Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity (18 page)

Jotham handed him some of the fresh, little ferns and said, “He never had the plague, only a fever, which I helped to cure. Take some of these tambla leaves. See how they curl toward his forehead, not away?” Harkan was struck by how gigantic the Imperial looked when standing next to the small, angry man. Were this wild-haired, wide-framed historian actually violent, the accountant wouldn’t stand a chance. Yet the larger man was tolerating all the hostile words placidly.

“Not all contagion shows fever at the outset,” said the youngest priest, almost hesitantly.

“True, but check him yourself for signs of any disease,” Jotham said confidently. “I purchased new clothes from your king’s men according to the rules of quarantine, as I’m sure they told you. Here is my receipt for the clothing and this is the document making me legally responsible for the boy. My student is clean.”

Brent, though bored, patiently endured as each man in turn checked his eyes, his mouth, his arms, legs, and chest for signs of the dreaded illness. The old priest stared the longest at the protective symbols drawn on Brent’s flesh in blood. When Harkan asked him how he felt, the boy replied, “Hungry.”

This made the old priest laugh, and he concurred. “I should say we’re all quite hungry by now, young sir. There’s nothing wrong with him except a little weakness, which should pass. Noble Jotham, the Sons could use a healer of your abilities.”

“Semenos heals by the plants found only in the temple garden,” said the youngest priest.

Jotham allowed a lilt of amusement to creep into his voice. “Strange, I find those same plants beside the highway. Perhaps all have the virtue to give life, no matter where they take root.”

The earnest, young man was stunned by the heresy. The senior priest covered this awkward moment by suggesting, “We should eat before discussing anything further.”

As the other two dug bowls out of their packs, the accountant saw the missing ox and grew angry again. “He had no right to take our sacrifice! That theft invalidates the contract of hospitality. I refuse to dine with thieves.”

As the indignant man reached for his staff, Harkan stood on it. “It’s illegal to condemn without opportunity for response. Perhaps you should
ask
him.”

“Actually, I was doing a favor by delivering the sacrifice. It’s all proper.” Jotham handed over the writ. “If you choose to accompany us to Cardinado, you’re welcome to do so. I’ll warn you, though, that we travel at night for safety. I see better at night with one eye than all of your eyes put together.” As he spoke, the Tenor began filling his guests’ bowls.

Unwilling to let the pair of fugitives escape blame, the accountant shrieked, “Stop being so nice! You had no right to take that boy without our blessing.”

Jotham sighed, and opened his cloak to reveal his own holy symbol, the flare hospitable. All of the adults drew back in momentary amazement.

Respectfully, Harkan said, “We haven’t seen such a sign in this part of the world for many years.”

“Perhaps this is because your rulers were so swift to murder those who bore it,” Jotham countered. Brent and the youngest priest both dropped their spoons at the sharpness of this rebuke.

Harkan bowed his head and admitted, “Some kings are fools. One cannot climb to the glory of the future by slaying the wisdom of the past. But our redemption might lie in the excuse that more greed than conscious evil sped their misdeeds. Our current darkness is sufficient punishment for what they did.”

In the doctrine of Semenos, the king was the leader chosen by their god, and second only to the One who chose him. The accountant had barely begun sputtering his objection to the implications of this statement when Harkan snapped, “Silence. I still command you both. There are more things on this earth than you’ve been taught. Listen and you may learn more than years of seminary can offer. Good sir, what is your rank in your sect?”

Quietly, Jotham said, “I am a high priest.”

Harkan gasped. Years of questions bubbled to the surface. “Sir, I long to take you at your word. If you but prove your case, I’ll send you on your way with everything you had at our meeting and my meager blessing besides. There are certain questions only a high priest of your faith can answer about the holy scrolls and seeming contradictions.”

Jotham looked at the ground and then sat. “Beware the mysteries, for it is often men, not gods that seek to hide them. I’ll answer one question from each of you, but you must share the reply with all those who ask.”

“This is contrary to the rules of our order,” complained the accountant.

“If you love the rules of the order, then you must still obey me,” snapped the old priest in green. “Surely each of you has a question you have always wondered about. If you stump this man, you may prove him a liar and trap him in his crime. If not, you will have gained more than any rule in existence can offer you.”

The youngest priest went first. “In the scroll of Bardok, the barbarians tore down the walls of Semenea without defeating the ancient fortress at Pernathum or the one at Queed. How was this possible?”

Jotham began a history lesson beside the fire, drawing a map of the region in the dust. “The short answer is that Bardok refers to a different city of the same name, high in the valley of Orestra, on the border of the plains. Semenea was relocated because the original capital had been sacked so easily. This can be confirmed by the fact that the original city sent a messenger east to Pernathum, when the present position is clearly to the west. The barbarians in the tale were really tribes from Mandibos, banding together to stop your king from stealing their cattle. That particular term for ‘wall’ in the ancient tongue meant stone animal stockade. The Mandibosian raiders smashed the fences to set their herds free to feed on the plains, just as they do to this day.”

The answer rang harsh but true in all their ears. The youth was slack-jawed. “They never told us.”

“Of course not. No parent likes to appear flawed in his child’s eyes. Your king learned his lesson, so there was no real harm done,” Jotham reasoned.

