ã€ŠHymn For the Jadedã€‹


 Childs Play in a Mans World

    Chapter 1:  Child''s Play in a Man''s World

    The dial struck late noon; meaning, the day has only just begun for the little Sijarkes, a girl with the looks of no more than fifteen summers, standing on a cushioned ebony stool, having tinkered with a life-sized model of an island fortress. Towers, halls, and gardens¡ªslimy and slick were her hands as she pressed and cut away at these, careful not to break a piece.

    As she yawned and stretched, a sliver of light poured in from the large window from high above, illuminating the unnatural forms of her features, reflecting back this bizarre acidic sheen that only highlighted the edges of her scales.

    "I win," she said through a wide open mouth. "I win, once again."

    Glancing at the window where her companion, a giant winged man in fur coats stood not too far off, she then scoffed. "I told you to put in more effort this time. I''m beginning to suspect you don''t actually care about beating me."

    She hopped off the stool, wiping her hands free of the dust.

    "What are you, afraid? Where are your standards, Domme Tirkju''a? I''m getting bored here."

    Her companion, the Domme Tirkju''a, was in no mood to be pestered for such a thing. With his thick head of orange hair bent low, all four of his eyes remained plastered unto his work, undeterred. Contrary to the Sijarkes'' belief, he was above every other known standard¡ªhe was her guardian; being a guardian meant you were to have full knowledge of your care''s activities.

    This was, however, not one which particularly interested the Tirkju''a.

    As of the moment, anyway. He was just busy.

    That might not be obvious to the Sijarkes, even with her heightened senses, but he was swamped. Beyond his usual activities of having to oversee incoming plans and civil projects, attend necessary court dates, and check in with the councils operating under his watch, he also has to babysit the Sijarkes.

    If he were to be frank, it was not a terrible post though it may have the potential to.

    "It just gets better every time," she said mockingly, gesturing to the other island model behind her. "You can''t even design a citadel. At least, competently. It''s supposed to be your job. You''ve been doing this for thousands of years, Domme Tirkju''a. Give me something, or I''m just gonna have to bully you over it."

    The Tirkju''a remained unresponsive. A shuffle of papers and he''s unto his next batch of scrolls, truly unbothered by her taunts.

    "Domme Tirkju''a?"

    Yet another batch. His hands worked swiftly, making use of all four of his arms.

    "Domme Tirkju''a. Domme Tirkju''a!"

    In a fit of rage, she took the tower figurine from his island model and launched it up as far as she could hit him.

    Thuck!

    The clay figurine hit the Tirkju''a on the left wing, and broke as it fell to the ground. Now, there was a shift. His head glanced at her from the side, but only slightly.

    "I have no time for this, Domma Sijarkes."

    The Domma Sijarkes huffed in disbelief. It was always him being so busy that made the days in the towers so utterly boring. If he would not be around so much, he could''ve at least made up for it whenever he stopped by. She huffed her chest, seeming big and uncompromising. "False. A true busy person has time for everything. How do you suppose they make time for matters they''re apparently busy with?"

    The Tirkju''a turned his attention back to the task at hand, leaving the Sijarkes to anticipate a response which never came.

    She exhaled sharply, brows twitching.

    "Whatever, I still did it better than you," she said at last. Turning her attention back unto his citadel model, she grimaced at the overall lack of effort he had put into it. Outdoing him in his own field of expertise had been the goal, yet she noticed his wavering interest in this activity.

    She thought that, maybe, he was simply getting bored. Or maybe he wasn''t.

    Still, she would not have it either way. He''d promised her he''d play, and he should.

    In her frustration, she could swear she felt tremors. As it rippled all the way from her toes then to her knees, it became completely apparent to her that there was movement in her surroundings. Her senses had not betrayed her; the Tirkju''a was there, slowly making his way towards the curtained exit.

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    "Now where are you going this time?" she said, crossing her arms.

    "The Ori''ehemian Quamship temple in Gu''ambiss," the Tirkju''a said so simply, it was almost enough to make the Sijarkes cry.

    "Gu''ambiss?" She willed her tears back, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, consumed with bitterness. "But you promised to play with me just an hour ago. God! You don''t care at all!"

    She jumped down from her stool, barefoot and tense. "And how long will you be gone?"

    "I do not know."

    "No, no." The Sijarkes held up an accusing finger. "You''ll be gone for a week. Two weeks at most if it''s just to see the council. I can''t be studying under you for this long and not understand that."

    "The Council has someone they wanted me to meet. It''s not something I can delay any further." The Tirkju''a was not eager to discuss his business any further to the petulant child.

    "But what about me?", she bellowed in a voice greater than her own. "Who shall keep me company?"

    Much like a doll, she slumped over the smaller model with both arms lying limp against the sides.

    "You know, this wouldn''t be a problem if you just let me come with."

    "No." The Tirkju''a finally faced her. "You ask me the same thing every year. You simply cannot be out there."

    She lifted her head vigorously. "Why?"

    She really didn''t understand. It''s been a few thousand years since she''s been to Oriehem. That''s where she was born! But the Tirkju''a simply would not have her come with him for the same reason she expected him to say, which she will say also:

    "You are not needed. Stay and do what was assigned for you," the two of them said in unison. The Tirkju''a raised a brow at her.

    "I mean it." The Tirkju''a frowned. He nodded down towards the pile of scrolls stockpiled on the other side of the room. "Did I not tell you to complete those over the last fortnight? I expected you to have finished it by now."

    "Like what every great Domme should be doing, am I right?" she said bitterly, with as much venom as she could. Her tongue lashed. The Tirkju''a caught the hint. He nodded plainly.

    "Precisely."

    "No!" she threw the island model over, destroying what the Tirkju''a had made. Uncontrolled as she was, she stepped on multiple broken figurines and stumbled her way around until she fell over her own.

    By chance, she caught hold of the Tirkju''a''s model before she completely toppled over. She let out a sigh of relief.

    Then slyly, she looked up at him. "This is all so stupid, and I really need this said: All this, even our stupid constitution, is stupid. Why keep me here when I could be doing actual work? What kind of work do you want me to do? Just sit here, reviewing the work you already did and having to rewrite them by hand? What is that all about, anyway?"

    She felt a shift in his mood, for her nerves were as sharp as it could get, picking up bursts and dips in the general atmosphere. She did not think she could pick up such a thing, she felt she might have imagined it this whole time¡ªand it might actually be imaginary in the first place¡ªbut she trusted it when it came to her. It''s all gut stuff, and she believes she''s an absolute god at feeling it in its most deepest, most intangible form.

    "Is that how you think of all this? Your future responsibility?"

    "Yes, exactly. Like I said, it''s stupid. But I may have overexaggerated that part regarding the constitution being stupid¡­"

    The Tirkju''a set down all four of the scrolls he had been reading and moved towards the Sijarkes, now towering over her, obstructing the light from the window. He approached with slow, heavy steps, face grim and sorrowful that even his beard frowned with it.

    "Dur ku Domma, jal Sijarkes. Dur ghamfer voz''hajak''a du''hanaso (You are a Domma, little Sijarkes. You hold a higher power)," he said, a sharp tone at the tail of every word. "You have your scrolls. You have your models. You''ve been graced by all that you might ever need. Have you, for once, thought about the intention behind our efforts?"

    The Sijarkes, for once, felt she was at a loss for words. But regardless of that, she was still inclined to speak despite not having anything to say back.

    "I-"

    "The world out there is not kind to those who cannot keep up," the Tirkju''a interrupted, now gesturing towards the window, towards the outside world which she has not stepped a foot unto in long, long time.

    He continued, "I am confident that once you step foot out of this island, you will be trampled on and beaten like an animal if you remain-" That same pointing finger now aimed at her slumping form. "-the way you are now!"

    At this point she could not bear it any longer. She threw herself behind her island model, covering her ears and crumpling her knees to take up as little space as possible.

    The room fell into a silence, yet the Tirkju''a''s booming voice remained echoing in her head, unable to die down as soon as he was through.

    "I don''t know why you look down on me that much. I can''t help being so clueless. I''ve never been out," she cried through her tears.

    The Tirkju''a shook his head, turned again to the window, and leaned against it on one arm.

    "You are fortunate enough that it is only I who truly knows the truth. It is that you, the Domma Sijarkes, are not competent enough to wear the mantle of your future responsibility. Simply not good enough. Not bright enough to see your own faults. Not disciplined enough."

    Defiantly, the Sijarkes emerged from her hiding spot and spatted, "Not yet!"

    "Not ever," responded the Tirkju''a giving her a sharp look which made her shrink in turn. "And that is my opinion¡ªif you choose not to abide by my guidance."

    When he talked like that, her heart would just burst. She would feel small and infuriatingly incapable of doing what even she herself is assured by her capabilities. It was outrageous but she didn''t want to agree that there was reason behind it all, though it may have been why she has remained within the tower these thousands of years, in spite of being left at her liberty most days.

    "It''s for your own good. Our own good. Do you understand?" He bent over to see her expression.

    Hate was evident on her face. Under her thick bushes of brows that arched bitterly welled her gaze of pointed spirals. They were harsh against the Tirkju''a''s golden slits for pupils.

    He stood back. "As I said. Dur ku Domma, jal Sijarkes. Dur''haijaka ghamfer i''hanaso. (You are a Domma, jal Sijarkes. You hold a higher power.) Remember that well."

    The Tirkju''a began to take his leave, taking his scrolls. Pulling the curtains back, he gave her one final look only to see she has returned back to crouch behind her island model. He lingered momentarily, thinking of his approach, his words. But it ringed true no matter how much he thought back on it.

    "You hold a higher power," he said again with finality, and then left, disappearing behind the layered curtains that cascaded from the ceiling nearly fifty feet over her.

    Long after he was gone, the Sijarkes remained where she was, and had been, for the last millennium¡ªalone and bitter on a tower away from the rest of the known world.

 How to Pass Time in Confinement

    Chapter 2: How to Pass Time in Confinement

    Not much can be done within the walls of Katill Broiis. It''s almost easy to forget that at one point in time, the island once had inhabitants, natives who went about their day with no greater aspiration than to make the cycle''s harvest. Those days had long since passed; now it was the base of a lonesome citadel overlooking high above the East, its halls and towers open only to very special eyes.

    The Sijarkes herself had not seen much of these people around back in those days, not in its long history of being the stronghold of the Domminical Order. It would have been impossible not to see, for she was among those granted the higher towers. She thought they might have moved on earlier than before she was taken to live there¡ªand there, there she sat on her pillow fort doing the exact work the Tirkju''a had set aside for her.

    And it was boring.

    But one could see boredom as a cue for finding something better to do, and the Sijarkes had plenty of ideas, and she quickly found ways to work around his absences, plus with the added isolation Katill Broiis brought her, she was free to do her own thing.

    First it started with monitoring any activity she could sense and tracking it over the course of a year. She quickly found the statistics to be nothing which one can really work with. The citadel thrived off of habit; therefore, there was nothing there she would poke holes at. It would suck the joy out of the ordinary.

    Then, she began to produce her own clothes. She had nothing much to work with. She simply asked for silks and furs and began to toil away her days.

    Whatever was produced, she knew not what to make of it.

    What was the range of fashion acceptable by the Order? Was there a spectrum? She didn''t know; the Quams all dressed the same within the citadel, and no average guest could be seen anywhere. Everyone wore their prescribed attire and rarely deviated, if at all.

    Through this activity, the Sijarkes discovered that she had an affinity for padded shoulders. If they were fashionable, would they have been as bloated and angular as she had thought they might be? The Quams can only nod and praise. Perhaps they, too, didn''t know. For all the knew, they were are stuck in the island as she.

    She had also asked for pets of her own to raise within the Tirkju''a''s tower and had agreed to have them taken out only when she was to sleep. However, there was a policy that she herself was, of course, well aware of: no pet ownership allowed without proof of license as a beast trainer. She simply assumed she could waive off the rules as she pleased, given her senior resident privilege, which was often difficult for the Quams to understand.

    "I''ve been here since before your mother was born," she would remark at their reluctance. Katill Broiis kept all their live animals tucked far away from the eyes of the majority. They had special trainers keeping charge, and she was not authorized in any way to have a say in their keep.

    As a last resort, to knock her boredom, she would visit the archives and read new publications directly from outside Katill Broiis, which boasted many archives even dating back to more than a thousand years. She also had the privilege of boasting her own special spot in the private archives of the Tirkju''a where she was granted a good view of any incoming and outgoing ships.

    In heading there, she''d have to descend down the Tirkju''a''s tower and take a trip through the maze of hedges which was said to have been grown by the Parrhadomme himself¡ªthe God of this citadel, a benevolent Dove¡ªhe''s practically her neighbor, with how close he lives.

    The Citadel was constructed down to his smallest, most esoteric specifics, and those details did not leave out the manner by which to lay down the maze that connected the entirety of the Citadel. For those who came for the first time, they would wish they had a map¡ªwhich are illegal. Those who had been given the privilege to see the map were those of higher ranking positions, and even they were required to have their correspondences reviewed in order to protect the confidentiality of the map from being leaked in any way whatsoever.

    So the Sijarkes had to learn her way around the Citadel by exploring it firsthand and having to experience getting lost on certain instances. But in time, she had memorized the place like the back of her hand, and the path to the Tirkju''a''s archives was a familiar one she had to venture to more than a dozen times a week, even.

    Speaking of the Tirkju''a¡­

    The Tirkju''a had not returned since that day of his last outburst. Though it has only been two years, the Sijarkes felt as though she could not recall much from that time. There was always something new to see everyday and she had her own tradition of ordering imports of the latest silks and luxury items whenever word gets to her on her side of the world.

    The closest visible thing that resembled civilization would be Haradoj-Ka''e, which sits across from the island of Katill Broiis. It was a military base, home to facilities that kept and maintained the military held under the Order''s sole jurisdiction.

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    Still, there were actual, regular people living there. They had homes, and families, and children. If she personally knew what a typical human family was like, perhaps she would feel something more for their race. But alas, she was only just a sheltered beast. What did she know?

    At best, she could make do with research, and she already had a place for such.

    Its entire floor was tiled fashionably, littered with pillows and mats of different sizes, shapes, and patterns. The lit was dim, just right for reading, and on the wall were several of the scrolls she had been meaning to study.

    Upon reaching her designated spot, she threw herself by the window, plopping unto a colorful mat, as soon as she was within range, and throwing several pillows off to the side to settle into a position on her back, she kicked her feet out to stretch.

    That was a perk of having legs. But if she had her snake tail back, she would then have no case of bipedal locomotive strain.

    A Quam completely covered from head to toe entered with the drink she had requested the day before, two options at the ready should she change her mind.

    "Does it have lemons this time?"

    "As you preferred it." The Quam set about preparing her table, leaving the drink options aside.

    "I''m in a remarkably good mood today. Tell me something interesting. Tell me something recent." She took her drink.

    "Outside. Do you mean, outside the island?"

    "Yes, tell me."

    "Well, the Du Quam Kedrik broke his back again several days ago."

    "Boring. What else?" the Sijarkes swirled the drink around in her hands, sprinkling half a cup of sugar into the mix.

    The Quam paused momentarily before leaning forward on one knee, settling into a crouch. In a low voice, he muttered cautiously, "I heard Urbedaur has been rejecting some of the Du Quam Umdochar''s advances on some individuals whom he claims to have, I believe, done some wrong to the Order''s constitution."

    "Really?"

    "The story is incredible as it goes on, as I''ve been told. You may have already read about it, Domma Sijarkes."

    "That''s always been the Tirkju''a''s job."

    The Sijarkes fiddled with her drink, watching her reflection.

    It was strange, to say the least. The Tirkju''a returned to Katill Broiis within two weeks at the most without fail, and he never deviated much from this routine in all the time she was raised under him.

    It has been two years since he had gone. It was getting concerning the more the put her mind on that thought.

    "Is there any word from the Domme Tirkju''a? He''s been away for an awfully suspicious long time. I would be very upset if he had not thought of acquiring a good present for me. I told him I needed more of those furs from the North."

    "The Tirkju''a had long since been gone, Domma Sijarkes."

    She spat her drink. That was not something she had expected at all. Yet those dreaded words sounded simply too true. But only possibly. With glistening, bulging eyes, she looked at him sharply.

    The Quam resumed, "He has been declared missing half a year into his absence."

    "Declared missing?"

    Noises from outside the curtains erupt into indistinct conversations overlapping one another. The Sijarkes, whose hearing could not be anymore faultless as it was, was not going to take it.

    The Sijarkes threw open her curtains, shouting, "What is all this commotion? I''m having a very important conversation."

    The room fell into a silence, glancing up at the Sijarkes in her third floor balcony. A Quam sitting from the side spoke up in their defense: "We humbly apologize, Domma Sijarkes. There was an order that we are to move crates full of the Tirkju''a''s records overseas. It should be done by tonight."

    "His records?" the Sijarkes'' voice weakened, then she resumed, "And overseas? Where to?"

    "To Gu''ambiss, Domma Sijarkes."

    Now, if she could recall correctly, that was exactly where the Tirkju''a last said he''d be off to. She was as quick to jump to her feet.

    "There are very little places where one could hide in Gu''ambiss. Even more so if one is as gigantic as the Tirkju''a. If he had gone and disappeared there, then I need stronger proof."

    The Sijarkes, not finding anything more to say, retreated back inside the room, grabbing the curtains to a close in one swoop. Once again, she faced the serving Quam.

    "Domma Sijarkes, has he not visited you in years? It''s been two years, am I right?"

    "No!" the Sijarkes wailed. She was not going to accept this. It just wouldn''t be right.

    "The Tirkju''a''s only feeling a little bad, that''s all. I must''ve pushed him a little too much. That''s right, only a little."

    The Quam never changed his stance, and the Sijarkes grew ever discomforted and distraught at the idea of the Tirkju''a completely having been gone in the time she assumed was his putting distance between the both of them. It had been a silly argument which she could not fully remember the details of in the present, but she knows it wouldn''t have been enough to constitute a disappearance of one of the most important figures in Domminical society.

    In her frustration she threw open the curtains again.

    "I am a Domma, too. If I had been the Tirkju''a, you would have informed me right away. He''s a Domme. I am too, so why not I?"

