Within the Mazar, 'twas rumored that the miraculous transformation of Drya was primarily to the credit of her jhawla. In those days a young, hasty, yet curious student, her misadventures only led her back to the stern but caring schoolings of her teacher.
Years later, despite all the training and honing of character, there still remained vestiges of curiosity in her soul. Mayhap it was the very same curiosity which led her to seek out that heretic who threw the ceremony of the high monks into disarray.
"Monilay, sir." The errant man turned his head to face the stranger. A stone's throw from the plaza of commerce, behind a two-wheeled wagon, Drya was informed that she could find the foul Catros. Hood donned and face shadowed, she gave an honorary greeting. Instead of reciprocating, Catros let loose a mouthful of spit. "Fie upon all thou high monks. If thou aren't here to give unto me, then leave." Drya held her ground. "What do you fancy?" "Food or funds, simply bequeath them into the pot for the benefit of poor old Catros." By his side was a humble vase. "I did not picture you a beggar," the sage started. "Your stunt today emanated pride, or perhaps conceit." Her intention was to goad out more of the madman's philosophy. "Ha! This life holds the purest pride there is. I'd rather be proud in my pauperism than in the backwards lifestyle thou zealots call faith." "Faith hath saved lives, yet you speak ill of it." "It has ruined just as many, which thou seem too young or feeble-minded to understand. I would have nothing to do with faith, and if I'm sure of anything it's that I'm always right and thou're always wrong." What a straightforward school of thought! Her hood lifted like a veil to reveal a smiling countenance. "A woman brave enough to pester the village stray?" Catros queried. "You trouble me old fellow, but for some odd reason your attitude has earned mine admiration. Be it not for your life of sin, I may deign to call you inspiring." The wrinkled old beggar laughed. "Thou would be foolish to take inspiration from one as decrepit as Catros. Your skin may begin to wrinkle."
Erelong the sage Drya parted ways with the strange fellow; her pocket measurably lighter, but her heart happier.
***
The Young King feasted upon a handpicked orange, donated by the orchard monk upon learning his identity. "Oh, what a blessing to be visited by our venerated ruler," the monk said. "Please, your augustness, have more. Your welcoming of gifts is a fine quality-- woefully uncommon today." The shadowed woman looked on contemptuously. How pallid she is- unmistakably, from the cave-dwelling tribe of Lûnatus. A long way she has journeyed hence. "That girl, Jin-ur, refuses to leave my orchard." The monk pointed a finger her way. "Do not listen to Opha," she said. "I have reason to be here, though these monks would have me banished." "Jin-ur. A familiar-sounding name." The Young King muttered to himself. The waifish Jin-ur stepped towards him. Her skin was near-transparent in the sunlight, like a body drained of blood. "And thine true name- What is it?" The nature of this question struck the Young King as invasive, and as such he paid it no heed. But with nary a moment to regain composure, Jin-ur was on his back again. "Rulers should be judged upon their merit, so don't try to impress us with thy title. Pray thee chief, where was thy government when my tribe needed aid?" The Young King was unsure of how to proceed. Opha stepped in, saying "Hark, leave his augustness be!" The Young King waved them both off, caught his breath, and articulated: "I know not what you think of the rule of my father's empire, but I reject his name and the title he placed upon me. In order to ameliorate whatever issue there exists betwixt you, allow me to mediate your dispute-- Amicably."
Jin-ur began with a solemn recounting of the disaster of Lûnatus, which began with a great crumbling of their cavern walls. Immense expanses of the underground society were lost, consumed by the Urd. "Entire bloodlines were extinguished, some by the pressure of rock and others by the inhalation of dust and ash. My tribe had almost lost hope, but by the luck of Shonos we had the charitable support of this brotherhood. The benefaction was what my people required to persevere, at least back then." The woman's nobility and the sacrifice of her tribe nearly brought a tear to the Young King's eye. Opha, however, was indifferent. "Then, would thou stoop to extend me thy gratitude?" He asked blithely. Jin-ur was overcome with rage and cursed the monk's name. Suddenly-- she began stumbling-- shaking-- her string of expletives having exhausted her. "Opha, please allow us into your office where we may sit," the Young King requested, with worry for the woman's well-being.
The Holy Office of Magnanimity & Charity was a simple structure, with doors of pale wood and large windows which let sunlight stream inwards. Now the trio sat around a desk, surrounded by shelves of codices and documents. "All that you see here is the efforts of our temple to spread our charity." Opha thumbed through a layer of parchments, afore unsheathing one like a weapon. "Your augustness, behold the signed treaty ordaining our support of Lûnatus." The Young King had little interest in documents, however he examined the piece with a sigh. "I acknowledge the legitimacy of this treaty." "As any ruler of cunning would," Opha beamed. "Our treaty is tantamount to holy law in the eyes of Odux-- It is of utmost power." Jin-ur sat up, her head held high despite her condition. "It has been decades, Opha... We both are young. Why champion a document writ before even thy creation? As equals, listen when I say that we need thine support no longer!" Instead of addressing her plea, Opha turned to his ruler. "Sometimes it is unthanked. Sometimes it is expensive. No matter what it requires, the duty of Altemplum is to shine the light of Odux onto those in need. It is apparent that while much progress has been made in Lûnatus, the tribe is far from self-sufficient." The woman, having spent all her power to make her plea, was as quiet and shrunken as a shrew.
