(Art source unknown)
Dear friends, I am following up on my promise to deliver yet another fairy story. Set in one of my first fantastical realms, the Metropolis of Krart, I will publish each chapter for Warrior Wednesday.
Massive to say the least, behind the giant magical walls of this grand city live, love, and die (and some keep living after) a grand multitude of fantasy races. By way of ancient magic, sword, arrow, and even rare alchemical tech, are issues settled when the word and the thought is not enough.
The climate is brutal. There are only two seasons; Frost and Warmth. Food can only be attained by mundane means and is often quite expensive. Fuel, because during the terrible Frost people need it to stay alive, is in high demand and strictly regulated by the Temples.
The three gods of Krart are mighty and ever present. People cannot imagine their lives without offering a prayer to either Iroh The Brilliant Flame, Mara Protector of Mothers, and Kan Keeper of Souls.
Today, in chapter 2, you will learn more about the youngster Joel saved. More, you’ll read about the Temple of Mara and how its priesthood helps the city’s unfortunate. Orphans are taught various skills, the value of honest work, and in their stead, become helpers of others.
Dear friends, enjoy your Warrior Wednesday!
Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 2
Youngsters
“Keryln!”
The voice calling his name was warm and powerful, yet it would soon warp, twist, swallowed by a choir of hideous screams. Light dim and become shadow, a wall of running faces surround him. Laughing and squealing in a language he could not understand, their words made his ears hurt. He made every effort to resist the horror, even focused his mind long enough to say the first words of Mara’s prayer for the children, yet the shadow overtook him.
Just before he woke up drenched in sweat and screaming, Keryln felt someone’s rough hand on his forehead. The shadows were ripped asunder by a torrent of light and the gentle voice returned – “Wake up son, wake up.”
Keryln winced at the light-bunny hopping across his yawning face. The Temple of Mara had twelve long sleeping rooms, four of which were reserved for orphans in the clergy’s care. Tall windows lined the outer wall, six thick wooden doors under them, connecting each of the bedrooms with the rest of the Temple’s living quarters. Rows upon rows of two storied beds, of which Keryln’s was the furthest in the room since few liked to sleep near.
He quickly became known as the “sad one”, as soon as his foster father brought him here. While most orphan boys and girls were quite understanding of his nightmares and loss of memory, they being in a somewhat similar boat themselves, kids needed their sleep.
“Dad, that dream is back.” – mumbled he and hugged his foster father.
“I know sonny.” – said the dwarf as he gave him a freshly washed shirt with a smile – “And you are saying your prayer, right?”
“A-almost did this time!” – Keryln assured his father with a mumble.
He shoved his arms in the sleeves as he swiftly donned first the shirt, his pants, tying a comfy leather belt around his waist. He rummaged inside his personal chest for a box of carpenter’s tools, and secured it at the back of his belt.
“Good.” – Joel stood up, patting the ever-increasing in tallness boy on the head before he asked – “Remember what day is it?”
“Huh? The fifteenth day of the Ninth of Sustenance, of course. I am to help our older tenants with their daily chores.”
“First thing, you visit granny Folst.” – Joel instructed his son with a smirk and canted his head a few times reminding him – “She was asking for you yesterday.”
“Gran Folst gave me coin for planks and nails. I’ll fix her a new shelf for all them pickle jars she keeps making!”
The boy slipped into his comfy wooden shoes, his clacking footsteps grumbling over the choir of other children whispering.
Orphans were slowly waking up and soon, in their many droves, they’d swarm the Temple’s mess hall. They’d need every little bit of energy to do their daily chores. Customary for most orphanage institutions in Krart, the Temple of Mara too taught their young charges useful skills ensuring they would grow up self-sufficient adults. More, this earned the children much of their keep since many an oldster paid in coin for the completion of various tasks.
Today, Keryln wanted to be one of the first in the food line since his friend was cooking breakfast. With all haste, he clacked and clinked over the polished stone floor of Mara’s cathedral, yet his swift food dash was stopped before it even began. Joel placed his hand over the boy’s shoulder, his warm voice wavered a bit when the dwarf said:
“Happy birthday my boy.”
There was a sheathed long dagger in the palm of his hand, longish and brand new. Its sheath was made of sturdy Fern-wood, held with thick leather straps to one’s belt. The metallic buckles were beautifully forged from Bronzium alloy, its reddish hue favored by Marrites for many generations. The handle’s crisscrossed wires, also pure Bronzium, was comfy to grasp ending with a moon-shaped, Gray-steel pommel. Unsheathing it, Keryln marveled at the jet-black edges, the sharp tip, and its shiny fuller.
“Thank you father!” – the boy hugged Joel as this one attached the gift to his belt.
“By the Moon Goddess,” – chuckled the dwarf, poking his son’s cheek – “I swear, one day you’ll even forget yer name!”
Keryln ran, his foster father’s voice chasing after him – “Remember, if ye need me for anythin’, I be in the guard post!”
The boy waved back, his smile wiping all worry from Joel’s face, as this one slowly walked out of the sleeping quarter and towards the Temple’s exit. His smile gave way to a frown, as soon as he remembered that there were murderers in need of questioning.
On the other hand, Keryln had already ran fast into the Temple’s huge, oval mess hall. At one time, thousands could be seated across its hundreds of long tables, a group of orphans tasked with keeping things clean. The boy did the same during his first years in Temple and it was perhaps one of the easiest, yet most tiring chores one could be tasked with.
