It was a medium-sized, simple room. Two beds, a table and a couple of chairs, a latrine, a wardrobe, two shelves, and a window; nothing luxurious, but pleasant. And undoubtedly better than sleeping under the rain, Áradan thought.
— Several of the messengers haven’t returned yet, so you’ll have a few days to do as you please. I suggest you use them to rest and relax. And as for you, Áradan, you might take advantage of the occasion, remember you’re in the Temple of Wisdom —said Nárfal before leaving.
— I think I will —Áradan replied.
— But first take a bath. You stink —the old man shot back as he walked down the corridor.
He was right. Both of them were covered in sweat and grime. Áradan’s hair was tangled and his clothes caked with dirt. Ísamer was too tired to argue, so he let his companion wash first. Besides, he had something urgent to do.
Things were beginning to improve. That disastrous journey had ended well, fortunately. Would Fágarten know the route they had taken? Áradan believed so. After all, that cursed overlord must have been tracking their every move since they left Égarol. He would rub that mistake in his face every chance he got. And I’ll have to put up with it, he thought, clenching his teeth. But it was worth it. It seemed increasingly likely that something truly important was happening there. Besides, the place itself was incredible.
He stayed in the water for about an hour before deciding it was enough. He had gone a week or more without bathing and missed the relaxing sensation of being clean. He lay back and waited for Ísamer to return to fetch him for dinner. He did not take long to fall asleep.
Fifty people were in charge of caring for the horses, averaging about seven animals each. The Yurus had never specialized in horse breeding, but they often received horses as gifts of gratitude from different peoples, and over time the enormous stable had nearly absorbed the entire eastern wing of the Temple.
However, in recent months more and more Yurus had been leaving the Temple to travel to the various towns of Álgerien that urgently, and sometimes desperately, requested their help. The stables, like the rest of the Temple, had begun to empty slowly; and with the apprentices gone, transformed into temporary messengers by order of the Council, only the oldest horses had been spared a harsh journey.
Now the place was almost deserted, bearing a faintly ghostly aspect. Only the occasional muffled neigh could be heard.
Coen walked slowly and confidently, unconcerned by the complete lack of light.
—So you know it was Nárfal who intervened —he said.
—I suspected it was him. I confirmed it when he received us a few hours ago —Ísamer replied at his side, still unable to match his steps to the old man’s pace.
—Then why are you discussing this with me?
—I want to know how he did it, how he managed to take control of my body.
—If that were truly what troubles you, you’d be speaking to him. There’s something else bothering you.
—Well… —Ísamer hesitated before continuing— I don’t know what would have happened otherwise. If Nárfal hadn’t taken control, I’m not sure I would have had the strength to save him.
—I can’t give you that answer. No one can. What happened, happened. Don’t torment yourself thinking about it.
—But Nárfal acted that way because he doubted me. I disappointed him. Maybe I’m not as capable as I thought.
—Don’t judge his actions. Don’t attempt something you’re not prepared for. Very few of us can grasp, even roughly, the magnitude of Nárfal’s thoughts. It isn’t easy even for me. But I can tell you this: he did what anyone with his abilities would have done. He helped you in a very dangerous situation. Not because he lacked confidence in you, but because there was no need to keep taking risks. You had already risked more than enough.
Ísamer fell silent, feeling the smell of hay thicken the air. The stable retained its warmth even at that early hour. Coen spoke again:
—As for the other thing you wanted to know, it’s one of the medallons’ qualities.
—Really?
—Yes. You already know that protective medallons have many properties, and as you gain experience both in their use and in the practice of Akiops, you’ll learn to recognize and control more of them. Taking control of another body without bending the owner’s will and without causing serious harm is an extremely complex technique. So far, only Nárfal and I have been able to perform it successfully.
—I understand. But how did he know I needed help at that exact moment?
—The medallons are also connected to one another. Every single one of them is linked to the rest through a spiritual network. Sooner or later, when you concentrate, you’ll begin to notice hundreds of tiny lights igniting in your mind—small points of power representing the other Yurus who carry a medallon.
—Even so, identifying a specific bearer and establishing a link as Nárfal did requires an astonishing effort and expenditure of energy, and it is only safe when the distance between the two individuals is not too great.
—I suppose crossing Taretil was a real stupidity.
Coen smiled in the darkness and said:
—Go to sleep. It’s very late.
An intrusive ray of light slipped through the window and forced the Daero to open his eyes. He rose with the typical morning grogginess and headed for the bathroom. He groped for the water barrel, but it was not there. He also noticed a strange, stale smell. He opened the door and stepped out, confused.
Suddenly he froze, rubbed his eyes hard, and looked around. Then he remembered where he was.
He had woken believing he had dreamed of the Yurus, of a great temple and a long journey; believing he was back in his small hut in Égarol. But fortunately, that was not the case.
—What’s wrong? Didn’t you like the wardrobe? —Ísamer mocked, having watched the whole scene from a corner of the room.
Áradan muttered something unintelligible and headed for the bathroom, this time the real one.
