It was a short ride from the West Gate to Verbosc Temple. Five horses with glossy hair and handsome barding stood out from many of the morning pilgrims traveling into the forests. A small contingent of guardsmen flanked their esteemed employers to protect them from all those beneath them. Those on foot or cart moved out of the way in deference to the station of their fellow travelers lest they be evicted from the path by force.
Unlike the coniferous trees that dominated the western coast with their evergreen appearance, the forests around the temple were sprouting new buds of reds and pinks upon their wooden skeletons. It would take many more days for the vibrant colors to fully flourish. The infant leaves detracted from the mystique of the forest.
“I appreciate that you allowed us to accompany you under such short notice, Ferron,” Craine said cordially.
“There is no issue with being curious,” replied the man who shared his horse with Valentin. “I was going to perform a reading regardless.”
Craine, Tomas, and Ceres took Yvonne up on her offer to verify the boy’s power. Ferron had arrived shortly after dawn to greet them. Their condition to support only upon the favor’s verification came as little surprise to Ferron.
Valentin yawned away the remnants of his morning lethargy. He held loosely onto the cloak of the great warrior in front of him and bobbed and swayed atop the beast.
“Quite a crowd already,” Ferron commented.
Valentin leaned out far enough to see the looming structure. The white stone of the temple grounds were visible through the tree line like the Ortus-bleached bones of an animal. Vines slithered up the sides of the walls to display their white blossoms. Branches of trees budding with foliage adorned the temple’s walls and promised beauty with the color that would soon flourish. Runes etched with gold spelled protective runes; stray light from Ortus provided the spiritual text with an ethereal glow.
Valentin let out wordless appreciation of the beauty as they passed beneath the archway. Despite his enraptured feelings towards the sight, he still felt fluttering nerves for what came next.
A massive crowd draped in ragged clothes swarmed the horses. They raised their grimy outstretched palms towards the riders and all those that traveled onto the grounds. Eyes full of desperation assailed Valentin. Mouths of browned teeth called out disparately towards him. He sheepishly looked into Ferron’s coat. Dirt-caked nails touched the horse and made the animal take a skittish step to the side.
Guardsmen held out their spears horizontally to create a moving fence around their patrons. Most gave up silently and retreated back towards the masses that surrounded them. Some hurled cursed insults at the ones that scorned them. Others more tried to advance only to be met with the gloved fist of one of the defenders.
“We donate significant sums to Verbosc Temple and yet it is filled to the brim with ungrateful paupers,” Ceres complained. “Do they not know whose coffers help fill their stew pots?”
“Does the livestock understand all that the farmer provides?” Craine quipped to his sister.
“There are more than there were last year,” Ferron remarked stoically.
“Word spreads quickly that the Temple of Verbosc is the most charitable in the realms,” Yvonne explained. “Now we are getting beggars from other cities and even other regions. I have no idea what Elder Eudes is thinking.”
“I heard he’s even allowed them to drink the bad batches of ale from the brewery. I think it’s made the group more ornery than usual,” Tomas commented.
Suddenly, a group of tattooed druids swung open the doors of a shed to reveal steaming cast iron pots. The crowd quickly converged on the feeding station. They shoved and gouged each other to get even ahead of one person in the chaotic mass. They wielded their wooden bowls to bash each other over the head and ensure their positions. Strangely, none of the crowd had yet to approach the druids to take the steaming slop.
A small group of soiled individuals passed unmolested to the front of the line. They held out their bowls and stew was spooned into the vessels. Only when that esteemed group of mendicants had exited the maw of the crowd did the remaining unfed ravenously descend upon the feeding station.
“It would be easier if they just dumped it all in a trough,” Craine spat.
“Even those with nothing will still try to dominate each other,” Valentin quietly commented so that only Ferron could hear him.
The man began to laugh heartily. “You continue to surprise me, boy.”
A few quizzical looks from the siblings shot Valentin’s way before looking away. Ahead of the travelers was the temple. The massive ring-shaped structure surrounded a wide-trunked tree that sprouted from the top of the building. Multi-colored leaves shyly peered from the infinite branches that cast shadows over much of the temple grounds.