He rushed past the speedily forming cue of hungry youths and straight through one of the server doors. Entering the kitchen, Keryln was immediately greeted by a stern-looking dwarven granny, a taskmaster he’d himself worked under, and for two full Turns. She’d recognized him in an instant, her gaze as shrewd as ever.
“Boyo,” – rumbled her authoritative voice as she pointed someone close by with a sudden, huge grin on her wrinkled face – “yer friend awaits thee.”
Keryln kissed her hand and rushed forth, eagerness surrounding him like an aura – “Grateful for your care, old mother.”
The old matriarch, one who had been feeding orphaned children for over hundred Turns, nodded in return and turned her attention at the line cooks. Foods needed preparing and ingredients chopped, therefore, all who were under her command felt the sting of her hawk-like glare. Feeding the children, especially those who came off the street and having suffered aplenty, 'twas a duty most holy.
Meanwhile, the boy approached his friend.
The elven girl, a couple of Turns younger than he, wore the pure-white kitchen apron of those who apprenticed directly under Old Granny. Meaning she’d one day be able to secure a job in one of the many Krartian eateries and earn quite the good pay. The girl’s brunet hair was long and she wore it in a single braid, freely twisted around her neck. Two heads shorter than Keryln, nevertheless, this elf appeared to be quite athletic; little arms and legs sinewy. Hangs singed here and cut there after long days spent preparing cooking ingredients and transmogrifying these into hearty meals.
“Aeriale,” – Keryln greeted his friend, noticing she hid something behind her back, but eager to show her his brand new dagger, unbuckled the latter – “look what my father gave me!”
“Oooh, is that Bronzium?!” – she gasped with her fluttering voice – “Granny Cook has a chef’s knife with a handle like this. Must’ve cost a lot!”
“What are you hiding?” – snickered the boy, trying to peak over Aeriale’s shoulder which wasn’t impossibly hard given his advantage in height.
The girl held a smallish plate, one round-shaped cake at the center of it. Covered in golden frosting, it did indeed sport a small candle and now that Keryln’s nose had more time to sift through the kitchen’s thousands of aromas, her pastry smelled heavenly!
“Happy tenth birthday!” – she chimed, nudging him over a small flight of stairs where servers usually enjoyed kitchen leftovers during their breaks.
Aeriale glared at his smirking face and her crystal-grey eyes unleashed a torrent of playful sparkles. Once the cake plate was in his hands, she scratched her freckled snub nose, cheeks flushed and wiping a drool. Producing a clean spoon from her apron’s left pocket, the girl watched intensely as he scooped a spoonful. Yet instead of shoving the delicious goodness straight in his own, intensely drooling gob, Keryln offered the first bite to her.
“But, it is your cake.” – protested she.
“You are my friend.” – snickered he and offered her the spoon.
“Birthday boy takes the first bite!” – said Aeriale and gently nudged his hand back.
Without delay, Keryln tasted her creation and, surprised, blinked a couple of times as her chewed.
“Wha... how is it?!” – asked the junior cook, watching his reaction like a predator.
“Mmpgh... It is so yummy! Nompf... ” – managed to say Keryln in between two more spoonfuls of cake.
“It better be! I scrounged for two Ninths to make it and...” – stated Aeriale and a small shadow ran across her visage when she said – “this is my sister’s recipe.”
Keryln’s arm stopped mid air, a spoonful of cake mere inches from his face.
“Did they ever...” – the boy said as he gulped – “find a clue?”
The girl sighed and her eyes watered when she canted her head.
“We were sold by our mother so she could cover her gambling debts.” – a few tears rolled down her face – “Or at least that was what the hostel owner told me and my sister.”
“I cleaned and nursed the fires, while she toiled in the kitchen...” – Aeriale sobbed looking at him, sorry in her wet eyes – “But you already know.”
“One day, the hostess told you your sister found a new job.” – Keryln’s voice hardened when he said this and his eyes steeled – “Yet your older sister would never have left without telling you where she went!”
Aeriale nodded vigorously, boundless guilt in her voice as she said – “If I and my sister knew that it is forbidden for people to be sold in bondage, we’d run sooner.”
He produced his own handkerchief and wiped her tears.
“When I finally escaped a Ninth later and led the guards there, the place was empty!”
“Your sister is probably working somewhere, very much alive.” – the boy tried to comfort her, even though he suspected reality was horridly different.
“B-but Keryln,” – Aeriale said as she looked him in the eye – “the guards told me this hostel was a s-slavers’ lair!”
The two looked at each other for a few minutes in gloomy silence. Many a time Keryln had talked about his inability to remember neither parents, siblings, nor early childhood. Everyone was keenly aware that he had terrible nightmares and his foster father, Joel, often stood vigil over his bed, prayers on his lips.
Orphans they were, their past doleful, yet... they were very much alive! With a full belly, safe, and a roof over their head, not one of the younglings who lived here dared curse their lot. For they all knew how many others died out on the streets, ravaged from hunger, disease, and much, much worse.
Keryln readied himself to depart Temple since the hour of early work was nigh. He offered Aeriale the last piece of cake and as she ate, a hesitant smile on her face, the boy promised:
“One day, when I finish my carpenter’s apprenticeship and you become a great cook, we shall find answers. You, your sister and I? I will find what happened to my family!”
Minutes later, when Keryln returned the Paladin guards’ friendly nods and exited the Tempe’s gates, the boy asked himself – “Cakes are tasty, but why so salty!?”
[Ninth] — Krartian weeks are nine days.
[Turn] — This is a planetary rotation numbering seventeen thirty five day months.
Intriguing story!
Thanks for the @, my man. I've made some "salty cakes" myself. Got a good chuckle out of it!