They called it the template of life and death. Apparently, this city housed temples to all the different gods, including some questionable ones who must have been made up if you asked someone who knew better. It was both a terrifying and hopeful place. The city, that is. 

The template. How does one say it politely? Were they not overdoing the death vibe? Aside from the gothic black rock wall carved with ridiculously detailed scenes, there was an inner tall pointed cathedral, a metal double-door gate, a gate attendant in a dark robe, and lining the inner wall… were those square holes filled with skulls?  

The knight led them to a smaller closed door to the side. Here a guard leisurely lounged on a chair. 

“As a knight of the realm I ask for your services,” their knight announced. 

He pulled out a carved piece of wood and showed it to the guard.

“Marcus Sullivan, is it? Again?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“What about them,” the guard said, pointing to Keenin’s group. 

“They are in my care.”

The guard gave them a distasteful look and took a notebook from his pocket to make a record. He showed this to the knight Marcus. 

"Sign here and we will send you the bill. And if you fail to make all the installments we reserve the right to send assassins. Agreed."  

Keenin saw the words 200 gold pieces written on the page and suddenly realized that their little group might not get paid, but he didn’t dare say anything. Of course, Marcus accepted. He painted his identification block with ink and pressed it to the paper. 

“I’m sure you remember,” the guard said unlocking the door, “Leave the deceased here and enter through the main gates.”

The open door revealed a cold room  lined with beds on which shapes were covered in sheets. Two red cloaked figures waiting on either side. Marcus handed over an urn. 

*

They stood to the side trying not to comment, as a priest murmured prayers over the deceased body of a young woman. The body was on a circular patch of purple flowers, held by silent praying family member. Regular worshipers and others in similar circumstances stood around the area in a circle. At some point a donkey was gently guided out on a rope and led behind a sheer curtain. It was humanly dispatched and after a few minutes more the damaged corpse started to mend, fingers twitched and hazy eyes opened. The family member burst into tears and held their dear person closer while calling their name, but this newly alive woman was either too tired or mentally damaged to react. 

The priest gently escorted the family and helped carry the dazed woman to a quiet place before returning. 

“Alas…” the priest started speaking again.  

Keenin’s attention has shifted to a pair of sapphire stones set as the eyes of a tall cloaked statue positioned in the left back corner. It was positioned with hands up and palm open as though waiting to receive something and it looked to be smiling. He thought back to the piercing blue eyes he had seen amid the library fire. 

Keenin heard a sharp snap and rattle of a chain. The next donkey had fallen to the ground dead. The statue remained hands outstretched, expecting. He felt strange about this. This pose, who chose it?

“Out…”

?

"Look out.”

He was yanked backwards. A falling object blurred his vision. Quickly covered by a body that stepped ahead. Sound of metal shaking reverberated. There was something wet on his face.

Everything was quiet. He sat. A weight on his lap. In front the circle of purple flowers was stamped by a huge chandelier. A broken urn at the center leaked ashes. 

Screams and sobs were now filling his ears. He touched his face and his fingers came away red. A cold hand painfully gripped his shoulder. The chandelier was tossed. It cracked death’s statue and nearly hit the priest. 

Even when Clide lifted an injured Dia and walked for the door, Keenin’s mind hadn't caught up. Then as ash began to float up Keenin stumbled to his feet  and ran after his friends. 

“Wait…wait… is she…” 

He hit the solid wall of Clide’s back as they stood in an alleyway. The dragon looked at him with irritation, then sighed. Dia’s eyes flutter open.  

“Hey. What did I miss?”

“Our clothes are ruined,” Clide said simply. 

“Eh hem.” The throat clearing had them all glance to the alleyway entrance where the knight Marcus stood. 

“You…” Clide began. 

“Ah, I’m not here to expose secrets. Goodness knows I have mine,” Marcus said. “Before you go let me pay you.” 

“For what?” Clide asked further. “Aren’t you broke?”

Markus took a medallion from his pocket and handed it out. 

“For helping Murphy, for my horse, of course. Take this. It will let you buy on credit and use my name to gain the aid of others.”

“For…your dead horse?”

An unhurried clip of hoves came to a pause when the white head of a horse joined behind Marcus. “A man always repays his debts.”

