Rylen picked up a few more dishes and balanced them on his arm and wiped the table with a rag he kept draped over his shoulder.

Most of the customers had left for the day’s work or travel, and there were only a few old farmers lingering at a table. They would be there until lunchtime when they would go home to their wives. These old men had been farmers their entire lives and didn’t know much else besides their trade. Rylen listened to them talk about the weather, how the young ’uns wouldn’t listen to them and were planting beans instead of wheat, and their aching bodies and nagging wives.

Rylen cleaned one table after another.

The arranging of the cellar was nearly done. In payment for Leyla’s services, he would have to help her out at the temple. If Talith and Rasha came in on time, he could help Leyla out in the morning as opposed to the afternoon. When his father returned, he would have time to hang out with Daywu or even Kayt again.

He wasn’t sure where Daywu was. Rylen would likely have to wait until he came to offer fresh game meat for them to buy. Last he knew, Daywu was hunting in the slopes near Night’s Eye. He could be on the other end of the valley by now.

As for Kayt, he was most always found in his shop making shoes. Now, although Rylen wasn’t very interested in how shoes were made, Kayt was all too happy to tell him the ins and outs of his craft. Other tradesmen like Jak, the blacksmith, had their children as their apprentices now. They didn’t have much time to engage in idle chatter between work and training their sons. However, most didn’t mind if he watched.

He finished wiping the last table and stood looking at his handiwork. He’d have to do this again come lunchtime and suppertime. And he’d have to sweep and mop at the end of the day.

To think his father had been doing this for decades! Wasn’t there anything else his father wanted to do with his life?

“Hey, Rylen!”

He blinked out of his musing. One of the old farmers, Mahi, waved at him.

“Hey, you awake? Been calling you five times now, boy. Don’t go off daydreaming. I was sayin’ to the guys how your pop came from over the Great Mountains. What country was it? Temaman?”

“Telam.”

“Yeah, that one. I was saying how I heard a story from a Sae once. How he had fought against a raid on his village against those folk. Said he had stood in the doorway of his home and fended off three of them. His enemies had spears, see? They jabbed at him, and he pinned one of their spears against the doorway and snapped it. Quick as a wink he slammed the door right when the other two jabbed at him again. Their spears went through the door, and he grabbed hold of ’em.”

By now he had gotten quite into his story and was making movements to demonstrate each scene.

“He took ahold of ’em like this, see? Then he heaved with his legs against the door and toppled backward as he wrenched the spears from their grasp.” Mahi lurched himself backward in his chair, and Rylen caught him before he toppled over.

“Thank you, son. Next, he throws one spear to the side and opens the door again with the other in his hand, ready for a fight! Much to his surprise, those brutes had already turned tail and run!”

Mahi chuckled at his own story. “Amazing what disarming a man of his weapons can do to his confidence.”

“Heh! Mahi, you talk like you’ve been in a war!” said one of the other men.

“You know, that kind of reminds me of something my father told me once,” Rylen said.

“Oh?” The men were attentive now. It wasn’t often they got to hear something about the innkeeper’s past.

“He said there was an entire town dedicated to practicing how to disarm people in battle.”

“What? An entire town? How is that even possible?”

Rylen nodded. “He said they’ve been practicing the art for generations now. They even send men into the army to help improve and test their methods.”

Mahi shook his head. “A whole town taught to kill. I can’t even imagine it.”

“He said even the women and children are taught too.”

Mahi looked up sharply. “You don’t say!” He turned back to the table. “Kaum’s shadow! If Gwyan would do that, Ara-Era wouldn’t bother us anymore, I’ll tell you what!”

This started a wave of heated arguing, and Rylen turned away. The topic had veered too close to home for his comfort.

“Rylen! There you are! Pahanna needs the last of your dishes so he can start sweeping,” Leyla called.

Rylen hurried back and deposited the last dishes by the water basin.

Surprisingly, Rasha came in only a little bit late, followed closely by Talith. Rylen let them take over the cleaning and prepping duties as he and Leyla hurried out the door. Leyla took a basket covered over with a cloth.

Rylen didn’t ask what the contents were. Leyla was usually quite good at taking what she wanted and making sure it was recorded with the temple scribes for the inn’s offering.

“So, what horrible task do you have lined up for me this time?” he asked as they turned up the slope of the main street. “Cleaning the privies? Shining gold plate twenty feet in the air with my feet dangling? Removing the skunks living in your bushes? Cleaning the privies?” He dodged out of the way of a man leading a donkey.