    All around the ground floor, several crates had been moved and are carried over outside where she presumed the docking ships might have been called there for¡ªto take them to Gu''ambiss.

    "To Gu''ambiss, right? Gu''ambiss is far away. That''s over a few thousand kilometers away." She began to move across the balcony, towards the waiting Quam.

    "Domma Sijarkes! Domma Sijarkes!" a messenger Quam in red robes came running up the stairs to her lair, huffing and puffing as he reached the top step.

    "What is it? Say it already." Her anger was diverted.

    "It''s the Seer Dove¡ªthe Parrhadomme¡ªhe wants to see you. Now, outside." The messenger managed to croak out between breaths.

    The Sijarkes let the moment pass before she said anything that made a bit more sense to her. "Does he mean I should go out and go greet the docking ships?"

    "The Empiirjan! It is the Seer Dove''s instruction to have you show your face right this instant at his level. In the Empiirjan!"

    "The Empiirjan!" the Sijarkes as white with shock. "You''re not kidding."

    Wordlessly, the messenger Quam took an authorized visitation permit. On the dotted line, she can see it was addressed to her name. She gasped, stepping back.

    "Without a delay, Domma Sijarkes. You must go."

    With that, she took off with a spirit she never knew she had within her.

 How to Not Talk to a God Creature

    Chapter 3: How to Not Talk to a God Creature

    The Seer Dove was no ordinary creature, nor was he an ordinary man.

    Having said to possess eyes that gave him all-around sight and arms that extended down to his toes, there was obviously something wrong about him, one would wonder. Though it may not be so apparent, for everywhere he went¡ªeverywhere he was seen¡ªhe adorned fine silks and imported jewels that had been tributary gifts from the likes of kings and noblemen for his patronage to humankind.

    And he knew he would not disappoint.

    Katill Broiis itself was that proof. The citadel had been built exactly to his preferences because in the murky past, it had also been a gift, jointly shared by him and Aashurhallal, the true name of the revered Domme Tirkju''a.

    To the known world, they were Gods among a world dominated by men.

    The Sijarkes had known of the Parrhadomme''s solitary nature. There was simply nothing to doubt. He had sought a home in the farthest reaches of his tower, the Empiirjaan, far above the rest of the known world¡ªso high up in the sky that you could see the Eastern nest of Ori''ehem looming in the horizon.

    But unfortunately, she paid him no visit since her last. And all this time of having been living there, she had waited. Yet no invite came, no matter how badly she wanted to go.

    But there was one now. And oddly enough, she remembered the view from her first visit to the Empiirjan, when she was just a mere toddler. Crawling through the entirety of the island as far as the eye could see upon ascending was an intercrossing of pathways separated by hedges that highlighted the beauty of Katill Broiis. The best she could remember of it was the perspectives surrounding the tower itself, and she had¡ªas a toddler¡ªtaken her liberties with reveling in the view.

    In all her years of being what was an overseer of the mundane nature of the island, she figured that there would not be a scene like it¡ªnot anywhere else in Katill Broiis especially, and never in her life again, where things are going. She had to commit it to memory or it will be lost in the centuries to come¡ªshould nothing change in the island.

    Ascending towards the highest level itself was unconventional; it was no easy feat. The stairs lead directly to the Dove''s dwelling, a paradise of a garden in the heavenly skies. The Sijarkes followed the same path she took thousands of years ago to see the Dove once more. However, this time, she was not accompanied by the Tirkju''a.

    "Do not look down," he had advised her once, offering her his hand so that she would never wander too far, and so she may keep close to him; she didn''t mind it one bit, she had loved him before. She had never wanted to part from him, even.

    But she was also sick of him. He was not fun to be with. And whatever the reason was for the Dove to call her up after so long, she knew this would not have been so if it weren''t for the Tirkju''a and his rumored disappearance, prompting the Dove to call upon the one who was considered to be his one and only proper student. Holding back her questions would be too much to ask for she knew she would slip up easily. It has been so long, after all. Too many questions left unanswered, still in the air.

    To have those reconciled is to take thousands of steps up in the sky and meet her mysterious benefactor, the master of the Tirkju''a, the source of the Domminical Order''s powers¡ªthe one to whom all their tributary states show due reverence to.

    As she climbed on, an understanding came to as to why others were not permitted to ascend the tower; it was where the Shaman Dove had been living for the last three thousand years, originally a gift offered by the ancient peoples of the coasts of ancient Haradoj-ka''e. It was not a mere myth that he had built the very tower itself all on his own, laying down brick after brick even as the sun beat down on him, or when rain came to wash away the remnants of what was then.

    Sensing first, as she neared the highest floor, strong and rich¡ªa scent of the earth; flowers, herbs, dirt, and all those sorts. Up in the sky? The Sijarkes was almost reluctant to believe her senses were off, because even a whole floor level below where she was now, it was even undeniably noticeable.

    She was sensitive to such a thing, but she could bear it enough to satiate her curiosity for what lay ahead¡ªor really, who lay ahead.

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    When she had readjusted her green wig of plated curls, and scraped her heeled sandals against the tiling, she felt she was ready now to enter unto the Dove''s domain. The scent grew stronger¡ªa rich earthly scent full of life and joy.

    Unveiling the curtains, she found herself in a garden, rich and whole.

    "This midnight marks your 2501th year in Katill Broiis," a voice bellowed from above, sending a warmth through the air the likes of which the Sijarkes never before knew. She paced back, unsure of how to respond. She willed herself to look up and about, but found no body to attribute the voice to.

    The voice continued, "No need to be so bashful. No need." It descended slowly from behind a group of palms, a sculpted figure in the shape of a man with six wings that fluttered on, blowing gentle gusts of wind towards the entrance where the Sijarkes stood, amazed¡ªand mostly paralyzed¡ªat the brilliance of the Dove man''s physical manifestation whose very murals could stand no testament to its majestically bright beauty.

    It swooped down, a braided mass of hair trailing behind, its signature looped end fluttering about with the breeze.

    "I don''t mean to frighten nor intimidate, never. It''s me, the Parrhadomme," it spoke gently.

    The Sijarkes was never mistaken in the first place. This was indeed the Dove, her neighbor. Nevertheless, it did not take away from the fear welling in her chest¡ªor it could''ve been anxiety¡ªfor all she knew, the Dove could gobble her up right here and then if it had truly intended so.

    Instead, the Dove flew to her face, hovering directly in front of hers, only less than a meter away. It watched her intently with all his eyes, glee escaping from the creases.

    "Isn''t it beautiful?"

    "What is?" asked the Sijarkes in turn.

    "My garden. Don''t you find it beautiful? You are one of the few who ever got to lay your eyes upon it. A good number of these are imported from faraway lands, and up here they remain fresh and evergreen," the Dove gasped, flying through the paradise it had built since before the Sijarkes knew them. It moved gracefully, knowing every nook and cranny by heart that it did not stop once to second guess in which way they flew towards¡ªthey just knew.

    "Breathe it all in, I implore you! I can hear your heart beating, too. The garden scent shall bring you calm before we speak."

    The Sijarkes guessed they were not of a serious nature as the Tirkju''a had been, and was pleased to be welcome in at ease¡ªand by such an amiable creature¡ªthat she felt even a jolly frolic around the grass would not be so bad at all.

    "You are as good as they say, Dove," the Sijarkes remarked gleefully.

    And so the Sijarkes obeyed them.

    As she frolicked about, the strongest scent she could pick up on was that of lilacs and traces of orange blossoms from springtime, nearly overpowering the scent of the trees and palms that lined the gardens. Above, the ceiling opened wide to the sky, clear and open to the passing seasons, and the light trickled in generously so that the Sijarkes felt she was dancing with the sun. She felt herself laugh.

    She hasn''t felt herself laugh in a while. She let it bubble up to the surface, and throwing her head back, she smiled at the Dove who was now fluttering high above, casting faint shadows down below the soft, green grass.

    She never once doubted the sort of wonders she would find atop the Empiirjan¡ªand it did not disappoint at all!

    "You should''ve invited me earlier!"

    It hummed, pleased with her compliance.

    "A neighborly treat," the Dove responded warmly. "No doubt, you must be wondering why I asked for you. Were you lonely? No doubt you were. I had been thinking of how you were faring since the Tirkju''a vanished."

    At this, the Sijarkes stopped in her joyful merriment. She felt a serious face washing over her smiles, and though she did not like it one bit, she was not going to let this moment pass. "Whatever it is that you ask, I''ll do it. No questions asked." She made sure to clench her fists in a manner so intently that the sight of them would be enough to prove how seriously she was taking all this.

    The Dove had picked up on it, and it chose to think for a moment before it hummed.

    "If it''s urgent, please. I''d be foolish not to act so soon if there is anything I could do," the Sijarkes insisted further.

    The Dove, to her surprise, was rather still and almost suspicious. "You''re right. But how important do you think this is?"

    The Sijarkes responded that it must be, for it had never once asked her to come visit, not once in 2500 years. When they admitted that they were serious, she had thought it was alright to ask about where the Tirkju''a stands in all this, and of his state, to which the Dove only said:

    "This is about you. I am concerned about you, little Sijarkes."

    She asked no more of the Tirkju''a. Her attention turned instead to what will lie ahead of her, what sorts of things the Dove had in mind. At the end of the day, her fate was in the Dove''s hands, and she had already spent her entire life waiting on that command, on even just one word that could change her circumstances.

    "What about me?" the one question she''d always ask the Tirkju''a¡ªnow she was turning it to the one who held all of the Order under its wings.

    "What about you? What have you got under you? You had been left unsupervised for the last two years."

    "It has been two thousand five hundred years." The Sijarkes felt the years were long and unbearable, and almost wasted. "Has been."

    The Sijarkes never thought she was unsupervised at all. She had been taken care of to about the same degree as when the Tirkju''a had his regular visits. But the Parrhadomme had insisted on its feelings, advanced on this so much that it had proposed the very thing she never thought she''d hear in her entire life:

    "I can see your eagerness and determination to serve me; it has further strengthened my decision that by this Ki Heptre 3734, you shall serve as the new Tirkju''a'' and Sijarkes to the Order."

 How to Become a Child Ruler

    Chapter 4: How to Become a Child Ruler

    "Yes, I mean you, little Sijarkes." The Dove bent before her.

    "By the day you set foot in Ori''ehem, you shall take up the Tirkju''a''s domminical seat and rule in his place," said the Dove unto her. To this, the Sijarkes exhaled heavily, withdrawing from the Dove''s proximity.

    "And as the Sijarkes?" she gasped. The Dove nodded.

    The Sijarkes took a moment to recollect herself, turning away momentarily.

    "Parrhadomme, if there was anyone¡ªany Domme¡ªwho could take the Tirkju''a''s place, it would be the Avigrijer. But of course, without a doubt, no one beats the original Tirkju''a at his job. It just goes without saying. But what do you mean the new Tirkju''a? I have not even been outside Katill Broiis in a few thousand years. And if I am to be perfectly honest, I will not know what to do!"

    A sigh followed. "The Tirkju''a himself didn''t even know what to do with me."

    "The Order has no use for him," interjected the Dove all too suddenly.

    The Dove stood farther now. It looked out over the window that offered a view towards the horizon where Haradoj-ka''e lay.

    "Not anymore." The Dove gave her a sharp, even glance. "The Order is in need of¡­something else."

    The Sijarkes tried to find her words, anything to ward the Dove off on that judgement. The Order was fine as it is, isn''t it? But the Dove would not say, yet it was impossible for it not to be. The best reason she could come up with is that things were not getting done since the Tirkju''a''s position remained vacant¡ªit''s been two whole years!

    "But the Tirkju''a thought it''d be best if I remained here in Katill Broiis." The Sijarkes froze. "I''m not a good choice, believe me."

    The Parrhadomme watched her with fourteen of its eyes, bright and whole. If the Sijarkes looked closely, she could see versions of herself in them, frightened at the proposition.

    "I am not afraid," said the Dove, "You will know what to do." A simple clarity in its eyes.

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    The Sijarkes knew it had utmost confidence in backing up the Dommes and their pursuits all the way if it fell under its precious promise of prosperity, and she knew it would not disappoint her as well.

    "I will guide you, of course. In my own ways. Everything has been prepared for you." The Dove placed a hand over the Sijarkes'' forehead.

    "The young Du Quam under Umdochar, supposedly next in line to serve the Tirkju''a was reassigned under your court. He will be assisting you in your affairs, and so will Du Quam Umdochar. You will find it most accommodating and efficient to work so close to our states so I ordered for the Ori''ehemian Quamship Temple in Gu''ambiss to prepare your settlement."

    When the Dove pulled its hand back, the Sijarkes jerked away, feeling her forehead in disbelief.

    "The temple? You would really entrust me the temple? The Tirkju''a''s side? It sounds like a lot, I''m not even going to deny it. It''s too much. Too much for a Domma like me."

    The Dove, not used to hearing those sorts of things even within its own circle, was stern. "Sijarkes, I have always referred to you as a Domma, like the Tirkju''a, the Avigrijer, the Margijer, and the rest. As a Domma, you have already proven yourself to me by complying with every task given to you. Were you not raised in Katill Broiis? And far longer than any other Domme, also. If I am asked, I''d say there is no other that is most deserving of the Tirkju''a''s domminical seat."

    The Sijarkes took the chance to interject. "But, the Tirkju''a¡ª"

    "Do your credentials not give you confidence in your qualifications?"

    "No, that is not the problem. Actually, I don''t know what it is."

    "That''s it, then." The Dove nodded, tilting its head. Then it leaned before the Sijarkes, getting on eye level, speaking lowly, it said:

    "You leave for Gu''ambiss by the next dawn bringing with you this promise of prosperity that you shall lay once again before the people in Gu''ambiss, to give them your presence, and to mark the beginning of your reign."

    The Dove paused momentarily, letting it sink in for the little Sijarkes.

    "I trust that you will swear your faith on this promise of prosperity that I laid before the men of old."

    "Of course, without question," the Sijarkes replied without missing a beat.

    "That is my order to you," the Dove said with finality, now complete in its command. The Sijarkes only watched it with great interest, brows arched.

    "Do not be frightened. I know you can do it," the Dove continued once more after the lack of reaction, "And I know the Tirkju''a would be very proud of you, to see you like this after all¡ªwe knew it would be worth it." The Dove cooed, patting the Sijarkes'' head as it did so. It was very close to her now, but she was getting used to its divine warmth and all the comforting words it had much to share.

    The Sijarkes had made up her mind after some time. She shook her head.

    "I''ll do it."

    The Parrhadomme smiled, reclining back in its stance.

    "I won''t forget this. This opportunity is just what I need. I will prove to you that you didn''t waste two Domminical seats on me for nothing."

    The Parrhadomme gestured to the doors, and so the Sijarkes went on her way, trotting down the pebbled pathways with her signature strong stride, heart pounding at her chest.

    ''One day, all the world shall know my greatness,'' she thought to herself, ''And when that time comes, I''ll be untouchable. I''ll show that Tirkju''a how to do his job right!''

 On Achieving Godhood

    Chapter 5: On Achieving Godhood

    The temple holds secrets that far surpasses anything within the boundaries of human understanding, and to know something of that level requires the seeker to be capable of wielding the responsibility of knowing and regulating their capacity to channel what they found; therefore, that task was entrusted heavily on Du Quams; and thus, to even be qualified for Du Quamship, rules had to be set in stone, some of which goes as follows:

    ----------

    1. Having been raised in the temple for a decade or has the same expected years of secured residency;

    2. Acknowledged into the Private Council of an anointed Du Quam active in service aged not less than one hundred and fifty years; and

    3. Limited contact or no contact with family relations or communities outside the temple; and so on...

    ----------

    Du Quam Kedrik grumbled to himself, "How many years have we been doing this? Months? I think it''s only been months."

    Shortly after Kedrik spoke, the Du Quam Umdochar descended from the stone staircase across the large pool, and he replied, "Don''t be ridiculous." He sighed after a pause. "More, I''d say."

    "I don''t believe so." Kedrik never failed to be so stiff-necked; he didn''t believe in the concept of time¡ªthings just happened and there was always something to be done. The cosmos moved without intervention from any entity and the world aged because that was its nature¡ªtime was just a way to measure it.

    Many times he wondered as he sat there in the undergrounds, watching over Nubejul who was in a deep sleep, his golden face sealed under the waters of a pool made of the Shaman Dove''s tears, if someday, man would be able to control the very factors that time itself measured¡ªthe cosmos, the aging of all living and non-living, or the grievances of his own wearing body.

    On some days he could barely even stand straight and keep steady. Long ago¡ªso long ago¡ªhe had been a rather active and excitable fellow as Umdochar had recounted. So was the man sealed in the pool, his bright face at peace and striking from under the still waters. Nubejul himself would soon come to a halt after his peak followed by the slope of his descent.

    But he was only in his early twenties, and Du Quams live long, wearing only a fraction of the pace by which they naturally age.

    To sustain this phenomenal ability, they kept a secret tradition between Du Quams and their sole successors. As soon as the latter was chosen, they were immediately taken to be submerged under the Dove''s tears for hours, days, or months¡ªdepending on how long an Elder Du Quam can keep watch. There he was able to absorb the strange properties in the liquid itself and build a stronger, formidable body that does not easily wear and tear whether in combat, in his day to day routine, or on expeditions.

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    Du Quam Umdochar himself is able to withstand damages that a pointed weapon might inflict. Blunt or heavy objects do him almost little to no harm. All those accumulated years of being submerged while in a partial comatose had left his body solid and nearly impenetrable.

    That was the desired effect for all Du Quams in the contemporary age.

    Because of how fatal the body enhancement''s effect had on its users, the Dove strictly ordered for it to be taught only among the most intimate circles in Katill Broiis and between Du Quams who are given the task of finding a successor that suited the trajectory of their respective reigns.

    Nubejul''s heritage was not even a secret to the templemen who had accepted him just as they did any other templeman. And to top it off, he was acknowledged as the son of the temple¡ªan heir to the Du Quam Umdochar, and future Elder to the successor of Kedrik¡ªshould he decide to take one in.

