A second day was spent riding through Redwood Forest. By lunch, Mai gathered from Broken that the forest was a shortcut to the Holy Citadel. From the Holy Citadel, they would pass through river lands, and then finally reach Asan Paril.

They camped in the forest again that night. Mai noticed that Ishad was nervous, but he would not say about what. After a dinner Broken had bought at the last town was eaten, the night progressed much as the last one had. Ishad went to sleep, and then Mai and Broken squared off away from the campfire for her next lesson.

“I have a question for you,” said Broken. “Why did I teach you the basic arts of the sword last night?”

“Because it was basic?” Mai guessed dryly.

“Of course not,” said Broken. “Did you not think about how impractical it would be to fight with a sword, when you do not have one of you own?”

Mai was ashamed to realize she had not, and said as much.

“I taught you some basics of the sword first,” said Broken, “because the sword is the most identifiable weapon. In many situations, an axe, or a bow, of a spear in a warrior’s hands could be more deadly than a sword.” He paused.

“But the sword has a quality none of those other weapons have,” said Broken. “No one writes epic poems about a warrior and his trusty polearm. The sword has myth, and it is the tool most linked to combat, in the minds of all. It is the center of all ways to fight, in the eye of humanity. Tonight I will begin to teach you a skill much more pertinent.”

“What?” asked Mai.

“The art of fighting with one’s body,” said Broken. “The martial arts, if you will. Others can search you for weapons, and take swords and axes and bows away, but no matter what the situation, you will always have your body.”

Mai thought about what Broken had said for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

Broken unhooked his sword belt he wore for Aurasing, and threw it and his blade together to the side.

“Come at me again,” he told Mai. “Whatever way you like. There is nothing hidden on the grass to stop you, this time.”

Mai looked and saw that was true. Despite that, Mai very much felt that, as yesterday, Broken would begin his teaching by embarrassing her in some way.

But who’s watching? she thought. Just Broken. And the God-Kings knew he had seen her in so many embarrassing situations, many not even of his making, that Mai thought one more wouldn’t matter much.

Mai thought briefly about what to do, and then started to calmly walk forward, her hands at her sides in imitation of Broken’s stance. Mai came within five feet of him, three feet of him. And then they were standing almost face to face. Broken was only reasonably tall for a man, so he did not tower over her.

Then Broken made the first move. He hooked one arm under her legs, and in almost no time at all, he held her in his arms.

Mai just looked at him. She didn’t know what to say to that.

“You are not very aggressive,” said Broken. “I saw that yesterday, and I see that today. That is a problem. In a fight to the death, you cannot defeat an opponent by blocking all of his attacks.”

He looked down at Mai in his arms, and she very simply looked back up at him.

“I see you wonder about this particular position,” said Broken. “To be held in another’s arms is compromising, and not in the ways you might expect. In this position, I could easily slam your head into just about anything, flip you over and send you falling on the ground, or, if somewhere here there was a balcony, I could drop you off it.”

Not the talk one expects to hear when being held in another’s arms, thought Mai.

A moment later, Broken carefully set her on her feet. “Now,” he said, “let’s try something else.” Broken stepped back a pace, then fired off a punch into the air that would seem to hit an opponent’s head. “North punch,” he said. He fired one off to the chest area. “Middle punch.” Then a low punch. “South punch.” He then fired off a variety of kicks, giving their names as well. When he was done, he asked Mai, “Do you remember all of what I just showed you?”

Mai shook her head, and Broken said, “I didn’t think so. Pay better attention this time.” And he went through the routine again. Mai paid special attention to the kicks. Front kick. Rounded kick. Side kick. She suddenly realized Broken had showed her only six things. The first time, however, he had gone through the routine at a speed too fast for Mai to follow well. Now he was slow, returning to a ready stance, with his hands protecting his head between each and every demonstration.

“Those are basic,” he said. “But that does not mean they are any less formidable than other techniques.” Broken went through the routine again, this time blindingly fast. When he came to the kicks, the air rippled. “Alright,” he said. “You try to do that, as slowly or as quickly as you like.”

Mai opted for slowly, but when she was finished, Broken congratulated her nonetheless. And then, as yesterday, the real practice started. Drills, endless drills and combinations and steps. Even some sword work was integrated into the lesson, though that much was only review.

And so a second day passed.

The night also passed by without incident. When Mai awoke, she was thankful that she did not have any bizarre or disturbing dreams.

And so they were off. On this day, they reached the end of the Redwood Forest. As it shrank behind them, their dirt path rejoined with the main road.

Only a few hours after that, the Holy Citadel appeared in the distance. Mai had never been to the city before, but it was as grand as the stories told. Huge Symbols had been carved into the stone fortifications, and purple banners flew from the city walls. The roads around the city were crowded.