She grinned. “Hey” she pointed a finger at him “you can’t list that last one twice.”

He held his hands up defensively, “Oh? Why? I seem to be doing it about twice as often as the others.”

She pursed her lips and shook her finger at him. “I… That’s true.”

Rylen shook his head.

“Actually, it’s a little different today. I need help gardening.”

Rylen scrunched up his face.

Leyla smacked his shoulder. “It won’t be that bad!”

The street turned in a lazy curve as it ascended the hill toward the temple. Shops were open on either side, their wares displayed. Workers traveled up and down with carts and donkeys. The pungent smell of pine wood filled the air. A few people milled between the stalls doing their morning shopping. The street bustled with activity despite its small size. There were larger streets that were far busier; however, this street was still known as Main Street and saw its share of traffic.

Leyla was easily recognizable in her golden robes and fiery-blond hair. When working in the inn, she cinched and bunched her robe up in places and removed her sash. Now, her robe was tastefully arranged, and she wore a purple sash with wavy designs. Instead of a braid, she let her hair fall in a quick, loose ponytail. A couple of emerald jeweled pins that matched her eyes held her robe and sash in place. She caught waves and hellos wherever she went and returned them with more enthusiasm and a smile.

In comparison, Rylen looked much like many of the other workers. He wore a simple brown tunic that adequately hid stains and an apron over that. However, unlike the other workers, his eyes were very dark brown, almost black, not the lighter browns and greens of Gwyanians. Their skin was about the same, though Rylen’s was a tad ruddier and darker. Perhaps what stood out the most from others was his black hair. While people would smile welcomingly at Leyla, their smiles quickly faded as they caught sight of him.

Leyla suddenly turned down a small side street, which led to some steps.

He followed hesitantly. “Leyla, where are you going now?” He jogged to catch up with her.

“There’s someone I wanted to check in on. It won’t take long.”

Rylen followed her through winding side streets. Already he didn’t like where she was going.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t go this way. There are some old soldiers living in the streets here.”

She patted his arm. “You’ll be okay. We aren’t going where there’s a lot of them. What will they do? Give you cold stares? You’ll be fine.”

She took one last turn into a gap between a tower and a house. There was a gray-bearded man in ratty clothing. One of his pant legs was tied off above where his knee would be. He looked up at their approach.

“Leyla!”

“Hey, you old man, you. How are you doing, Ferran?”

“I didn’t think you would come back to an ol’ broke man o’ the old war like me.” He glanced in Rylen’s direction, then did a double take. “What! What’s that kauming Eran doing here?” He made as if to get up and assault the youth, but Leyla stopped him, at least physically.

“Fire take you boy! You and your whole flaming country! Black crowns! I’ll tear off more than your leg! I’ll take off all your limbs and your head too! Throw them in the fire like you did my brother!”

Rylen slunk away back around the corner and out of sight. He walked a little farther away to where the man’s curses were only an indistinct echo against the stone walls.

The man’s rant continued until Leyla was able to quiet him down. They talked a little more, the man let out a laugh, and eventually Leyla joined back up with Rylen.

Immediately, he could see the stress in her face. Her mouth didn’t curve upward at the edges like it usually did.

“Why do people have to do that to you?” she said under her breath.

Rylen cleared his throat. “They usually only give me killer glares.”

She let out a deep sigh, and her smile returned. She patted him on the shoulder.

“It’ll be okay. You didn’t do anything to him. He’s just taking out his anger on you.”

He let out a relieved sigh as well, and they found their way back to Main Street. He noticed that the cloth was now bundled inside her basket.

“Did you leave anything with him?”

She nodded. “Our generous king has given him two loaves of bread for his service as a soldier.”

Rylen smiled but felt vexed. Somehow, the fact that he had helped contribute to helping the man made him feel bitter. He knew the man didn’t know that the bread was from the inn, but it didn’t annoy him any less.

Leyla, on the other hand, was whistling as if she had already forgotten the string of curses thrashed upon her friend.

They continued on up the hill and were soon in the main marketplace in front of the temple’s gates. Here, many of the roads joined together. If there was an area that could be considered the town square of Edge, it was here. The space was terraced, with steps leading between the levels. Shops were ordered haphazardly, and it was almost like a maze to reach the temple gates. It wasn’t packed, but Rylen could already tell there were more people in town for the upcoming Sun Festival.

The gates of the temple weren’t large, only eight feet tall. Two guards stood on either side with priestly robes over their armor. Leyla turned to Rylen.