    At his age, at only twenty one summers, he had cemented himself as the youngest Du Quam to ever come into rule. No doubt, a very bright future lay ahead for him.

    However, all this was not entirely a good thing.

    Upon Nubejul''s wake, Kedrik jolted from his meditations and watched as Umdochar stirred also from his chair.

    "He''s too young for this. Umdochar, you must take proxy."

    "I will, don''t worry. I will remain superior in-charge until I die, or until you and I feel as though he is ready. Nubejul, do you understand?" Umdochar always took Nubejul''s opinion into consideration. He needed the young man to feel secure in his standing with his spirit father and mentor.

    Nubejul nodded. "I thought so too. Where would we be without you?" He gazed up at Umdochar with eyes of acidic green steel¡ªthe mark of a Du Quam whose eyes were ritually exposed to the Dove''s tears.

    Kedrik, with his own fading green pupils, gave him a nasty look before he scoffed. "Quite clear."

    To dry himself off, Nubejul took the staff at his side and made circles in the air, squeezing out the liquids as he waded to the edge of the pool. He kept a good grip on the ground as he stepped out unto the ledge and carefully exited. He''d done this plenty of times before, but this was the last time wherein he can strengthen his body before duty calls most of his time and attention to the Sijarkes.

    He prayed all those years would be enough.

    Du Quam Kedrik was almost right¡ªit had only been a short while. He didn''t keep track anymore. When submerged, he was unconscious, only half-awake to feel time crawling by.

    Kedrik took initiative and lifted his own staff, and the pool of the Dove''s tears were drained until not a drop was left.

    Umdochar stood, letting out a huff of air.

    "All is ready above ground. You need only put on warm clothes and sort your paints. The paints, Kedrik?"

    Kedrik scoffed, getting on his feet and sliding over to the wall. "I''ll paint him myself."

    "Then make haste. Unto the Hall of Du Quams, hurry. The Sijarkes is set to arrive tomorrow, if not today." Umdochar gestured for the two to go ahead. "Always on a tight schedule, we are. Never a moment''s rest."

    Kedrik swiped at Nubejul''s arm, dragging him towards the staircase. With Kedrik at his side, they ascended the only discreet connection to the Hall of Du Quams itself.

    "To think you''ve only been training for twelve years, the shortest one yet," Kedrik sneered under his breath. He did it so often that Nubejul never minded it anymore or as much as he used to. Besides, the most long awaited day in his life was coming fast.

    "Not bad for a farmer''s boy," Kedrik added.

    "I can''t wait," Nubejul smiled as if he hasn''t heard those same words from his Elder a hundred times before. Once he crossed the staircase, the provincial life would not be able to touch him anymore, or remind him really of where he ought to have been.

 Journal #1: On the Du Quams of the Oriehemian Nest

    Journal #1: On the Du Quams of the Ori''ehemian Nest

    Recorded by the Domme Tirkju''a (an excerpt from his journals)

    ----------

    It is the year Ki Heptre 3734.

    The three Du Quams, Adan Umdochar, Z''jil Kedrik, and Nubejul Tavhaii, are those presently serving the Ori''ehemian Quamship temple in the western shores of Ori''ehem.

    Umdochar and Kedrik have been doing so for nearly four hundred centuries by now. Tavhaii, on the other hand, had been housed only in the last decade. I have only formally met him once, the second might be upon his anointment (though, I really think I must visit him a few more times, there is something upon his brow that I do not like). I can be very particular with my Du Quams, but I like to leave it up to them to raise their successor.

    To put it frankly, I grew too lax. I had learned to depend on my Du Quams.

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    Urbedaur was a mistake.

    By giving Umdochar control over a portion of the territories in Urbedaur, I fear that I have misstepped. That cannot be the case. After all, he''s only supposed to be serving under me with no equal influence over a certain territory. I fear the consequences, the conflict that may arise due to his unpopularity.

    Yet he''s made his rule his own, and with that, I am obliged to say I am proud; but really, I am frightened. This is what the Dove wanted, is it not?

    Du Quams are the link between men and Dommes such as I, are they not? Yet why am I afraid of him?

    Nevertheless, his successor, Tavhaii, will be anointed as a proper Du Quam to me fifteen years from now as agreed.

    I had left strict instructions for his training and discipline which shall be followed accordingly to what I need of a Du Quam.

    I don''t want a Du Quam for war. I want a Du Quam who can pacify not just the whims of my ministers, but also perhaps something far greater than what I myself could have.

    Is that man so rare? So hard to find? When even someone as highly revered as me cannot even live up to the standard I had set for what is supposed to be my subordinate.

    I feel ashamed, very ashamed¡­

    ----------

    ¡ªDU QUAMSHIP (as defined by Domminical law)

    The ring to a Domme''s finger, as the highest-ranking servant within a Domminical court; human link between Dommes and humans

 Wasted Potential Creates Scrap Treasure

    Chapter 7: Wasted Potential Creates Scrap Treasure

    This was not meant to be.

    Twelve years of the Du Quam Tavhaii''s life gruelingly spent training to succeed Umdochar as the next Du Quam to serve the Tirkju''a¡ªall wasted.

    Umdochar never thought one day he''d have to hand over his own spirit son to such a despicable beast whose presence is never felt, which to him, says a lot more than anything he had seen or heard of her.

    And they''ve met before.

    He had disguised this fact from his spirit son, though it must''ve been obvious to Nubejul that he had been lying. He always looked at him for a long time after he would admit to something. Umdochar understood later on that Nubejul was simply gesturing him to share more details on this strange snake child whom the Tirkju''a was mentoring.

    But those encounters had been nothing but unpleasant. And to put his spirit son under her, it would simply be a death sentence awaiting him.

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    But it was too late to complain now...

    "I, Nubejul Tavhaii, the fourth child of Reiil Tavhaii and Sufii Devchajan, lay my life and soul down before the Domminical Order; to serve as a dutiful son of Ori''ehem; to banish the ills brought by the passing seasons; to carry the weight of my growing spirit and understanding; and to uphold the promise set forth by the Great Dove, the Almighty Shaman of the East, his High Wisdom. All this I hold to my name, my honor, and my life."

    Nubejul sunk further down the ground, embellished in intricately woven overcoats and shawls, and adorned with emeralds and rubies¡ªthe signature jewels of the Domminical Order. In his ritual wear, he outshone his predecessor, for Umdochar always sported a large, red, armored robe over his tunic. Though the emeralds and rubies were never lost on him, he still wore them on most occasions, letting them dangle from his headdress to boast his attained wealth.

    "Bless my oaths, Du Quam Umdochar, my spirit father."

    "You may now rise, boy." Umdochar says as he encircles Nubejul''s head with the staff''s banner. Umdochar bent before him deliberately, looking at him head-on. His arm extended before the young man, holding a staff with the Order''s insignias sewn unto the attached banner.

    "Taz du''merezja, I Du Quam Nubejul Tavhaii. You will make me proud, boy. Make all of Oriehem bow."

    The most long awaited moment of Nubejul''s life was within reach. He had left no doubts behind.

    As he reached for what was rightfully his, several knocks resounded from the door, leaving the room dead silent.

 Spirit Father and Son

    The knocks continued on.

    Giving in in spite of his strict adherence to respecting the rituals that took place under his watch, Umdochar ordered the Quams to invite the intruder in. He was prepared to rant and scare this fellow for disobeying customs that Umdochar had sought to reform decades ago. He did not take kindly to those who overstepped their boundaries. Those boundaries existed for a reason, and this boundary was quite made known because Du Quamship anointments did not happen every year.

    Stepping through the doors with a golden scroll in hand was a rather popular elder minister of the Tirkju''a''s side, the Quam Helnah''m. Umdochar recognized him upon sight when he caught a glimpse of the white furs that hung over his shoulders¡ªpolar bear hide, a gift from Umdochar himself to his most loyal vassals.

    "Du Quam Umdochar." Helnah''m bowed. He turned to Nubejul, bowing also after he''s given him a quick lookover. "Du Quam Tavhaii."

    "Helnah''m, do you know what day it is today?" Umdochar tilted his head, his lips forming a grimace.

    Helnah''m straightened and presented the scroll before the two Du Quams. "Forgive me for this. It has just come to my attention that a request from Katill Broiis was held up in transit for a considerable period. It had arrived just this morning." He threw Nubejul an unreadable glance. "Addressed to the I Du Quam Tavhaii."

    "Me?"

    "It is urgent," Helnah''m added, eager to gauge the Du Quams'' mood in entertaining the concern.

    "A request?" Umdochar raised a brow, unconvinced. "Requests, and especially those from Katill Broiis, don''t come to Du Quams until they are in actively in service." Umdochar looked around the room, catching Nubejul''s confused gaze in doing so. As they are locked in sight, he continued, "You must be wrong. Perhaps it were for me?"

    Helnah''m gulped, and with his chin tucked under his head, he muttered, "I was told it is for the I Du Quam Tavhaii. You must see for yourself, Du Quam."

    "Then give me that!" Umdochar snatched the scroll from Helnah''m''s hands. He never liked any delays to his correspondences especially if it came directly from Katill Broiis. What he saw on the seal didn''t please him one bit. It was his only chance to feel assured about the whole situation. He looked at Helnah''m as if he had committed a terrible act against him.

    "Why did this have to come now? Are we very much behind on the latest decrees? Or does the Order now circulate much hastily for us to even respond sooner?" Umdochar groaned in frustration, shaking his head. He looked around the room with the same accusing eye. "And these had to pass through slow dogs like you before it could reach me, a competent Quam."

    Helnah''m thought he should step in to ease the tension. "Now, Du Quam Umdochar..."

    "The rest of you¡ªworthless," Umdochar spatted. He gave the contents of the scroll another look over, perhaps to assure himself that he had been reading right, and has all the more reason and justification to be as angry as he was. With this delay, Nubejul couldn''t wait for the suspense any longer, and soon after he got a moment to collect his thoughts, he spoke up:

    "What does it ask of me?"

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    Umdochar didn''t face him at all, only seeming to be so absorbed by the message in the scroll that his lip quivered upon looking away. He paced back and forth. "Oh, you would not believe it. The Parrhadomme¡ª"

    "The Parrhadomme?" Nubejul nodded, affirming.

    "The Great Parrhadomme beseeches you, Du Quam Tavhaii, to determine who is most appropriate for the position of the Sijarkes'' head of scribes," Umdochar said slowly as he paced away from Nubejul. "From within the list His Omniscience''s scribes provided."

    Umdochar turned and presented the list to all those present in the room so they may see the amount of candidates Katill Broiis had considered for this rather enviable position. This sparked up a great deal of discussion as the Quams began chattering about, theorizing who could possibly be in that list. It was truly a coveted position, for this the man in such a position could see the entire layout of affairs within the Sijarkes court and is continually exposed to many of her correspondences and acquaintances, keeping in touch and keeping record of all her activities.

    Nubejul Tavhaii knew that, to his knowledge, no one who would be fit for the task for he had no idea how the Sijarkes liked to work. In his defense, he hasn''t even met her yet!

    But he had to comply as it was the first task ordered unto him. He can''t deny the pressure he felt when all the Quams who stood witness to the ritual and the reading of this request were gathering around him, encouraging him to take this task on and welcome the honor. And he knew from watching Umdochar at work that, as a leader, you must not disappoint your people. So he stood up gracefully, with as much care as he typically placed into his actions, and looked at Umdochar straight in the eye with a hand out extending towards him.

    "Let me see it. If I am merely asked to choose then I have no problem with that. I can be trusted with that decision.

    The room fell silent as Umdochar''s mind worked, looking back at his spirit son''s steely emerald gaze, weighing the options in his mind. He could always just pass off the decision as Nubejul''s while he decided the matter himself; there was no harm in being too careful. He knew how to weed individuals from a list; an administrative position in the secretariat was much too sensitive for just any regular courtier.

    But seeing Nubejul stand before him like this, it stirred something in him¡ªa kind of feeling which made all stern reason surrender before him. He had to give all that to his spirit son.

    "Please be rational, then, Du Quam Tavhaii." He found himself saying before he realized what that meant.

    Nubejul swung his staff and levitated the scroll to unravel before him, and he turned away to ponder on the choice.

    In the meantime, Umdochar came to Helnah''m side, watching the regent Du Quam from afar. Quam Helnah''m was still his most trusted minister-quam. Whenever he was away, Helnah''m took charge of Nubejul because he could not trust Kedrik enough for that. He knew Kedrik harbored suspicions towards the boy, but Helnah''m had always loved him even as a child. They shared that same sentiment and grew to like each other though their opposing natures and dispositions come into conflict on many occasions.

    "Your boy would be serving two courts. How he''s grown," Helnah''m chuckled.

    To his surprise, though not truly unsurprising, Umdochar groaned in frustration, shaking his head. "Helnah''m, this is preposterous. In all the years I''ve served the Tirkju''a, I was never given the chance to decide a single one of his scribes. Not once in three hundred thirty-three years!" Umdochar''s face was always so even and unreadable but now his face betrayed everything. Helnah'' knew not what to make of it, and he knew he must be very careful with his words lest he might assume and offend the Du Quam.

    Umdochar felt his hesitation. "No, I''m not envious. I was the one who taught him all he needed to know¡ªgeography, diplomacy, language, all sorts of skills he would be required of to properly look after the Tirkju''a''s business." He gave Helnah''m a knowing glance. "I am still here to help him carry the burden of the Sijarkes'', too."

    "I understand your sacrifices, Du Quam," Helnah''m affirmed. "They are very much acknowledged. You''ve raised a fine Du Quam. Why worry?"

    Umdochar whispered harshly, "I am just flabbergasted at how fickle the Order has become as of late. I am utterly sick of it all. I break my back to keep the Order together, and for what?"

    <hr>

    XIV DU QUAM ADAN UMDOCHAR [photocard]

    <hr>

 The Golden Fawn of the Temple

    Chapter 8.2

    The Golden Fawn of the Temple

    "Don''t take it so hard, Du Quam Umdochar. Things are just...different now."

    But Umdochar wouldn''t have it. "Different? My spirit father Du Quam Gurkiim would roll in his pantheon upon catching word of this¡ªif his body had not been cremated." He stole a glance towards the preoccupied Nubejul.

    He began to whisper, lest a common man might hear, "It''s the Sijarkes! It''s all too strange ever since the Sijarkes was chosen to be the new Tirkju''a. She''ll even have two courts¡ªthat''s two Domminical seats. Two! And in addition to that, she''s taking my boy with her as her Du Quam, when traditionally, he was meant for the Domme Tirkju''a in the first place; as I was before his place, and my spirit father before mine."

    Umdochar looked at Helnah''m with his eyes wide, a conspiracy forming at the forefront of his mind. "Do you see where I am coming from?"

    "The Tirkju''a..."

    "The Tirkju''a would have never abandoned everything he did for the Order, and I remain among the few who still believe so," Umdochar raised his voice, then it softened. "Of his eventual return, that is. If he were still here..." He began to fidget and look away. "Things would not have come to this."

    When the old Du Quam became silent, Helnah''m wondered how he might cheer him up from this doom mood. He knew all that there was to talk of in the temple because the younger quams often reported everything they encountered throughout the day. He was a popular recipient of such. It seemed to them that he must always be told of whatever was going on, even on matters concerning only the Margijer''s side.

    He thought he''d give it a try.

    He leaned forward, putting himself before Umdochar''s line of sight.

    "A fellow Quam claimed the Sijarkes needed a younger Du Quam for a reason."

    Nubejul turned his head slightly to catch bits of their conversation.

    "And what reason did this fool have to give to afford you comfort?"

    "He told me that the Sijarkes may be clever," Helnah''m said, and then lowered his voice, "But she is a child in all respects. She''s likely to treat him better when she''s had him since his youth. She won''t regard him with as much contempt like she does with you and the Tirkju''a. So at the very least, you can be rest assured that he won''t be harmed or ridiculed."

    Umdochar remained still, the given information still processing in his mind. "She really is the problem here."

    Helnah''m''s lips parted, but he kept his counsel. "Of course."

    "Then watch over him always whenever I am away, Helnah''m. Send word, as usual. Who knows what that freak might do whenever I am away."

    Nubejul turned his attention away from eavesdropping on the conversation happening at the back of the room. Whatever that was, he did not need to process it as of now¡ªhe had a choice to make.

    He resumed scanning the list of worthy candidates whose examination scores are laid out along with their qualifications and honors. The task didn''t feel that it was his call at all, but if it was from Katill Broiis, he had no reason to deny it. A newly appointed Du Quam of two Domminical courts making a decision in place of the sole Domma he would be serving despite not having met her yet! He can only pray that he won''t upset the Sijarkes with his chosen administrator. This is the first of many tasks to come, so he must make it worth it.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    And as he understood it, the right admin for her would be one with little concern for her trivialities¡ªsay, Helnah''m was right, and she was more of a child than her murals made her seem.

    He also felt that, under that hypothetical, the Sijarkes might come with a fickle temper, thus, an admin who could understand her temperament and work efficiently to satisfy her demands no matter how often they come in bursts or fits is desirable.

    Some of the candidates on the list were familiar to him, and some came from places he''s never been to and have only heard of. When he looked back at the Du Quam Umdochar who was deep in conversation with Helnah''m, and then to the Quams around him chattering quietly in anticipation, he felt quite alone on this matter.

    As his eyes scanned downwards, and his mind whirred, finding faces to attach to the names he''s read, he tried to recall all sorts of instances in which he might''ve heard their names from somewhere or when he''s seen their work before. They must at least have been active in publishing.

    One name in particular caught his attention solely because he never expected he would ever end up on that list. But the more his eyes remained on that very name, the more it made sense to him. It just clicked.

    "Of course...!" he exclaimed in realization. This caught the attention of those around him. Umdochar approached shortly after the outburst.

    "Have you decided yet, Du Quam Tavhaii?"

    Nubejul took a while to respond. "Yes." He turned to face the Du Quam and his elder minister-quam. "And I know very well that you''d know of such a name."

    "Are they prolific?"

    Nubejul put on his warmest smile. "Indeed. It is Toruaz Rozkamoro."

    It might''ve gone unnoticed by most, especially the beaming Nubejul, that the Du Quam Umdochar''s cordiality had broken, and his face moved in so ugly a manner making Helnah''m and the other Quams shiver.

