The voyage from the island of Tzah-Nūr to the capital took several days longer than Jasper had expected. During their stay at the temple, the winds had changed, now prevailing to the West, back from where they had come. Fortunately, their vessel did not rely on sails alone. Built much like a Grecian galley, the crew took the oars.

As he watched them, Jasper suspected that they must have a class skill helping them. The oars moved in perfect rhythm, thrusting the ship forward with greater speed than seemed possible. No drums were played nor shanty called to keep them in time, yet the crew moved with the precision of a machine, the ship's prow cutting through the waves with enough speed to leave behind a wake. But if it was a skill, it had a time limit; the crew was forced to stop every hour or two, slowing their progress down considerably. Rather than force their way across the open lake, where the winds were free to gather their strength, the captain charted the short distance to the southern shore; from there, they hugged the coast, where the ship was sheltered from the worst of the wind.

Jasper was surprised to see how different the south of the province was from the northern plateau. Although sandy dunes dominated the shoreline, he caught glimpses of the sun-parched plains that lay beyond. Miles upon miles of grassland stretched as far as the eye could see, the golden sheaths of tall, wild grasses bobbing in the wild winds. Amber waves of grain, he thought, suddenly feeling homesick.

But the reminders that he was not back at home were all around him. Great herds of cattle lined the shores, grazing on the grassy dunes and plains, but above them were their ranchers, who flew a few feet above the herd. Mounted on flying horses with black, glossy manes and eyes of fire or sleek grey coats with wings of gossamer silver, the ranchers darted back and forth above their herds like hummingbirds, quite unlike the cowboys of old.

After two days of slipping along the shallows of the southern shore, they arrived at their destination. It was not, as Annatta had said, the capital, S̆addan̄u. Instead, the ship docked at a small town a few miles outside the royal abode. Standing on the deck, Jasper could see that it was a quaint village. The sun gleamed off the white, plastered roofs, while rows of flowers lined the harbor entrance. Everything about the town screamed of wealth and luxury, but it was not the capital.

Jasper couldn’t hide his frown as he approached Annatta. “Why are we stopping here? I thought this ship was taking us to S̆addānu.”

The Djinn shrugged. “We’re basically there. The capital’s just a few miles further down the coast, a couple of hours' ride at most. What did you expect, anyway? Everyone knows the priests' main temple is here, not the capital.”

Jasper reined his questions in immediately, sensing he had stumbled upon some piece of knowledge he was expected to know. “I guess you’re right; I just wasn’t thinking,” he lied.

Annatta smirked up at him, a knowing look in her eyes. “Of course, my lord.”

When their mounts were brought up from the decks below, Annatta was quick to take her leave. After she finished fixing the bags of her former party on the back of her mount, she bowed in Jasper’s direction. “Thank you for letting me come with you.” She hesitated a second, clearly struggling to decide if she should say something further. “My lord, when you get to the capital city, ask Lord S̆arrābī to arrange a tutor for you. I don’t know what your true background is, but there are gaps in your knowledge that could raise some difficult questions.”

She hopped onto the horse with an acrobatic grace that Jasper could only envy. Grasping the reins, she turned its head toward the city, but at the last moment, she looked back. “Oh, and don’t rush to the capital immediately. You still have a few days before you need to arrive, and I think you’ll find the amenities in this village quite relaxing.” With that, she cantered down the dock, quickly disappearing down the streets.

The priests and crew milled about them, ignoring the pair as they carried out their work. For the first time in weeks, Jasper and Ihra were alone. “Come on.” Ihra tugged on his arm, dragging him over to their mounts. “Let’s check this place out.”

Once they left the harbor, it quickly became clear why the Djinn had advised them to stay. The village hugged the coastline, but as they left the harbor, the homes quickly gave way to temples. Temple after temple overlooked the waters, but most were clustered around a single central site: a giant hot spring whose waters trickled into the lake.

The spring was bustling with people, hundreds of pilgrims relaxing in the soothing, salty waters. Bathing suits had clearly not been invented, which Jasper was alternately grateful for and horrified by, depending on which direction he looked, the pilgrims milling about in various states of undress with a complete lack of shame.

But the spring was merely the focal point of the central plaza. Food stalls had sprung up on all sides, from whose pots a dizzying array of exotic aromas filled the air, although the merchants were surprisingly quiet, not hawking their wares with the vigor that often filled the marketplace. Instead, the spring was dominated by the rumbled choir of chants that echoed from the hearts of the temples where the priests served their gods with food and song. And there, on the far side of the springs, Jasper recognized an all too familiar symbol.

Two scythes bound together by a skull.

