He had expected the beggars’ path to lead him to a situation like his own, some run-down, abandoned little house tucked away in some forgettable corner of Rensoth. But when the trail of little muddy footprints stopped abruptly at a decorated stone wall — the kind of wall that surrounded a residence — he looked up, stunned to find himself standing in front of a temple.
It was not a grand temple, but was quite large and sprawling. The stone wall around it was almost as tall as Min La and covered in a mosaic of earthen tiles in an ornate design popular among those devoted to Héothenin1. Min La hadn’t realized that Rensoth had such a temple, as temples to the four high Ădol were rare and devotion to Héothenin in Láokoth was only seen in the south and in some parts of the far north. Judging by the carved wooden figures that decorated the wall’s gate, this was also a temple to Énan2, Héothenin’s youngest son and the youngest of all the seven lesser Ădol.
Min La had never seen such a practice, a temple to both Héothenin and Énan. For a moment his anger and panic were forgotten in confused curiosity. Temples were often maintained solely by the donation of pilgrims. But most of the larger, older ones had been built and were still funded in large part by Houses, for whom the keeping of a temple was an aspect of House devotion. Distantly, the only explanation that made any sense was the Lăsoth3 House, who had originally been from the north and were known for their particular veneration of Héothenin. Lăsoth was an enormous House, the largest and oldest of the Fourteen Ancient Houses, with influence that almost exceeded that of the royal Sona House. Min La wondered why the Lăsoth House would keep a temple in a city like Rensoth. Of all the Houses, surely they could afford to maintain a temple in the capital. But then he remembered that the Lăsoth House was old beyond reckoning, tracing its origins back farther than the founding of Láokoth itself, and even farther, if one believed the legends. In all likelihood, this temple had been here before Ŏno Soth had even been built.
Where Min La stood, a little ways down from the wall’s gate, the beautiful, ornate mosaic had been smudged by great streaks of mud left behind by the children when they had climbed the temple’s walls. Min La could just see over the top of the wall into the carefully arranged temple grounds. From where he stood, he couldn’t see anyone in this part of the temple grounds. No monks and no people entering through the distant gate. None that he could see anyway. Despite the fact that it was broad daylight, Min La found himself behaving with recklessness that was entirely out of character. In the distance he heard the faint memory of his brother’s voice.
“Make a plan first, Little Shadow. Boldness without a plan is foolishness.”
Gritting his teeth against the reprimanding tone of his brother’s memory, he climbed the wall. This was an area in which his prolonged homelessness had fortunately not diminished his abilities. As a child he had always been exceptionally good at sneaking around unseen, whether it was to escape his studies or to gain forbidden access to his old Housemaster’s various private meeting rooms, into which he was always secretly trespassing in order to follow his much older brother. Despite the fact that he had been chased from the grounds on numerous occasions by enraged servants, they had never learned how he had gotten inside. This was one skill from his old life that he had not lost in his current one.
Jumping down lightly from the top of the wall, he found himself in a corner of the temple grounds somewhat behind the monks’ residences.
Walkways of dark stones carved looping, almost nonsensical paths through the well-kept grounds. Browning grass dotted with willow trees, sparkling ponds, and patches of flowers enclosed within stone barriers decorated the vast grounds, as well as small pavilions large enough for only one or two to stand beneath.
Several wooden buildings had been erected here and there seemingly at random, though they did stand along the routes carved by the looping stone paths. At the center of it all was the temple itself, which was, indeed, an ancient structure made of stone bricks the color of charcoal. The dark gray stone shone in the morning sun. Quite large, over four stories in height, though only the third level was broken by windows. And these were narrow and filled in with orange colored glass that caught the morning sun like flecks of copper.
The mud prints continued on this side of the wall. Like the alleys in the city, the browning grass of the temple grounds was thickly muddy. Thus it was not difficult to find the children’s tracks. As he followed them, Min La kept an eye on the expanse of the grounds within the temple walls. A temple of this size would likely be kept by a large group of monks. Most of them would be internal monks, who occupied themselves with prayer, study, and writing. Outer monks concerned themselves as much with the keeping of the temple grounds as they did with their various devotions. These, too, were the ones who usually greeted pilgrims. Monks of Énan would also engage in physical training of some kind. Most of the monks of Énan Min La had come across had been skilled at a type of martial dance meant to honor Énan’s eternally vigilant military spirit. Min La had never met a monk of Héothenin and knew little of their practices besides the fact that it was said they were skilled in divination. He was not even sure he’d know how to distinguish a monk of Héothenin from a monk of Énan.
The various wooden residences that dotted the grounds were made up of several separate rooms connected by covered walkways. Min La had many places to conceal himself as he followed the children’s muddy prints to one of the little rooms in one of these wooden residences. There was yet another smudge of mud on the back wall just beneath an open window. Min La crouched there listening for sounds of life. But it was all stillness inside. Cautiously, he stood and peered through the window.
The little room within was arranged around a central ceramic stove that glowed lightly. Several little mats were clustered on the floor around it, each occupied by a ragged little child sleeping heavily.
It was common throughout Láokoth for monks to care for the homeless, for homeless children especially. Every temple had at least one room built into its residence intended for the use of the homeless, or else for impoverished pilgrims. The monks of Níoth were most active in this undertaking, but all monks shared it. It would seem that those of Énan and Héothenin were no exception.