    "The Urbedaurian." The old Du Quam said lowly. "The Urbedaurian?"

    "Is that your final decision?" A confused Helnah''m asked also.

    "His majesty will do just fine." Nubejul shook his head in an effort to console the concern that was so clear now on the faces of those around him. He had to be honest, a part of him felt a thrill of amusement, but he knew that this turn of events was only getting on his spirit father''s mood.

    "Majesty?" Umdochar muttered as he stepped back, shaking his head as he went away. The Quams went silent in respect. Helnah''m felt he must save the situation again.

    "Well. Well, it is your call." Helnah''m nodded to himself, assuring himself of that fact. "I must send a response to Katill Broiis immediately. I''ll be informing your choice also."

    He turned around to see Umdochar facing the wall, his hands on his hips. The old Du Quam''s ill temper was not going to stop him from showing the regent Du Quam his warmest welcome. He  went up to Nubejul and placed a hand on the regent Quam''s shoulders, and in a low, but earnest voice, he said to him:

    "We, Quams, won''t ever forget the little Quam you were yesterday. What a fine Du Quam you are now! The first to the Sijarkes! Two domminical seats!" He took Nubejul''s hands in his, gripping them firmly. "This Quamship temple shall always be your home, your lifelong sanctuary.

    Nubejul gripped his hand back, leaning forward so warmly, smiling as brightly as he usually did. "And how could I forget you and all that you''ve done for me, Helnah''m. Not ever!"

    The other Quams gathered around him now, engaged in lively conversation. At a distance, Umdochar remained, watching the Quams'' quick acceptance of the chosen administrator. He had the right to be angry and to thus distance himself; he had never expected that his own spirit son would be the one to let an exiled man into the Ori''ehemian Quamship temple of which he had stood guard of for the last three centuries. He would not have stood for it, nor would his predecessor, the late Du Quam Gurkiim.

    The admin scribe, an exiled man! An Urbedaurian, a Rozkamoro!

    For as long as he remained alive, he would not let the same cracks within the Order bring about Nubejul''s downfall. After what he and his spirit father had gone through the past several hundred years, there is no room left to doubt that Du Quams are never safe, they will always be the hunted few, despite their high status.

    Nubejul was among them, the hunted few. Umdochar knew that his loyalties lie with his spirit son, and he was resolved to either pass on in death seeing the regent secured, or live to see the regent dead in a tomb befitting his accomplishments.

    If honesty had been a virtue that he upheld, then it would''ve been much easier for him to admit that he would have much rather preferred to see Nubejul dead, but safe and secure in a Du Quam''s tomb. It would be ill to think otherwise.

    <hr>

    I DU QUAM NUBEJUL TAVHAII [photocard]

    <hr>

 The Sijarkes Has Abandonment Issues

    Chapter 9

    The Sijarkes Has Abandonment Issues

    The Sijarkes never thought of herself as an orphan girl. She''s just never been left to her own device, as simple as that. When she had to pack up her belongings and load it along with the merchant ship that''ll take her to Gu''ambiss, the attendants who came with her were exclusively shipped out only for the maintenance of her lifestyle and condition upkeep. Those meant her horsehair wigs, caring for her skin that itched and dried when under the direct exposure to the sun, or maintaining the padded dresses she''d made to pass the time.

    They weren''t meant to keep track of schedules or list of tasks. That job fell entirely upon the Sijarkes the second she boarded. She didn''t really prepare beforehand¡ªa major oversight on her part. Regret only came later as she nestled against the window, unsure of what else she must have yet to do.

    Even her speech references had been left behind, stuffed inside crates which were most likely stored in other parts of the citadel. It would be a hassle to turn back; her inauguration into the Tirkju''a''s position was not something she would want to flunk¡ªthat is most likely the case if she does nothing about preparing for all the worst possible instances.

    It had only been a week since her departure from Katill Broiis, a total of four days before she was unable to see the Empiirjan from the horizon. In that time, she thought of the entirety of her existence in that citadel, full of mostly boredom and longing.

    Not used to the sea, she rarely left her cabin. On the occasion that she did leave, she chose to only come out during the day when the waters were sparkling and the breeze enticed her for the change to come. Everything was to pivot in just another week. Not every Domme had to go through the misfortune of travelling on sea manually by boat. There are others aside from the Tirkju''a and the Parrhadomme¡ªthe Dove¡ªyet they are all so far spread out that the Sijarkes was certain she''d have to book several more travels to be able to see them all upon docking.

    There would be a time for that.

    She was told that another Domma was waiting for her in Gu''ambiss, residing also in the same temple upon which the Sijarkes would take residency whenever she was at Gulf Ebe. The Domma Margijer, its principal resident, a beacon of godly favor.

    She may not like the Domma but the decision felt right. The gulf had been the last place she had been to during her infancy years when she had yet to be transported to Katill Broiis.

    ''I don''t actually recall much...'' the Sijarkes thought to herself as she picked up a parchment, unrolled it, and set it aside to begin drafting her speech. ''I only remember how the Tirkju''a had treated me then.''

    Aashurhallal, the Tirkju''a, had cared for her there, fed her, and nursed her even when she was sick. She was definitely sure he had been there with her at the start of it all. The Sijarkes found herself unwillingly smiling at the recollection. Happy memories were not so easily forgotten.

    She remembered again: the Tirkju''a had been so much smaller than he was now. He was only a little over seven feet tall then as opposed to his current height of about seventy-eight feet, almost as large as the Domme Oranseh. The Tirkju''a looked just the same as he did then but younger, of course; no beard which the Sijarkes disapproved so much, and he bore a strong, youthfully tan face whose brows are in a constant straight line, enveloped by bright, thick orange hair tied back resembling what she referred to as a heap of hay.

    Suppose the longer his beard grew, the further down his brows arched, and the more displeasing he became.

    It had been a hard fact to swallow that she had loved Aashurhallal before he became known to the world as a Domme, the Tirkju''a. Dommes hadn''t always been gods. They could''ve been creatures like her and Aashurhallal, lost and in need of companionship in a world where they learned they ultimately stood alone.

    The Sijarkes set her quill down and laid back on her seat, gazing up at the skies overhead, the wide expanse of the world open to her should she desire to conquer it just as Aashurhallal did, which granted him the title of Domme. That was how it worked then. When you are recognized as a Domme, you received a title from the Dove; a post came with it, if you were not as unlucky as the Sijarkes had been. If Aashurhallal had the Dove to help him elevate his status and power in the known world, the Sijarkes had only the Tirkju''a, and not the Aashurhallal whom she had loved¡ªher true caretaker and mentor.

    Perhaps as the years wore on, he became a hardened creature, so unfeeling and impersonal, where he no longer chose to spend his time playing with her as much as he did so in the old days.

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    The Domme Tirkju''a¡ªgood old Aashurhallal¡ªwas the luckiest of all to be the right-hand man of the Shaman Dove, a fellow bird; the Sijarkes merely assured herself that it was by virtue of him being a bird himself that made the Dove favor him much easily as he did other creatures who had learned to read and write just as she did.

    Perhaps Aashurhallal had been a special kind, one which the Sijarkes will never truly know.

    ---

    -----Ki Heptre 1233

    ---

    Aashurhallal dropped several buckets unto the ground, filled to the brim with fresh fishes. He wiped his forehead,  A little green snake child¡ªthe Sijarkes, in her infancy¡ªcelebrated, seated by the window. She had little to no teeth, green seaweed hair springing up in all directions, untamed¡ªbarely a few weeks old.

    "Happy now? Come on, time to eat." He took his spear and stabbed a live fish. The little child stopped in her rejoicing. He raised the spear to her level, inviting her to take a bite. She refused.

    "Come on, we don''t have all day," Aashurhallal urged sternly. When he saw that the child still remained uncertain, his gaze softened in the very same way he did in present time. "I know. It''s raw fish. Have you tried it?"

    The child looked up at him, mouthing something he could not understand. The Sijarkes didn''t know either if, in her infancy years, she was taught a language. But she knew what this meant: ''I don''t like it!"

    He took a large bite out of the raw fish''s side, chewing it thoroughly in front of her as she yipped in shock.

    ''You''re disgusting.'' The infant Sijarkes wailed incomprehensibly, drooling.

    He nodded encouragingly, moving the speared fish towards her mouth. "Yes, it''s gross, isn''t it? You wanna try?"

    Out of curiosity, the snake child decided a sniff wouldn''t be so bad.

    For no reason at all that the Sijarkes at present could reasonably justify, the infant Sijarkes bit and snatched the fish from the spear''s end, breaking the tip with one nasty bite. Aashurhallal reeled back, gasping as blood sprayed all over. She hoisted the fish up before swallowing it hole, cringing slightly at the difficulty in doing so. Once she was done, she was insatiable.

    ''Give me more!'' The infant Sijarkes pounded at the window. Aashurhallal found himself chuckling, shaking his head.

    "Alright, be patient. Be patient. You''ll get your fishies." He went back to feeding her, but with a metal rod this time, lest she bites off another one of his spears'' tip.

    She remembered that he had also been the cause for her being disabled as of the present.

    ---

    -----Ki Heptre 1234

    ---

    One morning, he''d left her unsupervised by a window sill as he went off with his spears. She was a silly infant then, only a year old, but she was now capable of imitating sounds and vowels that she''d heard from Aashurhallal. The Sijarkes remembered that he had never taken her out to speak with any of the ancient villagers that once occupied the Gulf Ebe. She was restrained and kept out of sight inside the cottage granted by the village folk, a little far from the village center.

    She had crawled over the ledge to have a look over the ancient view of Gulf Ebe, long after they had captured a giant toad which at present serves as the Domma Margijer. She had been a thing of legend in the olden days. But she was real, and the infant Sijarkes had seen her then from that distance of where she was staying at, the toad''s sleeping form lay by a valley dozens of acres away.

    The legend goes that she was not to wake until her feeding time which occurred only once a year.

    Turning her blobbed gaze away from the toad''s form, she looked out and across towards the distant huts, the sounds of the thriving village clear to her ears, sharpening in their senses as she grew stronger and older. Often times she looked up at the clouds, and the sun that rose and fell. She followed it throughout the day from window to window, unsure of what to make of it, and oblivious of how sensitive her eyes were at such an age and so incapable of keeping in moisture.

    They shriveled up, blinding her over time.

    When Aashurhallal returned, he had been too late.

    "What''s wrong?" he cried as he fell before her, clutching at her shoulders, and she remembered how he cradled her in his arms as she wailed and itched at her eyes. Had it been her fault or his? She can''t even trust her memory all of a sudden. If she were to put the blame on either of them, it would mean nothing now, with him gone and her partially healed by the grace of the Dove.

    But he had cried then. She''d felt his tears on her head. Poor, poor child, he''d cooed.

    What did he know? He was only a stupid man-creature.

    A very foolish one.

    ---

    Recalling this assured her that he had loved her then. But the present was also not something which she cannot deny, no matter how the past had been. And to recall this any further only made her fume at how he had the nerve to disappear so abruptly. He would not have been killed so easily, after all.

    As far as the world within the Order knew, the Domme Tirkju''a conquered all the other Dommes, building the foundation of the Quamship, and reformed the world as they know it.  He had grown massive, nearly eight times his natural size.

    He would not have been lost so easily to them now, it was almost impossible and she dared not to think of other alternative situations in which that may not be so.

    With him gone, she wondered how different Gu''ambiss is now after two thousand and a half years. And with that she wondered also of where she was to stay¡ªthe Oriehemian Quamship temple, where three Du Quams now reside. How she hated them, though she may need them at least for a few years until she can mind her own businesses regardless of their counsel.

    And this notion of having her own Du Quam¡ªwell, she can''t deny it; she''s always wanted one. But he might not feel the same excitement and curiosity as she does, for he might''ve resented her as he could not serve the original Tirkju''a.

    He''ll have his Tirkju''a, alright.

    He doesn''t have much of a choice but to stick by her until his death. By Domminical law, Du Quams who dishonor their purpose as a link between Dommes and the human species are to be handed the death penalty.

    If the Tirkju''a had really left her and the Order, then that was all she needed to know¡ªhe was simply nothing to her anymore.

 The Quams Have Lives Too

    Chapter 10.1

    The Quams Have Lives Too

    <hr>

    Little brown feet strapped to a plainly decorated bowl trotted quickly across the temple halls, the pattering resounding throughout polished limestone. Duty came almost without rest when one is so senior among seniors as Helnah''m. For most of his life he''d been entrusted to see to the Du Quam Umdochar''s orders, following them exactly to his very prescriptions; in pursuit of such ethics at work, he was, of course, not one to question those orders once; nor was he going to cause delays in their execution.

    As he rounded the corner by the Tirkju''a''s study where the tapestries hung from the windows, emblems of the Order in pure gold lettering, pots and greeneries hanging delicately from atop, he looked again at his list, seeing what else must be done for the day. New facilities would have to be constructed if the Sijarkes were to stay long; if not, the Du Quam would then advise her to be housed in another temple if living conditions were not up to par in Gu''ambiss.

    He had his hopes on a regent to fill in for the Tirkju''a. Two years had been too long¡ªlong enough to meddle with the temple''s pre-established structure.

    Now they had the Sijarkes.

    Helnah''m honestly hoped they wouldn''t have to turn her away. It meant that Nubejul would follow, and the news of that would likely reflect badly on the temple''s reputable hosts¡ªthe Du Quams Umdochar and Kedrik. So to give her that needed satisfaction, he had written down the strangest request from her own writing: to build her a pillowfort!

    But not just any pillow fort, really¡ªit was the Sijarkes, of course it had to be special and only meant for her personal use. And he was not in any position to judge, only to follow¡ªthough he might have a higher degree of freedom than most Quams, he had earned it after all his years in service, his golden years spent being at Umdochar''s feet which are not as worn as his, strengthened and shapely due to a highly confidential regimen.

    "What would we do without you, Quam Helnah''m," a younger Quam remarked, passing by with a mountain of silks in a basket.

    Helnah''m jerked his head to the Tirkju''a''s study. "Over there, sir. We''ll have those for the tables." He never went a day regarding others below him in rank as inferior, it was not a way to live.

    More Quams arrived with baskets also, carrying silks.

    The Quams knew this nature of his, and in turn, obeyed him without complaint, pleased to have an elder such as him to guide them. But this didn''t come without any questions. "Does the Sijarkes prefer all these in her study?"

    "She might want to lie down, I''m guessing," Helnah''m trailed off, now actually pondering on that thought. The younger quam raised a brow, but left to do as he was told. The old man was in the habit of spending time in his head more as he was growing older. His wrinkled brown face had a perpetually gentle expression, brows only moving slightly, incapable of any hints of unpleasantness. But when he was happy, he wouldn''t be able to keep that joy to himself, for when he smiled, his cheeks became full and inviting, reaching his dark eyes, twinkling with a certain glow you wouldn''t find much in just about anybody.

    He thought about reporting the list to the regent Du Quam Nubejul to see what he thought. Time was like childhood, slipping by so quickly that he only realized now that it''s been days since he and the regent had spoken. If he was not mistaken, it never went to that extent. They had been so very close. Nubejul had always sought his company, his council had been very precious and rather meaningful to the boy''s upbringing, being so alone here as a child taken in at such a young age, he had none to share his deep love for music and poetry with but Helnah''m or the Du Quam Umdochar, his then-sponsor.

    With such an expensive education backing the child Nubejul, his compass for morals and ethics had only been Umdochar before Helnah''m entered the picture, a comfort from the pressures that came with being raised into a Du Quam''s successor. But perhaps now, the temple was calling for his attention more and more, and he had none of that time he used to have then to spend with Helnah''m.

    Helnah''m would miss those days terribly when time held still as, together, they took care of the ponds behind the temple. Nubejul went there often as a child. Those visits came less frequent as he aged. To find him, Helnah''m would need to go to Nubejul''s own quarters which were barely decorated with the likes of his rank. It was all vases and jars with him¡ªthis boy of the arts.

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    "It''s alright, I only just got this room for myself. Plenty of time to fill it with all sorts of unimaginable things¡ªriches, treasures, whatever," Nubejul mused when Helnah''m had inquired. He might have contributed to that attitude, encouraging him to write in his freetime. If he had not been Du Quam, the elder Quam thought he might''ve been a musician, or a writer¡ªa pleasant disposition as Nubejul''s was best used when he engaged not in politics or court conflicts.

    After he had been welcomed in, Helnah''m presented the Sijarkes'' scroll of requests for Nubejul''s review, who was surprised it had not gone through him at all, yet first to Umdochar.

    "Things would have to change, at least to acknowledge my settlement," Nubejul remarked under his breath. Taking the scroll, he read aloud, "I would most like it if you followed these exact requests. I work under very strict conditions, and I know this to be true (so does the former Tirkju''a), that is why I came up with this set list so you may be guided henceforth.

    As the Domma Sijarkes and Tirkju''a, I hold two Domminical seats; one is prime and high, whereas the other, obscure and uncertain. Thus, I will be regarded as the Tirkju''a until my duty as the Sijarkes comes with purpose. I want to impose that strict image of myself. I will take nothing else but the best you can offer in Gu''ambiss, or all of Oriehem, please. You have the power to grant me as I wish, and I trust you will read the following carefully and with care to my greatest interest."

    Nubejul flipped the scroll open to reveal more writings in the Sijarkes'' own hand. "I require oils for maintaining my skin. Exposure to the sun for several hours is manageable, but the air is dry in Oriehem, and my throat might get scratchy."

    Nubejul flipped again. "I require a pillowfort inside the Tirkju''a''s study. Move all that I require there (because that is where you might find me most of the time). I do not like tables and chairs. Bring me your finest silks and then I can do my job well."

    Nubejul looked up from the scroll, his head tilting. "A transitory phase, of sorts?"

    Helnah''m nodded.

    "Shall I go on?" He had no reason to waste the old Quam''s time.

    "Go on. See," Helnah''m insisted. With permission, Nubejul flipped the scroll several times over to see how much of the writing was left.

    As he let it cascade down unto the tiles, it revealed several meters more of just lines and requests in the Sijarkes'' own hand.