Marcus tossed the medallion and it clinked on the ground near Keenin’s feet. “Keep it.” 

He affectionately rubbed the horses nose and, as they walked off, a conversation could be heard. 

“The horse spoke, right?” Dia asked.

“Impossible.” 

*

“This one?” Dia said, holding up a blue dress with ruffles and laces. 

“Considering we might have to walk, that might be heavy,” Clide noted.

“Isn’t this too expensive,” Keenin added. 

The shop may have accepted the token, but wasn’t the guy that gifted this broke?

“Who cares? It’s not our money,” Clide stated. “Don’t they say don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“What does that even mean? What if that token is fake? Will they arrest us?” Keenin muttered. 

“It means. Don’t judge it.” 

Keenin flipped through a rack of sale shirts.

“Would you like some help?” the store clerk asked him.

“I’m just looking,” Keenin told her. 

The store clerk smiled a tad crookedly. She must not have been too happy to have some dirty kids in her store. 

“Can I try this on?” Dia asked the clerk.

Keenin saw the pure white dress in her hands and nearly choked, but managed to hold it in. He pulled a shirt and mumbled more to himself, “That better not be expensive.”

As he tried to ignore the overspending of his new friends, he realized he liked this shirt. A black shirt that had the sleeves cut off like a vest, but it was a turtleneck. It reminded him of a knight's under armor. He looked to the single change room, then sighed and simply changed his shirt on the spot, pulling off the loose white one.  He managed to pull his head through the new one before Dia tossed the curtains of the changing room open.

She wasn’t wearing the white dress, instead a long sleeve dark blue gown with puffed shoulders, buttons up the front, and a slightly fanned skirt graced her figure. Perhaps it was meant to be graceful and adult but he thought of one thing… a rich nanny.

“Eh-he-hem,” the store clerk said. 

Keenin pulled the fabric of the shirt over his chest then he turned to the clerk. 

“Do you have any shoes?”

A hand landed on his shoulder that gave Keenin goosebumps. He looked at Clide’s stern face. 

“I’m getting us food. Nothing better happen while I’m gone.”

He left before Keenin could protest. He weirily rubbed his face. What even had happened? He peened at Dia between his fingers. She didn’t look injured.  Had she really protected him when the chandelier fell? 

A grandmother and a younger girl entered the shop as Dia fussed over a more appropriate light yet sturdy travel dress. Soon they could hear the grandaughter coaxing the older woman to visit a cheaper shop. “Grandma, it’s fine. The cheaper dresses look cute too.”

Dia finally approached the store clerc, having changed into a modest green and yellow sundress. As he tied up a pair of brown boots Keenin heard her whisper about paying for the other girl before Dia seemed to remember he was there. “Keenin, let's go.”

The door to the shop closed behind before he could react. He signed, apologized to the store clerk, and found Dia outside the shop, shading her eyes and looking down the street. 

“Clide said he was getting food.”

Dia dropped her hand and leaned against the side of the building. It was a familiar scene. Watching the world move past as he remained still. Little difference lay in the complexity of the people, their wildly varying fashions and beliefs, also reflected in the multitude of murals and statues of gods. 

“Why did you pay for that girl?” Keenin finally asked. 

“That is… she reminds me of my sister.” 

Her sister? He probably should ask.

“Keenin.”

“Hmm.”

“Are you not curious about me?” 

He didn’t look at her and she didn’t look at him as though through mutual understanding. 

“Do you want me to ask?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you ok?”

“I…”

He closed his eyes. “Is Tess still here?”

“Yes. Keenin is she-” 

My girlfriend? Trying to kill me? Am I cursed by a god?

“I’m sorry you have to see that, but I don’t want to talk about it. Do you want to talk about why you arn’t ok? Is it the ghosts?”

It wasn’t fair to her, or anyone, but how could he say that he wasn’t supposed to be here. That this was like an extended dream or nightmare.

“Yes. In part it is. Because I'm an Esmer. I’m similar to those people who return to life in that temple, but it wasn't a goat that sacrificed itself. It was my little sister. This body was supposed to be hers. Now I don’t have a choice in my life or my death. My life will end the moment hers was meant to.”

Keenin watched the people passing and slightly turned his head to see her examining the palm of her hand. I’m sorry.