They were intercepted by armed druids before reaching the entrance. They stood with their chests bared. Tapestries of mythical depictions were tattooed across their bodies telling local stories that Valentin did not recognize.
“I am Ferron Martelle, I have a meeting arranged with Elder Eudes.”
“He is below,” one of the druids announced before the other druids grabbed the reins of the horses.
They passed through a singular windowless room before arriving in the atrium on the other side. A marble path that could comfortably allow for people to walk three abreast traced the inner ring. Open thresholds were spaced twenty paces apart. Large runes carved in the keystone of each archway denoted what was expected inside. Valentin assumed they contained shrines for more notable spirits.
Valentin followed Ferron and the siblings closer to the trunk of the large tree. Druids silently kneeled in front of the massive trunk with one hand atop its rough bark in communion with whatever being resided inside.
A gaping hole sat near the base of the tree. Valentin could see stony steps descending deeper into the dark maw of the hole.
His accompanying adults stepped into the entrance below with little fanfare and Valentin hurriedly followed them. Lit torches guided the group deeper and deeper down the steep, spiraling steps towards some unknown depth.
Intrusive thoughts heralding the possibility of a cave-in assailed the boy’s mind. He had never been underground before. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but the air felt different down here. Sound felt more muffled as he grew to understand how cut off he already felt. However, the unperturbed faces of all who surrounded him forced him to suppress the budding feelings of anxiety and press onwards.
The stairway ended in a low-ceilinged room. Numerous roots of all sizes snaked through the room to either continue into the soil below or terminate in the unexpected cavity.
“I always hate this room,” Ferron grumbled. Valentin’s tall benefactor had to crane his neck awkwardly to even stand upright in the room.
A root that could have passed for a tree of its own protruded from the far wall of the chamber. Root structures the size of branches anchored the root into its precarious spot. A man in brown robes knelt before the immense root with both his hands firmly gripped upon it. The highly esteemed fifth line was tattooed over the man’s face signifying his near unrivaled spiritual link. Valentin could not say for certain, but it appeared that the air surrounding the union of flesh and wood was distorted.
The new entrants of the room silently watched for a few moments to allow the man to finish his communion. He slowly rose from his knees. Even from a distance, Valentin could hear the sounds of the man’s joints popping.
“Ah, Ferron, Guerros Clan,” the man greeted cheerily. “You have come at a wonderful time. Crann Moarg has just told me that today would be blessed for all.”
“What days are not blessed, Elder Eudes?” Ferron responded with a small bow that the siblings emulated.
“Ho-ho, you are correct indeed, Ferron,” Eudes grinned. His eyes drifted to the lone child of the group. “So you must be the newest gift from the spirits.”
“I am favored, yes, Elder,” Valentin dutifully announced.
“No need to be so sheepish, boy,” the druid chided. “One of your gifts must have unwavering confidence and belief in what they have been given.”
“I’m sorry, Elder,” Valentin apologized, straightening out his posture and assuming a stance of faux confidence.
“There is nothing to forgive. If a person knew everything from birth, then there would be no need for divine teachings,” the druid elder explained as he placed a reassuring hand atop the boy’s head and turned towards Ferron. “Now, you wished to have me perform a reading?”
“If you would be so gracious to,” Ferron answered.
The druid elder offered a brief nod. He revealed a much smaller bloodstone from a small pouch attached to his belt. The gemstone was gently nestled in an indent of a root of the tree. Satisfied with the placement of the gem, he procured a small knife.
“Hold out your hand,” Elder Eudes instructed. “This will be no different than Killicia.”
Valentin hesitated to reach out his hand. Doubts spread within his mind. What if it was a fluke the first time? His favor that cracked the stone may have been augmented by the accumulation of blood from the other children. What would happen if he failed to break a fresh Bloodstone? Those that pursued him may have done so for no reason, the true Heir living safely elsewhere. Ferron would have no further use for him, sending him back under Morna’s protection.
“If it hurt the first time, I assure you that I am quite adept at this,” Elder Eudes encouraged.
