“I don’t think anyone else spends as much time down here as you,” Len said.
Morkleb looked up at him and blinked, his eyes adjusting from reading the scrawling print. “I like it.”
“You’re a coward.”
Morkleb blinked again, this time in confusion. His ears twisted back in distaste. “What?”
“You hardly talk with anyone else here. You’re acting a coward about getting close to people.” Len sat and put a hand on the icren’s wing covered shoulder. “Don’t be scared, my boy.” He set the small wooden chest on the table to the side.
“I…” Morkleb looked at the books and table, not sure what to say.
“When your parents came back this summer, I thought you might leave with them, but you stayed. I gave you time to mourn Jarah, to let that wound heal. So now you need to have more friends, more than just some old fart like me.”
“Master!” Morkleb protested.
Len laughed at him. “I am an old fart, Morkleb. The other acolytes should be your friends, the servants, learn more from the other clerics. Go into Log Port, meet more of the people here.”
“I…” again Morkleb’s tongue felt like a lead weight as he tried to speak.
“If you are going to be a cleric, you need to be available to people. That means letting them in. Let yourself care for someone again. Let someone else care for you. Thesda teaches that we are here to care for each other.” He slid the small wooden chest across the table to rest between them.
Morkleb’s ears pricked toward it. “What’s that?”
“A game.” Len opened the chest and removed the pieces and the hinged wooden board. “It’s called Generals and Champions. I’m going to teach it to you, then you’re going to teach everyone else at the temple.”
Morkleb’s ears sagged to either side of his head. “Master,” he whined. “When am I going to have time to do that?”
“Between books, my boy.” Len started placing the pieces on the board. “It’s a strategy game. It’ll keep that mind of yours occupied while I’m gone.”
“Gone?”
“In a month I will leave to visit several of the churches in Teranack. Boring auditing work really, but it must be done.”
“How long will you be gone? Who will be the Master Cleric?”
“Several months. Sister Ulla will be in charge.” He raised an eyebrow at Morkleb, a purposeful look. “Watch her, learn from her.”
“Yes, Master.”
Len let the serious look drain from his face and regained his small smile. “And when I return, I expect everyone here to know how to play this game.”
Morkleb rubbed his snouted face and eyes. “Yes, Master,” he mumbled.
***
Morkleb walked back to the temple from The Golden Lamb brothel through the cold streets. The snow was packed down hard, making it slick; he had to wrap his feet to keep them from freezing. He understood why his mother avoided the winters this far north.
One of the girls at the brothel had been killed, and he’d gone to talk and comfort the other workers. They told him she would’ve wanted her body tended to in the temple of Thesda.
He’d started going to the various brothels in the city after Len told him to get out more. At first, it had been awkward, explaining that he wasn’t there for a fuck, but there if one of the workers wanted to talk to an acolyte of Thesda. Many didn’t believe him, and many at the temple didn’t either.
It wasn’t a grave misdeed for someone to sell their body, often the person had few other options in life. But it was frowned upon, as with most religions and cultures, and yet there was always prostitution. It was rare for any ecclesiastic from any religion to visit the brothels, at least so openly. They deserved someone who could empathize with them.
They’d started calling him the whore’s acolyte. Not Thesda’s. And it wasn’t just the citizens and some of the more cynical prostitutes, he’d heard it whispered in the temple too. It had almost stopped him from going to the brothels. But he would be abandoning the ones who did need him. So, he adopted the name, and now the women, and a few of the men, greeted him with it when he visited. He didn’t think Thesda would mind.
He entered the temple, stripped off the heavy cloak and stopped a brown clothed servant. “I’ll need a sled ready to pick up a body.”
“At once,” the servant answered and took his cloak.
Morkleb turned down the hall to Master Len’s room and knocked on the black door.
“Come in, my boy.”
Morkleb entered with a smile and a shake of his head. “You always know it’s me.”
Len looked up from the papers on his small table at the back of the room. “I’ve been waiting for you for two days. Do you know how many of our sisters I’ve called, ‘my boy’?”
Morkleb laughed and sat on the bed. “I was trying to give you time to settle in after getting back.”
Len gestured at the papers with an ironic look. “I’m settled.”
“I did what you asked. I started—”
“I didn’t ask you to spend your money on those women.”
Morkleb grimaced. “I’m not… Well, I am, but not like that. Sometimes they… They just need a night of quiet. So I pay for it.”
Len raised an eyebrow at him.
Morkleb sighed, and his ears sagged. “Yes, sometimes they like me to stay so they can talk, but I don’t make them do anything.”
“The whore’s acolyte?”
Morkleb winced at hearing it from Master Len. His ears leaned back, and he sullenly answered, “Maybe they need an acolyte.”
“And maybe they need a priest.” Seeing Morkleb’s confusion, Len continued, “You’re taking steps beyond what I suggested, my boy. Thesda’s light, I make a suggestion, and you take it and leap beyond it.” Len gave a mild laugh. “You’re helping them without asking for anything in return, be it friendship or otherwise.”
Morkleb looked to the side. “Well there was one—”
Len waved the words away. “What they freely offer in return is none of my business. Tell me, when you learned to swim, did you jump out further than your parents would have thrown you?”