—If you hurry and eat quickly, you’ll get to tour the temple with a personal guide —Ísamer said.
—No offense, but I’m a bit tired of wandering around with you —Áradan replied while drying his face.
—Who said I was going? Nárfal offered to show you the place. But if you don’t want to…
—No, no, I do —the Daero said, surprised by his own enthusiasm. Then, in a more measured tone, he added— It’s a good idea. After all, I’ll be staying here a few days. Is he waiting for me? Where is he?
—First get dressed and eat something. Then I’ll take you to Nárfal. He seems very interested in you.
—Did he say anything?
—No, he didn’t say anything. It’s just a guess.
Áradan had put on a pair of deerskin trousers that lay with the portion of their gear that had been salvaged. However, he had not considered bringing extra garments, and the rest of his traveling clothes were still dirty, so he had to borrow a shirt made of a soft, lightweight fabric.
Ísamer accompanied him as promised. They climbed several stairways and crossed a number of halls and corridors until they reached a narrow, well-lit passage. At the far end, seated directly in front of a small door, was a man with his eyes closed and a staff resting between his hands. The two young men approached him.
—It was about time —said the old man.
—I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Nárfal. When I reached the dormitory, my companion was in a period of hibernation —Ísamer said.
—I’m very sorry. I don’t usually wake up as early as you do —Áradan defended himself.
—Pay no attention to him. It took him months to get used to it —said Nárfal—. Well then, enough chatter. It’s time to begin the tour.
—Very well. I hope you enjoy it —Ísamer said.
In the Temple of Wisdom, every corridor connected with two or three others, or more in some cases. Along all of them, on both left and right, there were countless entrances, doors, and stairways. This made the place quite labyrinthine for anyone unfamiliar with the decorations and other details that distinguished one area from another.
Nearly the entire ground floor (except for the eastern wing dominated by the stables) and the first floor consisted of kitchens, dining halls, dormitories, pantries, washrooms, physical training rooms, and rest areas. The second floor was devoted to libraries, meditation chambers, and study halls. The Hall of the Supreme Council occupied the entirety of the third floor.
Nárfal informed the Daero that they would tour only the second floor, which in his opinion was the most interesting. The rest he could explore on his own.
Áradan observed with amazement that on both the first and second floors, most of the walls, columns, arches, and ceilings were covered in ivy. The many windows flooded the vast spaces with enough light for the plant to spread freely.
He also noticed that protective medallons could be found everywhere: peeking out from the ivy, embedded in stone, hanging from lintels, or adorning bookshelves. The old man explained that although to an untrained eye they might appear identical, each Yuru’s medallion was unique and unrepeatable, engraved with singular markings that distinguished it and imbued with the energy of its bearer. The hundreds scattered throughout the Temple were the legacy of Yurus who had already died.
Before the young man’s eyes paraded thousands of scrolls, engravings, relics, statues, paintings, halls, and columns. There was not a single chamber that did not contain at least one bookshelf overflowing with books. Áradan deduced that here the written word must be as sacred as swords were to his people.
Nárfal moved without haste, giving the youth time to orient himself, something he did with remarkable clarity, and taking his own time to conduct a thorough guided visit, for the old man knew the history of every object and every hidden corner.
In Áradan’s opinion, everything there was astonishing. Yet there was one item in particular that caught his attention.
In a corner beside an immense library packed with leather-bound books and volumes with silver or golden covers, there stood a cedar table carved with incredible mastery. But it was not the table that drew the Daero’s gaze, it was what rested upon it: a small fragment of jade, lying there as if it were of no importance at all.
—What is it? —Nárfal asked, noticing his interest.
—Oh, nothing. I was wondering what the story behind that gem might be.
—Oh, that? Bah. It’s just a piece of the temple’s dome. Even the most solid structures begin to suffer the effects of time after a few millennia. To focus on that when there are so many interesting things here, you really don’t have a good eye, my boy.
—I’m sorry, I thought… I thought that if it was kept in this place… —Áradan fell silent, feeling foolish and embarrassed.
—I’m only joking —Nárfal said, smiling at him—. It’s curious that you should take interest in that particular little jewel. It is perhaps the most valuable object in this temple.
—Really? Why? —Áradan suspected the old man was teasing him.
He took a few steps toward the table and noticed a strange heat that seemed to intensify as he approached. He extended a hand and felt as though he were about to plunge it into a bonfire.
—Be careful. You wouldn’t be the first to suffer an unpleasant accident. That piece of jade is one of the eyes of Sáyer, the most powerful dragon ever to soar over Álgerien. It was brought here by Afo the Great, almost a god among the Yurus, who took them because they contain within them all the strength and spirit of the dragon.
—What do you mean, “took them”? There was more than one? —the young man asked, withdrawing his hand.
—Of course. Or did you think it was a one-eyed dragon? Come, let’s sit down. It seems I’ll have to tell you this story from the very beginning —said Nárfal, guiding him toward a small room whose walls were clad in wood.
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