The Burdens of Gifts

On Glunday, they continued practising their fights with blindfolds. This time, Moira harshly reproached any who found the exercise amusing and threatened further detentions to anyone who did not take their training seriously. This quickly put a sombre mood over the acolytes, and Martel focused to the best of his ability. Even if his schedule felt less busy these days, he had no desire to waste an evening in the Circle of Fire being bombarded with spells from his teacher.

In the evening, after supper, he met up with Eleanor in the entrance hall. They left as soon as they spotted each other; it would be a long walk to the Basilica and back again, and given the late hour, they had little time to waste.

Although Morcaster had already celebrated spring, it had still been cold last fiveday. This evening, despite the sun setting soon, it felt decidedly warmer, as if the season had finally arrived. Martel still wore his cloak, but only intended for the return journey after sunset; for now, he carried it over his arm.

They kept up idle conversation as they walked, weaving around the carts and people filling the main street running through the city. Martel remembered the first time he had walked this way when he arrived in Morcaster; the sheer scale of everything, especially the number of people, had felt overwhelming. Now he was almost accustomed to it, and talking to Eleanor made him forget about it a moment later.

Finally, the Basilica came into view. Its towers rose taller than any other building in Morcaster, majestic and elegant. "You must have seen it often," Martel remarked. "Living here and all."

"I suppose, compared to most people. Mostly for solstice ceremonies, though I have not attended any since joining the Lyceum. And even before then, my family mostly went to the Temple of Saint Cuthbert for ceremonies and rituals. It lies near my family's residence."

Around them, as always, the crowd became increasingly clerical in nature. This was the temple district, filled with shrines, monasteries, and convents, along with priests and priestesses, monks and nuns. Martel had never given it much thought, assuming they were all more or less of the same kind. "I'll be honest, I don't even know if the temple back in Engby is dedicated to anyone. I don't recall Father Julius ever saying much on the subject."

"Some temples are simply dedicated to Sol," Eleanor said. "Or Luna, though that seems rare. I know the Maidens of the Moon have a convent in Aquila, but I am not even sure they have a chapter here in Morcaster."

Whether or not they did, Martel intended to steer clear of them and other members of the cloth. As they crossed the square in front of the Basilica, Martel remembered the zealous preacher agitating people against magic and any wielding it. Or his brief encounter with the Sisters of the Sun, which had still proven too long. No, leaving an offering for his father's soul would be the extent of Martel's religious duties. Though he had to admit, they had a flair for names.

As on his previous visits, the Basilica took Martel's breath away. The sheer amount of labour and craftsmanship dedicated to decorating every surface with statues and patterns made him flabbergasted that humans could create such. He wondered if stonemages had been involved in shaping some of all this. Not for the first time, Martel wished his gift lay with another element than fire. If fate had given him the ability to create such beauty, Martel would have felt overjoyed, spending every day in pursuit of this.

But if not given to him, perhaps Martel could lead others to it. Sparrow was clearly gifted with earth; perhaps if he set her on this path, her work would one day adorn the temples of Morcaster.

"You look so pensive," Eleanor remarked as they crossed the threshold to enter the Basilica. "What is on your mind?"

"Just wondering about all the effort that went into this place. I figure they used magic to hew the stones and even the sculptures."

"Probably. It would have taken centuries to build something like this otherwise."

Martel nodded a little to himself. "Do you ever wish you had other abilities? For instance, that you could create something like this."

Eleanor bit her lower lip; her turn to look pensive. "Sometimes. Similar to when I hear a bard sing a beautiful tune, or see the painting of a great artist. I wish I had those abilities too." She gave a shrug. "But magic is a gift no matter how it manifests. I can run longer and faster than any without. When I move swifter than the eye can blink, when all my movements flow, like everyone else is swimming through water while I remain unencumbered… I would not trade that feeling away. I imagine we all feel that way about our particular talent."

Martel felt like an exception to that, though her words made him consider it again. Fire seemed the least valuable element to him, useful only for destruction. Yet standing in the belltower of the Khivan church, drawing the conflagration to him – despite all the pain, how much it had burdened him, it had also been a brief sensation of ecstasy. For a moment, he had felt the power of fire, floating through the air, unburdened and free, full of life. Perhaps she was right. "You do look graceful when dancing," Martel replied, realising he had not spoken for a little while, and his tongue grasped for the first thing that came to mind.

Eleanor made no answer to this other than half a smile, and they progressed up the Basilica to reach the altar of Sol and his attendants. From his pocket, Martel dug out five silver coins.

***

His filial duty complete, Martel waited while Eleanor paid her own respects to the deities of Aster. Once she rose from the altar as well, they turned around and left. Soon engrossed in conversation again, Martel paid little heed to the yellow-clad nun observing him walk out of the Basilica.