Temple - IX

Before long, we find ourselves in a secluded place. A narrow alley, with pipes looming, and steam whistling through them.

I set Munaku down on an abandoned wheelbarrow. She lies angled against it. I take the moment to inspect her wounds.

“Are you hurt?” I ask

She smiles. “Not worse than you. That Alemi-guy must’ve been pretty strong, eh?”

“He is. Fighting with anger is a difficult and often detrimental process. But he’s made good use of it.”

I look closer at the script on the curse. Magic often has a verbal or written component, so as to invoke a deeper connection with the powers that be.

The script on this is foreign. A Western, or Northern language from what I can gather. Though not what I'm able to decipher.

“Don’t beat yourself over it,” Munaku says. “It’s not your fault his son ran in front of your sword some twenty years ago.”

“Why? Because wartime circumstances permit all things immoral?”

“I mean… yeah? This Alemi guy must’ve been a commander or something. If you killed him, you’d probably end the war faster, and save even more lives anyway. In the grand scheme of things.”

When they injured Munaku, they must’ve used a curse-holding knife. A sort of magical poison, inflicted through contact with the bloodstream.

A curse like this could be resolved with the right treatment. Herbs. Magic. Blessings. The issue is, even if I could figure out what it was, I don’t have the necessary tools at my disposal. I haven’t a house in Ineo, nor storage for these things. And whatever medicine I had was confiscated when I went to prison.

“...I’ve made the mistake of thinking in the grand scheme before,” I say, picking her up.

“So what do you think of now?”

“You and the ones dearest to me.”

“I’m dear to you now? That’s new.”

I slowly turn my head towards her. A wry smile is playing on her face. And she’s excitedly twitching her fingers, as if she’d just said something rather funny.

“As an apprentice, you can truly be rather insensitive at times.” I sigh.

“Don’t lie. You love that about me.”

“I won’t accept or deny that fact. I’d rather let this unruly child come to her own opinion.”

I let the steam whistle for a few moments. I sit up straighter and try to gather my thoughts.

I have to seek someone out for help.

But whom?

An apothecary? None are open at this hour. And without money, I’d be forced to use violence against them. Although I’m far from a position to make demands, I’d rather remain discreet and professional.

In which case, I have to turn somewhere other than a apothecary.

And if I want something open at this hour. If I want someone that’d let me in, no matter what. There’s only one place left to go.

A temple.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·   

The dominant faith in Ineo is that of the Steam-Turtle. Despite that, the country is still tolerant of other beliefs pertaining to the Divine Beast.

With Munaku on my back, I consider the options I have. I’ve been to Ineo a number of times, so I’m aware of the major temples and what they have to offer.

Monks of the Steam-Turtle tend to specialise in protective medicine and the treatment of cold-induced diseases. Those of the White Heron, parasites. Those of the Six-Legged Weaver, the restoration of damaged arms and legs…

I shake my head. I can't be too demanding right now. I'll go to the first temple I see, and hope for the best there.

Some time passes, with me navigating rooftops and looking for any standout temples. Eventually I come across one for the Steam-Turtle. A great circle of blue-white stone, with four squares for limbs. Judging by its condition and sheer size, it must be one of the more popular ones. With plenty of donations and other benefits to keep it going.

I head to its entrance. I climb up its stairs and ring the great metal ring on its door. It slams against wood three times.

I wait. I keep track of Munaku’s laboured breathing, and pray her condition won't worsen. I keep on alert, sniffing the air, and attempting to locate any potential intruders by sound or sight.

The door opens after what feels like an eternity spent. An older man exits through it. An Ineo. Wearing a thin, blue-white tunic and some furs over it.

He has a kind, if not tired, expression.

Judging by his clothing, he must be a fully ordained monk.

“How may I help you?” he asks. Clearly registering my appearance.

“Venerable Master,” I perform a slight bow. “My friend here has been afflicted by a curse of some kind. I was hoping you'd be able to help her.”

The man and I share looks. He seems to be considering the prospect with a degree of care.

Under the Oath of Charity, most temples are honour-bound to accept whoever seeks shelter at their place. Including criminals, runaway nobles, and the like.

“A moment please.”

The man withdraws back into the temple. A short while passes, and a few younger monks exit the temple, coming with a blanket and a cup of tea. I give them my thanks and keep waiting. They leave.

There’s a longer period of time before anyone else comes. It’s one of the younger monks again. A fresh-faced boy with just the bare attempt of a beard. He’s noticeably upset, and his eyes seem to have difficulty meeting mine.

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to receive you for the time being.”

“I understand.”

My answer seems to deepen his frown. “We simply have no more room to give,” he answers, breathing out a white cloud. “There was a skirmish just north of the city this morning. We’ve been swamped with soldiers as a result. A lot of them are under intensive care, and show no sign of immediate recovery.”

