Carnaubas had gone too far, and something in Galen snapped. “So, if Myra becomes the newest priestess of Charity, how do you think she'll react to you insulting her family and friends? Does Charity pay well for your broken-down cart and horse? Maybe it's time for Charity to pick someone who isn't so damned old and nasty to bring paying applicants to the temple.”
As soon as the words escaped Galen's mouth, he realized that saying them aloud was a mistake. Carnaubas glared at him. “Don't threaten me, boy.” He pulled sharply on the reins and the wagon stopped.
Myra's smile fell from her face. The sweat on her forehead increased. Her eyes pleaded. “Why aren't we moving? We have to go. We're almost there!”
Carnaubas spat again, this time at Galen's feet. “You pissant little upstart. Tell me more about how you're going to take my job away while your sister goes insane trying to get to the temple.” Myra started to climb out of the wagon, but the old man grabbed her by the waist. He was stronger than he looked.
“Take your hands off my sister.” Galen's voice cracked.
“Apologize,” cackled Carnaubas. “I want to know how sorry you are that you disrespected me. Tell me how your sister will hear none of this, and how I'll be driving this route for the rest of my days.” Myra clawed at the rail, trying to escape. Gusset stood, his brow and fists both knotted. “And keep your pig-loving friend away from me.”
Galen’s stomach knotted. He had no idea what to do. “I… I don't…”
“Come on, you worthless piece of dung,” Carnaubas rasped. “Apologize. Is that too much to ask from someone who's trying to find faith at the temple of Charity?” He squeezed Myra tighter and laughed again.
Galen shut his eyes. He was about to debase himself when Gusset pushed past him. “You shouldn't hurt Myra.” Indeed, Myra squirmed and whined as if she were burning. Gusset grabbed Carnaubas' wrist with his powerful hands and pulled. Carnaubas stared with wide eyes as Myra slipped free, jumped from the wagon, and ran off down the road.
The old man looked into Gusset's face with fear in his eyes, his wrist locked in a vice-like grip. Gusset's well-defined muscles did not even strain to hold him fast. “Let me go, boy. Don't you hurt me. Please, don't hurt me.”
“Let him go, Gusset,” said Galen. “He's just a cruel old man who feels powerful when he insults children.” Galen climbed out of the wagon. “Come on. We have to catch up with Myra.”
Gusset released the old man's wrist, and Carnaubas snapped it back to his chest. Gusset stepped down from the wagon and joined Galen. Plaice, terrified, followed closely after. When the three ran off after Myra, Carnaubas wheezed and screamed in fury behind them, “Vicious bastards! You'll be sorry you assaulted a defenseless old man. All of you!”
THE TEMPLE WAS not around the first bend, nor the second. Myra's footprints were evident, but the three boys tired before they even caught a glimpse of her. Instead, the road twisted into the trees without end. Myra must have sprinted for over a mile to get so far ahead of them. Soon, they rounded a turn and the forest fell away. Before them lay a shallow valley, and in the valley lay the temple of Charity.
It appeared more like a sprawling village than the grand source of a religion. Austere, well-built stone buildings bordered fields burgeoning with crops. The buildings grew larger and were placed closer together towards the center of the village where they surrounded a single grand tower. Its lines swept and curved, which drew the eye up, but never let it rest on any one feature.
The boys followed Myra's trail into the valley and to the temple grounds. Paths between the stone buildings were paved with flagstones. For lack of a better direction, they joined the flow of foot traffic on the main road, all headed the same way.
Many were faithless travelers seeking Charity, likely hundreds of miles away from where they started. Who were they? What did they want? What would they do?
Galen was surprised to see a rough-looking worker in a dark tunic bound by a leather harness on his upper arms and back. The purple stain on his lips led Galen to deduce the man came from the mysterious Errant Moors, very fragrant but fertile lands that produced the most amazing fruit. Those people rarely left their crops except to sell their exceptionally flavorful wine—but this one was here, hobbling forward on crutches. What was his life like? Had he been in a fight? Had bandits set upon him as he attempted to deliver his valuable cargo?
A brightly-dressed man in a flowing robe and colorful scarves trailing behind carried his young, coughing son. Galen didn’t recognize his fascinating garb, but he did notice an ornate pin on his headdress, which meant he was probably a priest of some religion Galen couldn’t identify. The boy must have been sick indeed if the priest was forced to come here himself for Charity’s divine medicine.
A poor family surrounded a shy but richly-dressed girl, covered in heavily embroidered fabrics. An overheard snippet of conversation revealed they had traveled all the way from the capital city of Wyldia, home to the temple of Law. Was the girl here for the testing? Perhaps her parents thought she stood a better chance of success if she appeared wealthier than she was? Was she their last hope to escape debt? Or maybe this family had kidnapped the daughter of a priest to ransom?
So many possible stories!
“Galen! They want us to go this way!” yelled Gusset.
Indeed, Charity's faithless workers, all wearing uniform brown robes with white goblets embroidered on the back, were herding the crowd along the avenue toward the tower at the temple's center. As more people joined the main thoroughfare, Plaice grumbled about being shoved around.
Except for Plaice, the mood of the crowd was joyful. There were flowers everywhere, and bright banners decorated the stern facades of the buildings flanking the avenue. Even the sick or injured had smiles on their faces.
The avenue emptied into a large flagstone square, wide enough to accommodate the throng of spectators. Ahead, marble stairs fifty feet wide rose to a platform beneath an enormous sweeping archway. Streamers of colorful fabric fluttered in the light breeze, attached to countless windows and balconies on every side of the enormous, circular tower of Charity. Perhaps the pennants were supposed to distract from the obvious in-progress construction. Some balconies were no more than collections of wooden planks—either new, or in some stage of renovation. Regardless, the decorations made the tower entrance look like a festival stage. Gusset shouldered his way to the front of the crowd, clearing the way for Galen and Plaice to follow.
Five or six priests of Charity stood on either end of the platform. They wore simple, white robes. Instead of embroidery, actual tiny goblets with single inset white gemstones hung from chains around their necks. The two groups flanked a line of nervous children—some very young—who also wore the chains and cups. While many of the children kicked the ground or stared at the crowd in fright, one girl smiled with confidence. She lit up even further when she spotted Galen and waved her hand.
Galen yelled out, “Myra!”
The three boys scrambled up the stairs, but a short priestess in her middle years moved to block their path. She had a kind face but stern eyes and a stocky build that suggested she did not plan to budge.
“Children, you must stay down with everyone else. We're almost ready to begin.”