Morkleb blinked, and his eyes widened. “How did you know?”
Len roared with laughter. “Thesda’s mercy, my boy! It was a euphemism. What I’m trying to say is that you’re acting more like a priest than an acolyte.”
“That’s good though, right?”
Len laughed again. Bless this boy’s innocence! “If you want to be a priest, yes that’s good. I swear, you’re a rare soul, my boy. Let the others say what they will, you’re doing Thesda’s work.” He sobered and changed the subject. “Now, did you teach everyone here that game?”
“Everyone who was willing to learn it.”
“Good. And was Sister Ulla a good Master Cleric while I was away?”
Morkleb could see there was more to the question in Len’s brown eyes, but politics between the brothers and sisters of the faith wasn’t to be spoken of. “She was fair to all within the temple. She kept the temple in order.”
Len raised an eyebrow; Morkleb hadn’t mentioned her kindness to anyone outside the temple, the destitute or otherwise. It was the failing he had suspected of her. He was still impressed by the icren’s keen awareness and had missed it during his travels. If he could have taken Morkleb with him, he would have.
“Master, I hate to cut my visit short, but I need to attend a body.”
“Thesda’s mercy on them. Go, and Thesda’s blessings on you.”
***
Morkleb unrolled the charred scroll carefully, it was ancient, and he had only just found it buried in the library’s stores. Since earning his priest’s robes two years ago, he’d been given access to the locked rooms, and he’d been trying to make a better listing of the items within. The scroll was only listed as a gift from royals of Teranack. It needed its age, author, and summary of its contents logged.
The ink was faded, and it was written in
an archaic form of the Merchant language. Morkleb recognized it as the origin of the dialect, the common human language. The scroll must have been open when it had burned, whether in a great fire or by some careless flame.
In the north of Teranack, to the west of the headwaters of the Black River, at the base of the mountains is a temple, Antrae. It was ancient before the first line of kings took control of these lands. The gods touched the world there, and their followers battled for control of the sacred place.
Since the death of King Toren Ferick III, Holder of Truth, Strength of the People, True Blood of the Ferick Line…
Morkleb skipped the block of accolades of the king.
The rule of Teranack will never again be tied to a god or religion. We are now a secular people. No other royal blood will be spilled in defense of Antrae. The temple will remain empty by the might of our armies to maintain our own sovereignty.
So it is decreed …
Morkleb ignored the flowery speech of making the terms into law. He looked at the map depicting where Antrae was, the temple marked against the base of the Black Mountains with a star. The rest of the scroll had been burned away. He wrote in the log:
Burned scroll. Origin: Teranack. Author: Unknown. Date: Unknown.
Royal decree that Teranack is secular and the temple Antrae is to be left empty. Map included.
He carefully eased the curling paper closed and put it on a rack he’d had some of the servants build. He heard the familiar scuff of Master Len’s shoes and brushed at the dust he’d wiped on his robes. He exited the room and moved to the center aisle between the shelves and tables of the library.
“I don’t think I’ve seen someone rise to priest as fast as you,” Lens said with a broad grin as he saw Morkleb emerge.
Morkleb returned the smile and closed the distance to give his master a hug. “Glad you’re back.”
“How are you, my boy?” Len said after Morkleb was done crushing his ribs. “Thesda’s mercy, I’ve only been gone a few months. Did your ship come back this summer again? Did you see your parents?”
“I did. They said to pass their well wishes on to you. My mother is still surprised I’ve gone four years without returning to the ocean.” Morkleb sat back down as Len took a seat. He touched at his right ear, another chain looped from it. “My family has another ship. My uncle is captaining it. Mother said if I ever wanted to return I would have an officer position. I think she is trying to tempt me home,” he laughed.
“Do you miss it?”
Morkleb’s eyes grew wistful. “Every day. The smell of it, the rocking of the ship, the feel of ropes in my hands. Maybe one day I’ll go back to the sea, for a little while.” The wistfulness turned to agony, a distant look, one soothed by his work at the temple, but never forgotten. “But never on Nightbane.” He shook his head, clearing the anguish that fogged his eyes. “I belong here.”
“You belong where Thesda deems you necessary,” Len said as he waved away the admonishment, “and what else have you been working on?”
“I’ve been working on my clerical training.” Morkleb gained a triumphant grin. “I’ve already felt Thesda’s strength. One of the servants in the kitchens cut his finger, I helped him.”
Len’s eyebrows went up. “Healed him? You only got your priest robes two years ago. You plan on skipping the four years most priests take just to learn the healing arts?”
Morkleb shrugged and managed to look sheepish. “I didn’t heal him, but I eased the pain, and wrapped it, until dinner when the clerics came down. I’ve already finished reading all the texts on the mundane healing arts.”
“Ah my boy, don’t rush yourself or Thesda.” He ruffled the top of Morkleb’s head and planted a fatherly kiss on it.
Morkleb ducked away from his hand. He wouldn’t correct Master Len on calling him, ‘my boy', but the ruffle was too much like the way a man rubbed a dog. “Where did you travel to this time?”