    At first, Nubejul and Helnah''m could not mutter a word.

    But after a while, Nubejul began to speak: "I suppose it must be done," Nubejul affirmed, an earnest smile on his face, giving Helnah''m the confirmation he needed to proceed with the preparations. He had only a week to go before they were to welcome a new Domma, the Sijarkes. Or rather, the Tirkju''a¡ªlike she had requested to be called by.

    But Helnah''m had one last important question:

    "Do you think she would like bright colors?"

    Nubejul had no answer. He did not know her as Umdochar did; a part of him felt like this was not a question that Umdochar would have liked to answer to, anyway. The elder had always spoke terribly of the Sijarkes, and on the matter of her preferred color, he might as well remark on the seaweed shade of her locks.

    "Is it safe to go for a sensible green?" Nubejul suggested.

    "Yes, it is. But won''t she like a pop of color to go with that?" Helnah''m knew how children liked their belongings.

    Nubejul looked at his own choice of clothes and noted his adherence to blues and golds. Helnah''m caught on. He left quickly to accomplish the rest of the day''s tasks, agreeing that blues and golds would send just about the right message all while being pleasing to the eye¡ªit was the color of the sea, deep and rich¡ªso there can be no mistake there.

    Once alone, Nubejul got to thinking more on the sort of matters he himself would have to face on his own when the Sijarkes arrives to live in the temple alongside the Domma Margijer. He hoped that he would not have to face her wrath should he again decide to make decisions on her behalf. Would this count as strike two? It was just color.

    If this was about the Domma Margijer, she would not have found it offensive because Kedrik knew her very well. Almost inseparable to a disturbing degree. Yet it was amusing to Nubejul, choosing to perceive Kedrik as his rather peculiar uncle, and the Margijer, his bad-tempered aunt.

    He held his chin high as he took turns about the temple in a faultless manner, so composed and kind, his small stature still commanding respect everywhere he went, for as any templeman or tourist would say, he was beautiful in his making, his features large and distinct. His mixed heritage only added to the allure of his person, once even elevating him above other kids his age upon his arrival into the temple.

    If that had been unfair, he knew he was not to blame, even as Umdochar was resented by Kedrik for having spoiled him. He knew he worked very hard, just as hard as he was expected to, sometimes beyond. Perhaps some semblance of Nubejul enraged a part of Kedrik''s soul, vilifying him before one who''d be the least to believe accusations of that sort.

    Nubejul never saw anything wrong with his countenance nor his demeanor. If at all, he thought himself perfectly faultless, at the very repulsion of the Du Quam Kedrik upon his denial of having been unsuitable of successorship.

    "You have a bad head, a very bad head on your shoulders," the old Du Quam had croaked then, shivering inside his shawl, pulling it tightly. "A very bad head."

    Nubejul merely smiled, ever pleasant, ever pleasing.

 The Conditions of a Fathers Love

    Chapter 10.2

    The Conditions of a Father''s Love

    <hr>

    He came to Umdochar that same afternoon at the Hall of Du Quams as he was inspecting the portrait and station set up for Nubejul which he will soon fill with all sorts of treasures as the centuries pass.

    "I wish I would be here to see its completion," Umdochar nodded towards the station as the Quams went about setting it up.

    The Hall of Du Quams, the most visited and most popular spot in the temple, was an altar to humans who came closest to being gods themselves. Every station displayed treasures from faraway lands, never lacking in statues, murals, and artifacts which had belonged or have had some connection¡ªor even just contact¡ªwith their deceased predecessors. Every Du Quam''s corpse took this as their final resting place, and in its revered state, it was the Order''s reminder of its most mystical blessing to mankind¡ªthe ability to move mountains even, or shape the skies to their desire, pure unimaginable power.

    "How will I know what to put on display?"

    "If you like something so much and don''t mind the younger children touching it when no one''s looking, those should be wise," Umdochar replied, pleased and at ease.

    "But would I trust others to see my grave in full?"

    "There are no graves here." Umdochar removed his headdress out of respect. "They are, as you know, somewhere else." His eyes fell.

    Nubejul''s eyes followed his gaze, where the true resting place of the Du Quams lie, and looked up again at the Hall itself, here to stimulate a sense into its tourists that these revered men are still alive and that their blood and spirit runs through the daily movements and activities of the temple, ever on guard at its secret ploys.

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    "But would you trust the other Quams? I won''t always be in the temple. I''m sure the Sijarkes would be just as adventurous and busy as the former Tirkju''a had been. Who will watch your grave when you are gone?" Nubejul frowned as he brought up the matter softly.

    Umdochar knew this was much too early to discuss, but it was his responsibility to ease the mind of his spirit son even as it was yet too early to think of his passing. A time of merriment was a time of merriment.

    "I do not trust most people." Umdochar had to be clear. "I have yet to learn then of whomever else I can entrust the safekeeping of my grave. As I had done the same to Du Quam Gurkiim¡ªsuch a good spirit father he was to me¡ªand because of my resolve to be of some use to you while I am still here, though I feel I grow weaker by the day, I feel you, too, would already have felt the need to guard my tomb all the same."

    A moment passed where they both retreated back in their own thoughts. Between the two of them, Nubejul recovered much easily.

    "I guess I''ll see in my case." A bubble of laughter erupted from him. He had always been a good-natured boy, never quick to anger nor gloom. In many ways, he reminded Umdochar of the Du Quam of the west, the Du Quam Moschkataii, who came from Cussarossia also, like Nubejul. But Nubejul would outperform Moschkataii in every facility¡ªUmdochar would make sure of it.

    He''s never had a son.

    Du Quams are prohibited to rear their own unless they were to be their spirit son¡ªtheir successor. Those sons had to be chosen and anointed, not born from blood relations unless by very exclusive conditions.

    Though Nubejul Tavhaii was not his true son, he felt he could not have known a truer son who was as devoted as he is to the Order; who could care for Du Quam Kedrik in a way that assured Umdochar as he left the temple for longer periods of time, having no reason to fear any such consequences.

    For once, he loved someone else apart from Kedrik. But this son would be taken from him very, very soon, an insurmountable debt; for he loved deeply, more than others could understand; and he hurt, also. He hurt more than anybody he knew¡ªfor the last three centuries, this constant cycle of agony had been thrust upon his shoulders, with no right to cry and wail as everybody else did.

    And it never seems to end¡ªhe was as cursed as Kedrik says.

 Chapter 11: The Sijarkes Neighbor Has a Horrid Sense of Exterior Design

    Chapter 11

    The Sijarkes'' Neighbor Has a Horrid Sense of Exterior Design

    <hr>

    Almost a week and a half at sea, and the Margijer had not come to see her after all. To this, the Sijarkes took the greatest offence.

    They were nearing Gulf Ebe now, docking only a few times to unload and reload cargo. The Gulf Ebe she knew then looked almost nothing like it did now as tall spires and towers stood erect from several points through her perspective sitting atop the helm of the ship.

    The Ebe nest encapsulated the entirety of the land close to the gulf. The first destination was that of its eastern nest where the Ori''ehemian Quamship temple lay, surrounded by large, white walls much akin to that of Katill broiis.

    Every entry and exit point¡ªthere being only one of each¡ªwas large and wide. The ship headed for the entry, and out of the corner of the Sijarkes'' eye, she saw movement inside the watchtowers that lined the white wall.

    Shortly after that observation, a horn-blower in blue silks emerged from within and alerted the rest of the watchtowers. They responded in kind, resonating a low sound that expanded as soon as the other horn-blowers reciprocated the greeting.

    In response, the captain of the ship raised a hand, motioning the crew to raise banners distinct only to Katill Broiis to affirm their origins. "Easy now. We''re licensed to enter." The captain said to the Sijarkes as she observed it all happen.

    Their ship slowly sailed through the arched opening into the Ori''ehemian Quamship temple. Channels broke off into multiple subchannels on each side which led to other facilities and ports. Some of those¡ªat least as far as the Sijarkes''s sharp eyes could see¡ªled to a farm complete with its own facilities. Another led to what seemed like several streets of warehouses and shops.

    Perhaps it was true¡ªthat the temple really was like its own city.

    It''s most integral heart was just right up ahead, concealed by another set of walls and watchtowers. The Sijarkes found it strange that they built towers on those bridge-like walls.

    "There, Domma Sijarkes. There''s where you''ll be." The captain gestured ahead. "I work externally under contract. I don''t take internal orders. They got their own shipmen for that. This area is just for people like me, traders, or regular tourists¡ªthose who don''t actually work inside the temple."

    "This entire place runs by water?"

    "Its the only way to get around, yes. This place is like a circle inside a circle, you understand? Whole outer circle goes round, surrounding the inner circle¡ªthe temple." The captain made gestures to better illustrate the construct. "Only way in is through either side of the outer circle, only way out is the same, and across the inner circle, cutting right through. The Domma Margijer wouldn''t compromise her canals, and the Tirkju''a wanted a highly controlled facility."

    "Huh," the Sijarkes puffed, gazing around once more, watching the Quams as they went about their work within their respective station isles. A feast would soon be underway yet she could see some of the men watching the boat, possibly looking for a glimpse of her, unsure of whether the new Tirkju''a was already among them.

    Within minutes, they crossed the main channel of the outer circle and entered unto the inner, arriving first at the Tirkju''a''s templeside from the right. Its wide port was separated from the temple courtyard, both filled to the brim with hundreds of Quams who watched as the ship passed, also looking for a glimpse of the Sijarkes.

    "You''ll be taken to the Margijer as was instructed, Domma Sijarkes. She''ll have to see you first."

    The Sijarkes moved to look at the Tirkju''a''s templeside, dead set on committing it to memory. First she observed its rather straightforward structure¡ªalmost minimal in its design¡ªthough it was distinctly the Tirkju''a''s doing due to its attention to efficiency and spacial sensitivity. Square and bold. Its empty courtyards stood out the most as the polished stone glistened from being washed with light. Nothing looked unnecessary nor exceedingly out of place. She figured so; the temple had to be large to house a seventy foot tall Domme like him.

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    Passing the border that divided the two templesides¡ªthe only connection between both domains by waters¡ªthe Sijarkes looked ahead to compare and found that the Margijer''s templeside was of equal measure to the one allotted for the Tirkju''a.

    She could see through the gates that it was for sure a whole other spectacle.

    However lacking it is in the privilege of its own vast courtyard it made up for by the luxuries and ponds which littered its space, connected by bridges and decorated with rather eccentric¡ªalmost provocative¡ªstatues depicting the Margijer herself, barely clothed and decent.

    The Sijarkes understood the just how much the Du Quam Umdochar had complete control over the Tirkju''a''s, and how the Du Quam Kedrik had the Margijer''s to his own.

    The captain looked back and raised to point a finger at the hall that conjoined between both temples. "That''s the only alternative entrance. The Du Quam Kedrik had it built about a century ago."

    "A century ago, right?"

    "Right."

    "Why?" The Sijarkes wasn''t going to not bother finding out the cause for such a silly deed.

    "Tourists. They were young first-timers. Broke one of the Margijer''s statues. Old man bit them and nearly threw them of the window."

    "And did he?" The Sijarkes gasped in amazement.

    "No, nearly. He hates tourists, he makes it known. If he didn''t hate them before he sure has a good reason to now." The captain chuckled as removed his hat. The Sijarkes sat back in her seat. The captain turned to her, bowing. "Your templeside, the Tirkju''a''s, is a popular tourist spot. Your two Du Quams are surely more than enough."

    She jumped up again.

    "He is here? Umdochar?" Her tongue lashed. The channel gates before the Margijer''s templeside slowly rose, cutting the Sijarkes off in her query. This allowed the ship entry unto the toad Domma''s domain, and as the ship sailed through, the Sijarkes hurried to take a good look of the other side: it didn''t only meet the Sijarkes'' expectations, but it exceeded it as she''s never known a temple could resemble so much like a resort.

    The Margijer''s temple had an opening that imitated that of a giant toad, with a mouth wide open for all to enter. Now that was an unnecessary aesthetic choice, or she might deem it borderline ugly and horrendous. Though the two Dommas have not met in thousands of years, she knew that they''d have much to discuss with regards to presentation.

    The pinnacle of art and fashion must come straight from the Dommas themselves and not any other!

    The captain steered, anticipating the right spot to dock, seeing as the Quams by the Margijer''s templeside have now gathered with their peacock feather fans, guiding the wind to assist the ship. The Sijarkes stepped forward. They laid eyes on her, and they were on their knees.

    The gangway was set down.

    Taking a few deep breaths, the Sijarkes steeled her nerves.

    "Alright, here we go." She gasped a large sum of air and exhaled slowly. She knew how to work her nerves. But she was new, she had to excuse herself this time.

    A darker-skinned Quam came forward, bent lower than the rest, a golden scroll in hand. "I welcome the Domma, the Sijarkes, to the Ori''ehemian Quamship temple." He spoke gently in perfect Isorgi, a twinkle in his eye never leaving him as he straightened. The Sijarkes began descending from the ship.

    "Quams. Ori''ehemian Quams," the Sijarkes muttered, a bit of glee in her tone as she looked at their faces, a toothy smile forming on hers.

    "Domma Sijarkes," they said again with all the reverence they could muster as they bent before her with their fans held out. Seeing this, her resolution came to mind: to not appear so cordial with the Quams. She steeled her face, stiffening as she did so. "Right. Show me the way."

    The Quams watched her odd change of manner, but none were to bold to question or point to it. Instead they accompanied her on a short guide heading towards the Margijer''s bathhouse.

    "Look, I didn''t like the Margijer''s sense of exterior design at first. But inside, I can admit, it truly is something," she said later to the quams. "Look at all those fountains. What lush gardens! She''s really built herself something."

    "I''m glad you think so," the minister-quam who introduced himself as Helnah''m chuckled. "I only come here several times a year." Though he kept his distance, he seemed somewhat at ease with her presence for he managed to croak out a chuckle.

    "Luck?" the Sijarkes asked dryly.

    "Oh, the Margijer''s Du Quam doesn''t believe in luck, Domma Sijarkes. I believe you''ve met before, or heard a few things about him.." He led her through the mural-filled halls. There seems to be a problem with accessibility here, the Sijarkes thought. Here was this old quam who claims to have only been in the Margijer''s temple less times than he could count.

    Not even thirty minutes into her entrance, she felt her ears tingle. She grasped to cover them.

    "You pitiful, wasteful, dung fecals," bellowed a shrill voice from the other side of the hall not too long after. The Sijarkes whipped around at the direction of its origin.

    "Get those dishes here faster or your meals will be halved for the dogs!"

    Before the voice could finish, the Sijarkes took off to find its source, leaving Helnah''m to run after her trail, followed by the other quams. "Domma Sijarkes, wait! Not there."

    He was too late. She arrived at the end, to a room with floors made of glass.

    "Not there!"

    The Sijarkes skidded to a halt, almost scratching her precious, golden sandals. "What''s going on here?"

    Several weary eyes looked at her from inside, her silhouette casting a shadow from the light behind her, enveloping her in a halo that made her presence all the more striking as it reflected against her grass green hair.

    The Du Quam Kedrik stood from afar, clutching his shawl, a strange hatred pouring from his acid eyes.

 Journal #2: On the Margijer

    Journal #2

    On the Margijer

    <hr>

    Recorded by the Domme Tirkju''a (an excerpt from his journals)

    ----------

    It is the year Ki Heptre 3725.

    I respect the Domma Margijer.

    But if I were to be housed anywhere in Ori''ehem¡ªor in all the world for the matter¡ªher temple would not be considered ideal in my opinion and would most likely be absent from my list. There had been a problem with tourists. In response to that, she allowed Du Quam Kedrik to construct a wall between our templesides at his most urgent request.

    Being the minor inconvenience it is for my templemen, overall I find it good, for it is only through this separation that we can find a respectable boundary to fulfill our duty, almost oblivious to the movement of the other.

    Circumstances would not change if this wall were to be torn down. We are better off separated to do as we please.

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    But something concerning had happened recently. It went completely dark from my attention. It was only through Umdochar''s report did I find out that the Margijer had gone down with an illness. Visitors were not permitted even if it were me. Recovery was swift, and somehow she easily resumed her faultless work ethic which I cannot criticize nor underestimate. It goes majorly unnoticed to the public eye¡ªby virtue of their assumption regarding her nature¡ªbut she is a reliable one.

    And she had given me her life all those years ago. For that, I rewarded her an empire.

    No, I should not think that; nothing credits back to me. The Dove did that.

    I truly own nothing. What sowed I in all those years of picking myself up on my feet everyday, spear at hand, laboring for the realization of the Dove''s promise? The Dove says I must be content, but the Dove also says I must never settle.

    So what awaits me and the Margijer at the end of the road? Where it ends, I have no clue; I won''t ask a question I don''t know the answer to.

    I must be off now. This has only been unfair to the Dove. I will be amending such thoughts by paying a visit tomorrow. The Dove always knew what to say; the Margijer offered no such solace.

    <hr>

    ¡ªORI''EHEMIAN QUAMSHIP TEMPLE

    located in the west coast of Cape Bon peninsula, modern day Tunisia; houses the Domme Tirkju''a and Domma Margijer separately, serving as a main temple of the Domminical Order where kings, zealous followers, visionaries, and tourists gather due to its longstanding presence in the history of Ori''ehemian civilization.

 The Sijarkes Neighbor is a Narcissist

    Chapter 12.1

    The Sijarkes'' Neighbor is a Narcissist

    <hr>

    Kedrik''s eyes would never cease if there was even a small reason to hate. If there was anybody in Gu''ambiss who cared less about making yet another enemy, it was the Du Quam Kedrik¡ªa three hundred and thirty-nine year old relic. An unpopular figure among the masses and even among his own court for obvious reasons¡ªwhich the Sijarkes could also see clearly¡ªKedrik had a talent much like the Dove¡ªwhich was peering into the abyss of the future; in addition to that, he also kept to himself atop his tower, deliberately hiding himself from the rest of the world.

    Aside from that, he held the greatest contempt and suspicion of everybody he knew, even the Du Quam Umdochar, and so preferred the company of his thoughts and prejudices. Whatever made him like that, the Sijarkes could care less about that too¡ªhe was now staring her down like she slaughtered his prized chicken.

