Playful giggles echoed sweet notes from the walls of the building. Silhouettes could be seen behind drawn curtains. They embraced and caressed and touched. While their faces were anonymous, their actions were not. A few faces from rooms that possessed lone occupants stuck out and looked down to the streets below. They called out, distressed that they found themselves in solitude. Surely, someone must go up there to rectify such a terrible thing.
Any that walked by this building would have no doubts as to what went on within. It was an advertisement that none would fault one for failing to resist. If the amount of occupied rooms was anything to go by, not many did resist.
“Elder Carlan,” Valentin said stoically, trying not to betray his underlying anger. “For what purpose is our meeting housed in such a place?”
“This brothel is part of the temple,” Elder Carlan answered nonchalantly, oblivious to the other’s frustrations. “It is in here we will meet the Madame.”
“Why does the Madame wish to meet with me?” Valentin asked, annoyance bubbling into his voice.
“You must treat her with the same respect as you do with the Elders of the Temple of Allbost,” Elder Carlan requested. “The Madame possesses an ability that makes her an honorary Elder. A visit with her will only be a boon for you, I promise. Please, follow me.”
Valentin reluctantly trailed Elder Carlan into the brothel. A large mural occupied the far wall of the first floor of the building. A woman wearing a long red scarf lounged on the bank of a river. Her black hair flowed down to caress her hips. Her fair features were molded into a look of surprise while her slender arms reached for a basket that lazily floated by. The stubby arms of an infant reached out of the basket towards the woman.
The denizens of the first floor, seemingly reserved for patrons looking to find their ideal partner, lazed on the pillows and cushions strewn upon the ground. Their clothing, for the most part, remained on their bodies. Some articles were loosened over the course of the process of getting familiar. Some untied trousers here, an opened shirt there. Outside of a few overeager patrons who found themselves exploring in plain sight of the others, most here seemed content to sip wine and enjoy each other’s proximity before moving on to higher levels.
The Elder followed a path that led to a set of stairs that led up to the second floor. Strong scents from burning incense and powerful soaps entered Valentin’s nose. It reminded him of the area where servants would do the Guerros clan’s laundry.
While the windows obscured the actions within, the doorways were not as discreet. The transgressions performed within could be seen by any who had a passing curiosity or those looking for their own ideas to bring to their own room.
Valentin kept his eyes straight ahead of him focusing exclusively on Elder Carlan’s back.
Their destination lied on the third floor of the brothel. A few of the workers relaxed by themselves on the cushions strewn about. Some ate, some drank, while others took naps or talked to each other about difficult clients. All who noticed the entrance of the elder druid offered him gestures of respect.
Elder Carlan rapped his knuckles on the one closed door in the entire brothel.
“Madame, it is Elder Carlan,” he announced through the door. “I have brought Young Master Valentin Guerros as you have asked.”
“Come in,” a woman’s voice emanated from the other aside, allowing entry into her domain.
As the door opened, a strong scent of juniper spilled out to assail Valentin. Inside was a room that appeared to be the size of two of the second floor rooms combined. A bed with dark blue sheets and bedposts made of a carved maroon colored wood marked the four corners. A desk covered in cluttered papers and candle dishes filled with wax sat beside it.
On the far end of the room stood a low table with two steaming cups upon it. Sitting before one of the cups was a woman who appeared to be in her early forties. Only a few wrinkles and a stray strand of gray hair betrayed that she was not still in her youth. Reddish brown hair cascaded in waves down the woman’s back. Unlike the druids, she lacked any markings upon her face to show her rank.
“Thank you, Elder Carlan,” the woman said in appreciation. “You may leave. I would like to speak to Valentin in private.”
“I understand, Madame,” Elder Carlan replied. “I will deliver the High Tiarna’s silver to where you are staying, Young Master Valentin.”
Before Valentin could answer, the door closed behind the elder. He turned back to face the Madame. She offered him a cordial smile and motioned towards the cup across from her.
“Would you like some tea?” She asked. “An eastern merchant sells their shipments in Croismor. I wasn’t too certain about it the first time I tried it, but now I find myself quite attached to the stuff.”
Valentin sat down uncertainly across from the Madame. Still uncertain about the nature of this visit, Valentin took a guarded position. He gingerly lifted the cup and sniffed it. The contents smelled faintly medicinal.
He took an exploratory sip. The flavor was mild and something he could not properly pinpoint. Another sip of the liquid passed his lips and he could still not decipher the taste.
