Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

After the first four turns, Servius finally sighed and put out an arm to stop Duran from leading. “You don’t know where you’re going at all, do you?”

“What?” Duran tried to sound offended and confident, but it mostly just sounded like he had something stuck in his throat. He coughed, once or twice. “I- well- there’s got to be a fountain somewhere.”

“There’s no need for all the fuss.”

The streets were clean here, which was a little bewildering. Duran had started to think of that as a sort of myth, or impossibility. As a result, they were leaving streaks of footprints behind. One spongy track for the stocking; one tread for the boot; and a series of drips, for the point of Servius’s sword.

He hoped no one was looking for them. They would be very easy to follow.

“We can just sneak into the temple of Teuthida,” said Servius. He pointed straight ahead. It was a massive, pale building. The first thing Duran thought was that it had contracted some sort of disease, like ivy made of stone had somehow grown onto the building. Then he blinked and realized it was carved tentacles, popping out with suckers added. He shuddered. He wasn’t sure he liked the overall effect. As the lanterns flickered, the tentacles seemed to almost move.

“They’ve got a big central fountain,” said Servius. “And I’ve got it on good information that those Priests are old and boring. They won’t be awake.”

They didn’t really have Priests back home- everyone took turns maintaining the temple- but based on the Priests he’d met so far, Duran didn’t think any of them would be awake late. He nodded in agreement, after staring at the tentacles for a moment longer, and followed Servius to the temple.

It was arranged in a semi-circle around the fountain. The fountain itself was large and shallow, big enough to contain the Inn back home. A central raised platform spurted water out, increasingly large copper bowls letting the water fall before it all dispersed into the outer rim of the fountain and seeped back into the ground. The only indication that it was one of Teuthida’s fountains were the symbols inscribed into the bowls and the marble itself. Duran knelt down to stare, at the intricate eyes, before he felt a flick at the back of his neck.

“You going to stay and stare?”

“Oh, sorry!”

He flushed and stood up. “I haven’t been- my hometown, it’s rather close to the other main temple-”

“I can tell. You speak like you’ve got a bag of oats in your mouth.” Servius wrinkled his nose. “You haven’t been up there before?”

Duran shook his head. “Why would I? I haven’t dedicated myself to her.”

“Well, if this actually saves me, I’ll dedicate myself. Truth be my master,” said Servius. As he pulled off his tunic, Duran turned to peer in the windows of the temple instead. He could see faint candles, flickers of light-

Voices. He ducked beneath the window, back against the wall. Servius turned, a faint movement in the fountain. Duran put a finger up to his mouth and raised both brows.

He could hear voices filtering slightly through the wall.

“Of course… what a damned mess. Heard it didn’t go well at the festival.”

“Why would it have gone well?…told him to keep it more private. That man has an ego the size of the astral colony.”

“Has she said…”

“It’s a lockdown. We should know nothing. And you’d best keep it that way.”

Duran stretched to hear more, but the voices were already disappearing, trailing down a stone hall with the footsteps to follow. He hunched down, heartbeat pounding. What hadn’t gone well at the festival?

He couldn’t help but think of the man on the stage, yelling about the law. But that couldn’t be it, at all. The Priests of Teuthida would want Andrena to be avenged. They were on the side of truth, of Justice. Of the Gods.

He closed his eyes. What would a hero do?

There was still splashing coming quietly from the fountain. He had time. Duran turned onto his knees and crept quietly towards the door he could see, an archway carved with twisting tentacles that led into the central temple. He heard a quiet objection from Servius, but before he could hear any more of it, he was inside and the door was closed behind him.

Duran had only been in one temple of a major god before this. This one smelt considerably less of ash. He shivered at the draft. The windows were all aligned so that the light shined straight through, and the roof was pierced with skylights. It gave the dappled effect of being in a forest or maybe being underwater, suspended in stone.

He missed the clearing at home, where every god got a stump and you prayed the best you could. This was… too big. Too remote. He pulled back against the door and looked left, then right. Where would the priests be? He couldn’t hear their conversation anymore, only a few empty echoes. There were lights lit, doors to rooms at both ends of the semicircle.