    He clutched his shawl close to cover himself completely. The rabid look in his eye worsened. Something had dawned on him.

    Yet her attention was elsewhere; it was everywhere but on him¡ªto the servants, to the spoiled dishes which littered the glass floor, to the women servants who had gathered together to help the rest up on their feet. With one look, the helpless men bowed low before her.

    How unfortunate; she had walked in on a scene of the Du Quam Kedrik preparing to unleash a punishment. The timing couldn''t be that terrible.

    "What is wrong with you?" the Sijarkes exclaimed indignantly. The Quam Helnah''m appeared behind her, seeing the hopelessness of the case, mouthed his apologies to Kedrik.

    "I should''ve brought my servants with me since this is how it is in your stupid little frog cave."

    Helnah''m turned away in defeat.

    "Toad," Kedrik corrected, eyes bulging at her insolence. In less than a blink, he wrapped the shawl around his form, becoming nothing, only to materialize before the Sijarkes inches away from her face.

    "The Margijer is a toad."

    She stared back, sharpening her gaze to match his.

    That''s right: he was also known for this uncanny ability to disintegrate himself into nothingness and reassemble his form back into place. That was the first time the Sijarkes had witnessed such a feat. It just had to be Kedrik.

    "I know that, moron. Anyways, where is she? She didn''t even bother to greet me on the dock." The shame was too much to bear; she must not let it pass. There was an expectation set for the Margijer, yet there had been no greeting or formal welcome. The constancy of their cordiality would prove to be a challenge if they did not get along outright¡ªso far, the prospects were not looking good.

    The Sijarkes had every reason to make a big deal out of this.

    "Do you know how embarrassing that is?"

    But Kedrik¡ªto the Sijarkes'' surprise¡ªdidn''t care. He turned to walk off, grimacing and muttering incomprehensible mumblings to himself.

    That did not go exactly the way the Sijarkes had intended.

    "Will you look at me when I''m talking to you?" The Sijarkes called out. When she received no acknowledgement, she pressed further, "Where are you going?''

    He never once looked back. Not a peep, too. He went a distance, heels clicking as it tapped against the glass. Then on the pool, he traversed with ease, with faith that his abilities will hold his weight and pull from gravity itself. A dark speckle on jade, he stood on the middle of the pool, isolated upon its surface.

    "Du Quam Kedrik!"

    She felt the tremors again, the very same whenever the Tirkju''a had left the last time. Kedrik raised his arms. He kneeled, bending as he did so, planting his face under the surface of the eerily still waters. The Sijarkes knew that was not it. It was not still.

    There was something under the pool. Or, someone.

    Helnah''m tugged her robe slightly. "Domma Sijarkes, you must stand back." He yelped. "The Margijer is under the waters!"

    Where else?

    A large head emerged, lifting Kedrik''s frail form on its pointed scalp, elevating him before the others as its large slimy figure rose, wrapped by a tangled web of dark hair. Between the strands, the Sijarkes recognized the glare¡ªa glimpse from the past, the sort of thing she did not like so much.

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    "KEDRIIIIIIIIIIIIK!" the giant toad screeched, shaking the room, leaving the servants crouching to avoid spoiling the plates set atop their heads. Her emergence overflowed the pool, sending cascading waves unto the glass floor. It was only then that the Sijarkes noticed the servants had upside down bowls strapped to their feet in anticipation of such an event.

    She had only her golden sandals, barely enough to keep her feet from getting soaked.

    A slight movement from above. The Sijarkes looked up, only catching a glimpse of Kedrik hopping forward from where he stood, disappearing by wrapping himself completely with his shawl. She was then dragged back by the scruff of her neck, where she was thrown against a chair and seated.

    She felt a invisible presence wrapping a bib around her neck. The waves clashed around her the next second, she had barely time to shut her eyes.

    "What the hell!"

    "Get her something to eat, dear." The Margijer commanded in a low voice, ringing like a hum that resonated throughout the pearlescent chamber.

    "Yes, Domma Margijer!" Kedrik had somehow materialized behind the Sijarkes. With the Sijarkes seated with a bib, he ran off shouting orders at the servants. She didn''t watch him leave though. Her mind was quite scattered due to the chaotic nature of their meeting. She was only sure of one thing, however: the Margijer looked as if she was in a rather bad mood; wasting her time any further might spoil the visit.

    The Sijarkes got up, stepping forward with her hands at her hips¡ªher usual power pose. It worked on the Dove; it won''t fail her now.

    "We''ve got things to talk about." The Sijarkes squinted.

    "Talk, talk talk," The Margijer groaned, easing back into the waters. Her eyes blinked at the ceiling. She must''ve been sleeping before this meeting. "That''s all you Dommes do. It''s boring me."

    Her rectangular eyes trailed down, the corners of her mouth drooping as it did so. "Oh, so you did learn to walk with those legs..."

    The Sijarkes was not going to let her get away that easily. "And you? Still being carried around by your Du Quams?"

    "You think you''re funny," the Margijer grinned, letting her tongue out to graze the top row of her teeth of which she had almost none of¡ªor at least those that didn''t look like tiny sticks. Unnerved beyond all reason, the Sijarkes kept her face still; she thought it was exactly how the Tirkju''a might have looked if he had seen such a sight.

    The Sijarkes can''t believe she''d have to bear with a downgrade of a neighbor.

    "You didn''t bother to come down the dock and greet me! I was so embarrassed, did you know that?" the Sijarkes repeated her complaint. "I really thought we''d get along."

    Normally, this would be met by the Tirkju''a''s guilt-ridden words, followed by a promise of making it up for the disappointment by bringing back more gifts.

    "Was I supposed to come down?"

    But it seems the Margijer was built different.

    "Yes! But now you''ve ruined it," the Sijarkes whined, trying to claw the bib off of her neck. She was not going to move in with this wretched amphibian who was in the habit of flapping her tongue like an unstrapped weenie. Upon looking at her closely, she could see that the Margijer had lighter spots near her temple and possessed a rather pretty look in her eyes, as golden as the Tirkju''a''s, but rectangular and dark.

    It was still irredeemable solely by the fact that she was quite literally naked under the waters. That alone invalidated every good opinion the Sijarkes had of her.

    "No requests came, no orders. I''m as free as you; so quit your whinin''." The Margijer remained unbothered. She threw her head back. "KEDRIIIK!"

    Kedrik pops his head out from behind a wall.

    "Go on, make the Sijarkes feel welcome," she urged, then dove under the water. The ever-obedient Kedrik approached the Sijarkes, followed by a trail of servants with bowls of food atop their heads. He attempted an amiable smile. Just like his Domma, he too, had awful teeth¡ªsharp, yellow, and resembled a dock, with ships having already departed.

    Why is she even paying attention to these pointless details?

    "I apologize for not having brought in food for you, Domma Sijarkes. Truly, truly." He didn''t bow. He remained there with a forced smile plastered unto his face. One eyelid, which folded unnaturally, betrayed how he felt towards her.

    He flicked a ringed finger, signaling the servants to set the food down, some of which were reputable Ambissan cuisines; others, of questionable origins. Secretely, the Sijarkes preferred soup¡ªit''s convenient as a drink and customizable at a whim.

    Taking on the manners of a willing guest, she grabbed a spoon and tried a slice of the pomegranate dish bowl to which she knew not the name of. If she wasn''t such a fan of lemons, pomegranates would be topping her list. Its qualities are more than admirable, as she read. To bear fruit, its trees must be exposed to large amounts of heat, ripening as the seasons fade into the cold winter.

    But winter in Gu''ambiss was different. As she sat in the Margijer''s templeside, it was the autumn season, when light rains are to be expected; not as hot as Pomegranate trees would have preferred it, but if the colder months are approaching, pomegranates are soon to blossom¡ªjust in time!

    Kedrik noticed her contentment.

    "I''ll bring in some more that you might like." Kedrik signaled again to the servants. He was really trying his hardest to be hospitable, and the Sijarkes can at least commend him for the effort.

    "If you don''t mind me asking, who''s paying for this?"

    "Who else?" The Margijer emerged once again. "I have more money than I know what to do with. It is what it is, being a Domma." Looking at her again as she was on eye level, the Margijer looked more toad than human. Her bumps glistened. Her eyes bulged. The folds of her skin collapsed on itself under her weight.

    It is in these small moments does the Sijarkes see a reflection of how she must''ve appeared to the humans in Katill Broiis. She had to admit: the very sight made her feel slightly better about herself. At least she didn''t have to go through life with bumps all around¡ªshe had scales for that; disadvantage being that they dried up easily and had to be moistened with oils from time to time. Still, she''d rather go through the inconvenience of maintaining it than have to live with the Margijer''s features.

    The Margijer must not hear of these thoughts.

    But to be fair, long, black silky hair would have been much preferable than her own seaweed-esque kinky hair. For the longest time, she''d felt ashamed of it. Every day since then she had a wig of horsehair fixed to conceal that part of her biology.

    The Margijer mustn''t know of that either.

 The Sijarkes Makes a New Enemy

    Chapter 12.2

    The Sijarkes Makes a New Enemy

    <hr>

    "Isn''t my Du Quam good? Z''jil Kedrik runs this side of the temple for me, so everything must go through him first. But all that you shall need should be handled by Du Quam Umdochar, not my Kedrik. Did you know that Umdochar has been standing in as Tirkju''a for the last two years?"

    The Margijer didn''t seem to notice her horsehair wig. She had to calm down. The toad''s rectangular eyes must have some sort of defect that outdo-ed her own.

    "I know. I don''t hear from him often, but I know that, at least."

    The Margijer smiled, nodding slowly. She motioned for the Sijarkes to reach for more food. She did so, out of habit. It''s hard to refuse a meal, especially one at another''s expense. Katill Broiis had a  year-long meal budget set aside to maintain her lifestyle and she never the idea of limitations never grew on her.

    "Since we''ll be sharing the temple from now on, I have some expectations. I''ve lived here since before the Ki Heptre years, so you best do as I say and heed my words. That wall outside," the Margijer said as she pointed at the very thing which cause the Sijarkes the greatest annoyance upon sight, "is the only thing dividing our jurisdictions; it all belongs to me in the first place. The Tirkju''a himself had no objections. There''s no doubt you won''t feel too different." The Margijer felt no need to let her comforts be obsolete in the coming change. She was a creature who thrived off of habit, rarely opening her doors to variety. She knew what she liked and what worked, and she stuck to it.

    But the Sijarkes had other¡ªsomewhat radical¡ªplans.

    Without skipping a beat, she said, "No, I''m quite indifferent."

    "What?"

    "Serious question," the Sijarkes began, shaking her head as she gestured outside, "why is there a wall?" Seeing as the Margijer would not satisfy her query, the Sijarkes continued: "I heard that your Du Quam had it built.

    "And is there a problem with that?"

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    "Of course. Don''t you see how terrible that wall looks? If I''m going to have visiting royalty or high ranking officials stay, I wouldn''t want that wall to spoil the view."

    "Spoil the view? As Tirkju''a, you''ll find yourself moving from place to place, anyway. All your hours will be dedicated to those trips. Being away so much, you should just let me and Kedrik handle the temple as we deem fit; you''ll have your uninterrupted freedom elsewhere, but not here. Not my temple."

    She has to have a say.

    "But, as Tirkju''a¡ª,"

    "Even if you jump out your own tower, I''ll have no interference."

    The Sijarkes doesn''t find this funny anymore. The silence took over, setting in like a fog. Kedrik peeked again from behind a wall, curious of what has happened. He catches the Margijer''s eye.

    "Ah, I almost forgot. My Kedrik has kept a backlog of all the requests mistakenly sent to me instead of Umdochar. Back to work for you, codfish."

    "What?"

    "I said quit whinin''. Do you think an old Du Quam could handle the Tirkju''a''s abandoned responsibilities? He''s only human..."

    The Margijer shifted her stance towards the direction where Kedrik was approaching her from. "Kedrik, dear, when was the last time our dear Umdochar came to retrieve them?"

    "Dear Umdochar retrieved them 6 weeks ago!" chirped the ever so helpful Kedrik.

    "6 weeks ago, Domma Sijarkes. 6 weeks." The Domma Margijer would not let the fact pass. The Sijarkes would not let this stain the opinion of her temple neighbor¡ªshe had a reputation to uphold, regardless of whether or not Umdochar would choose to work for her or not.

    "He had other things to take care of," the Sijarkes reasoned. "And again, he''s old. He''s been around for like, what, 300 something years? And in case you didn''t know, I''m getting his apprentice as my first Du Quam. He''s not old."

    "Oh, that half-breed."

    "Half-breed?" the Sijarkes looked back and forth their faces, searching for some truth. "I was not..."

    "You didn''t even know? You insolent creature, that Du Quam may have hailed from Cussarossia, but his mother is as pale as her Urbedaurian kin. He takes after her, blonde and ''womanish''." The Margijer emphasized her point by laying back slowly, letting her heavy head tip her over to lie flat across the pool waters.

    Kedrik spoke up, "Word of his beauty is known throughout Ori''ehem, Domma Sijarkes. His popularity does him many favors."

    "Well, he must be very good if Umdochar advocated for him strongly. Being a half-breed won''t change things. I still have to meet him later before my inauguration." The Sijarkes finally removed the bib, squinted at it in confusion, and set it on the chair. Even if her Du Quam was a half-breed, it won''t be too bad. All she needed to do now was meet up and set things straight with him.

    "Are you coming to watch?" She whipped her head around only to come face to face with the Du Quam Kedrik, who stared down at her from inside his shawl, back turned to the Margijer. His disturbed gaze sent a chill through her, telling her all she needed to know of him.

    Would it be rude to say?

    "There''s something very wrong with your Du Quam." The Sijarkes only managed to croak out until Kedrik withdrew his stance.

 The Sijarkes Receives a Death Threat

    Chapter 12.3

    The Sijarkes Receives a Death Threat

    <hr>

    "My Du Quam?"

    "Me, Domma Sijarkes?"

    The Margijer furrowed her brows. "Don''t talk like that about him to his face. He''s fine. You''re fine, Kedrik." Then in a low voice, she said, "He''s quite perfect, actually."

    "What happened to him? Why is he¡­like that¡­?" Kedrik looked far from perfect. She didn''t want to look at him for longer but it was hard not to. He dressed differently than everybody else. Starting from the bottom: his heels were woven delicately, pointed stiffly at the tip, the rumored pair known to have been shoved down the throats of many officials that displeased him; his clothes were fitted to the outline of his bony figure of wood, brown and wrinkled like bark; his grey hair fashioned into braids dangling from either side of his face, slipping through from under a large headdress lined with emeralds and rubies; a flowery purple shawl¡ªas expensive as her purple robes¡ªwas clipped on the top of the headdress wrapped around him, hiding him from prying eyes.

    Point being: A Du Quam''s less-than-manicured state is almost always permissible than a misguided hierarchical disorder of clothing choice.

    "Are your Du Quams always like this?"

    "You''ll be asking that more often than you''d think. And like I said, Kedrik is perfect. He''s special. No Du Quam of mine has completely devoted themselves to me and only me." This case was nothing new, the Sijarkes had heard of this before¡ªKedrik had lost himself in service of the Margijer, with little to no memory of the life he had before Du Quamship. He became new, he became the Margijer''s.

    "How long has he been in service?"

    "I don''t remember dates. How long has it been Kedrik?"

    "I have been a Du Quam for 284 years, and alive for 339." Surprisingly, he could recall. But perhaps Umdochar had been counting for him. He never left Kedrik on his own, for as much as possible.

    "You better pray your shiny, new Du Quam could match up to Kedrik.

    "Oh, you''ll see. I''m going to get the best Du Quam there is." The Sijarkes sauntered off to the exit, but stopped to look back at the Margijer expectantly.

    "Be off with you, then."

    The Sijarkes doesn''t move an inch.

    "Look, sweetie, I haven''t seen you in 2,500 years." There was an edge to the Margijer''s voice. "Get out of here."

    "I don''t think she knows her way around," Kedrik interjected, trying to be helpful.

    "I know my way around."

    "Then go." With those words, the Margijer lost her complete interest, moving to the window to smoke from a large pipe that had been held up on a stand. This was an all too familiar scene. The Sijarkes felt like throwing another tantrum, but maybe the situation called for something smarter. She wasn''t in Katill Broiis anymore¡ªshe has to act like a Tirkju''a from now on.

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    "Margijer, from Domma to Domma. could you give me an idea of what I should expect as Tirkju''a from here on out?"

    "I don''t know." The Margijer shook her head, becoming irritated.

    "Come on, you must have something. I''ve only just got here!"

    The Margijer shot her a sharp look, eyes bulging from its sockets much like Kedrik''s. "You''ve been under the Tirkju''a for a few thousand years for god''s sake. I don''t know what you did in Katill Broiis, but it must have been worth something to be so close to the Parrhadomme."

    "I wasn''t that close with the Dove!" The Sijarkes stomped her feet, clenching her fists. "I''ve only met them twice in my lifetime. And during that time I was hidden away in Katill Broiis, kept far away from the rest of the world¡ªa world that''s constantly changing and evolving; a world far different than from when I was last here."

    She took a deep breath with flared nostrils. Slowly, she unclenched her fists. She wasn''t being mindful. She can''t look up, the Margijer must have death in her eyes.

    No point backing down now.

    "But sure, you''re right. I will figure it out somehow."

    The Sijarkes turned on her heels to leave. What would have been exchanged prior to this, it didn''t matter anymore. The Margijer had made it very clear how exactly she viewed the Sijarkes, to which the Sijarkes has no control over. No point fussing over it

    "Just be careful."

    The Sijarkes stopped. She could still feel her hands shaking. She grasped them inside her robes, before the Margijer or her Du Quam might see it, and ridicule her.

    "What do you mean?"

    "Of what you do and who you surround yourself with, obviously," the Margijer said nonchalantly. Though the Sijarkes couldn''t see her face, she knew the Margijer''s face must not have moved as she said a phrase as ominous as that.

    "You''re saying that¡­to me," the Sijarkes said as she turned around slowly. "A domma."