“Is it good?” She asked expectantly.
“I’m not sure yet,” Valentin answered truthfully. He took another sip. “The flavor is quite inoffensive.”
“Good, good,” the Madame said with a warm smile. “There are many kinds you can buy, but I have found myself drawn to this one. It’s soothing, isn’t it?”
Valentin put the cup down. He could feel her eyes and words probe his defenses, looking for a gap to find an opening in. His face hardened, yet the Madame’s seemed to remain serene as though she were unbothered about Valentin’s wariness.
“Madame, for what reason did you call me here?” Valentin questioned as politely as he felt he could.
The Madame flourished her arm and slid a coin across the table. Valentin clapped his hand down upon it to prevent it from flying off the table and exploring the room. As he flipped it over, his eyes grew wide. The winged visage of Killik greeted him. His divine form stood gracefully upon his golden landscape. On the reverse side sat the portrait of a Storm Sovereign. Which one, Valentin was not sure. Their regal face looked impassively at Valentin.
“An imperial?” Valentin quickly inquired. He was so nearly close to pocketing the coin immediately and fleeing the city. However, the paranoid voice in his head advised him of a trap. “You should know as well as I that nobody deserves this reward.”
“The High Tiarna has proclaimed that we defeated Aoire,” the Madame countered. “It would not make sense for the Temple not to reward the Strettian that contributed most. You risked much to deliver that blow to the spirit.”
“It was no more effective than hitting it with a feather,” Valentin argued.
“You may return it if you do not want it,” the Madame offered. She reached her hand out to take the coin back.
Valentin quickly tucked the coin into his pocket. “I am cautious, not a fool.”
The Madame laughed with a disarming smile. Valentin curled his body slightly inwards to keep himself protected from the woman’s unrestrained radiance. A moan of pleasure that rose from a person below served as tool to pry open the sequestered comfort that the Madame strove to cultivate. However, he was under the impression that his mild reaction was noticed.
“As for your other reward,” the Madame said, changing the subject. “I’m sure that Elder Carlan mentioned to you that I have an ability of my own. Unlike many druids who have the ability to ascertain the thoughts of spirits, I am of the rare ability that allows me to glean much from the soul of a person. It is a talent that as allowed me to do very well in this place.”
“I have heard little of this ability,” Valentin admitted.
“I am not the only such case, but I do possess more than most,” the Madame answered. “They call it ‘empathy,’ though I find that name to be disagreeable as it implies that I alone possess the true ability to empathize with others. I prefer to call it ‘soul reading’.”
“And you have read something in my soul that needed your attention,” Valentin prompted for confirmation.
“I have.”
Suddenly, the Madame’s gazes felt far too invasive for Valentin’s liking. He felt a familiar panic begin to overtake him. Eyes bored through his clothes and into his heart in an attempt to show the ugly, unhealed wounds inside.
“I think that Marshal Flogoran is in more dire need than I am,” Valentin stated, desperate to give his present to someone, anyone else. “I would rather she finds her peace.”
“The Marshal will have her turn for relief,” the Madame assured. Fortunately, the woman did not make any overt moves towards him. “You played a large role in the survival of this place. Wealth is but a paltry thing to give in response. Therefore, I believed it to be best to offer you something far more substantial and long lasting. I wished to bring health back to your soul.”
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“Then it is a sickness that made you call for me?” He asked warily.
“No. Your bloody affliction is no greater or worse than any out there whose hands are calloused by weapons. I called for you because I found a far deeper and darker sensitivity within you. Recall your greatest pain and you will find my reason.”
Valentin did not wish to look inwards. He knew what hid there. The woman’s face who pressed against the door of his locked thoughts, threatening to breach into his mind. Her beauty was enough to disarm anyone and make them question why he feared such a creature. Further examination was not necessary. He was the wrong one. He was the ungrateful one. He was the weak one. That was it.
More sounds from below broke Valentin’s concentration. He visibly scowled at the floor, no longer able to hide his contempt for his environment. A rematch with Aoire seemed more appealing than this interaction.
“Why are we having this conversation in a brothel?” Valentin interrogated caustically.
“Typically, people appreciate that the noise drowns out the conversation. Sounds of life is better than sounds of death to most and they can find a companion afterwards for comfort,” the Madame explained, each word an attack against Valentin. “Do you know why it is that courtesans are members of the druidic order?”
“Ogaro’s adopted mother was a prostitute,” Valentin answered plainly.
