“It’s odd, Sister Sondra,” Mother Evine whispered, “You serve a god who willfully gives much of his strength to others, yet deep inside I think you have felt tormented by people.”
“I told you before,” Sondra answered, though her eyes once again turned downward, “I love people despite themselves. I always want to help people, yet I feel they care little for me.”
“That is the root of your problem. Now look up child, I am not talking to your hair.”
Sondra brought her face up immediately, the edges of her eyes wet. Inwardly, Mother Evine sighed that the young disciple was so sensitive to how others viewed her. “Sister Sondra, I have loved you like a daughter, please don’t be hurt by what I say. Listen to it…cradle it to you for your own spiritual guidance. You have an inner strength that could well surpass mine someday, but only if you can open your heart.”
Sondra nodded, a slight twitch.
Mother Evine put a hand on Sondra’s head, running it tenderly down her hair. “I don’t know if you know it, but there is a beautiful woman here, physically and spiritually.”
Sondra blushed at that.
“I have listened to your words and your unspoken messages down the years. People teased you, made fun of you, and I fear such cruel words can hurt a person as much as any physical punishment.” The older cleric continued stroking Sondra’s hair comfortingly as she spoke. “But you followed a high calling. You came to the service of Ganden, pledged to serve others, heal their suffering.”
Mother Evine smiled, “It is good that you do this. Ease the pain of others because you know what it is like to be hurt. However, in order to be true to your calling you must also heal yourself.”
Sondra frowned, but listened quietly.
The older cleric withdrew her hand, but indicated Sondra from head to foot as she spoke. “You are not proud of yourself, nor do you view the beauty of your soul as your friends see you. You make very little effort to brighten your own appearance, or offer a smile to others. Inside you are still hurt, Sondra. You hear the words of cruel children still ringing in your ears.”
“I don’t have many friends,” Sondra blurted in response to her mentor’s choice of words.
“Yet you do have friends, who say they seldom see you smile or laugh. Though you are eager to heal the hurts of others, you tend to distance your heart from them and hide within yourself.”
Sondra, lowered her head just a bit, then nodded. Evine knew it must be a hard admission to acknowledge.
“In order to truly commit yourself selflessly to others,” Mother Evine continued, “and to be of true service to others, you must learn to love yourself for who you are. Once you recognize your own self-worth and respect, you can truly be great. Your service to Ganden, and your commitment to helping others, is fundamentally flawed unless you can see your own value.”
Sondra sniffled as she nodded again. “I will try to see myself as you do. I honestly try to give as much as I can.”
“That is a good thing, but save a little for you as well. I’m not saying you should be selfish, just see to it you don’t overburden yourself. Remember too, that not so long ago you grew up dependant on these houses for food and clothes. Everyone who comes through these doors feels as badly as you did sometimes, like the world is pushing down on them. You can’t help them if you are also burdened. Be a beacon in the darkness for them.”
The cleric hugged her apprentice, the closest person Mother Evine ever had to raising a daughter. Sondra hugged back, truly respecting her mentor and valuing her wisdom.
When they parted, Mother Evine spoke again. “I will tell you some news that will brighten your day immensely.”
Sondra’s eyebrows rose. The elder continued speaking, “I will bring you along on the voyage with me. You will get to see the vessel firsthand, and learn how we pilot it.”
Her words put the brightest smile upon Sondra’s face that had been witnessed in some time. Sondra became giddy with excitement. “I really get to go? I can be there to watch the Chosen work?”
Mother Evine nodded, “You can see the Chosen go about their most honorable duty. They will pilot the divine chariot with their prayers, while you may enjoy the journey and the enlightenment of the experience.”
Sondra virtually squealed. The older cleric continued, “I hope it reminds you as well to develop your skills and develop proper compassion for others. Only the most gifted are Chosen, and there is rigorous training to prepare for this holiest of tasks. Someday, if you focus upon your spiritual path, you may be a Chosen.”
“Oh, thank you! I’m honored to see it fly while I’m on board!” Sondra laughed.