    The Margijer looked her up and down. Kedrik looked as solemn also, but in the same judging manner as his Domma. The Sijarkes felt the need to continue:

    "I was thinking you''d update me on Gu''ambiss'' latest fashion trends, or maybe gossip from the temple Quams."

    "Don''t be stupid." The Margijer wasted no time interjecting. "Look, You never know what foolish agenda anyone can have on their mind. In this temple, Kedrik is the only one I can truly trust. But everyone else¡­"

    She bent down, head towering before the Sijarkes small figure. "They''ve disappointed me in more ways than you could imagine." Every word had its own gravity, dropping like bricks from the Margijer''s lips.

    "I don''t believe anyone would be so bold to challenge a Domma like you." The Sijarkes knew she might be putting up a front of denial.

    "You''d be surprised," the Margijer muttered. "You''re the Tirkju''a now, or whatever. Don''t say I didn''t warn you."

    "I was under the impression that all must be well within the Order." The Sijarkes waited for a response which did not come. "Well, is it not, then?"

    "Just go. Don''t keep the rest of us waiting. The sooner you get out there and do some work, the sooner the Order gets itself back on its feet. Then you can find your answers." The Margijer, for some reason, had reasonable advice, even though her mood completely tanked.

    The Sijarkes couldn''t help but smile playfully.

    "Ah, I get it. You''re just trying to scare me. That''s what this is all about. I heard your Du Quam used to be a court jester¡ªa setikos¡ª before you took him. That must be it." The Sijarkes wiggled her fingers at the Margijer and her Du Quam, squinting her eyes, gleaming in what can only be a hint of knowing. "Domma Margijer, what are you so afraid of? Du''haijaka ghamfer i''hanaso (You hold a higher power). A''kru, a''kru (certainly, certainly)."

    "A''kru, a''kru," Kedrik repeated, for he believed it also.

    The Sijarkes pointed at him. "Aye, that''s right, Kedrik!"

    She turns to the Margijer again, holding her head high, getting into position to do her signature power pose.

    "I return on the morrow with my Du Quam, the Du Quam Nubejul Tavhaii. Then we shall feast and drink to celebrate a new age together, dearest Margijer." The Sijarkes bid her farewells and left shortly. The bib had been left on the ground, to which Kedrik eyed displeasingly. Only a few moments then did he jump back.

    "My Domma, the ceremony. Shall I prepare the waterways?"

    The Margijer had thought through what must be done. "No need, Kedrik. I''ll watch the entire thing from here. She''s been under that bastard Tirkju''a''s influence for so long, locked up in Katill Broiis. I don''t know what she''s about to bring to the Order. I can say I feel the same as what every Domme is feeling."

 The Exiled and the Mighty

    Chapter 13.1

    The Exiled and the Mighty

    <hr>

    The Sijarkes wasn''t the only one brought by the fall winds; many came to witness her inauguration. They''d say it was a thing of luck to be at a new Domma''s presence. There was always a chance they''ll be giving out blessings, or their Du Quams might be open to favors.

    In spite of the Du Quam Kedrik''s strong disgust towards visitors, his presence was very much appreciated because it meant he was open to granting favors through a favor booth. This act rewarded his followers or faith-dwellers, making a point to show his power and generosity to such.

    The regent Nubejul did his own thing as well¡ªhe was a known performer, always had a song prepared for every occasion, complete with a rehearsed number to be performed by his most talented Setikosi, in-house performers contracted by the temple to represent them in events. They were considered as Quams too¡ªQuam jar Setikosi. Any conscious man who served the temple was considered a Quam¡ªa rather broad title in and of itself. Though it has classifications of its own that further indicated what role its titleholder held within the temple premises.

    "Will you really have my Setikosi dress in such queer fashions?" Kedrik sneered disapprovingly at the bare-clothed Setikosi, wearing horsehair wigs held together by beads and accessories. Having been a setikos himself in his younger years before Du Quamship, Kedrik took it as his right to direct the Setikosi, placing them under him as their master.

    "We''re getting old here, Du Quam Kedrik. We''ve seen these men as they are. As regent, I thought I''d dress them for fresh eyes," Nubejul replied, "We can''t have the same adjectives describing their acts in every review¡ª''rivetingly'', ''exhilirating''."

    "Alright, alright," Kedrik groaned.

    A whiff of spices and a line of servants passed with their dishes. Nubejul stopped one over and taste-tested the delicacies he had ordered for the event. He made a face that Kedrik could not decipher. The latter croaked out a groan.

    Nubejul laughed. "What?"

    Sometimes, it was hard to see whatever might have displeased Kedrik. He left and stood a bit further away, commanding some of his Quams to set up his booth in the middle of the hall.

    "Du Quam Kedrik, you didn''t say you were setting up your booth." Nubejul tried to garner his attention.

    "I''m granting wishes all day, and there''s nothing you can do about it."

    "Oh, no one would mind," Nubejul assured, waving his arms. "But, uhm, do you really want to do all that here?" They were in the very middle of the hall leading to the back courtyards where the Sijarkes'' inauguration ceremony was to be held. In other words, it would be the most inconvenient spot Kedrik could''ve chosen. Here he was completely accessible to visitors coming and going, the booth''s embroidered purple silks making no secret of who would be its occupant.

    And he''d be there for as long as he wished.

    "At least I prepared something for my Domma''s honor, boy. Even in the Sijarkes'' inauguration, I would not let the Margijer''s name disappear into oblivion."

    "But I have prepared something special for my Domma, the Sijarkes¡ªa hymn."

    "Let me guess, it is still unfinished."

    "I¡ªHow did you know?"

    "The ants told me," Kedrik squinted as he left the corridor. Nubejul could only smile to this, shaking his head. He had to make allowances for the older Du Quam.

    And he had yet to meet the Sijarkes. There was always time; he always believed so.

    ----------

    Among a crowd of dark-skinned men pushing to arrive first unto the Tirkju''a''s courtyards, furbished and polished in their finest robes, a drastically different shade emerged, looming over the heads of the ones who came before him. A sore thumb sticking out, he dressed not in the ways of an Ambissan¡ªhis darks already a stark contrast to the mix of patterned cloths surrounding him; for his foreign furs told a different story, a different mark in life¡ªa rather unfortunate one, evident even to those who didn''t know any better.

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    An exile hailing from the North, reduced to be so by the Du Quam Adan Umdochar himself.

    "You don''t see those like him coming near the temple." A templeman stopped to give him a look-over.

    "Ignore him, let''s go," another urged, dragging his traveling companion along, who looked back and watched as this strange white man observed something far away, seeming to see past him.

    ''I can understand you,'' the stranger thought sadly as he was always believed to be as illiterate as those of his race were thought to be. ''And I am not a beggar.'' He put on his dark hat from which a thin dark veil hung, and went inside, for he knew he had every right to, the evidence was in his very pocket¡ªa notice issued by the regent Du Quam, a personal invitation to meet at the Hall of Du Quams.

    "Toruaz," a gruff voice called out. The stranger turned to look at his uncle, dressed in the same fashion, only slightly tan from his years of having been a resident in Gu''ambiss for most of his life. "Remember to mind your manners. We come as guests, as servants to the Order next."

    Toruaz nodded slowly. "Will you be accompanying me?"

    "I have to get my blessing from the Du Quam Kedrik. His gates are only open a few times a year." His uncle, by all merits and miracles, was a high judge of the land¡ªan oronosojal¡ªSinderzof Rozkamoro, built square and solemn. As an Urbedaurian, he was only allowed to wear his jewelry a certain way especially when within temple premises, letting it wrap around his shoulders, dropping at his right breast like a badge. If he wore a hat like Toruaz did, it was a custom to wrap their jewelry¡ªfor they were fond of excessively long chains¡ªaround the base of the brim, letting it hang at the left if they were a person of importance, and the right if they had no rank.

    Both Sinderzof and Toruaz Rozkamoro hung their jewelry bands at their left, but concealed the rest of their head with cloths to protect themselves from the sun. The climate was not so kind to Urbedaurians. The Ambissans of Gu''ambiss took it as a sign¡ªand a belief¡ªthat the pale kin of the Urbedaurians do not belong at all in Oriehem, for even Nature fried them in the Sun''s natural habitat.

    The older Rozkamoro mostly left Toruaz to his own device. His nephew was nearing middle age, almost half his age now. He would need to learn to navigate life on his own. Though he was by no means incapable of such, but as of that day, he had depended entirely on his uncle to get him a seat among the examinees. He would not have the chance on his own; he had much to be grateful for, so much debt to repay.

    Looking at all the displays on this eventful day, Toruaz felt that his problems were lesser when compared to the grandeur of the Order. He slowed down as others passed him by quickly, used to its dignified display, and he took his time to browse the Tirkju''a''s halls. He hadn''t visited in years. The changes were not drastic, in fact, it appeared much flowery than it had last been.

    Was the Sijarkes a lover of flowers?

    He had been to other Quamship temples in Ori''ehem, joining his uncle on his trips, and he''d observed the changes each one would undergo with just one word from its ruling Du Quam or residing Domme. He was not a rich man, but he was no less educated as the wealthy. His education was meticulously designed by his uncle, who had taken him in after exile at a tender age. It was not an easy life, to be a foreigner to both his home country and also his resident country.

    Sometimes he wished he could pity himself, but that wouldn''t be the best course of action. Not here, not in the Quamship temple. Certainly not in front of Du Quam Umdochar.

    But on his own, when all the rest of the world turned away, weeping was excusable.

    He went behind a corridor in which no Quams frequented. It looked and felt just about the same. The corridors were almost identical, repetitive in pattern and structure. He thought it was how the Tirkju''a would have liked it¡ªclean. Relieved, he leaned against the wall and removed his hat. Even after living here the last two decades, he still could not quite get used to the heat.

    ''I could make the such a finer map if they had asked me,'' Toruaz thought, observing the careful indents carved unto the wooden frame, with details of Ori''ehem''s geography. ''But it wouldn''t have these same level of embellishments that must''ve striked its price up a fortune.''

    Toruaz may be foreign, but he knew the ways of the land just as well as his uncle. He worked as his apprentice all while pursuing a sponsored education. It''s fair so say he''s seen things, having had professional training in his practice; it wouldn''t hurt to aspire himself an Oronosojal just like his uncle, a judge of civil matters.

    Though he would not dream of handling criminal cases¡ªthat''s what Oronofurdjals are for. He''s had too much to deal with on that front, personally.

    His feet moved on their on, to the one spot he had always visited when he came to the temple. Though he did not find what he was looking for. It was by the left wall of that corridor, where a large mural of the Dove was carved unto a wooden slab. Beside that would have been a statue of his father, Jakolai Rozkamoro.

    It was missing.

    ''What a reminder,'' Toruaz thought, shaking his head.

    This temple was not¡ªand had never been¡ªa place which he could call home. There had been no expectations, he''d be very wrong. What would he have expected? Umdochar and Kedrik were the ruling Du Quams. They had never been a friend to the Rozkamoros.

    His uncle, by sheer merit, happened to bypass this treatment. His service to the Order ran for almost three decades; Sinderzof was nowhere short on loyalty and humility¡ªthat was not to be overlooked.

    But of Toruaz nearing his prime, he felt he has not achieved much in the eyes of the Order. No sufficient merits, nothing to wipe away the mistakes of his predecessors. It seemed that they would remain engraved in his tomb too someday, as well as for the next generation of Rozkamoros, and so on. It was a curse, only lifted by a Du Quam''s hand.

    Why was his family line declared as a threat to Urbedaur''s national security?

    What had they done?

 The Urbedaurian Exile

    Chapter 13.2

    The Urbedaurian Exile

    <hr>

    Toruaz finally found the door to the Hall of Du Quams.

    He had taken his time to get there, making sure to see all that there was to see. He wouldn''t want to be caught off guard by the time he takes up his post. The Hall of Du Quams was its own building, connected only to the main region through one solemn corridor, occupied by rows upon rows of Quams compactly seated on a bench burrowed into the walls. They had watched him curiously, if the feeling had been right. He did not check. He kept his gaze ahead.

    Those Quams were not the kind who scared him; those were the Setikosi. Thankfully, it was rare to find them around these parts. The Hall of Du Quams demanded silence and reverence. It had no need for clowns to entertain tourists.

    ''Why did he have to meet me here?''

    He didn''t want to think far ahead and accuse a friend of being sly, but the thought occurred to him, nonetheless, that Nubejul must have desired to make a statement.

    Entering the hall, utmost observance of its rules were mandatory and offenders were heavily fined, sent to his uncle, the Oronosojal in that region of Gu''ambiss. As his apprentice, he understood the rules of the land, and he obeyed them almost without question. If Nubejul had wanted to meet him here in the gilded halls of this museum, he has no right to refuse¡ªhe''s officially a willing subordinate now.

    ''It''s not like him at all¡­''

    The Hall of Du Quams was simple¡ªas expected. The Tirkju''a had personally designed it. One side of the hall was of glass, offering a view of the palms that line the internal courtyards; the other, hung several artifacts and pieces that documented the history of the Domminical Order. Littered throughout were sculptures of the old Du Quams, complete with a mini shrine of their own displaying items that encapsulated the duration of their reign into small objects, such as ancient knives, or precious fabrics, jewels, that sort.

    A Quam watched him from the shadows, and Toruaz proceeded on. He must not linger. This was not his history to revel in.

    Ahead of him, he could see the distinct form of Umdochar''s sculpture, following Gurkiim''s line. He took a deep breath, feeling his nerves rise against him. It happened every time he caught sight of Umdochar, even just a likeness. He approached the sculpture, its features becoming clear as he did so.

    Why does he look so grim? Has he never smiled in any of his sculptures?

    A shadow loomed from behind, larger than his own.

    "You."

    Toruaz spun around. The one standing before him with a frown harder than his own sculpture, was the Du Quam Umdochar himself.

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    "Du Quam Umdochar...!" Toruaz exclaimed before bowing. His head was filled with curses of all kinds. "I am pleased to have encountered you here on my visit."

    The Du Quam Umdochar wasn''t moved. Was he the one who wanted to meet with him all along? Or was this merely a coincidence?

    Umdochar''s gaze flickered away. "Are you expecting me to congratulate you?"

    The same coldness by which he had treated Toruaz all those years ago remained. Never known to be kind, he had shown greater hostility towards the Rozkamoros¡ªToruaz'' family line. "¡­those wretched features. It sickens me how people like you walk the same halls and dine in the same households as I do."

    The Du Quam shook his head disappointedly, rubbing his temples. "My boy was so quick to judge you worthy of this position." He paused with a stare that pierced through Toruaz. "But what is it? What is it about you does he deem worthy? Tell me, cause I don''t see it."

    "I''ve been highly praised for my work ethic, Du Quam Umdochar." Toruaz would not waste his time. "I can assure you that I am highly capable of handling the Tirquau''s unattended tasks, as well as making sure all goes smoothly within the Sijarkes'' court."

    "Oh? And what makes you think that?"

    "I wouldn''t have passed the examination if I wasn''t qualified, for one thing. The rest, you already know." He said with finality, resolved to leave it all to the Du Quam''s hands, who could not find the right words to say next to express whatever discomfort he must be feeling.

    "The examination means fucking nothing to me in the first place. You rats come in here with that mindset and then give us Du Quams a hard time. I know your kind." Umdochar came close, still his stature was a few feet short of Toruaz''. "And I will never treat you any better just cause you''re here now as the Principal Scribe, so don''t you fucking expect me to. Du Quam Gurkiim won''t have even let you within the temple premises. I trusted his good judgment and reason."

    Toruaz allowed the old man''s steam to die down. He''d come to taunt him. A reason such as that cannot be worthy of his temper. "With all due respect, may I ask you why you are here as well?

    Umdochar scoffed, turning away. Several paces away from where they stood, a newly erected shrine boasted a large painting of his old friend, Nubejul Tavhaii. The new regent Du Quam to the Tirkju''a, the Sijarkes. With a swipe of his staff, sparks erupted from the candles, revealing the hidden symbols meshed into the painting''s formulation, of which Toruaz could not decipher.

    "Look at him," Umdochar urged. "So much promise and drive, and with a vision of what it is that is right."

    He knew it had something to do with the paints. The way those lines reflected a different picture complete with strange symbols went beyond his own understanding of Domminical matters¡ª a glimpse into the secret world and language of the Du Quams which he could never take part in, as an exile, and as an enemy to the Du Quam Umdochar.

    "He is the perfect son for the Order." Umdochar had a different glow to him. A proud father, a reclining master.

    "And I am truly grateful towards him for choosing me for this position," Toruaz said, never forgetting his manners. Unexpectedly enough, the Du Quam smiled.

    "Let me say this first before we get ahead of ourselves," Umdochar began, clearing his throat and shifting in his stance to face Toruaz head on, an even expression on his face. "You didn''t earn this position, which you might believe is a chance to redeem yourself by your own merit and effort."

    Umdochar stabbed a finger at Toruaz'' chest. "You earned it through your silence and obedience." He hid nothing from his voice, letting all the decades¡ªeven centuries¡ªof malice spat at every word.

    "It''s all because of your cowardice. That is why."

    Toruaz looked away, silent for a moment. He hasn''t done a single thing to deserve the faultfinding; he''d had no choice but to remain passive.

    "I am humbled." Temper. "Thank you¡ª"

    "Taz ku merezja," another voice said. The two men looked towards the door where the regent Nubejul emerged from with a greeting. Toruaz knew those even eyes, in spite of the predicament which he had walked in on.

    Their eyes met, but they did not remain locked.

    Toruaz had bowed to the new regent, his friend¡ªhis new master.

 The Regent Arrives

    Chapter 13.2

    The Regent Arrives

    <hr>

    "Du Quam Tavhaii! You''re finally here." Umdochar broke the silence, eager to set the tone of the conversation himself.

    "Du Quam Umdochar." Nubejul regarded him. Once he had satisfied his spirit father with his smiles, he turned his attention to Toruaz, a gaze fixed evenly, bringing a regal air hung about him, almost catching Toruaz off guard.

    He bowed with little delay. "Du Quam Tavhaii."

