DargonZine

“You seem healthy, Rapinoe,” Sharonala said, “for having . She paused. “For a person of your stature.”

Rapinoe felt stung. His lip curled up slightly of its own volition as a reply formed in his throat. He stopped himself. Sharonala turned back to Carlotta.

“Sister Carlotta,” began Sharonala, “I expect you have been hearing news of our progress on the new bathhouse at the harbor.”

“Indeed,” Carlotta replied. Still stinging from the dismissal, Rapinoe forced himself to focus on the conversation. He had heard of the large project the cult had undertaken of building a bathhouse and hospital on the site of a burned warehouse pier down at Dargon harbor. News of such a large undertaking was always useful. “Do you have an update?” Carlotta asked, the lilt in her voice showing that she also was interested.

“I do indeed,” replied Sharonala, but there was a hint in her voice that gave Rapinoe pause. Sharonala emptied her cup and laid it aside. She then arranged herself with her hands on her bare thighs. Rapinoe could see that although she was in very good shape, she was not a young woman anymore. Wrinkles near her eyes and mouth, and stretch marks on her bare breasts and arms showed the passage of time on her body. The warmth in her eyes did not fade, but her brow creased just a bit. “We are making good progress, and it looks like we will be able to build a full set of dormitories and classrooms.”

“Goddess be praised,” Carlotta breathed.

“Yes,” murmured Rapinoe, unsure exactly what the ramifications would be of such construction.

“Once those dorms are completed,” Sharonala continued carefully, “we expect we will be consolidating all student and faculty bodies in the area to the new facility.” She paused, waiting for the full implication of her statement to reach her audience of two.

“Soooo …” Defina said slowly, “are you saying that … that all the students, and all the teachers, from all the shrines and schools in the area …”

Shaonala nodded gravely. “… will be transferred to the new complex at the docks.”

Carlotta straightened up a bit, looking just a bit lost. She pondered the meaning of what she had just heard for a moment longer. “And what of the individual shrines?”

“There will be … fewer … of them,” Sharonala said carefully. “And those that remain will have a minimum of staff.”

Carlotta looked up and around at the ceiling and walls of the ritual room. “And … this one?”

“We do not know yet,” Sharonala replied, her gaze never leaving the older cleric.

Carlotta nodded, her face crinkling and tightening a bit. Rapinoe could see a glistening of tears in her eyes. Rapinoe felt his rage rising and turned back to look at the senior cleric, only to find her staring very directly at him. He froze. She turned back to Carlotta.

“The cult is not in a hurry to dispose of all the properties it owns,” Sharonala said, looking up at the ceiling. “This shrine is actually one of our best properties, what with the location and the way you have kept it.” Sharonala gave a nod to Carlotta, and then to Rapinoe. “We do not want the value to fade while we decide what to do, so there will be a need for continued upkeep for the indefinite future. We may even decide to keep this shrine open, to welcome pilgrims coming into the city. Obviously you,” Sharonala nodded at Rapinoe, “and your staff would be the first choice for caretakers.”

Carlotta nodded, and Rapinoe felt both a sense of relief, and yet still anger at being at the mercy of the larger cult. He had no idea what a better outcome might look like, but this did not feel like it.

“Carlotta,” Sharonala said, her voice softening. Rapinoe felt his anger easing a bit, feeling that his and Carlotta’s plight were, in fact, being recognized by someone who had the power to help. “This transition will be a test of our faith, both as a cult and as individuals. We will all need to rest assured of the love the Goddess has for each of us as we all pull together to carry out the will of the gods.” Rapinoe felt a surge of joy and faith rising in him, despite himself and his very recent grievances. A tiny part of his mind admired the skill required to move the spirits of people just with words and gestures. “Your faithfulness will not be forgotten. I know you will find the place in your heart the Goddess has laid aside for you.” Carlotta nodded, her cheeks wet. The two women clasped hands for a long moment.

“Thank you,” Carlotta said, then looked around and wiped the tears from her cheek with her forearm. “Well,” she said breathlessly, “you are welcome to stay here, obviously.” She laughed, despite her tears. “Rapinoe can tidy up here while I take you to your room.”