Finally, Valentin offered his hand to the druid who firmly grabbed onto the boy’s wrist. A deft slice of the blade made the ordeal much simpler than the uneven hands of Druid Relfon. A thin line of blood flowed from the painless incision.
“Now squeeze over the stone.”
The blood from Valentin’s hand splashed upon the root and gemstone. Both drank the red liquid with equal thirst.
The adults in the chamber loomed over the boy and the stone beneath him. Similarly to the Ceremony’s performance, the bloodstone took a moment to awaken. A soft glow slowly intensifying until a loud cracking sound and bright light forced all to cover their eyes or look away from the radiance.
A split stone remained atop the branch. Small wisps of smoke wafted upwards from the smooth break, bringing comfort to Valentin’s unreasonable fears.
“So that’s what happens when an Heir drizzles blood atop stone,” Craine observed, breaking the temporary silence.
“Are you satisfied with what you witnessed?” Ferron asked pointedly to the Guerros siblings.
“I am, if there are no objections from any of you,” Yvonne passed the burden on to her clansmen.
The three observing siblings did not speak up. Tomas and Ceres still watched the split stone closely as though something new would occur that they could not afford to miss. However, there was no more wonder to be derived from the inert gem.
“We will take our leave,” Yvonne announced. “Will you be visiting again before you depart?”
“I will be. Coming here has provided me with much insight. Besides, it would be foolish to decline such an esteemed invitation,” Ferron answered.
The siblings paid their respects to the druid elder before traveling up the stairs. The two remaining men stood silently for several minutes before Elder Eudes walked slightly up the stairs before returning into the chamber.
“They have departed,” Elder Eudes announced.
“So, what is your opinion?” Ferron asked in a low tone.
Stolen story; please report.
Elder Eudes gave a brief look of contemplation. “It is an undoubted fact that he is a Storm Heir. Nobody else can split a Bloodstone otherwise. Tell me, did the larger stone split in two?”
“There was just a large crack in it,” Valentin admitted.
“I see,” Eudes responded, already adding that to his list of considerations. “You are more powerful than almost every person in this country. However, in terms of Storm Heirs, you are quite average. The greatest Heirs of a generation will break the stone completely.”
“That isn’t good enough,” Ferron muttered to himself.
Immediately upon their utterance, the words made Valentin seize up. The thoughts of inadequacy in his potential had not yet crossed his mind. The self-assurances that he provided to himself that all he needed was time to unlock his true, unrivaled power now found itself in jeopardy. In fact, it had already died.
“The potential that one is born with is determined by the will of Creation itself,” Elder Eudes explained.
“Then we will have to increase his potential,” Ferron countered.
“It will not amplify,” Elder Eudes corrected. “If this boy is insufficient for your goals, I will gladly watch over him in your stead.”
“You can drop the pretenses, Elder,” Ferron replied coolly. “There are still methods we can use to press forward. Provided you still support me.”
“Ferron, child.” Elder Eudes clapped a hand on the large man’s shoulder and gave him a knowing chuckle. “The Tionól has already conferred and agreed to support you. Poten fails to uphold the traditional relationships. He has lost the support of the spirits.”
“I am glad that such esteemed persons such as the Tionól have such belief in me. I will ensure that this faith is not misplaced.”
“I will lend you the services of Leith,” Elder Eudes informed. “He is a capable man of incredible incantation skills and well suited to the path you pursue. I think stepping outside of the Temple will serve him well to grow into the future of the temple.”
The two men began to make their way towards the stairs. Valentin despondently followed behind them. It had been difficult for the boy to follow the unsaid portion of the conversation. Perhaps if he had not felt so deflated he may have done a better job at uncovering what had been truly discussed.
“What was your opinion of the girl I sent?” Ferron changed the topic partway up the stairs.
“Oh, Maeve? She is highly skilled when it comes to the spiritual arts. I have seen only a handful of initiates in my life that rival her sensitivity. However, her growth is stunted in many other areas. Her apothecary skills are weak and her incantations can only be described as rudimentary.”
“I see,” Ferron answered.
“Don’t misunderstand,” Elder Eudes clarified. “Her spiritual potential alone is enough for her to be admitted into the Temple with little issue. I think I will leave her to Leith as a protégé. It should serve to help them both grow further.”