“Your hands must be full and weary, young man. Take pride in helping heal those important to you and your community. We’ll be on our way now, though we appreciate the time given.”

“Please wait.” He hands me a thin, leather pouch. “This should… aid in the recovery of your friend.”

“Thank you.”

“I had a chat with a few brothers of mine. We’ve reason to believe the curse is Northern. Esali, to be precise. Sorry. What I’m trying to say is that there’s a temple not far away, where you might be able to solve this issue… Perhaps.”

A glimmer of hope. The boy’s words are enough to give me just that.

I empty the leather pouch he gave me. Feeding the small balls within to Munaku.

“Do you know where I’m able to find this temple… Perhaps?”

He gives me the instructions, relaying them in minute, stuttering detail. Interspersed with the frequent ‘sorry’, and ‘yes… no… yes.’

I head down the steps. He waves a brief goodbye, and opens his mouth to speak.

“You know… There's a lot of evil in this world, but I'll never stop believing in trying to do good by our fellow man. Least of all, a hero like yourself.”

I stop for a moment. He must've seen through me. Mask and all.

“Thank you for committing regicide.”

I keep walking. Tracing the directions the boy gave. I try not to think about why he thanked me. Why he thought the death of his Prince a good thing.

I find the temple he gave me soon enough. It isn't far. But it is located in a more secluded part of the neighbourhood.

It resembles a small, green triangle. With smaller receding triangles the taller it gets. It's not a faith I recognise, but the design is familiar enough.

I approach the front door. An uncomfortably triangular handle sits in its centre. Before I can so much as knock, however—the door swings open.

What greets me is a monk of the faith. A young man. With braided, green hair and a robe decorated with geometric patterns. His eyes are shut, while his lips are pursed into an excited smile.

Interestingly, his skin is a lighter shade of green, with a shiny, almost reflective hint to it.

He's a Kidi. One of the Northern peoples. They employ a strict caste system, depending on the colour and hardness of their children's skin.

“So…?” the monk opens, looking me up and down. “I can smell the despair in your veins. What's the matter? Why are ya here? Come on, speak up!”

“Venerable—”

“Venerable? Who?” He pokes his head out, excitedly looking about. “Not me. Not ever! Haha. And the correct term for my faith is—Thomar. By the way. There’s no direct translation, but it means somewhere between an insignificant ant and an almighty destroyer of worlds. Not that it matters. Because I'm not neither, both, nor a Vulnerable–Venerable’s equivalent in any sense of the word.”

“Be that as it may, I require something to address you by.”

“How ‘bout ‘The Pandemonium Monk of Inevitable Consequence?’”

“Might there be an abbreviation of such a descriptor?”

“An abbreviation? Hm.” He scratches his chin. “Lutu, then. Lutu will do just fine. As will you coming inside and making yourself at home, that is!”

We enter the temple. The inside of it is very geometric. Everything seems to possess very sharp corners and is moulded into rigid shapes. Largely triangles. But squares, and other forms too, depending on what they are.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone else here besides us.

“So, who sent ya here?”

“The Temple of the Great Turtle.”

“Oh, yikers. That explains it. No one ever comes here for the nice things: Like hoping their baby gets a unibrow, or wishing their enemy would implode into mincemeat.”

“I do apologise that I’m not able to break the mould. But I’m here for the express purpose of rescuing my apprentice from a curse.”

“Hmm. Let me have a looksie. Set her down.”

He pats a triangular table. Situated under a crystal window above. Strange devices are fixed onto the poles next to it. Crystals and gems, shaped into multi-coloured lenses and scopes.

I follow his instructions and place Munaku down on the table. The Monk—Lutu, gets to work immediately. Moving the devices with metallic creaks and glass-like whistles. Soon enough, a half-dozen different lenses are focused on Munaku, focusing lights with a rainbow’s variety.

“I won’t be done for a while. So feel free to look around and touch things. Excluding me, of course. I’d normally take you up on the offer, but I fear whatever stimulation offered might alter my otherwise very rational judgement…”

I navigate the temple quietly. It doesn’t take long for me to end up in the middle of a garden. With a roof of layered crystal and potted plants beyond anything I’m quite used to.

The silence of the place gives me a moment of repose.

Despite his eccentricities, the monk seems harmless enough. I consider myself a decent judge of character, and I doubt he’s going to harm Munaku. That line of thought manages to put me at half-rest, but for a moment, I consider turning back, and checking on her.

I can’t afford to disturb his procedure. Or concentration. Or whatever the man requires.

Trying to keep my mind elsewhere, I instead turn to the events of today.