5 Chapter 5: Keeping Up With the Templemen

There is a temple that lies in the western nest, thousands of miles from the citadel of Katill Broiis; a jewel of the west regarded highly as a hallmark of Domminical power for it is where kings, princes, and Dommes themselves rested when passing through the vast Ori'ehemian nest. Running these temples are its lifeblood entities who are neither man nor animal—Du Quams, the thread between man and the Unknown.

A single Du Quam can rule for a third of a millennium, and some can go on for half of that. Though they weren't always constrained to that fate. They had been human once, long, long ago. Given that history, some qualities have never faded absolutely with time and exposure to weathering experience.

Aging, nevertheless, is inescapable.

The temple's construct had been entirely dependent on whichever Domme occupied it. For Gu'ambiss, that was the Domma Margijer, a giant toad who demanded pools and waterways to be built over and under the temple for her and her ministers use. It only began reconstruction upon the Tirkju'a's insistence to move there where he'd mainly plan on setting up his court.

The Margijer had a stronger voice over the sort of architecture to be found within the temple because the Margijer's occupancy had outlasted the Tirkju'a's estimated age—though the Tirkju'a had more authority everywhere else. She had argued like hell for such creative rights. In hindsight, it paid off. Her side of the temple resembled that of a water resort, all waterways, rivers, and bridges connecting island platforms serving as docks for incoming ships which came so rarely due to the tight restrictions the Margijer had placed on her domain.

But as the centuries wore on, and more and more facilities had been built to address the demands of the ministers and Dommes, the very bare form of the temple had not been altered as much as its Du Quams would have liked.

"Upon my arrival! It just can't wait," Umdochar gasped, exasperated and very much out of breath as he stumbled up the pebbled pathways, flanked on all sides by ministers of all shapes and sizes.

He was formidably built to weight tons more than he naturally did and he despised this commitment secretly. It had been a matter of safety when the Du Quams agreed to pass on a law for a standard minimum weight; Umdochar felt like taking that vote back every time he ascended the staircases around temple grounds.

"Du Quam, just a minute. The Maazati simply can't put this off. They have the wagons coming for them this afternoon, or sooner," a Minister begged whilst shuffling through several parchments. Umdochar stopped, turned to him, and sighing, he said:

"You can get them to my study in an hour or so. I will come to them. But first, you know what I must do."

And this the templemen knew. Du Quam Umdochar said this every time he returned; he meant a visit to his dear old friend atop the towers on the Margijer's side of the temple—he was always off to see the Du Quam Z'jil Kedrik.

Or rather, what was left of him.

It was no secret in the temple that the Du Quam Umdochar had a soft spot for Kedrik. They go back such a long way, they would've been brothers now at three centuries strong. They hardly ever got along; still, that never stopped Umdochar.

Following the marble pillars of the Tirkju'a's side of the temple, the Margijer's was visible and proud, a palace of marble and lime—a beacon of her hubris. Distinctly decorated with sculptures of herself, bridges, and river tunnels, the Margijer's side of the temple gave what lacked of the Tirkju'a's. Otherwise, the Margijer would not have had it if at every turn, one could only see hallways and potted plants.

Umdochar tired of this view from his study, but knowing that the Du Quam Kedrik was safe and sound at his tower on that very side gave him strength and comfort to go on another day. That lone, overseeing tower point is where his heart led him to that afternoon of his return.

The Du Quam Kedrik sat, waiting.

"I've said this before, and I am utterly devastated that I'd have to say it again—my god, this room needs more curtains!" a dark old man wheezed from his seat. His attendants scattered about the room, taking after his demands and fixing up his shawl so they clung tightly to his bony form. His headdress, decorated with emeralds and rubies, signified his rank and honor.

A Du Quam.

"You know by now just how much sunlight drains the life out of me."

Beside him, a boy of a mixed heritage in turquoise and gold silks was kneeling beside the troubled, old Du Quam, a bowl of soup in hand. He lifted a large spoon.

"Come on, Du Quam Kedrik. You'll have stomach pains later if you don't eat now." Nubejul knew Old Kedrik's conditions and was careful to show mild strictness.

"Leave me alone to die."

"I can't do that. You know you still have to host the Feast of the Margijer next year. You don't want to miss that honor, do you?"

The older Du Quam noticed Umdochar entering from behind the curtains. "Why can't Umdochar take charge of it instead?"

The young boy looked. He beamed. Built compactly, small and brown, he never failed to light up the room with his cheerfulness alone, a rare quality even among those occupying the higher towers in the temple. Many lived a life absent of Nubejul's charms which never betrayed him even as he cared for the old Kedrik in this dark, hollow tower. If anything, he thought of it as an honor to be at his side.

Umdochar trusted him enough to watch over his old friend and companion of three hundred years. He was rather doting on them both.

He went to Kedrik's side, knowing he must now step in. "It is distinctly yours, my friend. We each have our own duties. You, the Margijer's; I, the Tirkju'a's," Umdochar said sternly, then to Nubejul, his most treasured successor, he said, "and you—"

"I'll be cleaning the dishes." Nubejul was quick to jest. The boy moved fast, fixing up the dishes.

"A Du Quam doing the dishes. Bah!," Kedrik sniffed.

Nubejul tilted his head as he went away. "Not a Du Quam yet. But soon," he laughed to himself.

"Nubejul," Umdochar called out. Nubejul turned at this.

Umdochar nodded, "We have matters to discuss. Go on over to the study. Your elder Du Quams have to speak first."

Nubejul left in his ever pleasant mood.

Umdochar lifted his palm, and the faculties around the room moved on their own, cleaning up after the mess made previously by his frantic companion. Kedrik stared about with hollow, panicked eyes, the very look of a man who's been sentenced for life.

"Do you know already?" Umdochar started quietly.

Kedrik stared at him. He knew he dared him to say it first.

"Nubejul, my spirit son, he…," Umdochar trailed off. He knew the sooner he said it the sooner he can get to accepting it, but he was strongly in denial of what he had just learned from his recent trip.

"He doesn't belong to you anymore," Kedrik said lowly. He grumbled as he shifted forward in his seat, meeting Umdochar's gaze head on, "He's a property of the Order. Always has been ever since you took him in with us."

"I didn't think it would turn out this way. I would have never guessed…," Umdochar whispered, disappointed.

Kedik continued to stare him down, inching, daring him to speak the circumstances of which he had found himself in great agony of.

Umdochar's lips quivered. "He's the Sijarkes' now."