to break down the barriers between the church and the necromancers. We need to come together to survive this time."
"Yeah," Garrett said.
"That's why it means so much to me that you agreed to do this for me," she said, "I know it isn't easy, but I knew that you were the one who could do it. Max... well, he's Max, you know. They'll never accept him as anything other than what he is, but you... you can be something new."
"What do you mean?" Garrett asked.
Serepheni stood up and put her hands on his shoulders. "You can be both a necromancer and a Templar. You can bring us together and heal the old wounds. You have a chance to end all these years of senseless animosity between our schools."
Garrett laughed.
"It's true," Serepheni said, "I love the church... I love this place, but I don't know how to save it from what I see is coming. I'm desperate, Garrett. I'll do anything to try to save it. Sometimes you have to change to survive, and that's what you are... change."
"I don't know what you expect me to do," Garrett said.
Serepheni let her hands drop to her sides. "Just be yourself, Garrett," she said, "You change things just by being who you are."
Garrett chuckled. "I'm glad I can take a beating so well then," he said.
Serepheni shook her head. "First day is just to frighten away the unworthy," she said, "You've been through the worst and survived. In any case, they tell me that you've been assigned to library duties."
"Yeah," Garrett said.
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