The exception to Ash’s decrepit mediocrity was the magnificent Temple of Okkan. Towering a massive four stories each terraced upon each other, it was by far the largest structure in the city. Its top terrace, a shrine lined with gold, glistened for leagues. Temples such as these weren't unique to Ash by any means; its architectural style was derivative of many temples along the Thorne. They were built by the Shaddon Empire, a civilization that vanished centuries before the founding of Ash. Still, it wowed and awed most who witnessed it. Even for the most obstinate western travelers, it is a sublime sight.
As Jere approached the temple, he was reminded of the first time he crossed over the hill into Ash and witnessed the golden shrine. Its impact had lessened over time, but the temple was still a humbling presence. He was reminded of his early years as an apprentice, and how passionate he once was. He missed that passion. Wearing his priest robe now felt like blasphemy. He didn’t deserve to wear it. The robe felt uneasy against his skin. The fact that he was wearing it with the goal of eventually dissecting a corpse wasn’t helping his conscience.
Jere approached the temple pulling a rickety tumbril. Inside the tumbril was Appo, wrapped in a white sheet. Bugs swirled around the sheets, buzzing quietly. Before getting too close, Jere put down the tumbril and walked over to Appo. He was impressed with his work, for Appo made a rather convincing corpse. He doubted the neurotic healer would be able to pull off any other disguise than a dead man.
“If medicine doesn’t work out, you could always make a living as a court jester.”
Appo grunted. “Easy for you to say.” He gagged momentarily, breathing in a putrid stench that had been coming from the sheets. “By Lowya, what is this smell?”
“Rot flower. Most buy it as a deterrent for insects since it smells of decomposing corpse.”
“I’m doubtful of that,” Appo whispered. “There’s bugs everywhere.”
“Yeah. Seems some bugs hate the smell of rotting flesh. Others love it.” Jere circled around the tumbril, inspecting his ‘fresh’ corpse. “Point is, you’ll smell like death. It’ll sell the story. I just want you to be reminded that getting caught here means death for both of us. Then we’d be actual corpses.”
“Can we move on, then? I can only stay still for so long.”
“Before we go,” Jere reached into his robe and grabbed Appo’s flask of spirit. He pulled the sheet off Appo’s face and offered him some. “Hope you don’t mind. I’m keeping some of this on me. It’ll relax you a bit. Makes it easier for you to be still.” Appo nodded and took a generous sip. He wanted to gag, but the strong alcoholic stench was a nice reprieve from the rot flower. Jere put the sheet back over Appo’s head, but not before taking swig from the flask as well. Seems he needed to be relaxed too.
“I’d say follow my lead, but since you’re dead, don’t move until I say otherwise.”
“Just don’t get drunk before we do this, Jere.”
“Shhh! Corpses don’t talk.” Jere picked up the tumbril and continued onward.
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Under the sheets, Appo did his best to remain still. The spirit did its best to calm him, but he found himself becoming anxious. He couldn’t see, and although he was well accustomed to the smell of death through his work, having it pressed directly into his nose was gag-inducing. He wanted to squirm, but there was little he could do now. His life was in Jere’s hands now.
“Halt! State your business.” It was the voice of an adamant woman; she must’ve been one of the temple guards. The tumbril came to a stop.
Jere spoke slowly and carefully. “Just a priest here to drop off the body of a recently departed soul.” It sounded nothing like what Appo was used to. He imagined Jere hunched over in a much feebler stance than his usual proper pose.
“The temple isn’t open to any commoner, priest. Ritual services require approval. I’m afraid this is going to remain your problem for the night.”
“Oh, but this isn’t a commoner, madam. This body belonged to Warassuni, a noble trader from the Thorne. He traveled fortnights to get here, but he developed a sickness and passed on near the gates. He had worshiped Ati his whole life, but had a change of heart in his later years. He came here to pledge his soul to Okkan and now his soul is in limbo. Without my help, he will never move on from this plane.”
“Wow,” Appo thought. There was no way he could have come up with that story on the spot.
Appo heard the temple guard pacing around the tumbril. He could feel her gaze through the sheets. She gagged as she walked into the stench of the rot flower. “He smells terrible. The ritual is going to be jeopardized if the body is too decomposed.”
“You can understand my haste, then. It appears heatstroke was the culprit that done in poor Warassuni. His body was out all day in the heat. I’m afraid tomorrow won’t be any good, or his body will start falling apart.”
Appo understood why the temple guard wouldn’t want to check under the sheets then. She sighed and circled back to the front of the tumbril. Her tone became very formal. “Very well. Are you a traveling man?”
Jere responded with a formal tone in kind. “In my more vulnerable years. Now I live for the harvest.”
“What have you planted?”
“Seeds that bear the fruit of blessings.”
“What do you hope to sow?”
“That is for Okkan to know.”
Appo felt embarrassed. He had no idea he would have to be questioned about anything, much less know a formal greeting.
Jere and the temple guard ended their greeting in unison: “Praise him!” The tumbril began to move again, and Appo made out a red haze from beyond the sheets. It must’ve been the torches outside of the temple entrance. The tumbril came to a second stop.
“Hold on,” This was a new voice, a man’s. It sounded like another temple guard. “I know you...” Jere said nothing. Appo felt his heart stop.
“What’s the issue?” the female guard asked.
“I’ve seen this man before. He works for the Heads, but not as a priest. Something isn’t right here... Explain yourself!”
“Oh no.”