“Prostitution held no veneration in those days,” the Madame elaborated with a nod of approval. “To be one to sell their own body was to subject yourself to servitude far beyond other humans. A slave to the slaves. Worse still if you sold yourself to the Novesse.”
“Do you find things to be far better now?” Valentin began to harangue, hackles raised in confrontation. “I do not doubt that you would consider such times to be far better from where you sit. These silks and honeyed wines and imported teas are not shared amongst all of your profession. Do you condone the way in which many join your ranks? What do you say to the look of fear in their eyes when they consider rejecting the advances of a patron? Do you not find it strange that people flock to these dens with the depiction of our mother painted in the forefront of the entryway to then have their way with them? Do you not find it perverse and unnatural; this strange arrangement that we witness?”
Valentin found that the volume of his voice raised considerably over the course of his rant. He huffed from the impassioned speech. It was then he noticed that the noises beneath them stopped and he heard shuffling outside. His eyes shifted towards the door. Unadvised as it was, he’d still fight if he had to.
“There is no need to interrupt,” the Madame said to whoever was on the other side.
The woman seemed wholly unbothered by Valentin’s speech. Instead, she sported a thoughtful smile.
“You have many questions about the way of the world, but I do not carry the answers that will purchase you greater insight into the inner workings of life,” the Madame remarked.
“Why not?”
“It is because my own understanding is incomplete,” she replied with some amount of remorse. “I cannot impart great wisdom if the underlying truth is lost to me.”
Valentin cursed to himself. A greater truth would not be imparted upon him. He took a sip from his tea. Mild flavors attempted to soothe the tempest within his heart to mixed results.
“Do not despair that I cannot answer your inquiry,” the Madame assured, patting the table gently as a proxy for comforting Valentin physically. “Your mind seeks out noble questions. I would feel great sadness if you no longer seek it out. Though, I must ask, what solution to prostitution does your soul envision?”
“I would outlaw the practice outside of the temple grounds,” Valentin began without hesitation. “I would make it so that only the willing were amongst their ranks. Officials would be sent out to investigate their condition and interview the courtesans to find any signs of infraction. Any that fail in these inspections would be punished severely.”
“A radical approach. I see that your goals lie in the alleviation of suffering and I compliment your golden motivations. However, I ask of you, what of the people that sell their bodies in time of great need? What of the war widows, the starved, or the desperate? What would you say to them?”
“I would tell them to go to the temple and practice under their protection,” Valentin answered as though the answer were obvious.
“And what if they are rejected from the temples?” She continued to question him.
“On what grounds?”
“For not living up to the beauty standards that are so often sought after,” the Madame answered pragmatically. “For being too poor and filthy. For being too sick or emaciated? Will you force customers to purchase time with people they do not feel any attraction towards?"
“They must take them,” Valentin asserted. He almost punched the table mindlessly but managed to hover his hand barely above the wood. “Is it not the charity that they preach to support those that are infirm and displaced?”
“If no one purchases their company, do you wish for the temple to feed and bathe and clothe them in the hopes that, one day, they may earn a silver piece in recompense?”
The Madame spoke in the words of a business owner. If his father owned a brothel over a vineyard, he would speak in the same terms. ‘Kindness doesn’t keep the world fed.’
“Let’s say that you find a way to solve all these problems,” the Madame continued, changing the perspective of the questioning. “What will you do if your ideas are rejected? Such a massive reduction in courtesans is unacceptable, the costs are now too high. The beauty of them has decreased and they are not as attractive. What do you say to these people that find comfort or profit in these systems?”
“I call upon their decency as people,” Valentin replied
“If there is none to be found?”
“I kill them,” Valentin announced resolutely.
“So quick to tread the path of tyranny,” the Madame replied with a click of her tongue. “To destroy all the vocal dissenters to force the rest into silent consent is one that has been tread in the past for other purposes. I’m sure that the influx of war widows and refugees from your enforcement of these laws will sell their bodies to eat.”
“It is better to scrape out infected pieces of our bodies and create scars than to allow the corrupted wounds to poison us to death,” Valentin argued, ignoring the woman’s snide remark.
“Then it is your opinion that those that support the current system resolutely must be excised?”
“They are sick,” Valentin declared.
“We are all sick,” the Madame countered, her voice the harshest it had been the entire conversation. “It is simply different diseases that plague us all. The one that is plagued by violence looks down on those that inflict their sexual deviancy on others or those that have duplicitous souls or those that act as sycophants to tyrants for the sake of their own trivial gains. Just as you look down upon them, they look down upon you in return. In their eyes, their affliction is always the least offensive. It is they that cause the least harm to society. They all are the creations of the world that they live in.”