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"Jin-ur? Are you well?" The Young King's concern was growing. "What is your ailment?" "The sun," she muttered. "We live not under that scorching eye. The brightness is... overwhelming." The sunbeams sent down through the windows pierced her pale skin. "To even stay in this sun-drenched town... A most difficult trial for you, surely. You have mine respect." The Young King bowed to her while Opha observed. "Your augustness, your admiration is better spent elsewhere. Her tribe must accept the heavenly light if they wish to prosper-- Jin-ur, thou may claim thyself my equal, but thine people have far yet to go." What a tactless monk... The Young King almost said, keeping control over himself.
Inversely, contempt breathed new life into the young woman. Standing, her chair fell back. "Thou have proved thy merit in mediation, chief, but we no longer require your service. Allow me to introduce myself properly: As Jin-ur Sekan, daughter of powerful Elder Patis Sekan of the Fourth House of the Bear. A fortnight ago I had a vision of the fate of my tribe if we continue to honor the Altemplum treaty-- Total societal collapse. On that day I left my home, unbeknownst to my protective father, to secure a better future for my people. Being as wise as he is, by now he knows of my plan and has departed for Altemplum to save me. Wouldst thou have him see me here like this...?" With that her body floated to the floor, limp. Opha was aghast at the truth of her identity, while the Young King felt stirred. "Daughter of the village elder, oh? I knew it. Your speechcraft hinted you were no commoner. Rest now, as you have proven your merit." Forgive me Jin-ur, but it seems that my job as mediator is not yet done. The woman was no longer conscious, yet, somehow, her visage retained a proud look.
***
It was unlike Drya to worry unnecessarily. Nevertheless, she found herself pacing to and fro in the main plaza. The sun's light waned, and the Young King was nowhere to be found. Perhaps I should not have left his augustness unattended, Drya pondered. What sort of misfortune could he attract in such a tranquil place...? Deep in thought, she paid no heed to the prating of the monks scattered around; words which clung together until they resembled words no longer. Anon, up from this babbling brook, rose something strikingly familiar: A man's weathered voice. "Jhawla?" She did not expect to face the old soul again so soon-- A shared sentiment, it seemed by his reaction. "Drya," he exclaimed."By the Urd-Bird's wing, you should be halfway to Vouná Qaf by now! What possessed you to come hither?" Drya sat with the old sage and recited her story, starting from the midnight departure to her run-in with the beggar. "I suppose this meeting was caused by fate, or by premonition through the eye of the Mazar," Drya proposed. "Nay... The truth is that I am here to make Altemplum mine permanent residence." The old sage looked wistful as a dark shadow hung overhead; the young sage's tone shifted. "So, have you finally been pushed to your limit?" It was no secret to her that her jhawla was unhappy at the Mazar. But in order to evacuate the temple completely, a tether must have rent: A strained trust, or a broken promise. "Dear student, fret not. Mine journey comes to an end, while yours is yet in its infancy and therefore takes precedence. Prithee, tell me more of this odd Catros fellow..."
The sun was nested beyond the cliffside, the village drowning in darkness. Jin-ur, renewed in shadow, followed closely behind the Young King as he dashed down the stone pathways with purpose. The sages of the Mazar heard his commotion before they saw him emerge from the dark, calling out their names. "Honorable sages, we have urgent business! An indomitable father is crossing the holy lands hither." Drya shot from her seat and asked with terror, "Your father is in Urdhiin?" "He is mine," Jin-ur spoke up. "Follow; we will meet him on the field together with a delegate of monks... To decide the fate of this treaty once and for all." The Young King and his new companion continued away, leaving Drya in the dark. "Halt-- prithee--" She followed suit. What in the name of the Six has he gotten into? Before stepping foot off the plaza, Drya halted at the sensation of a hand upon the shoulder. Her anchor, her jhawla, communicated a message of concern with only his expression. She understood it instinctually.
It was an overwhelming burden she bore: For every misadventure the Young King went on, for every affair he immersed himself in, for every day he walked the grounds of Urdhiin, Drya held total responsibility. She accepted it with a gulp of the throat and her jhawla released. "Come," Jin-ur urged, "We cannot let that rotten Opha reach him first!"
Together, the teacher, the captor, the son, and the daughter made for the northern plains. If they were to catch the elder in his crossing, by his authority the treaty may be annulled yet.