Suddenly, Ishad called out, “Stop!” and Broken and Mai quickly pulled their horses off to the side of the road, and dismounted. Ishad was waiting for them.

“I am sorry,” said Ishad, “but as long as you are in that city, I will wait out here. I was cast out, and until my year and day are up, I am not allowed to enter again.” The passerby stared at him before going on their way.

“If you made a promise, than you are doing good to keep it,” said Broken. “Get further from the main roads, into the little clump of trees I see over there, and make camp. We’ll get you food for dinner, and in the morning we will leave. The only reason we stopped here is because it is along the fastest way to Asan Paril.”

He then got back on his horse, and Mai followed his lead. She could think of nothing to say that Broken had not already said. They rejoined the crowds, and headed to the city gates.

At the Holy Citadel, the gate guards were accompanied by monks, who shouted to the masses about the various ways they could reach spiritual redemption and enlightenment. Few seemed to pay much attention to the monks, and the crowds on the roads around the base of the city were enough so that Mai and Broken could slip in without harassment.

Inside the walls, the city was much the same. Brown-cloaked monks were interspersed the city’s population. It looked like there was about one monk for every ten other people. Some monks hurried to one of the temples, and others performed civic duties, picking up trash from the streets, and cleaning off the sides of buildings.

Because of all the cleaners, it seemed, the city sparkled. Mai could see why so many made pilgrimages to the city, just to bask in its glory. And this city did have a glory. There was nowhere in the Empire comparable to Elysium, but, it was said, the Holy Citadel was closer to heaven than most. Mai could see why that statement had been made.

In the Holy Citadel, the roads all sloped up, as if the city had been built on a giant mound. Why this was the case was a mystery, but the slope created an effect. As Mai rode Swift through the city, it felt as if she was ascending, for indeed, she was.

Broken rode ever higher and Mai followed his lead, until they reached the very apex of the city. Here, at both the very top and very center of the city, there was a great circular plaza, with a ground of cobblestone, flat, and empty except for guards, monks, and functionaries. None of those groups took advantage of the area’s sheer size.

Near the center of the plaza, there was a great tower, where Mai knew the lords of the Vedil had their councils. But next to that tower was the center of the city. There stood a great building, with walls of plated gold. It was covered with stained glass windows, and was shaped as a dome. Mai knew the building was known as the Greatest of the Temples.

As both she, and, oddly, Broken, stood gaping at the sight, a pair of soldiers on horseback approached them. They wore the robes of monks, but swords were at their waists, and tattoos of the sun were on their foreheads.

Though Mai had never seen warrior monks before, she knew who they were. Asurik. The temple guards, sanctified to protect the places only monks could reach. Their heads were shaved, and they looked at Mai and Broken with the utter disinterest that only seasoned warriors could display.

“This area is restricted,” said one of them. “Services at the Greatest of the Temples do not begin again until sunset. Return then, if you wish.”

“But leave now,” the other added.

Broken bowed his head. “I apologize,” he said. “We only wished to see what is famed all over the Empire.”

“You have seen it now,” said the Asurik who was the first to speak.

“Indeed we have,” said Broken, and turned his horse around. Mai followed his lead, wondering why he had wanted to see the Greatest of the Temples so badly. Broken had not seemed like one for sightseeing.

They found a room at an inn midlevel on the slope, called the Penitent Sage. Almost as soon as they reached the room, Broken left, saying that he had to go to give Ishad food so he would not be hungry. Mai was left alone.

She went over to the window, and looked out, much as Broken had done soon after they had met. The window looked down upon the slope, so Mai could see the buildings and the streets, as if she was upon a tall tower. The slope of the Holy Citadel was not great, but still enough for the view to be awe-inspiring.

It was a diagonal city. All of the doors and windows on the buildings were facing downwards, Mai saw, realizing what she could not have from the ground, that it was no luck she had gotten a room with a window facing this direction. Mai saw the walls of the city, which must have been twenty feet high, but the inn was situated on ground twice as elevated. Mai could look over the walls, and onto the roads. She could even see some of the lesser towns that had grown up around the city.

It was truly amazing. Constantly cooped up in rooms, or other enclosed spaces, as Mai had spent most of the first nineteen years of her life, she had never had a chance to see such grandeur. Before her father had died, she had only twice left the Occluded City. That was grand enough, but it was same old.

Mai was seeing the world now, in a rapid, fast-paced tour. Being on the run from those who wanted to kill her had its perks.

Mai laughed in delight at how odd that thought had sounded in her mind, and how it was true. She was doing things other princesses had never dreamed of.