A short time after their talk ended, Mother Evine and Sondra went different directions to look after their duties caring for the poor. As Sondra rounded one hallway, she heard a commotion from up ahead. Someone shouted as another person tried to calm them, punctuated by noises of objects being thrown around. Sondra hurried ahead to investigate. The noises came from the room where the wounded woman had been healed.
Sondra arrived at the doorway, “What is going on?”
The red-haired youth, dressed in mismatched garments provided by church disciples while unconscious, stood in a fighting stance. Another acolyte, a younger girl, stood back from the woman with eyes wide and frightful. At Sondra’s approach, the look of rage from the patient shifted from the young girl to her.
“Where are my things? Who stole them?” Montanya demanded.
The younger acolyte spoke meekly to Sondra, “She wants her old, bloody clothes back.”
Sondra nodded, taking a step into the room. The red-haired woman tensed, ready to attack or bolt. Sondra came to a halt and held her hands up in front of her. “We haven’t stolen your things; we just healed you from the brink of death. You should lie down and relax.”
Montanya’s thin eyebrows lowered. Scowling, she asked, “Where am I?”
Sondra sought to calm the woman, “You are in a Sanctuary for Those in Need, run by…”
“A copper pen!”
Stunned, the young cleric just nodded.
Montanya sneered, “Give me my things back or I start making trouble. I refuse the services of a copper pen! I want my belongings.”
Flustered, unsure what to say, Sondra decided to let the woman have her way. “Your things are under this pile.”
The young cleric threw aside dirty linen to retrieve the basket holding Montanya’s dirty clothes. “These were soiled by blood and not very suitable for wear. The leather pads, cleaner clothes, and your blanket roll of belongings are all folded under that sheet.” Sondra nodded her head in that direction.
The street youth tore the basket from Sondra’s hands. The disciple of Ganden stood back and scratched her wheat-blonde head as Montanya started recovering her belongings. The youth checked through every pile, making sure she wasn’t leaving anything behind. Montanya found her locket, with much relief, and placed it around her neck. Even a small scrap of pink cloth, which Sondra recalled had held the woman’s hair back, was retrieved from the floor. Montanya paused temporarily when she considered the bloodstains on her tunic and pantaloons, but then angrily stuffed them into her rolled blanket.
Sondra figured it was time to improve her social graces, before the woman did anything else rash, “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself sooner. I am Sondra Oskires, disciple of Ganden. You are…?”
“Nay longer your patient!”
Montanya stormed past Sondra, bumping her to the side in order to leave through the doorway. Sondra silently followed Montanya, guiding her to the front entrance rather than let the angry youth wander randomly and cause more trouble. The disciple of Ganden got ahead of the chiaso and opened the exit door for her. The younger woman ignored her, stomping out into the early morning air. Montanya briskly walked away from the building, only to hear Sondra shout from behind.
“You’re welcome!”
Montanya paused on the street for a moment. Despite her anger, she knew s
he owed the clerics her life. However, it also fueled some rage inside her knowing she was once again the charity of others. Whatever Montanya wanted to do at that moment didn’t matter to Sondra. In one of her finer moments of social graces, Sondra slammed the sanctuary door behind the homeless woman.
* * * * * *
Several titles described the great city of Orlaun: Sprawling Towers, City of Spires, and even Gem of the World. All of these names reflected Orlaun’s ego of being the biggest and the brightest point of civilization in the world. Visitors from far away Tariyka might scoff at that pompous claim, favoring their capital city of Mai-Chong; however, most human-dominated cultures view Orlaun as a fabled city of riches. While Kashmer to the north could lay claim to the most lucrative trade routes and affluence on markets, Orlaun displayed elegance, housed greater centers of learning and was blessed with more rich resources. The cataclysms of the Godswars damaged the great city, yet it recovered quickly in the years of rebuilding. Some of the commodities breathing life and abundance into the city included its mines, bountiful supplies of quality building materials, wool, spices and many varieties of gems. An extensive aqueduct system, repaired from the cataclysms, utilized clean and endless fresh water for the large population. Centuries of culture fostered artists, inventors, and craftsmen at a time when the rest of the world still struggled. A large library proved to be the biggest collection of knowledge to survive the Godswars and the ensuing dark years. Two influential mage guilds settled near this bastion of knowledge, competing for the favor of local officials as they developed centers of learning for the arcane arts. The harbor grew to be the second largest in the world, surpassed only by Kashmer’s mercantile fleets.