“This is where we split. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Leyla continued toward the gate, and Rylen turned away to the side and followed the temple’s wall as it twisted and turned through wide and narrow streets and into a lush garden. The garden was crammed in between the wall and the rear of some houses. It was a little unkempt, as if the gardener in charge only tended it as an afterthought in the evenings.

He pushed himself through tangles of bushes and the low-hanging branches of trees before he came upon a small door hidden in the wall. He pushed it open and crawled through. The short tunnel was dark, and he had to fumble a little before he found the handle to the other side. He pushed it open and crawled out.

“Rylen.”

Rylen nodded to the single guard on duty by the door. The guard looked extremely bored. From what he’d heard, all the other temples in the country would execute any foreigner entering their grounds. It made him uneasy, but Leyla’s parents had promised to protect him if he was ever found out.

He carefully made his way through gardens to a small wooden hut where the gardening equipment was stored. There, he waited for Leyla to show him what she was up to that day.

***

Leyla strode confidently through the front gates, but only after playfully bopping the helmet off one of the guards’ heads and tossing her basket for the other to catch. She didn’t stop and skipped through the gate. She heard him sigh as he picked up his helmet and his partner chuckled and said something she wasn’t meant to hear.

Beyond the gate was a garden rich with every kind of tree, bush, and flower. Above the gate at the crest of the hill was the temple sanctuary. Its roof was domed and covered with brilliantly polished gold. The grand arches that upheld the dome were colored in royal purples, cerulean blues, xanthous yellows, vibrant oranges, and cardinal reds. The colors mingled together but the cool ones were closer to the ground than the warmer ones that dominated the ceiling.

The mosaic path lazily turned away from the temple and casually wound its way through the gardens. It meandered behind the temple, then back around to the front to climb a series of steps to the entrance.

Leyla trounced straight through the gardens and up the hill to the temple. A few worshippers were making their way up the path, and she waved at them as she ran.

As she turned away, she bumped into an old woman.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” She clasped a hand on the woman’s shoulder to steady her before she fell over.

The old woman had caught herself with her cane and deliberately shuffled her feet under her again.

“Who…who ran into me?” The woman raised her head shakily. “Oh! Oh, it’s you, Leyla!” The woman smiled and her eyes lit up.

“Taruh, I’m sorry! I was waving at Muna and Myron. Are you okay?”

“Oh, pfft!” Taruh waved her hand dismissively. Her movements were slow and shaky, as if it took all her effort. Yet, she was quick to smile, and her eyes showed more emotion than her face.

She started walking, leaning on her cane. “It’ll take more than that to beat this ol’ woman down!”

“Really? I thought I hit you pretty hard. You won’t bruise, will you?”

Taruh waved again. “A light breeze could bruise me these days. I’ll just take another nap today, and everything will be fine.”

Leyla smiled and ran back up the hill through the bushes and flowers.

As she ran, she felt something strange. She slowed and felt in her robe. There was a single silver coin in her hidden pocket. When she was running, it had been striking her thigh.

She stopped among the bushes. Where did I get this? Priestesses like her didn’t carry money: they didn’t need it.

If she ever needed anything, she just took turns collecting offerings at the different shops in town. She had done so today by taking the inn’s bread.

Uh oh. She tried to think back to all of the people she had brushed or bumped into on the way to the temple. I hope this isn’t his…or is it hers? She glanced around and pocketed the coin. The idea of someone losing money to feed their family nagged at her. Or, perhaps it was a coin that was being saved for a special occasion? The image of a little boy without a present for his birthday popped into her head. She continued up the hill with her thoughts whirling with possibilities.

She reached the temple doors just as two priests were hauling them open. She slipped into the gap and slowed to a somber pace once inside.

The floors were an intricate mosaic of every color of waterstone. There were stripes and diamond shapes, curving and patterned stone chisel-work and bold, blue-marbled waterstone pillars. Gold leaf–accented designs farther up on the ceiling and stained-glass windows added colorful lighting.

Stained-glass lanterns lit every corner. Where the colors shone was as much a piece of the artwork as the mosaics and stone carvings themselves. Muted purples shone on vivid oranges, evoking the sun-scorched clouds of night passing into morning.

At the end of the pillared hall was a gold dais. The stone beneath the gold was chiseled to look like the flaming rays of the sun. Yellow and fiery orange stained glass shone upon it to make it look like it was alive and burning.

She knelt before the dais and bowed with her head to the floor. Her loose ponytail unraveled and her hair splayed across her shoulders like a dim sun. She held this position but didn’t pray.