Valentin smiled on behalf of the girl’s good fortune. The trio resurfaced and Valentin felt like he was finally breathing properly again. He gave a brief glance towards the hole and prayed he would not have to return anytime soon.
Eudes slowed his pace a moment. “Speaking of Maeve. This Concasque that she speaks of is quite…interesting.”
“I think everyone who encountered it would use a different word to describe it,” Ferron quipped.
“The mass mania that it could cause is quite fascinating. There are many spirits that are immortalized in our records. There are very few that can dominate the wills of many in that fashion.” Elder Eudes stopped, taking in the view of the gently swaying branches that formed a canopy above them. “I will have to see if it can be communicated with after the annihilation of its body in infancy. Expect to see this spirit placed within the canonized roster of Strettian spirits soon.”
Ferron shrugged, “Whatever would please you, Elder. By the way, do you know where Gervin’s room is?”
“I can show you the way to his infirmary.”
Ferron and Valentin were led back out to the main grounds of the Temple. The crowd had shrunk slightly as some went to work but many sat around near the feeding station sleeping or drinking from cups with rosy cheeks. Some people openly engaged in the carnal desires in front of all. The observers would glance sidelong at the bestial performances.
Elder Eudes traveled through the group of vagabonds as though they did not exist. Those that were in the Elder’s way quickly scrambled to move themselves out of the footpath of the esteemed druid. Those that were too drunk or tired to move were dragged out of the way by other beggars to avoid tainting the man’s footsteps.
“Your charity has earned you more impoverished souls than last I saw you, Elder,” Ferron commented.
“Is it not something to be celebrated that we have earned this reputation? The population of the dispossessed that traveled here from other realms instead of their own well regarded local temples serves to show our spiritual superiority.”
“Is it not difficult on your larder?” Ferron probed further.
“The charity of the region ensures our sustainment. The clans of Verbosc are charitable with their coins. The farmers of the countryside are charitable with their produce. We are charitable with our land and time. It is our hope that we show these misbegotten souls that there are many ways to give. To encourage them to give in their own way and, in turn, enrich us all,” Elder Eudes explained with a smile.
“Are there any that seem charitable towards my endeavors?” Ferron inquired.
“You are not the first to ask,” Elder Eudes chuckled. “There is an ever-growing amount of people that are in search of such people that are willing to give much for the sake of others. I will give you consideration if such a person that would fit your needs is discovered.”
“Thank you, Elder, I will ensure the temple is given a suitable donation for inspiring such an individual.”
“Your giving soul is something that many people should aspire to have,” Elder Eudes complimented.
The trio approached a large tent on the outskirts of the temple grounds. Elder Eudes held open the flap to allow Ferron and Valentin to enter. The druid did not follow them inside. Instead, Valentin could hear the footsteps of the man heading away from the tent.
Inside, a man was crouched over a body atop a cloth. An array of metal tools were arranged by his feet. The body was covered in cloth wraps and the portions of the body that were visible was disfigured with oozing red skin covered in pock marks. A pile of bloody rags occupied the space next to the body. Off to the side, Min was curled up in a ball sleeping.
“Ferron,” the man spoke in an annoyed and exhausted voice. His pronunciation of the name was long and drawn out. “Why have you ordered me to heal a corpse?”
“He’s dead?” Ferron knelt down next to the man whose chest moved so shallowly that it could easily be missed.
“As good as dead,” Zalavo confirmed. “He has severe burns on all of his extremities. His left hand has mostly melted, even the softest touch causes the muscle to pull apart like a roast. In some places, it is difficult to tell where metal and furs end and where flesh begins. He is barely conscious and doesn’t respond to any sensation of touch nor temperature changes. You brought me a stubborn cadaver and asked me to put a salve on him.”
“There is no way for him to recover?”
“Even if you bled me like a pig over his exposed body, he would never return to normal,” Zalavo claimed definitively. “I already told the woman the same thing. Saving his life now will only give him a few cycles of agony. This is a futile effort that deprives my ability to save those that might live properly.”
