of marine fog that boils toward them from the west. It is a good smell, he thinks, but it is not the forest. Savagery or not, that was the place he called home.
They dawdle around, waiting for Quinlan to return so they can tour the Temple and grounds. Warriors stand around them and stare off at the ocean, looking bored and restless, hardly seeming like the same men who committed a gruesome massacre of their village only days before.
Under the high archway, Quinlan appears. Nisaq walks with his arm around Braylon’s shoulder, fatherly, pulling him close and leaning in so that his whispers are not heard by the others. He gives instructions, gesturing with his free hand and sometimes pointing up at the Temple. Braylon listens pensively and gives small nods.
Quinlan arrives, blinking around absently in the morning sun. Nisaq halts Braylon off to the side to finish his confidential lecture. The deep resonance of his voice carries but the children cannot understand what he says. Braylon looks downcast as Nisaq levels his attention on him.
“Okay?” Nisaq says, as a parent would say to a child after tough discipline has been sanctioned.
Braylon nods. “Okay,” he says in a low, husky voice.
Nisaq gives him a firm squeeze on the shoulder and he is allowed to rejoin the group. The boys move to give him space, almost as if he bears contagion.
“Are you all right?” Aiden asks from a distance, a bit scared of the answer.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Good morning,” Nisaq booms.
“Good morning,” they say.
“I’m going to leave you in Quinlan’s hands today, but first,” he pauses, smiling, “I just want to thank all of you for such a good job at the welcoming. You handled yourselves, and everyone thought you were just wonderful.” He joins Quinlan at the foot of the staircase. “The hard part is over. You’re here. Today should be a simple day, and I’m sure you need that. Quinlan will take you around the Temple, so just relax and listen. I’ll join you later.”
They follow Quinlan up the grand staircase toward the giant redwood doors. Jack looks around as they ascend and off to the left he sees the girls walking the garden paths, led by Ezbeth and Sena. He slows, looking for Lia. She is near the back, walking as gingerly as a little sparrow on the gravel path while a brute killer stands guard beside her. He hopes she will look over, that she will notice him, but she does not. The warrior at rearguard gives him a pat to keep moving and he hops the last few steps and quickly passes through the entrance, looking very tiny indeed next to the massive doorway.
Natural light maps a slanted shape across the floor and illuminates the ground level of the foyer. Colonnades of stout sandstone pillars reach upward, fading into dimness as they stretch to greater heights, and the foyer’s lofty ceiling is obscured by dark shadows, seeming, by some trick of perception, to continue on forever. A row of crude, skinny windows courses along the front facade, and galaxies of dust specks float languidly through the slivers of light. Curved twin staircases envelop the foyer and rise to a lavish balcony. Their mouths drop open and they turn in slow circles, looking up, trying to grasp the enormity of the space.
“Arana Nezra the First started building this Temple thirty years ago,” says Quinlan, acting as their docent. “His son continued building after his death.”
Jack takes Lathan’s hand and walks him to the pillar and they run their fingers over the rough texture. Lathan is either settling down or disconnecting entirely, Jack isn’t sure which. Quinlan guides them straight ahead, down a narrow corridor off the main foyer that runs through the center of the Temple. Jack feels a tug on his sleeve and there is Creston, looking up shyly.
“Will you hold my hand too?”
“Sure, Creston.”
Jack and his new wards travel down the imposing corridor with the other boys while Quinlan rambles on about the illustrious Temple. The walls on both sides are painted with sweeping scenic tableaus that stretch from floor to ceiling. Jack looks on one that depicts the grounds and hillside before any construction began—only a few small huts dot the landscape and the rest is rough, tall grass and craggy boulders, filling the space now occupied by the Temple’s gigantic footprint.
“This was the first village, settled here over forty years ago.”
The mural transforms to chronicle the passage of years. A