Her thoughts wandered back to the coin she had found in her pocket. It wasn’t unusual. Her parents had taught her very thoroughly how to pick pockets, among many other studies, in the forms of games. So much so that it had become an unconscious habit for her to sneak up on her parents and try to pickpocket them every chance she got.

At first, she had thought it was all in fun. Her family never needed money. For her, money was something people gave to the temple, not something food or clothes were purchased with. She simply did it because it was how she played with her parents. She used to put the money in the coffers downstairs because that was where money went.

Footsteps approached from behind as she knelt there, and there was a shuffling as another person bowed. Several more trickled in before she rose and quietly walked to the side of the room where a golden bowl was set on a marble pedestal. She stood beside it and waited. She gathered her hair up again, making sure the thick ribbon didn’t come loose this time.

She remembered the day when she was fourteen years old and had taken some coins from a man at the Sun Festival. He had been leading a boy about six years old around the booths and different entertainers. Part of the fun of pickpocketing was watching people’s reactions, so Leyla followed them after she had emptied the man’s pocket of his coins.

She remembered thinking it was going to be extra fun to watch because she had taken more than usual. Plus, they were wearing rather plain clothes. People wearing those kinds of clothes gave the best reactions. She had tried relieving money from fancy-dressed people, and some of them never even noticed.

The man led the boy to a food stall. Was it some kind of meat? She didn’t remember. The boy had jumped up and down while the man dug in his pocket. The man frowned and checked his other pockets. Realization came to him, and he had to lead the boy away. The boy cried but followed anyway.

Leyla was used to people panicking, nearly tearing their clothing as they searched for their coins and then frantically running back down the road to look elsewhere for it. This time was somehow saddening. Confused, she offered the father the coins she had taken from him and said it was a gift from the king.

The man had thanked the king for answering his prayers. The ruler had even directed his servant to give him back the exact amount he had lost! He and his son thanked her and pranced back to the stall praising the king in loud voices.

One of those kneeling before the dais rose and slowly approached her at the bowl. The man opened a small coin purse and dropped a pinch of coins into the bowl. The coins clinked as they dropped in and skittered as they fell through a hole in its bottom. The scribes would collect each offering in a separate bag in the basement, while another would take note of the person’s name through a peephole in the nearby wall. Leyla bowed and thanked each donor, blessing them with the king’s grace as they went on their way.

Giving the coins back to the man that day during the festival had felt good, but she had also felt guilty for taking them in the first place. It was odd. She helped people every day, but those times when she could help a person find something lost were more satisfying. She helped them while righting her wrong at the same time.

It bothered her that she had done the same thing again, but now she didn’t know who she had stolen from.

Was it Rylen? No, he usually doesn’t carry money. Surely it wasn’t Ferran, was it? No, I didn’t touch him at all except to give him the bread. She remembered Ferran’s kind eyes as he’d looked at her and how they had suddenly turned to a murderous glint when he’d seen Rylen.

How are people even capable of being kind when they can be so cruel? Her thoughts whirled in her head, and she almost didn’t notice Taruh when she came in.

Taruh slowly made her way to the foot of the dais. She cautiously knelt, her movements careful not to send her sprawling, then she bowed. Her prayer lasted almost as long as it had taken her to walk to the top of the hill. Then, finally, slowly, she heaved herself up on one foot, then the other, and she straightened her back and slowly walked to Leyla. Her cane made a tap, tap, tap as she walked.

Leyla bowed to her when she was close enough. “Are you doing all right, Taruh?”

Taruh smiled. “The merciful king has blessed me so much. I couldn’t ask anything more from him. Why, I don’t know what my husband would have done if the king hadn’t bought him a new plow years ago.” Her eyes grew softer and tearful. “I wanted to give a little back to him, but I…I think I lost a coin.”

“Oh.” Leyla hesitated, then drew out the silver coin. “Is this yours?”

Taruh’s eyes crinkled at the edges as she beamed, and her eyes grew red.

“Why…why, yes!” She wiped away a tear. “Where did you find it, my dear?” She reached out a shaking hand and clutched Leyla’s arm.

“I found it on the path. You must have dropped it.” She laid the coin in the old woman’s hand.

“Oh, bless you, child. The king has surely blessed you.” She patted the girl’s arm. “Make sure you thank him.” Taruh laughed and gleefully dropped the coin in the bowl, then started on her way back down the hill.

Leyla smiled after her, but there was a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She didn’t have much time to think about it. Another priestess soon took her spot so she could go directly to her garden-keeping duties in preparation for the festival.

Rylen was likely waiting on her and would give her grief because of it.