Across from him was what looked like the main alter. Teuthida had been depicted as a woman with ten arms, two tentacles. At her two neatly curled feet had been left what looked like piles of jewels. All clear and shining.

She stared down at him with a knowing smile and eyes that seemed to follow him as he walked to the left, footsteps echoing.

As he approached the doorway, he slowed, trying to avoid any shafts of light and finally pressing his ear to the stone. He couldn’t hear anything inside. There was quiet. Then-

A snore. An inhale, a drag of breath. An exhale. Duran bit his lip and tried for the doorknob. It was unlocked.

A temple, in the center of the city, and they left their front door unlocked as they slept? Along with the room to their bedchambers?

Duran pulled the open, closing his eyes to force them to adjust before opening them again. The door opened easily at first, revealing a few rows of beds with dark shapes curled up. One at the back had shoulders rising and falling evenly, the snore loud enough to wake the dead.

There was nothing else. No evidence. A few paintings had been done on the wall, Duran thought, but it was darker in here than in the rest of the temple. He hadn’t realized some priests stayed at a temple.

He thought of Servius, outside in the fountain, and froze in sudden panic. He reached to close the door. Moving too fast, the hinges squealed in complaint.

Duran stopped moving. The snore cut off mid-rattle.

The key was to not move quickly. Duran pushed one edge of his boot back. Then another. Once he was clear of the door, movement by movement, he inched it closed. As it was a hairsbreadth from closing, he finally heard it- the snoring resumed.

His shoulders fell in relief.

Behind him, as he turned, the empty hallway still stretched out. Half of the temple left.

He found himself rushing across to the other half. There was still one more chance to be a hero. One more chance to find something interesting, something Madam Elysia might like.

He pressed his ear to the doorway. No sound. Where had the priests been going? He squinted towards the rest of the temple. He couldn’t see any other doors, any other passages. He swallowed.

He had to be brave. He had to try. He pushed down the handle and pulled open the door.

It was boring!

He almost cried out in frustration before he remembered that he was in the silent temple. All that there was, hidden in the other room, was what looked like a sensible room full of books and a desk with a quill and a letter upon it. He stomped his foot and considered leaving before deciding to at least look around in the drawers.

Maybe there was a secret document, or some spirits. He wasn’t entirely sure what spirits were, but everyone didn’t want him to have them, so he was sure they must be good.

He bent down and started rattling at different desk drawers. Most of them came open easily. One book held accounts- boring! Another one had a list of dedicants - Boring, boring, boring!

The third drawer was locked. Duran frowned, looking at it. He wanted to look at the locked drawer. If this was really an adventure, he’d be able to pick locks. But all he had was a sword.

Duran looked at the sword. He looked at the desk.

He couldn’t really break the drawer. That would be rude, and also Madam Elysia would be mad at him. Probably Teuthida would be mad at him, too.

Duran licked his lips. The other temple had burned down, though. Maybe it would all be fair?

Before he could be doubted, he pulled out the sword and bashed the drawer once, twice, with the hilt. Then he stopped, listening in the silence to hear if anyone would come to yell at him.

Nothing!

He had succeeded. He was a hero. He pulled the splintered drawer open, grinning. Then his face fell.

Letters. All there were were letters. Who cared about letters? He couldn’t even see who they were from or who they were to, the handwriting was so cramped and blurry.

“Hey!” Came a whisper from outside. “Are you done or not?”

A failure, again. Duran sighed. He grabbed the top few letters and stuffed them in a pocket, then stood up. “I’m done,” he said. He closed the broken drawer, then closed the door neatly behind himself. He stepped out into the courtyard, brushing himself off. “Are you ready?”

Servius was still dripping and a little muddy, but he was definitely more presentable now. He sighed. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Servius!” They both turned at the sound of the voice. It was a well-dressed lady, her skirts held up to allow her to run, her hair in disarray.

“Mother,” he said, with some dismay.

“Duran.”

“Madam Elysia!” Duran grinned. She folded her arms.

“The Fountain of Teuthida!” Apis pointed a finger. “Someone’s- someone’s coated it in mud!”