The large harbor was the first thing to impress Trestan as their ship arrived. Trestan and Katressa shared a lovers’ embrace on the deck as she pointed out the various landmark towers shaping the skyline. From this distance, Trestan could imagine it must be dizzying to look down from their lofty windows. The two companions had some experience guessing what the view must be like, recalling their flight aboard Korrelothar’s flying vessel Dovewing. The memory bothered them, for their flight aboard the stolen vessel resulted in its destruction. Korrelothar’s punishment proved to be merciful compared to his loss. The companions admired the elf wizard so much that they felt a lot of remorse for not being able to compensate him for losing his most prized possession.
As Cat introduced Trestan to the sights of Orlaun, the young paladin inquired about an area on one end of the harbor. It looked as if the ocean swallowed part of Orlaun. The wetted sides of decayed towers glistened in the spray of waves as they stood as silent sentinels of old. The tide broke against them as it thundered past, sometimes traveling another mile before reaching the current shoreline. Another casualty from the ancient Godswars, the decrepit stone guardians rising out of the water marked the gravesite of a bygone era.
“Much of old Orlaun sank into the ocean, conquered by the sea god Krakus, or so it is said. Today you will still find a floating temple devoted to him within that maze of broken towers, reachable by skiff. The Godswars reshaped so much of the old world.” Cat paused as her eyes swept inland from the sunken towers. “The portion of the city closest to this blight is the Highwater district. That area also features old structures from the past, but it is prone to flooding in bad weather, hence the name. That is where the poorest residents of Orlaun reside.”
Trestan furrowed his brow as Cat talked, “Korrelothar mentioned his title once. ‘The Highwater Conjuror’, I think he said. I wonder how he got it.”
Curious, the companions asked a nearby seaman about the Highwater district. They didn’t specifically ask about Korrelothar. He paused in his work to provide them with a hasty answer.
Deeply tanned hands held a knot of rope as the seafarer spoke. “Fer such a gem o’ a city, the conditions in that district are a sad tale. People only live there amidst the filth and mercy o’ Krakus’ tides if’n they have nay other choice. But I’m told that every so often a wizard bloke comes through and provides gifts fer the folk. Generous fellar that must be; I wouldn’t mosey down thar fer fear of my life or purse.”
Trestan and Cat smiled even as they turned to regard the swamped area in the distance. It seemed their local friend had a reputation for being generous to those in need. The deckhand moved away to finish his duties as the two lovers lingered by the rail. Both wore fine attire for their arrival into this renowned city. Although Trestan had not worn his armor much during the voyage, given the lack of necessity for it and the general hindrance it would be should one tip over the rail, he decided to wear it for his grand entrance into Orlaun. While Trestan stared over the railings, he did not notice his lover’s gaze drawn to muscular parts of his anatomy not covered by the steel plate. She reached over and casually allowed a hand to slip down to his firm butt as she spoke to him about the city. Katressa partly dressed in her dark leathers, leaving thinner clothing and softer fabrics to cover portions of her curves. Brighter colors adorned her dress and blousy sleeves and the Taef’ Adorina sparkled upon her head. Cat dressed for Trestan today, her leather tunic opened to reveal the top of her cleavage.
The sad concerns about their differences were far from their minds. Cat lovingly escorted Trestan into one of the most magnificent centers of human culture. She spared no unpleasant thoughts for the extra saddle carried on Trestan’s warhorse. Once ashore, Trestan led Belgard from the docks as Cat informed him about the city.