“So you have decided to choose the fate of a man that struggled over the mountain pass to have you see him for him,” Ferron responded neutrally. However, Valentin could detect a hint of anger within.
“I will not tolerate such an accusation,” Zalavo bristled. “I have been working tirelessly on him for days. I can stay the hand of oblivion, but no more than that. Do not complain about the results.”
Ferron nodded. “If Gervin survives and begs for death, I will provide him that respite.”
Zalavo sighed at the pointless task that he was assigned with. He removed some wrapping on Gervin’s shoulder to reveal a metal plate fused with the skin. Irritated pink skin climbed up the edges of the metal as though it were trying to assimilate the armor.
A knife was selected from the array of tools laid by Zalavo’s feet. He doused the skin with alcohol and began to cut away at the encroaching flesh. Valentin winced at the knife’s effortless paring of flesh. Small wisps of black smoke floated from the new wounds.
“Whatever liquid that caused these burns was heavily cursed,” Zalavo explained, taking a pair of pliers and pulling at the flesh. “I could not even begin work until a spiritual purge was performed. Even now, it still lingers inside of him and we had to conduct a ritual to preserve his heart. I have been using a honey and herbal salve but I am unsure if it is working properly. Were any samples of the liquid taken from the battlefield?”
“The survivors didn’t want to touch it. It melted the exposed skin of all those unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast.”
“How devastating,” Zalavo commented distantly. It was as though as soon as Ferron didn’t give him the answer he needed, his mind already wandered back to the procedure that was set before him.
After several minutes of cutting and pulling and splashes of alcohol, the metal plate was extricated from his body. Zalavo uncorked a vial full of red liquid and poured it on the exposed wound. Then he doused a cloth in honey and herbs and wrapped it over the wound.
Gervin’s body moaned, startling Valentin. Instinctively, the sleeping woman sprung from her slumber to tend to the weak man.
“There, there,” Min consoled the groaning body. She poured a green liquid from a bowl into his mouth.
The body choked down the concoction before once again going silent. Min gently brushed her fingers on the facial wrappings. She turned her forlorn gaze towards the two new visitors of the tent. The exhaustion in her expression surpassed that of even Zalavo.
“Ferron,” she said listlessly, as though all the emotion she had was reserved just for the man she was taking care of. “How nice of you to visit Gervin.”
“How are you, Min?” Ferron asked tenderly.
“We’re still fighting,” Min answered with a thin smile on her face. “Your dour healer has been trying to dishearten me since he arrived. But we haven’t given up yet.”
Zalavo clicked his tongue and continued removing pieces of metal from the body.
Valentin stood off to the side and watched Zalavo work on the unmoving body of Gervin. Part of him did not believe that it was truly Gervin motionless and obscured by those wrappings. He would not have been able to identify the man if he had been asked. It could be anyone covered in cloth. The man that Valentin knew had been gruff but also a lively and caring individual. None of those characteristics were on display. Now what remained of the person that once stood tall?
A more horrifying thought crossed Valentin’s mind. How aware was Gervin in his ravaged body? Rendered immobile and numb by the devastation, was his mind still whole in a horrific prison? The man was awake, however, he did not react even when a knife ripped through him. When metal was separated from the fused flesh, he did not even so much as whimper.
Another clatter of metal torn from the body. The fastidious hands of the healer impassively ripped further and further.
“When will you finish your treatment of Gervin?” Ferron asked.
“Gervin will need constant treatment for the entire cycle. His skin and blood are still corrupted with a curse. He will need to have new wrappings put on him regularly. Perhaps for the rest of his life.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Ferron corrected.
Zalavo sighed, “Of course. I will finish removing all the foreign bodies from his skin by this evening. I will spend the following morning checking the skin that has been treated by the salve the longest. Regardless of the outcome, I will depart tomorrow.”
“You heard the man, Gervin. You need to use all that strength by tomorrow to recover,” Ferron jested at the patient. The pile of cloth didn’t respond to his employer’s call to action. No bow of respect offered towards his better.
“We will be taking our leave now,” Ferron announced. “Oh and Min, I’ll put in a good word for you with Yvonne Guerros to see if we can get you a job. Taking care of Gervin will be difficult without a little money.”
