Chapter 207: Faith

Book 4, Chapter 48 - Faith

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Jackrin observed the temple entrance from the lip of a damaged rooftop. He kicked out his legs much as a child, whistling idly. The haze in the air masked him from plain sight of the many guards watching the temple gates. “Hum,” he mused, resting his cheek on a palm. Every entrant into the temple was being screened and patted down for weapons. Further, Trillian enforcers amid the refugee camps and narrow walkways had doubled since those injured troopers came back from their brief outing two days ere.

“Problems, problems,” the jester anguished. He had a vision —a brilliant vision in fact. A way to fulfill his promise to the beautiful queen, and a way to serve Aaron as well. A means to satisfy the itch in his mind whilst doing something good for the world. But such tight security posed a problem. Jack would have to enter without his beloved knives and precious dagger. And the streets would not be his to paint so long as this many patrol groups cowed his dear audience from taking part in the play he'd written for them.

There'd been a fire outside of Heira two days ago. A caravan of sorts it was said. One full of food. Food did not catch fire by mishap. There were other agents in the city actively working to sow chaos. “But to what ends are they working?” he asked the open air. A black bird answered his question with an obnoxious caw.

Jack clicked his tongue. He very well couldn't let another person steal his play. He unhitched the long leather cord bound to both legs, carrying in their straps numerous knives he'd collected on his journeys. Filleting knives there were, a physic's scalpel, serrated edged bread cutters —which were surprisingly useful on hard white joints— slashers, gutters, a hunter's tool, throwing blades —precious things all with various uses. He left these by a chimney letting up a plume of dark grey that carried with it the smell of burnt cakes. He knew of course, that he could always scale the temple's walls and enter through a window. But today he felt a gentleman, and gentlemen used doors.

Jack then hopped down and butted into the line of eager citizens ready to empty their pockets before the inanimate idol of a deity. An inspection of the temple's interior was required of him. For if he could weave mischief in its grandiose halls, Jackrin knew the security outside would grow lax.

***

Commander Calthus threw his feet over the bed he'd been confined to for the past two days. Two cycles of rest had been his physic's recommendation. He did not have that time. His spy network informed him that the queen would deliver an address in two days' time. An address that would be accompanied by the generosity of Governor Bernestur's storehouse stocks —a farce to make it seem as if the Goddess' bounty was granted upon the queen to share with the ailing people.

Aid still it was, and promised to the people. And Arhad would be working to actively prevent it. Already he'd sent whispers of a caravan of food burnt outside of Heira. The refugees grew more restless by the minute, but increased patrols kept those flames in check. The people were cowed. Arhad needed a riot outside of the temple if he and his company were going to have any chance of breaking in.

***

She was there again.

Queen Emeria knelt before a polished marble statue of Trillia. A translucent white shawl lay upon her head, veiling lush blonde locks rolling down over her back. Luminite shone upon each golden thread. The silver crown with violet gems still sat where it had been, and a pair of guards stood on either side of her, stoic and tall. Three rows of pews nearest to the queen were left empty, for commoners were not allowed too near to their monarch.

Jackrin stood dumbly before the entrance, admiring Emeria's hair from afar, imagining that ice cold face of hers, those soft pink lips curled into a sorrowful smile and the silver shine of the three sisters gracing her pale face. A dozen times he'd asked himself why he'd accepted a commission from her. Now, seeing her again in flesh, recalling vividly their shared conversation, Jackrin understood his willingness to heed this woman's wants.

She was a prisoner. She was alone. She was in need of radiance.

Emeria Lakris was Jackrin's reflection. A woman like him. But of course, just another woman he could not approach, lest this snowflake melt in his palms and disappear as had every other woman he'd dared to hold.

“Do you mind?” asked a harsh toned man as he passed Jack by. There were several people throwing scowls at him as they went. He was standing in the way, drawing too much attention.

Jack seated himself at the edge of a pew with full view of his new fancy. He held his hands clasped in prayer much like anyone else as he stared. A full minute went before he realized everyone else's eyes were closed or pointed downward. The queen's watchmen stared his way, hands kept eerily close to the gleaming pommels at their hips. Trillium flowers were woven into the white fabric they wore over iron plates. Scars crossed around their hard eyes. These men were no strangers to bloodshed, and neither did they care to foul this holy place with their violent craft if need arose.

Neither do you . Jahck whispered.

Jack felt at the mask he'd kept tucked beneath his shirt. It'd somehow passed the vigilant watchers of the temple gate without much question. But I would not foul this place. I would beautify it with my art .

Indeed , replied Jahck. Indeed .

Emeria began to rise. She turned to leave, tugging that shawl about herself to obscure everyone's sight of her. Jack reached out and opened his mouth to call, but no words came. He wished to see her fair face in the light of day, but onward she walked never turning to acknowledge him or any other in the prayer hall. Her majesty came the mutters of the common folk.

The guards stalked the queen's steps, their inquisitor's gaze passing over every person, resting upon Jack for a second longer than most, before disappearing into a corridor to the right most edge of the hall. For a moment, the jester lingered, picking up on the latest gossip with his better ears. The words shame and burning caravan were thrown around several times. The flames outside the city had been some form of aid commissioned by the queen according to the people, and now she hid herself for shame, or so said these humans. That lined up with rumors he'd picked up on the street.

Interesting , Jack thought, putting together all he knew of current events and the agents at work in the city. For one, this playground was not boring. As is expected when running errands for Aaron. It's never boring!