Valentin felt another plume of anger rise inside him. He found the woman’s words to be inflammatory, drawing unwise similarities. The problem was that he was different.
“Do you imply that I am their equal?” He hissed through gritted teeth.
“Have you killed many people?”
Just as quickly as he rose to anger, he fell back into calm. The Madame’s sudden question halted the mass of thoughts that stampeded through his head like cattle into a castle rampart. He tilted his head to the side and tried to count the number in his head.
“Many for a human, but not so for one that fights,” Valentin answered in a way that was inadvertently generous to himself.
“Have you ever checked back upon the places that you fight? Have you investigated the welfare of the families of those that you killed?”
“I have not,” Valentin replied truthfully.
The Madame smiled again, giving Valentin an uneasy feeling. He felt the interrogation constantly placed him on the back foot of the conversation; constantly reeling and reacting to what was given to him without the power to return it in full.
“Let’s say you were to go back to one of these places and you meet a prostitute at an inn that you stay at. She tells you that her husband died in battle and her home was ransacked and burned down by the forces that slew him. Let’s say that you personally delivered the death blow to this person’s love. How do you feel when they tell you this? What do you say to them? What do you say to the orphan? What do you say to the parent that lost their child? What do you say to the Mother?”
Questions that Valentin never before asked flooded into his mind. Just when he thought he had a grasp on one, another would careen out of the woman’s mouth to strike him and cause him to lose grasp on his thoughts. If he would need to face judgment, then so should anyone that ever fought in history. Many that he killed had killed before. There were rarely any that he faced that was free of that fact. Even those that didn’t still had the choice to fight him. Batistin had the choice to fight him.
“Death is a consequence of war,” Valentin finally answered. “If they died, it meant that they were not strong enough to take the life of the other.”
“So then the victim is always weaker?” The Madame probed. “As you say. If you have lost, if you are suffering, it meant that you were weak. That means, for you to be this way, you must have been weak as well.”
“Then what is it that you do to solve this problem?” Valentin asked, gesturing to the rooms beneath them. The line of questioning had grown too close. The topic had to change.
“I must accept them as they are,” the Madame answered. “I cannot change the circumstances that bring them to me. I cannot undo their capture or abuse that they unjustly received. All that I can do is to provide them with the best version of their life from this point on. I can only strive to create an environment that they speak of their fears and concerns openly. To allow them to find and cultivate love. To support them when they are no longer able to live within these walls.”
“So you say that it is better to live as a person that sells their body than to be dead?” Valentin asked, almost out of impulse. It was not how he wished to phrase it but the words would not be unspoken.
“Would you like to ask them if they’d rather be dead than to have lived the life given to them?” The Madame returned the crass question with her own. “I can arrange for you to speak with those that fit your righteous depictions.”
Valentin bit his lip. The question was born out of a thought that he had not yet truly broached with himself. In that moment, would he have rather been dead? To be reunited with the Great Spirit or to have your essence twisted and maimed, which causes greater pain? He did not know. What he did know was that he lives and he was developing the means to strike back, to flip the arrangement of strong and weak.
But not all were afforded that luxury. His mind could not help but wonder what Bassett would prefer.
“I have learned something important about you, Valentin,” the Madame observed with a satisfied smile.
The Madame rose her hand to halt any response from Valentin’s side.
“I will not say what it is I learned,” she confirmed based on Valentin’s facial expressions alone. “I fear that, if I did, I would only be cutting the final ropes that keep your vessel moored to shore. The words won’t leave my mouth until they are ready to leave yours. And those words do need to be spoken by you if you wish to progress at all.”
“What do you mean?” Valentin asked cautiously.
“What I have been trying to convince you is that everyone has an excuse for being ‘sick’. The one that has done this to you has their own as well. You must tell them why you are aggrieved,” the Madame explained.
“They know what they’ve done!” Valentin spat. “How could they not?”
All the Madame had to do was look at Valentin to make him quiet again. It was impossible for him to imagine, yet, here he was. Had he improved at all since that day? Certainly he had grown stronger but had he healed?
“Fine,” Valentin said, still not fully convinced. “I will consider telling them how they’ve hurt me if it means that I can finally be free of this.”
“It is just the first step in your journey to healing,” the Madame corrected, holding up a singular finger. “But I do sincerely hope that you try to walk that path. Be well, Valentin.”