“Thank you,” Min answered softly as though she were on the verge of tears.
Ferron and Valentin departed the tent and began to make their way back towards the crowd of beggars. They once again scrambled out of the way for Ferron. However, Valentin felt it was for a vastly different motivation than they had for Elder Eudes.
“Do you think that Gervin will get better?” Valentin asked.
“If Zalavo says that he’ll live, he’ll live,” Ferron answered. “But you have eyes, you know that what survives will not be the man that we once knew. It is up to Gervin to decide whether or not to feel gratitude or curse us.”
Valentin lowered his head. He stepped over a sleeping man who was not removed from the path. The boy, desperate to get his thoughts away from the unpleasant thoughts of Gervin, wished to change the subject.
“Do all these people have nowhere else to go?” Valentin asked.
“I’m sure some have no other choice than to rely on the temple to survive. Those that are old, or infirm, or crippled may find refuge. Some have escaped from brutish Tiarnas. Some have young children that they can’t care for. However, you will learn that many are capable of contributing to our nation but are content to drain the larders of those willing to help them back on their feet.”
“Has the Temple made a mistake allowing all these people in? Will they end up starving if too many come for aid?”
“Do not be fooled, there is plenty of opportunity for the druids to prosper from their new guests,” Ferron chastised. “With such a large crowd, it is easy for people to go missing. Men and women with pretty faces, strong looking laborers, and undiscovered favored children. Who could say what happens to those people and where they go? Perhaps they found renewed purpose and no longer required the charity of the temple. It would be impossible to find out.”
Valentin watched the nearby beggars as he walked by. His eyes settled on a young family sitting under the shade of one of the numerous trees. The children wore itchy and grimy linens but curled up comfortably near their mother. Valentin imagined the possibilities if one went missing.
“I thought that all children had a Bloodstone Ceremony,” Valentin commented with eyes lingering on the family.
“That is the edict,” Ferron confirmed. “All children, upon their twelfth Killicia, must have their blood checked for favor. All children must travel to their nearest druid with a stone and draw their blood over it. What do you think happens if a child doesn’t appear?”
Valentin put a finger to his lip and considered it. Now that he thought of it, he had never heard of anyone not showing up to the Bloodstone Ceremony. He was never told what the punishment for being absent would be.
“I’m not sure,” Valentin admitted. “I’ve never seen it happen before.”
“There is no punishment for missing a Bloodstone Ceremony,” Ferron answered. “A Tiarna does not know every child in their realm. The larger the population, the harder it is to keep records of citizens. It would be costly and foolish to use warriors to hunt down every absent child in their realm. I doubt there are records kept of the results of any child among these paupers.”
“What about children that are favored but aren’t present for the ceremony?”
“They might go their entire lives ignorant of the potential within them. Perhaps in a field in the middle of nowhere, the strongest person who ever lived is sowing grain while oblivious to their divine ability. Maybe they are orphaned, living in the streets of a city, starved and unaware of what a Bloodstone Ceremony even is. Or, possibly, they are even in this unfortunate commune, sold for a few coins in order to feed their families.”
The information was tricky for Valentin to internalize. Was there truly an entire world of people that never participated in the Bloodstone Ceremony? Were there people that went their entire lives with the concept of favor existing as some faraway concept? Thinking back to his Killicia, Valentin now believed it peculiar that in such a sprawling region such as Roucotte, there were only forty children experiencing their twelfth Killicia. How many more were unable to go?
“The important thing to understand is that talent exists in all places. Do not exclude ideas just because conventional teachings tell you to. Never waste an opportunity, there may not be another.”
Valentin nodded at his benefactor’s lesson. However, an equally difficult concept sat before him in the form of a crowd of beggars. The words of charity proved to be a puzzle that the boy was yet to be able to decipher. Ferron and Elder Eudes spoke of it positively, and yet, there was something that felt incorrect. It was no logical thought that barred Valentin from agreeing with the men. It was an iron ball in the pit of his stomach. An incorporeal stimulus that Valentin was not yet willing to dismiss.
Is Ferron a bad person?