Jack bounded down the main aisle, hoping to glean more of the temple's innards, hoping to examine its every crevasse, its secrets, and how it is it'd come to cast such a long shadow over Xenaria's people. He was brimming with curiosity —and of course, the desire to see the queen again, for a folly's hope lingered that mayhap he be allowed to love just once in his life without tragedy looming above his brow.

His first hurdle came as soon as he reached the passageway down where Emeria had gone. Two rugged figures in bright Trillian colors stood before the passage. “No entry beyond here,” one said. “You want private worship, you go down that a way,” he added with a nod, “and pay the fee.”

Jack turned around and faced the opposite path. Two guards barred his way there also. “The fee is…?” he asked.

“A generous donation to the temple's charity,” the other rugged man sneered. “Nobility fanfare, peasant. Move along. The queen isn't seeing anyone today, least of all a pauper dressed as you are.”

Jack looked down at his clothes, wondering what was wrong with it. Sure, he'd fallen in a pile of dirt the other day, and hadn't changed in two days since wading through the dusty and hazy city, but there was still plenty of white about his garments left to fill…

Ah well. He went down to the other passage, weighted purses sitting in his pockets. He juggled them in open sight of the praying masses, their pleasurable clinks drawing the eyes of too many worshippers. Jack grinned. Was faith broken so easily faith at all, or did these people worship coin behind closed doors and a deity in public? Whatever the answer, the guards of the westernmost corridor were open about their greed. Jack pressed two of his heaviest to their chests. “Gentlemen,” he said, slipping by them and swiping at their belts beneath their armor, refilling his own pockets. Poor fools, absorbed in their new treasure, failed to notice their old ones missing.

Jack went along several more heavily watched passages, and passed numerous 'restricted' halls. One such corridor had a staircase leading down into some cellar, from where his better ears picked up sounds of laughter, soft music, and moans of those deep in delight. The stench of cheap perfume was thick from that stairway, and the guards watching it reached for their daggers as Jackrin paused before them, smiling, holding his breath from that overpowering smell. He almost missed Eksa's self-drowning practice in quality scents. Almost .

“I don't suppose I could pay for a barrel of the wine you keep down there,” Jack offered, tossing up one of his new purses with the palm of his hands. Trained eyes followed that purse on its rise and fall as easily as a dog might be made to fetch a stick.

“Ain't no wine down there,” came the two second late reply. “Move along. Private worship idol's down 'ere.”

“Of course, of course,” Jack said. “Holy place. No wine here. Just a jest on my part.” He moved along and the posturing ended. At last he found himself in the circular room of 'private worship', where a smaller, life sized statue of Goddess Trillia stood. Her crown was adorned with many sparkling circlets, and her collar bedecked with chokers, necklaces, and pendants. Dried flower petals lay at her feet, their scent still pure and pleasant.

About the room's walls hung a tapestry depicting a war of times past. A war against wicked beasts, some with many eyes and many limbs, claws for hands and fangs for teeth, with green, red or black skin. Some had wings while others did not. One shared trait among them all was a smoldering hole where their heart would be. At their feet were lesser Darkspawn creatures such as the ratmen Jack had slain many of already. Fighting opposite was a host of armored soldiers, leading them a woman of brilliant silver hair and mosaic butterfly wings.

This is their Goddess? Then why depict her as the weak woman in silken clothes, clasping her hands in middling hope, than the iron carved body and radiant wings of this depiction? Jack examined the tapestry's every detail. The Goddess depicted was adorned with nothing, and carried a sword as any other. Her banners held a palm with a red flame alight atop it. The monsters they fought walked on blackened land. If not that, than their smoldering chests were enough detail to tell Jack he stared at a depiction of the ancient War of Ashes.

He turned to the jeweled deity standing in all her splendor. “How much of it is real?” he asked.

There was no answer.

“Are you truly a God?”

Silence.

“How many fingers am I holding up behind my back?”

Nothing.

“Wrong,” said Jack. “The answer is two, and it's these,” he gloated, holding up both middle fingers. The statue did not move. It did not display its anger. It did not even frown. Yet the masses surrounded this supposed God as wind worshipped a storm's eye.

What was faith, really, Jackrin wondered then. What was it that beheld men's hearts about a powerful figure? It was a question he found eerily similar in his quest to seek out the pinnacle of love —a quest that'd ended in tragedy.

Jack giggled awhile.

He stumbled into his answer no sooner. Faith and love were two sides of the same coin. They were nothing more than men tethering themselves to their imagination. They tethered themselves to higher ideals or strong desires. It was the same for Jack. Once upon a time, he'd had a mother and sister to whom he'd been beheld. They'd betrayed his faith. He now found himself tethered to Aaron, or rather, the thought of Aaron's actions. Aaron was his guide, the decider of right and wrong, the judge and governor of reason. Jack had absolute faith in his friend's decisions, for they'd not yet led him astray, and they'd done much good for people, or so he believed.

Most importantly, Aaron had yet to betray him.

He will abandon you Jahck crooned.

“Shut up,” Jack hissed. Abandonment? Far from it, Aaron had given him a task to complete in Heira. Jack was needed still.

Faith then, he decided, was not an inherently bad thing. Nay, faith was a wondrous thing. Man was fallible. Man could not have faith in his self. But faith beyond himself was faith rewarded with hope.

Jack again looked upon the tapestry before him, this time examining the horde of demons, their various features, and their most horrid aspects. A brilliant thought occurred to him, for it was ever an artist's destiny to be inspired by grand works of those come before him.

Jack would continue to serve Aaron because he had faith in him. But he would have as much fun as possible while doing it.