The cult of Nahrēmah. Kas̆dael’s description suddenly came back to him. The main temple, the place where he was supposed to go, was a few miles to the west of the capital. This must be the place.

He pushed through the crowd with renewed determination, although he spared a few longing glances for the sultry spring. Unlike most of the temples they passed, the shrine to Nahrēmah had no songs ringing from its chamber. Instead, a pair of guards stood at its steps.

He approached them cautiously, but they did not appear hostile, bowing to him respectfully as he approached.

One of the guards stepped forward. Clad in simple leather armor, whose scuffed appearance showed clear signs of use in combat, the temple guard showed no signs of the decadent opulence that surrounded them.

“My lord, do you have business with the temple of Nahrēmah?”

Jasper nodded, dragging the ring Lord S̆arrābī had given him out of his bag, the ring that belonged to his supposed “mother.”

“Yes, I was hoping to join.”

The guard took the ring from Jasper, examining it for a moment, before handing it back to him. “Let me fetch a Keeper for you.”

He disappeared up the steps into the temple, but the pair were not left waiting for long. The guard returned accompanied by an elderly woman dressed, much like the guard, in simple leather armor. Despite her apparent age, there was nothing feeble about her. She walked with a steady, confident stride, her lilac eyes sweeping over Jasper with a skeptical air.

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“Are you sure you want to join us?”

Jasper nodded. “Of course, Keeper-.”

"Hayil," she finished. The old woman sighed, rubbing the wrinkles from her brow. “Look, my lord, I mean no disrespect, but from time to time we get candidates like you - mages who perhaps don't understand the nature of our duels. Mages may be the kings of the battlefield, but the majority of our members are warriors. If you want to participate in our duels, magic will not be allowed unless you are facing another mage. So, I’ll ask you again, are you sure you want to join us?”

Jasper held the ring out to her, meeting her eyes with a firm resolve. “I’m sure.”

Lady Hayil took the ring reluctantly, but her face softened as she tumbled it through her fingers. “Da’iqta,” she murmured, looking up at him with renewed interest. “How did you come by this ring? I assume you’re a relation of some sort.”

“She was my mother,” he replied, putting as much conviction as he could into the lie.

She cocked her head to the side. “Yes, I do remember there were…rumors to that effect. When I heard she died in a horse-riding accident - well, let's just say I had my doubts.”

The Keeper handed the ring back to him. “I understand now. You are not the first to come here chasing the ghosts of your past.”

The old warrior patted his hand, for a second replaced by a kind, elderly woman. “You are welcome to attempt the membership trial. I must warn you though - it will not be easy. To join the cult of Nahrēmah, you must fight three battles in a row. No healing, no breaks, no magic, no running. You don’t have to win these battles, just tough them out for two minutes. You can quit at any time, but if you do, you will not be able to try again for membership for another year. Do you understand the rules?”

When Kas̆dael had described the cult, he had really had in mind the duels of Harry Potter, not the brutality of Fight Club. He was quickly feeling disillusioned, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. He had a feeling Kas̆dael would not be content to let him sit this one out. Ignoring the sinking feeling in his heart, Jasper nodded resolutely. “I understand.”

“Very well,” she said. “Come with me.”

The guards stepped aside, allowing them to pass up the steps into the temple. A courtyard occupied its heart, a columned portico offering welcome shade from the hot sun beating down on their heads, but the central area was open to the elements. Rather than the gardens so typical in Corsythia, the courtyard was entirely undecorated, save for the statue of Kas̆dael set into the back wall. Instead, the ground was covered in a layer of sand. A fighting ring, Jasper realized.

The Keeper gestured for him to stop near the statue, ringing a small bell suspended from the wall. They waited as its chimes echoed through the sandstone corridors. The response was prompt, as the temple’s residents poured out from the chambers surrounding the courtyard.

The Keeper waved them over, pointing to Jasper. “We have a new supplicant who wishes to join. He is a legacy but, given his circumstances, I doubt he has received any special training, so keep that in mind.”

Several faces turned to him with interest, but most looked on impatiently, eager, perhaps, to return to whatever they’d been doing. But they were not able to leave. The Keeper reached into her bag, drawing out a black object. Jasper almost gasped when he saw it, recognizing it immediately. It was one of Kas̆dael’s dice, although judging from the Keeper’s complete lack of writhing around in agony, he was willing to bet it was nothing more than a replica.

She tossed it high in the air, the black dodecahedron sparkling in the sun as it tumbled into the sand. Leaning over it for a second, she looked up. “Alright, Abnu,” she barked, “you’re up.”