    Nubejul''s face broke into a wide smile, cheeks reddening. He wore the traditional robes of Du Quams, littered with its insignias. Toruaz believed it vaguely resembled an eye¡ªan almond shape, with another almond-shaped slit dividing it halfway, like an eye. Though Nubejul did not have the armored appearance of Umdochar. He dressed lightly, squarely, with jewels at his head, a crown.

    Nubejul dressed simply, but elegantly, for a Du Quam. It does him credit.

    "You look like you haven''t changed one bit!" His sandy warm voice sounded like the Nubejul whom Toruaz knew then. It was reassuring, at least. He had one friend in this temple.

    "Ah, I didn''t tell you, Du Quam Umdochar," Nubejul sighed blissfully. "I had been acquainted with Lord Rozkamoro several years ago. Here, in this very temple. It was his uncle the Oronofurdjal¡ªyou know him already¡ªwho brought him here."

    "Hm." Umdochar never asked questions. Not the ones he wanted nor needed answers for. "I will be seeing him later."

    The old Du Quam turned to the large painting of Nubejul. "Are you pleased with the portrait, Du Quam Tavhaii?" With the true Nubejul to draw comparisons from, Toruaz could clearly see the expert eye and hand that went into the picture. Intimate details known only by one so familiar with the regent. He could not fathom how much those costed. He would not be so presumptuous as to conjure a price based on what he knew. He didn''t know a lot.

    He would listen, that was his job.

    "It''s perfect," Nubejul beamed again. His cheeks reddened whenever he did. He had a charm that incited others to treasure him and his smiles. "You don''t know how honored I am to have my face on this wall, next to you and the great Du Quams of the past¡ªI can''t begin to name my happiness."

    Umdochar chuckled. It seemed they would not have minded if Toruaz kept to the back, sticking to his reminders to take up as little space and volume in the minds of others. He had no desire of engaging where he was not needed. Building the habit itself was swift.

    Nubejul¡ªbless his young heart¡ªtook fortune upon him, sparing a look.

    "Toruaz hasn''t seen the Sijarkes before in person." He called him by his first name. "Don''t worry, you are not alone¡ªI haven''t either! But we shall meet her soon. Du Quam Umdochar, however..."

    "She seemed more like a crocodile to me," Umdochar said without delight. "A very irritable one."

    "A crocodile? How amusing!" Nubejul could hardly suppress his laughter, doubling over. He was truly easy to please unlike his spirit father Umdochar.

    "Did you receive the impression that she was friendly? I have not met a creature like her who''d always attempted on chomping my limbs off at each encounter."

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    "Oh, do not jest, Du Quam Umdochar! Not here. You said she could hear things from afar," Nubejul croaked out between his chuckles. He wiped a tear, gasping for air as he straightened. "Oh, I wonder if she could actually turn people to precious stone with just a glance?"

    "A glance? Is that something that should concern us?" Toruaz finally spoke up. He was not accustomed to being put in possible harm''s way.

    "No, no. Not really, Lord Rozkamoro. The Dommas are civilized gods. They pose us no threat. I just mean it as, something we might be at awe of, should we be witnesses of its truth." Nubejul shook his head, eager to ease any such worry.

    After a pause, Toruaz knew he had to ask the one question he''s had ever since he was invited to serve at court. "And might I ask something?"

    "We have time. Ask away." They had an hour or two before the Sijarkes'' inauguration. Even Umdochar seemed interested.

    "Why is it that the Sijarkes was also given the seat of the Tirkju''a?"

    "Hm?" Nubejul hummed as if he''d never questioned the phenomenon itself.

    "Wouldn''t it be more fitting for a Domme with centuries worth of field expertise like, for example, the Avigrijer? It''s a bit of an odd choice, isn''t it?"

    "Is it?" Nubejul''s expression was hard to read.

    Toruaz looked at them both, these two Du Quams of the same succession. Their faces had the same unreadable expression. It was only after a while that Umdochar thought an answer was due:

    "I''m not allowed to divulge this information, but I''ll tell you this, just so you know¡ªIt might have something to do with how the other Dommes might behave upon gaining hold of such a status."

    This did not make sense, Toruaz had no reason to let it go.

    "So he chose to give it to one who is inexperienced?"

    "There''s always a learning curve to everything," Nubejul interjected, now seeming put off. He took a second to recompose himself before he continued. "The Sijarkes was mentored by the Tirkju''a himself! In theory, she must definitely be capable."

    He gave Toruaz a prescriptive look. "It is not within our means to make conclusions we cannot fully comprehend ourself."

    "I know it is quite worrisome. What with the recent war with Sesserja and the decreasing interest in state compliance to the constitution. I, too, have no clue how the Sijarkes''ll handle things from here." Umdochar coughed, bending over. Nubejul was at his side within a blink. "The Tirkju''a and I shouldered these matters as best as we could, and now, it will be the burden of the Sijarkes, and yours, too...my spirit son."

    It was familiar. His eyes as he looked upon Nubejul. The eyes of a father, a master, a mentor. He adored Nubejul as much¡ªor even greater¡ªthan everyone else did, even Toruaz.

    "For two years you managed without him," Toruaz muttered. He couldn''t help but sympathize.

    "I''ve served him for 284 years. Do you believe I wouldn''t learn a thing or two?" Umdochar said indignantly. Sighing, he continued. "Admittedly, though, I found that even I am still not enough."

    Nubejul held the beads dangling from Umdochar''s headdress, holding them out for Toruaz to see as it shimmered in the light of the sun''s rays. "A complete set of 284 beads in every string, right before you, Rozkamoro. I used to clean them for him everyday as his protegee. He lost not a single one!"

    "My passing will come sooner or later."

    Toruaz and Nubejul looked at Umdochar, a mixture of concern and masked sorrow on their faces. "Until then, I will make sure Du Quam Tavhaii''s first few years in position are without any major incidents or tribulations. That is my priority."

    Nubejul smiled softly, shaking his head.

    To Toruaz, Umdochar said grimly:

    "I''m not certain you''ll see many major changes during your service, Rozkamoro; however long you happen to stick around." Then he coughed again. After he had fixed himself, he looked out the window, out towards the rest of the Quamship temple, a dazed look in his acid green eyes.

    "The very first time in Domminical history that a Domma sitting in two Domminical seats will be ruling."

    "We''re as surprised as anyone," Nubejul affirmed Umdochar''s reluctance.

    "What does the Dove see? Of the Sijarkes? Of us?" Umdochar muttered to himself, completely in a daze now. Nubejul caught Toruaz eye as he was about to ask yet another question. Nubejul shook his head.

    Without warning, Umdochar cried, "I feel her near."

    Nubejul stepped back, shoulders raising. He took a deep breath. "I can feel her, too. Incredible!"

    "The Sijarkes?" Toruaz needed to be sure he wasn''t just assuming again.

    "Of course it would be the Sijarkes...!" Umdochar snapped, whipping around to face them both in wrath.

    From a distance, a voice so shrill echoed, which drove Toruaz'' nerves into a cold abyss, his spine almost melting into liquid.

    "WHERE IIIIS HE?"

 The Sijarkes Gets New Friends

    Chapter 14.1

    The Sijarkes Gets New Friends

    <hr>

    "Your eminance...," Umdochar began gruffly.

    "There you fucking are!" The Sijarkes erupted as she stormed in, heels clicking. Her cry echoed several times around the Hall of Du Quams, catching the attention of the Quams under oath of silence. Toruaz was tempted to look.

    Dressed in the most expensive of padded magentas, topped off with an unreasonable amount of gold¡ªfrom her sandals, to the rings around her neck, the lining of her sleeves, and even the bells keeping her hair in braids¡ªshe looked like a walking jewelry box.

    "Seriously, Umdochar? Pink? The cloth concealing my statue is colored pink. What makes you think I like the color pink?" The Sijarkes whines, completely ignorant of the fact that¡ªas Toruaz could see from his peripheral vision¡ªthe dominant shade of her robes was simply a concentrated version of the shade itself. "The Tirkju''a likes the color pink. I dont."

    Umdochar was forced to be agreeable. "Forgive me. I''ll have it changed, then."

    "Your Du Quam, Nubejul Tavhaii," Umdochar said after, gesturing towards Nubejul, who kept himself bent in respect, just like Toruaz did.

    "Nubejul Tavhaii, my Du Quam." He heard her say in contemplation. Then she jumped. "My Du Quam? Really?!"

    "And Principal Scribe, Lord Toruaz Rozkamoro¡ª"

    "¡ªyes! The late governor''s son! I know you," the Sijarkes interrupted enthusiastically. She turned her heel towards Nubejul first, a change of focus. "And you! I''ve heard about you from the Tirkju''a!" Quick on her feet, she wrapped her arms around Nubejul tightly.

    Toruaz still not dare look. She was supposed to have a tail.

    Where was it?

    "We''re going to be the best of friends for the next 300 years until you inevitably die. Or get crushed by a bell¡ªlike Du Quam Umdochar''s mentor!" the Sijarkes cackled insensitively, gripping at Nubejul''s ceremonial robes, keeping him in place as he stayed as still as a doll.

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    It was nothing short of impressive, to not be ruffled by such behavior.

    "Du Quam Nubejul Tavhaii?" Umdochar called out. With this signal, Nubejul raised his head, straightening up to face the Sijarkes head-on, whom he discovered to only be about his height¡ªof around five feet. To the Sijarkes'' amazement, his eyes glimmered the brightest green she''d ever laid eyes on to which she could only liken to the purest of jade.

    "I am honored to be of service, Domma Sijarkes."

    "He''s been under me for 12 years, Domma Sijarkes. Admittedly, not a lot of time, but I assure you he is very capable."

    "But how will he compare to the Margijer''s Du Quam? I want to show him off as soon as the ceremony is over." There was a hint of impatience. Toruaz kept himself bent, still.

    He could not see how the Sijarkes sized Nubejul up and down, judging his biological make-up, his outward-looking capabilities, but she had muttered a few things regarding his appearance, of which he had heard; the question of whether or not Nubejul could do Kedrik better in the faculties that matter to her¡ªshe seemed to have no problem voicing out those thoughts.

    "Her Du Quam was odd, but he can do a lot of cool stuff that I haven''t seen you do before, Umdochar. I heard he can even see the future!" the Sijarkes cried, and then stopped herself upon considering that fact some more. "I thought only the Parrhadomme can do that..."

    Her heels shifted again. It seemed she moved on. She was on to him next.

    "You, dog."

    Toruaz felt it was time to face his new master, the revered Domma Sijarkes and regent Tirkju''a.

    As he gazed upon her true form for the first time, he felt his knees quiver at the sight of her scaly head¡ªa vermin-beast child. Certainly not what he expected. He did not wish to glance down at her feet again. That was supposed to be a tail. He did his best to stare straight ahead. It was easy. She only got up to around his chest.

    "Who would''ve thought that the foolish governor''s son would one day be serving me?" the Sijarkes cackled again, clutching her stomach from the glee this situation brought her. "Interesting choice there, Du Quam Tavhaii! You''re all silly."

    "This just made being Tirkju''a better! I love surprises!" the Sijarkes exclaimed, stretching out her arms to the ceiling. She ran around the Hall of Du Quams, now in a good mood, pointing at everything that produced even a sliver of amusement.

    Toruaz willed Nubejul to catch his gaze. His planned recipient was too distracted, smiling at the overjoyed Sijarkes running about like a child out of home arrest.

    "You two, come. The Du Quam Umdochar has something else he needs to take care of." The contented Sijarkes placed her hands on her hips, gesturing for the exit. "As for us, we have an inauguration ceremony to prepare for. Come, come. I have instructions. We will rehearse my speech as soon as I''m through."

    Nubejul followed her obediently, without a word. Toruaz, being a Principal scribe, followed only within a few meters, never beside either masters. Watching as they left, Umdochar sighed. He leaned against the statue erected of him in his youth, wondering what challenges await this strange era in Domminical history.

    Would they sing praises of these three in the years to come? Will his tomb remain in preservation? Will it all come crashing down? Where would he be then?

 The Sijarkes Has a New Playground

    Chapter 14.2

    The Sijarkes Has a New Playground

    <hr>

    "Du Quam Tavhaii, come here and tell me," the Sijarkes said in that strange slithery tone of hers as she slipped behind a silk screen to dress. "How would the Margijer address her people? How does she capture their interest and twist and beat them around like egg yolks on a bowl?"

    "She lets her Du Quam Kedrik do all the talking, Domma Sijarkes," replied her Du Quam Tavhaii from afar.

    "Oh."

    An awkward pause.

    Toruaz swore that the Sijarkes took her time for a decent reply. There wasn''t much anyway, seeing as she had led them already to her dressing room, pushing the inauguration ceremony further up the timeline and letting the temple Quams deal with the rush.

    The Du Quam Tavhaii had already prepared her ceremonial robes made to match his. In some way, Du Quams were contracted in a 300-year long marriage with their respective Dommes or Dommas. But Toruaz was sure this ''marriage'' would be nothing more than a relationship between a brat and her pet. The Sijarkes made no other expectations clear.

    "Well, I shouldn''t let you do that on this occasion. But you have to stay close to me in case I forget something." She stuck a hand out, wiggling it. Nubejul handed the decorated golden gown he had chosen for her.

    Toruaz sat far away, but watched closely from his seat by the window. On the way to the Tirkju''a''s chambers, she''d given them a rundown of her rules, especially since they would be her constant companions. He tried not to mind her appearance, peculiar as it may be. Most disturbing of all were her eyes, he had to admit. It reminded him of parrots¡ªlike Moluccan cockatoos, to be specific, but without the iris. Just the whites.

    And where was her tail? Were the murals wrong?

    As far as he knew, Dommes do not have the ability to shift. But she might have it. The murals can''t be wrong¡ªunless they had been inaccurate all along.

    "Du Quam, my headdress. Careful, careful. This is worth your entire family lineage." The Sijarkes took her headdress, still hidden from him and Nubejul''s sight. She must have a true form, one she could not take during her sea travel.

    "So what I think I''ll do is that," she paused. She made a few noises. "Alright, so I''m going to have to imagine the crowd naked. I read about it somewhere."

    "That helps," Nubejul affirmed. He must have read about that technique also. "But keep in mind: poise and a delivery full of conviction. That is how you establish yourself to a crowd, with them naked or otherwise." He tried to be helpful.

    "Y''know, for some reason, the Tirkju''a didn''t like images of bare naked people. Back then, the people of Gu''ambiss pretty much went bare. You can see their figure from beneath their clothes is what I''m saying."

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    "Have you seen the murals on the Margijer''s chambers, Domme Sijarkes?"

    "Oh, the people on those murals should''ve been practically naked."

    "It was the Tirkju''a who had those paintings redone."

    The Sijarkes huffed, poking her head out of the silk screen, her visage elongated and bedazzled by an overbearing headdress made of gold. A preference, as Toruaz could gather. All must be dipped in shades of gold.

    She exits the silk screen, now dressed up exactly how Toruaz expected. "Was he that intrusive with the Margijer''s side? Like, who cares?" She stretched her arms to emphasize her point. A vase got knocked over. It shattered. Nubejul and Toruaz stared.

    "Goddammit," She growled. "How much was that worth?"

    "About 500 o''aras, of jades." Nubejul said slowly, careful of his demeanor. The amount itself was enough to buy a house on the outskirts of Gu''ambiss. Toruaz winced internally, thinking back on the property of which his uncle had helped him acquire, on the very northern countryside of Gu''ambiss, a place for him to settle into middle age. It costed them just as much.

    He could admire Nubejul''s manner of addressing the vase''s worth; maybe he had much to learn from Nubejul and his perfect manners.

    "I need to get that cheap shit replaced. Someone write that down." That was his cue. As he shuffled for some paper and quill he''d brought, something flew past. He looked up in alarm.

    "Is that your speech manuscript, Domma Sijarkes?" Nubejul looked in interest.

    The Sijarkes had unrolled a long piece of parchment covered in her writings.

    "Uh huh. I wrote it on the way," the Sijarkes said proudly as she made her way behind the silk screen. "Be done in a bit. So come over here and set my tail straight." There it was. The moment of truth. Nubejul went and did as the Sijarkes commanded.

    Dommes come in a variety of forms, some with wings, some with tails¡ªor both. Toruaz had seen only four Dommes in his life: the old titan Tirkju''a, with the wings and a tired disposition; the Margijer, a rather surly toad with no love for others but herself; the Avigrijer, only from afar, he could still remember the locks of his mane and the strength in his wings; and then the Oranseh, veiled and silent, almost ghostly in his demeanor. He had never seen the Lugsoranno before.

    The Sijarkes reveals herself once again, followed shortly by Nubejul, dragging behind a tail skirt. Toruaz rested back, confused.

    "What''s wrong, dog? Missing out on the glory?" the Sijarkes gave him a smug look. She looked him over, her expression turning sour. "Ew. Du Quam, is there anything to be done with this attire of his?"

    "There are laws dictating what he can wear in the temple, Domma Sijarkes. I''m afraid he''ll have to miss out on the gold, for now."

    The Sijarkes looked like she was about to throw a fit. Nubejul watched them both, anticipating a reaction.

    The Sijarkes shrugged. "The Du Quams aren''t staying young forever." Then she walked off, fully decked and built like a golden statue. Toruaz isn''t sure how she could manage having multiple articles of robes hanging over her shoulders in this Ambissan heat.

    Nubejul nodded to Toruaz as he strutted after the Sijarkes. "Lord Rozkamoro, you follow behind the Domma Sijarkes at a constant distance of five feet. I walk ahead of her as per custom. Should there be anything that concerns you, simply stomp a foot twice."

    The sound of the cheering crowd erupted from outside. Toruaz and Nubejul looked over simultaneously.

    "This is it," Nubejul gasped. He skipped ahead of the Sijarkes and readjusted her headdress using his staff as they rushed to the balcony. "Steady now, Domma Sijarkes."

    "Why''d you build this tower of a headdress?" the Sijarkes barked.

    "You won''t need to speak a word. Neither of us do." Nubejul said to Toruaz, now walking backwards as he readjusted the Sijarkes'' attire.

    "Sounds about right." The Sijarkes mused.

    Together, they stepped out unto the balcony from which the Sijarkes was to deliver her inaugural address and make an appearance to all of Ori''ehem.