A few hours passed, and Broken had not yet returned to the room. The sun was setting now. Suddenly, the city began to ring with the sounds of bells. Mai knew what the bells stood for. It was the call to the prayer of the sunset. From her window, Mai could see crowds heading to one of the many temples in the Holy Citadel. Prayer was by no means compulsory, but in the Holy Citadel, where bells rung at prayer time, unlike anywhere else in the Empire, people tended to be more religious than most.

Mai made a decision. She would join them. She would journey up to the Greatest of the Temples, and pray at the holiest place in the Empire. Broken had not expressly forbidden as much, and her faith had been tested on her trip. It was a sudden decision indeed, and as Mai reflected, probably rash.

However, Mai thought, it was not like she would be telling anyone who she was. She would just be one of the thousands joined together for prayer.

Mai rushed downstairs, and out of the Penitent Sage. She joined the multitudes in the streets, heading up the slope to the plaza. She had a newfound appreciation for how workers must have labored to make that area flat.

Now, no one was on horseback, so Mai was glad she had not thought to go and retrieve Swift from the inn’s stables. Everyone was joined together, warrior, commoner, and noble. Mai saw a group of haughty aristocrats on a pilgrimage, with their guards, but even those soldiers could not keep them from the masses of the commoners, who had done what they had done, and wanted to pray at the Greatest of the Temples as well.

Mai was glad that her time with Broken had worn most of her aversion to commoners away, for now she had no alternative to being glanced at, and accidentally being pushed and prodded. She was among the commoners now, and they probably though her to be one of them. It was an odd thought.

The congestion on the streets made everyone move slowly, so it might well have been two hours before Mai reached the plaza at the top of the Holy Citadel. By now, the sunset was over. It was night.

On the plaza, dozens of Asurik, most mounted, and all placed at strategic intersections, kept the masses flowing in an orderly fashion to the Greatest of the Temples, and away from the tower where the Vedil lords had their court.

Finally, Mai entered the Greatest of the Temples. There was no hallway inside the building, no antechambers to go through. Here, there was but one room, with its great raised dome. A great stained glass painting of a serpent was on the ceiling, and, in the very center of the room, in middle of all the curved benches, was the empty dais.

However, except for the dais, the room was filled. All the benches had been long since crowded to capacity, and so the unlucky others sat down on the floor, which seemed to be almost filled as well. Mai found a spot on the ground near the back, right behind the last of the benches. If she looked straight ahead, she could see nothing but the wood, but if she craned her head up, she could just barely see the dais. Despite the horrible viewing from where she sat, the area on the ground near her was quickly crowded.

Noble, warrior, commoner, all pushed together, as if one. Mai knew one of the tenants of the Greatest of the Temples was that all of the praying humanity within its walls must pray together, and not separate themselves into sections based on class, status, or gender.

Of course, there were contradictions to this. A group of nobles had their guards vacate a bench of commoners that had gotten there first, and the people tended to bunch into class groups nevertheless, but for the most part, the equality tenant of the Greatest of the Temples was being upheld. This seemed to be mostly because of the efforts of the warrior monks.

Asurik walked through the masses, finding places for the last few people to sit, for it was a great disrespect not to sit during prayer in a temple. The Asurik moved individuals who knew each other apart, and sat commoners next to nobles. And if any argued, the Asurik lightly explained they could eject any who were being uncooperative with the laws of the temple.

Soon, an old man, dressed in the purple and gold vestments of priesthood, began to walk through the crowded aisles. He was accompanied by two other priests, slightly younger. Carefully, they reached the dais.

“I am Agumen,” said the old man, spreading his arms wide. “I am highest of the high priests, and I stand in this, the Greatest of the Temples. I stand on the dais, in the center, where I am blessed, and I have a priest on each of my sides. The one on my left stands for the past, and the one on my right stands for the future. I am the present.”

All of the thousands in the Greatest of the Temple knew the ritual. As the masses started to bow their heads, Mai bowed hers as well. A moment later, all of the thousands of the heads rose.

“On a normal day,” said Agumen, “perhaps ten thousand would sit within these sanctified walls, to pray to God, and honor those who serve underneath Him. But today, I am told, you number fifty thousand. Every one of you deserves to be here. I ordered that all prayer books be removed today, so that there is no lucky one of five. You will all be equal, and you should bask in each others’ presence.

“For I know why so many of you have gathered here today. I know, that, today, as the sun went down, many of you wondered if the setting sun was a metaphor for the fall of the Vedil, for even the fall of humanity as a whole. You came here to reaffirm your faith. Join me in the Song of the Temple.”

Even though not everyone knew the words, there were enough chanters that it was easy enough to follow along. For the Song of the Temple was no song. It was a chant of strength.