“Your hospitality is legend, Carlotta,” Sharonala said, “but I have duties tonight that I must attend to that are elsewhere. Perhaps next time we can spend more time together, mmm?” She and Carlotta both nodded, then moved to get up. Neither one bothered to gather the robes, moving instead towards the door. Rapinoe took this as his cue to begin tidying up, gathering the dishes and remaining food as the two women carried their conversation out the door and into the main sanctuary.

Rapinoe chaffed at the dismissal Sharonala had given. The very rite they had just completed was a celebration of recognition of the value in others. Why was she not seeing the value in him? Her physical examination of him was as impersonal as a butcher buying a hog carcass. Now that her physical presence was fading, his indignation was rising. He fumed as he replaced the platter and plates and food and gathered up the robes. He felt discarded.

His anger and shame carried through until sunset. The evening Rite of Dismissal helped him purge some of the anger, with its chants of forgiveness and absolution. Helping to feed, bathe, and bed the younger students always brought its own challenges, and that was a welcome distraction as well, and then he and the few other older acolytes had time for their own hot bath before climbing up into their lofty dorm.

The next dawn found Rapinoe back at his labor in the wood pile. With the help of a younger acolyte named Rina, he was making good progress. By lunchtime he had moved onto repairing the root cellar, and that took him into the evening. The slight of the day before was all but forgotten. Carlotta called for a rite of purification, a ritual group bath, and Rapinoe worked late keeping the fire burning and the water hot. He was rewarded with a fresh bath at the very end, his back scrubbed by Sister Serenity, with a warm mug of mulled wine and a fresh clean towel. As he climbed up to the loft with the other older novices, he pondered the rite of the previous day only for a moment before falling asleep.

The next day dawned damp and chill, and Rapinoe was soon covered in mud as he and Rina worked to finish the root cellar. Memories of his youth, and of Sharonala’s inquiries nipped at his thoughts. He caught Rina idly scrawling runes in the mud on her own skin as she waited for Rapinoe to finish binding timbers in place. On a whim, he asked her to write the Goddess’s name in mud on his back as he worked, and she happily complied. For a brief moment, in the darkness of the root cellar, he thought he saw his own veins, darkness creeping up his arms towards his heart. It was just a figment of his own fears, and it vanished in the light, but his mood darkened with the sky. After he was done and Rina had scampered off to the bath to rinse the mud off, he stood openfaced to the rain, allowing the cold water to rinse him.

The rest of the day was filled with minor chores. Rapinoe checked the mortar in all the hearths, collected the ashes and transferred them to the dry storage, picked the spoiled food out of the root cellar, pulled all the bedclothes and straw out of the loft and replaced them, directed the younger novices in distributing the wood throughout the shrine, and sharpened all the knives and blades that Carlotta could fit in a large basket. It was as he was sharpening the blades that Rina walked into the shop looking for a freshly sharpened knife to cut turnips with. Her skin glistened with bright clean new runes, all in praise of the Goddess and the monastic life. Rapinoe could feel his stomach clench as he handed her the knife, handle first, his eyes affixed on the dark letters newly painted on the novice’s body.

His mother had still been alive when he had sat for Carlotta, as she had painted him like Rina was painted now. It had been a warm day, and Carlotta had insisted they take the time to renew his writings. He had been standing outside his mother’s house, letting the letters dry. One or two random villagers had wandered past, their curious gaze lingering over his compact body as he idled. Inside Carlotta was talking with his mother. His mother asked if Rapinoe would get painted. Carlotta replied that the deed was already done. His mother, weak and failing, muttered something about how quickly that had happened.

“Well, there’s not that much of him, really,” Carlotta had replied. “He does not take much.”

The next day started overcast but warmer. Rapinoe’s mood lifted a bit. He had work to do, and all of it was doable and manageable. As he toasted a round of bread over the hearth, he appraised his life. It was for the best that the cult would leave the shrine open, and allow Carlotta and himself to remain where they were, who they were. He had a place where he could be useful, where his limitations were not an obstacle. He moved out into the yard, tidying up for the autumn. The morning’s tasks were soon done, leaving him time. Rapinoe took the opportunity to cut and plane a timber to fix the railing in the attic. For him, this work was the best form of meditation. He could hum hymns to himself, punctuating the rhythm with each stroke of the drawknife. Some auger work and stonework later and the wood was ready to set into place. He was almost sad when the board lay before him, smooth and ready.