Jasper gulped as the first of his opponents stepped out of the crowd. Far taller than most, the Djinn’s red skin was a testament to his power. Muscles rippled up arms large enough to support a small village, the veins straining against the skin like a roided-out gym rat. Two big, thick black horns spiraled up from his head, and his hands ended in fingernails that were closer to claws than anything else. The Keeper shot Jasper a sympathetic look. “That was an unlock roll - Abnu is a bit of a challenge. Remember though, you don’t have to win, just endure.”

Jasper was completely caught by surprise when the massive Djinn suddenly blurred into action. He had been expecting some sort of formal start to the duel, even if just the ringing of a bell. But Abnu gave him no time to prepare, the Djinn's fist snaking out in a swift uppercut. If the hit had landed, Jasper quite possibly would have been knocked out immediately, but he managed to dodge in the nick of time, leaning back just far enough that the strike missed.

Unfortunately, it also wrecked his balance. With a startled yelp, Jasper fell on his back as another ruthless swing swished through the empty air where he had been standing.

Jasper was hardly an expert in physical combat, but neither was he quite the wilting mage the warriors of the cult expected. In the last few months he had seen more than his share of danger and very rarely had he had the luxury of raining down his spells from behind the protection of a shield wall.

He went with the fall, rolling backward in a graceful tumble that landed him back on his feet. Another jab shot toward his head, but Jasper had expected it this time. Lightly shifting to the side, he grabbed Abnu’s arm and, using his momentum against him, propelled himself forward, sinking his fist into the man’s abdomen.

A whoosh of air expelled from the Djinn's lungs, but it barely slowed him. With a howl of excitement, the man smashed his horned forehead down on Jasper’s head. A loud crack rang through the courtyard, and Jasper staggered back, releasing his grip on the Djinn’s arm. Abnu, however, seemed unaffected by the blow, springing forward to press his advantage.

The first blow smashed into Jasper’s chin and sent him flying to the ground, ironically saving him from the second which whistled harmlessly through the empty space.

The soft sand cushioned the worst of the blow, but Abnu was relentless. Leaping into the air, he hurtled toward Jasper, his knee prepared to deliver the knockout strike. Jasper turned to his side a split-second before the Djinn landed, rolling to his feet. His head was swimming, but he somehow managed to block the next fist that came racing toward his face and deliver a punishing kick to the Djinn’s shin. Overbalanced, the warrior tripped, falling into the sand, but Jasper hung back, letting the seconds of the fight tick down. I don’t have to win, just survive, he reminded himself.

Abnu wasn’t down long. With a roar of anger, he leapt to his feet, bull-rushing Jasper, but he spun out of the way, tripping the warrior again. The Djinn wasn’t easily foiled twice, however. With a surprising show of grace, the warrior managed to avoid falling, recovering his balance as he spun around.

Any semblance of a friendly fight was gone when Abnu turned to face him. His eyes danced with rage. “You are not fighting back - you are doing nothing but running!” He roared.

“Time!” The Keeper called out.

Abnu ignored her voice, stepping forward with clenched fists. “A weakling like you doesn’t deserve to join Nahrēmah’s faithful.”

“Abnu-“ The Keeper began, a warning note in her voice.

But Jasper didn’t need her to fight his battles. He willed the essence through his hands, a fiery inferno rippling his arms in an instant. Fire alone wasn’t enough to scare a red-skinned Djinn, however; after all, Abnu was likely near immune, so Jasper summoned two spells in quick succession.

Fiery manacles sprang around Abnu’s feet, locking him in place as a long, barbed whip sprouted from Jasper’s hands. He didn’t swing the Scourge, not wishing to kill the Djinn, but the threat was clear.

Anger, mixed with a bit of fire, surged through his veins in frenzy, but Jasper did his best to force it down, purposefully flattening his tone as much as possible. “Weakling? The only weakling here is you. This entire battle is slanted in your favor - a warrior versus a mage not allowed to use his magic - and you still couldn’t get it done. In a real battle, you’d be a smudge in the sand before you even got close to me.”

“Enough.” The Keeper’s hands grabbed his harms, pushing his hands down. “I will overlook the use of spells as it happened after the duel ended, but I cannot allow you to attack him. And as for you, Abnu-" her voice rose sharply - “you are banned from participating in duels until you have demonstrated you can control your anger. This candidate broke no rules in the battle.”

The Djinn bowed his head respectfully, squeezing the words out through clenched teeth. “Very well, my lady. I will meditate on my actions.” He got up stiffly, pushing his way through the assembled crowd, but Jasper did not miss the hateful look the Djinn shot him on the way out. Great. I hope I didn’t make an enemy.