The youngest priest bowed, accepting his reply. The accountant was not so easily pacified. Smugly, he asked, “Our own sage leader on this mission has claimed that the holy scrolls are incomplete and contradictory. Yet the scrolls themselves say they are infallible. How is it possible for both to be true without him being a liar and a heretic?”

Jotham brooded for a moment. The accountant was hoping that either the Imperial would be unable to reply and be proven false, or that the answer would disqualify the senior priest and put him in command. “Have you been to Wrensford?”

“You know we have.”

“Was it on your map?” asked Jotham.

“No. It’s too small to make the temple maps. Harkan led us there because he has been there before,” the accountant said, puzzled. “If you’re going to claim that the map is incomplete, you’re wrong. The town no longer exists.”

“That seems to be your solution to many doctrinal difficulties as well. But bear with me, and you’ll see the answer yourself. In each case, with the scrolls and your mission, you must rely on the guidance of one who has first-hand experience.” The accountant nodded impatiently. “Cardinado appears on your map. What does it look like?”

“Not even then. It changes every day. One would just finish a copy before having to start again on the revision,” said the accountant.

“So the map is just a simplified representation for people who want to be able to find a place for themselves. No amount of drawing on a flat piece of parchment can substitute,” Jotham reasoned.

“I suppose.”

“You agree that the essence of Cardinado is too complex for even the best map. A map will only show you the general way to find something you are seeking. You’re responsible for the walking. Why should the ancient scrolls be any different in depicting the Truth, which is surely more complicated than your small town?” announced Jotham. Everybody around the fire made a small ‘o’ of revelation with their mouths except the accountant.

“You are unclear,” he insisted.

“I offer the reluctant pupil another example. Do you have a floor plan, an architectural drawing of your temple? Of course, a drawing was necessary to build it and had to be complete. But do you hold your services standing on the parchment, or inside the actual building? Can you see through the windows on the page to the people standing outside? Yet this is not a contradiction to one who has been there and has common sense.”

All were nodding except the accountant. “This does not answer my question.”

Jotham sighed again. “Then we’ll do this the easy way for you. Your superior will ask his question and then we will know what seems contradictory to him. His explanation will then serve as yours as well.”

The last priest became nervous. “There are so many. How can I pick just one?”

“Sometimes a small candle can illuminate many dark corners if you walk about the room with it,” Jotham said helpfully.

After several minutes of thought, Harkan said, “In the book of Othran, it states that Efrose was the first Son of Semenos. Yet in the Tome of Ugurut Jabar, it states that Semenos never knew a woman. How did he…” Brent stopped eating altogether and stared. “… manage to make the woman pregnant without… you know?”

Jotham started laughing uncontrollably and continued to the point of tears. Once he regained some composure, the Tenor apologized. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. I suppose it started as a wicked joke, but over the years it just got out of hand. Your question is well posed as a puzzle, for the Tome is really a book of riddles, where only the gods know all the answers. All of your writings are correct in the specifics. Efrose was a child of Semenos, and one of the few of the ancient blood born in the Dawn Era. But your teachings were corrupted surrounding one key fact. If you search manuscripts that are old enough or the original Tome before the languages were unified, you’ll detect one word in particular which differs.”

“Such a thing would have been noticed by now,” the accountant insisted.

The eldest priest disagreed. “Not if you change the way you teach the ancient languages. Not if the information wasn’t stressed in current dogma.”

Jotham raised a knowing finger. “Ah, you’d be surprised what men can get away with by rewriting history.”

“What was the word?” Harkan demanded.

“The gods dislike when we reveal their secrets directly. Instead, I’ll give you another puzzle. Can you name a single female member of the Dawn race?”

Harkan, almost unwilling to believe his conclusion, spoke it aloud. “Semenos is a woman? She was the mother of Efrose, not the father.”

Jotham nodded. “You have discerned the right of it. They changed the translation of one simple pronoun to alter the course of your kingdom. It happened during the succession battle of Queen Hester. She had three daughters, but only one son, her youngest. The oldest daughter wanted to make sweeping changes, including the introduction of women into the army. Her justification was an obscure passage in the histories where Semenos slew the demon Galartha.

“The Traveler wanted to help your priests avoid a civil war. All the Traveler asked was, ‘Wouldn’t it be more convenient if you could claim Semenos is a man?’ And the scribes agreed. He never actually lied, merely incited others to do so. Semenos was furious for decades, but the other gods wouldn’t let her exact revenge because they thought it was so funny.”

“This is blasphemy! Don’t listen,” said the accountant, covering his own ears.

“No. It makes perfect sense! It explains why we don’t allow women in the priesthood, but how the Oracle of Alampur has always been a woman. They are no less holy, and no less worthy. But a woman might have exposed the truth to the public, undoing years of wrongful oppression,” Harkan declared.

“We must spread this word to all the villages. This wrong must be righted,” said the eager, young priest.

“This is insanity. What has this man done to bewitch you?” asked the accountant, barely above a whisper.

The others ignored his ranting. “We’ll start at the nearest village; there’s one just inland of here. Then, we’ll spread our news throughout the land,” said the old priest, planning his campaign out loud.

When his fellows had gone too far in their heresy and passed beyond redemption, the small accountant slunk from the camp and ran toward Cardinado as fast as his legs could carry him. He left so fast that he never realized that his original question had been answered; his superior was both correct in his own eyes and a heretic in the eyes of the church.