For a fraction of a second Min La felt a surge of envy and then anger. What right did these children have to take from him when they could sleep so soundly in a nest of comfort the likes of which he had not known in almost ten years?
Immediately upon thinking it he felt a bit cruel. When he had been their age, he would have been glad to be shown this kindness. It was, after all, a good thing that these pitiful boys had found refuge in this world and had not been cast out as he had been. Nonetheless, he still felt a strain of bitterness watching them sleep so soundly in such a warm, clean room without fear.
As he watched, one of the boys — whose sly little face Min La instantly recognized as the bold, sneering creature who had first lifted the silk purse from the woman in the street — rolled over on his mat, moving his blankets and exposing Min La’s bag clutched loosely under one arm. Seeing it, Min La set his jaw. No matter how pitiful these creatures were, they had no right to take what was his.
Crouching under the window again, he began to devise a plan. But, then, what need did he have for a plan? These were children, and they were sleeping soundly. If his bag could be taken from him when he was sleeping, why could he not take it back while they were sleeping?
Moreover, there were no monks in sight. None seemed to occupy this little residence, which was probably intended for the use of pilgrims or the homeless, and none were nearby. Probably they were all at work at their various daily tasks. Probably, too, they would not trouble these children until they were awake, at which time they would likely bring them a simple meal, and then, if they were like other monks Min La had known, they would put them to work. It would be better for Min La to be gone before then.
Resolved, Min La stood upright again and began the simple task of climbing through the open window as soundlessly as he could. This was not difficult for him, especially as small as he was. He was able to swing his legs down and land softly on the wooden floor without making a sound. The children did not stir. Sedated gently by the comforting warmth of their little stove, and, no doubt, by the satisfaction of victory they had felt upon successfully stealing Min La’s silver, they were sleeping deeply.
He made his way carefully through the maze of mats. Very little of the floor was free, but there was room enough for a foot here between two of the mats, and then there, and then another step. Moving as quickly as he could, he eventually reached the boy — the ringleader, Min La assumed, of this ragged pack — and gingerly tugged the bag out from under his tucked arm. The boy had a decent grip on it, but with a few gentle adjustments, Min La was able to free it from his grasp.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he stood upright and turned to make his way back to the window. At that moment, a violent coughing sound erupted from the other side of a thin wooden wall. The sound startled Min La who froze where he stood, and it also woke the boy over whom he was still standing, the re-stolen bag grasped tightly in his hands.
The boy woke quickly and took only a second to realize what was happening. With a shrill, angry cry that woke the rest of his comrades, he leapt quickly from his mat and fell upon Min La, wrestling with desperate ferocity for the plain bag and its valuable contents.
Min La was driven back by the sudden attack, while the boy looped his hand around the bag and Min La clutched it tightly to his chest drawing them into a frantic knot of struggling limbs. He was not much stronger than the boy, which didn’t surprise him, but he also found himself strangely unwilling to use his full strength against him. This was, after all just a child.
As he was forced backward by the boy’s attack, Min La heels caught on something — the outstretched arms of one of the other children. The arms wrapped around his ankles and he toppled backward, landing hard enough to knock the wind out of him.
The boy fell with him, still gripping the bag as if it was attached to him. Min La yelled in surprise as the child began to use one hand to beat his arms in an effort to force him to release his grip on the bag. He tried to move his legs so he could kick the child away from him but found that strong hands still had a firm grip on his ankles. Min La began to feel that he was losing control of the situation.
A third child appeared then. Their leader, the one still hitting Min La’s arms and chest with his fist, yelled for him to “take his arm.” An order that gave Min La no small amount of concern. The child obeyed instantly. He sunk his teeth as hard as he could into Min La’s forearm. Because he was biting him through the sleeve of his golt, Min La didn’t think he was breaking skin. But the little bastard had a powerful jaw.
In an effort to free himself, he kicked hard with his trapped feet. There was a small yelp of pain and the grip on his ankles was loosened. Using his knee, he pushed the leader away from him, but his little arms still held fast to the bag. The biting creature to Min La’s left relented for a moment and he took the opportunity to wrench his arms sideways. The sudden motion surprised the leader, who finally lost his grip on the bag.
Free at last, Min La struggled to his knees.
It was then that he found himself face to face with one of the children, the one who had been biting his arm. He had only let go in order to retrieve a small knife, which he held now close enough to Min La’s face that he could smell the metal.
“It’s ours,” he said, his small voice made terrible by his wide, angry eyes. “Give it back.”
The leader of this band of criminals seemed just as surprised as Min La to see the knife. He held out a hand to his young comrade. “You can’t. Put it down.”
The other yelled at him, “We need it!”
The leader seemed to have nothing to say to that. The intensity of these boys’ desperation was beginning to change the picture Min La had drawn in his head. In the tense stillness, the coughing began again.
Min La had seen this kind of desperation before, he had felt it. There had been moments in his life when he found himself willing to do violence to another just to be able to eat. He, however, had never been able to bring himself to follow through with his desperate intentions. He believed the same would be true of these children. Therefore he was stunned when the child let out a wretched cry and lifted the blade to plunge it into Min La’s neck.
At that moment a rush of daylight washed over them as the sliding wooden door of the room flew open and the deep, frail voice of an elderly man cried out, “Stop!”
Hee-OTH-en-in; the names of the Ădol are all derived from Ethadux, the most widely-spoken language in Níogoln
Ee-NAHN
LEE-ah-soth
Oh god that chapter was intense..