As Rapinoe was carrying the wood into the house, he heard voices from up in the attic. He carefully threaded his way upward, taking care not to allow the timber to hit the walls. When he reached the top, he found Carlotta talking with an older man dressed in rich robes. The man did not look familiar, and after a quick glance at Rapinoe the man returned his gaze at Carlotta. She was explaining the shrine’s current finances to him, and Rapinoe tuned her out as he proceeded to set the new timber in place, carefully aligning the existing balusters with the holes in the new rail. When he was assured that the new piece would protect and serve as well as the old, he straightened. He found the older man watching him. Rapionoe gave a respectful nod. Carlotta paused in her dissertation.

“Arbogast, this is Rapinoe,” she said.

Rapinoe’s breath caught. Everyone in the cult knew that name. The young man ducked his head in a deep bow of respect for the powerful devotee of the Goddess.

“Blessed be the Goddess,” Rapinoe said.

“Blessed be, indeed,” replied Arbogast. “A nice job,” he said, nodding at the rail. “Quick and quiet. Did you shape it?”

“I did, my lord,” Rapinoe replied.

“The Goddess is always pleased with a job well done,” Arbogast replied, and Rapinoe felt an immediate strong upwelling of happiness and pride and gratitude. Arbogast turned back to Carlotta. “Thank you, sister, for overseeing the shrine so well and for so long. You certainly have a reward in her love. Shall we?” He beaconed toward the newly fortified stairwell, and he followed Carlotta down, followed by Rapinoe. At the bottom the two headed into the common area, Rapinoe headed outside. There was wood to split, turnips to mound, and thatch to dress. Oddly, Rapinoe found himself standing, just standing, just outside the shrine house, listening to the sounds of the village around. For a long mene he just stood there, thoughtless, timeless. The feelings and emotions of the last sennight replayed themselves in his head. He looked around the grounds, up and down the height of the shrine, and finally at the small but shapely figure of the small cultic statue of the Goddess that graced the corner of the patio.

Rapinoe knew that the swelling of gratitude and joy he had just felt at Arbogast’s compliment was an artifice, a touch from the experienced and powerful adherent that Arbogast was. It was the same technique employed by Sharonala, and all the upper clergy of the cult. But that feeling of pride in his work was real, as was his skill, and his labor, and his worth. Arbogast had seen that, had seen him. Rapinoe looked around the grounds again, noting all the small and integral signs of his own labor, of his own ownership of this common resource. He had mastered this domain.

His mother’s passing had left him feeling hollow, empty. He had expected that his time in the shrine would have given him some power, or knowledge, or skill that he could have used to save his mother. Every time he saw the lines of black tracing across the skin of a devotee he was reminded of her bruises, and he again felt empty. But he knew that was grief. All around him now were the signs of his power, the marks of his skill, and the evidence of his knowledge. He was not that boy. He knew his own worth, and he wanted to use it now. He wanted to grow.

Arbogast and Carlotta were just stepping through the side door of the shrine house when Rapinoe called out.

“Lord Arbobast,” he said simply, walking up to the older pair. Rapinoe ducked his head in respect, then looked up at the man. “Does the new bathhouse require much new woodwork?”

It was drizzling a sennight later when Rapinoe emerged from the shrine with all his belongings bundled in a pack on his back. Leaning on him for support was Jost, one of the remaining injured locals the shrine had tended. Rapinoe helped him hobble the short distance from the door to a small cart that waited outside. Rapinoe had built it the day before, to aid in transporting the infirm man safely to the new bathhouse. Once his passenger was settled into the awkward conveyance, Rapinoe turned to look over the shrine one last time. From the door Carlotta watched, then leaned aside as Rina squeezed through the door and joined Rapinoe at the cart. The two waved goodbye to Carlotta, who watched for a moment as they headed down the muddy street for the docks. The next time Rapinoe looked back, the door was closed.