“We are gathered here today weak, and we will be made strong,” said Agumen.

“We are gathered in this holy place, and it will sanctify us,” came the response, from tens of thousands of throats.

“We came here weak, and filled with sin,” said Agumen.

“But we will be redeemed, as we bask in that which is holy.”

“We came here to the temple, to reclaim honor,” said Agumen.

“And once it is reclaimed, we will be joyous in praise,” said the masses.

Then it was done, and for a brief moment, all bowed their heads again. Then Agumen spoke once more.

“I will tell all of you something,” he said. “Something many of you may not know. I lead the Song, but I responded as well. Why? Because I am the same as you. I need what you need, my congregation. I need honor, and I need truth.”

“You are truly great!” came a shout, and Asurik began to converge on the location, to remove the perpetrator from the Greatest of the Temples. There could be no elaboration in a place where all were equal.

Agumen continued as if there had been no interruption. “These days, we all need to feel secure. With war brewing, and the sudden, unexplained death of Emperor Mentis IV, may he rest in peace, all of us are affected. The Empire has not seen a war on this magnitude in a thousand years.

“But that does not mean we need to falter. No,” said the old man. “On the contrary, we need to be strong, to keep living in a time such as this. The order that has endured for thousands of years, even before the Tachen Dynasty, will not crumble and fall within our lifetimes. I will not let it. Will you?”

Now there was a shout in response, a glorious scream of, “No!”

Mai saw the majesty of what Agumen had said. It didn’t matter what side of the conflict a person was on. None wanted the world to fall into the chaos and darkness that it had before the dynasties. For that would spell misery for all.

“It is night now,” said Agumen. “So let us sing the Song of Ending.”

And so they did. The Song of Ending was another chant, much longer than the Song of the Temple. After that, the congregation chanted the Song of Beginning, to show that the day would begin again, and after that, the Song of Enduring, to prove that the next day would live strong. Then there was the Song of Lions, and, at Agumen’s choice, the twin Songs, the Song of Fear and the Song of Hope.

Then the hour of the service was done. Mai, with all the crowd, filled out past the Asurik, and down from the plaza, back to wherever they were staying for the night. Mai felt refreshed, as if the aura of something great had trickled down and restored her.

Being with Broken, with his views on the order of things, was difficult for one such as Mai. Her faith had been tested with him. Now her mind was clear again. She was happy.

As she reentered her room at the Penitent Sage, Mai found Broken within. She shut the door.

“Where were you?” asked Broken, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“At the Greatest of the Temples,” said Mai. “Just as you could not pass up the chance to see it, I could not pass up the chance to worship within it. My tutors taught me much about the world, but now I am finally experiencing it. And getting my faith restored as well.”

Broken smiled at her, and almost seemed to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she asked him.

“Nothing you would find funny,” said Broken.

“Tell me,” said Mai.

“As you wish,” said Broken. “First you must know, I do not pray, not ever, because, many years ago, something shook my faith more than it could recover.”

Mai almost gasped. What Broken had said, he had hinted at, time at time again. But he had never before said as much. “You do not believe in God?” asked Mai, just to clarify.

“No,” said Broken. “I only say that my faith has been shattered. Perhaps it can recover, and perhaps not.”

“What could have possibly happened to you to make you feel that way?” asked Mai. She suddenly realized she was still standing, and sat down on the bed beside Broken.

“Something more horrible than you would ever think I endured,” said Broken.

“You have some odd companions, for one who believes as such,” said Mai. “A monk, and the heir to the mandate of Elysium.”

“So if you judge me by the company I keep, I will be returning to religion any day now,” said Broken. “All I found amusing, was that while you were praying, I, despite my lack of faith, was spending my time giving food to a monk, so that he would not starve. Perhaps that means that I, unknowingly, am religious myself. That’s all I found funny. You probably don’t consider what happened to be as such.”

Broken was right. Mai said as much.

“Well then,” said Broken. “I’ll teach you more of what I know, now.”

“In the Penitent Sage?” asked Mai. “This is an inn. I can’t just start waving your sword around in this place!”

“That was an excuse, you know,” said Broken. “I do not think you meant it to mean as much, but nevertheless, you just gave an excuse. No one here is going to see you. Our door is shut and locked.”

Broken got up, and Mai did as well. Then Broken drew his sword, and actually tossed it to Mai. He tossed it hilt first, but he still tossed it.

Mai stepped back quickly, and the blade fell to the floor with a clatter.

After the sword lay there for a moment, Broken picked it up, and replaced it on his belt. “I can teach you to catch that,” said Broken. “Now let’s start where we left off last night.”

Broken focused on martial arts again, that day. Soon enough, Mai collapsed into bed, exhausted.