“Further south down the coast. I had a short stint in the southern continent, but it’s far too warm there.” Len sat. “I’m glad to be back, my gardens probably need a good turnover.”
“Some of the acolytes and I cared for them while you were gone.”
Len chuckled and nodded. “While continuing your studies, tending your flock at the brothels, and cataloging the library stores.”
Morkleb shrugged. “You’d already taught me all the texts while I was just a brown smocked servant.”
“And you’ve distanced yourself from the other acolytes and priests by sequestering yourself down here so much. I know there is still a jealousy of you and your fast ascent in the robes.” He shook his head, if there was one problem with Morkleb it was his reluctance to connect with anyone else. The jealousy only enforced that distance. It was why he left the icren behind when he went on his yearly trips, to force the boy to talk to someone else. It didn’t seem to be working. It was a problem he would have to meditate on, Thesda would guide him to the answer. He pointed to the book Morkleb had pulled from the stores to read. “What are you studying now?”
“Well, you know how the Hells and demons frighten me. I thought it best if I learn how to combat them.”
“We aren’t a fighting order, my boy.”
“I didn’t mean to actually take a sword after them, but there are ways to banish them.”
“These demons that roam Log Port every night could be banished, but there are so many of them we would be overrun. Banishment is reserved for those creatures, so foul, so dark of aura, your skin will try to crawl off your back. I only called for Thesda’s grace to do it once, and I never want to have to do it again. Just the presence of those things makes me sick.”
Morkleb understood Master Len’s tone and changed the subject. “I’ve started to see auras too. Just little glimpses, I think Thesda is giving me hints.”
“Hints?”
“Of what I might see one day. The cant of people’s souls.”
Len grunted and rubbed at his cheeks and chin. “Perhaps Thesda does want you to hurry.” He pushed the thought aside, the deeper meanings of Morkleb’s quick ascent could wait until he could truly meditate on them. “Have you been playing the game? Generals and Champions?”
Morkleb sighed. “Not many like it, they say it is a game of violence.”
“It is. It’s a strategy game for war, but do you know why you’re good at it?”
“I can save them.”
Len smiled with a great show of teeth. “You see those pieces as soldiers, as warriors, and you know sometimes one must fight. I think your sailing heritage instilled that in you. You said your mother, your captain,” he corrected, “would risk fights with slavers to free the slaves. A little violence for the greater good is worth it. Knowing how to fight isn’t wrong. Using that knowledge to gain things only for yourself is.” He grasped Morkleb’s wing covered shoulder. “Come, let’s go play the game.”
Chapter 20
314-315 Br.
“Languages and their writing are as varied as the peoples of this world. There are even languages other species can’t speak. There is the wedge style cuneiform of the trolls. The whole word runes used by dwarves. I’ve even heard of a language written with nothing but pictures. Pictures! Can you believe? How long would a book be if written with pictures?
“So then, why is it difficult for people to understand there are still names from the southern continent that cling to fragments of a language, used before the Age of Sands, that mark enunciations in the middle of the word with a capital letter?"
-Councilor Braxen, Member of the Ruling Council of Fenex
K harick looked around at the towers of books and scrolls. People quietly moved around the library, whispering softly if needing to speak. The place seemed a holier shrine than some churches. It was one of the greatest libraries in the free-state of Fenex. His booted feet stomped on the marble floor, making more noise than the twenty or so people around him combined.
Mages were employed to keep it lit, so th
ere was no chance of fire. The enchantment the mages kept empowered, with various weaves and burned spell components, made the arching ceiling transparent to the sky. But no matter the weather, there was always a constant ambient light supplied. The enchanted ceiling made the library bright enough that no windows were needed to break up the stone walls.
Kharick’s father would have loved to come here and peruse all the books and scrolls, to bring that new knowledge back to the kingdom. But he’d died suddenly in his bed one night. The healers had said it was his heart. Kharick rubbed a hand over his head. He might have followed in his father’s footsteps if reading didn’t strain his eyes so much.
He found Madger between two shelves, her back pressed against the stone wall. It reminded him of how she used to sit and read in Gerran’s house. It brought a sad smile that creased his beard slightly. They’d changed much in the years since then. Had it only been five years? Madger heard his approach and lowered the book enough to peer over the top at him.
“Kharick,” she whispered in greeting, but returned to reading.
“Seal’s near fits, lass,” he told her softly.
Madger sighed and dropped the book to her lap. She looked at the lines of shelves. “Ancient, if I could stay…”
“You said no more than a week,” he reminded her gently.
Madger closed her eyes to shut out the sight of the library. “I know.” She swallowed to wet her throat.
“And you still want to go to Log Port?” He started to sit down next to her, but she shook her head.
“Don’t sit. I need to get up. You’re right. Seal’s right. We should leave.” Madger got to her feet and straightened her black clothes. “It will take months to reach Log Port, and I don’t need to be wasting our time here anymore.”
“Your research isn’t a waste, lass.” He fell into step beside her.
“We can’t sit idle.”
Kharick understood her trepidation, since Pero and Neosho he hadn’t liked to be in one place too long either. “But why Log Port, lass?”
The Titan's Tome (The Mortal Balance Book 1) Page 21