King Acer MigTolo ruled the Kingdom of Gheras, which included Orlaun. A castle in the city housed government offices, but Cat told Trestan that it wasn’t very notable compared to the ornate towers surrounding it. The companions disembarked in the Upper Port district. From there, Cat pointed out a few notable businesses. The Doyal Moon was noted for revelry and evening entertainment, while Cat coyly hinted that the Silk Sheets Inn was more appropriate for a luxurious night together. Perched on a slight rise sprawled a group of buildings surrounded by a small palisade, which she identified as the Crystal Sun Guild. The mage guild competed with Korrelothar’s guild for favor among the nobles. Cat’s tour turned somewhat southwards. The rows of towering buildings opened wide to reveal the largest open marketplace the young man had ever seen.
A plaque at the entry identified it as the Sun Market, and Trestan thought the description fit. Amongst the crowded and towering structures competing for dominance and space, the market offered a wide expanse of open air. Merchants of all kinds lined several makeshift streets in an area larger than the whole village of Troutbrook. Some set up inside tents, others hawked wares from the back of wagons or small carts, and there were those who carried their goods in a bag as they wandered the market lanes in pursuit of potential buyers. Smoke from cookfires brought a variety of salivating scents. Voices and noise filled the bustling market. Many merchants shouted in foreign languages to advertise their goods. Immigrants from far lands brought a mix of cultures and dress styles. Not only did the noise compete, but the colors did as well. A number of dyed cloth banners or extravagant hats pulled at the eyes. Trestan and Cat stuck to the larger avenues, urging the big warhorse Belgard through the throng of people. There seemed to be no order in which things were laid out. Wood craftsmen bartered next to a spice dealer, while a tailor dealt with customers near a gaudy tent advertising a fortune teller. More than once small boys and girls crowded Trestan and Cat, trying to get the companions to follow them to their parents’ shops. The environment was all strange and confusing, yet it made Trestan laugh just to be in the middle of it all.
The smell from one particular baker drew them in. Trestan saw a board marked with prices, but he didn’t recognize the names of the foods. “Do they have chicken or ham? What is this food?”
Cat giggled, “Trestan, this is a land that is home to pastas and spicy seasoned foods. Have you never enjoyed ravioli or spaghetti?”
Trestan shook his head, he had never heard of such dishes. Cat obliged him, “Well, it is about time you e
njoyed some local flavors. You can get chicken or ham almost anywhere, but if you have never before tried pastas, then this is the place.”
Trestan couldn’t even remember how Cat pronounced the name, but soon he was enjoying a tasty dish made of some white noodles, spicy red sauce and a mixture of vegetables. He looked at the piece of bread on the side with a bit of confusion. “Do they have anything to put on the bread?”
The half-elf, thoroughly enjoying her meal, smiled. She indicated a bottle of yellowish oil. “They do not use jams or jellies here like the people of Kashmer. Spread this oil over the bun. It will moisten the bread and give it more flavor.”
The two companions talked and laughed over the strange dishes for some time before Trestan put a hand to his full stomach. Cat asked him, “Are you ready for a bit of an uphill walk?”
Trestan nodded, trying to hold back a burp as he did so, “Where are we going next?”
“To visit Korrelothar,” Cat replied, “From here, you can just see the top towers of his mage guild.”
Trestan followed her outstretched hand. “You mean that big castle up there?”
“Aye, that big castle that overlooks the rest of the city.”
It impressed Trestan even from that distance.
CHAPTER 11 “Reunion with Korrelothar”
Trestan and Katressa found that it was not easy to simply walk into the mage guild and gain an audience with Korrelothar, one of the esteemed founders. It could have been the disposition of the stewards at the entry desk or the timing of their unannounced trip. Since the two companions had never visited before, they wondered if the entry foyer was usually crowded with city officials, nobility, and more than a few entertainers. In the midst of that chaotic sea of variety, two adventurers from a foreign land were not high on the priority list for gaining admittance. They could easily have been turned away at the door, except for intervention from a most unexpected source.
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 18