center of the smoldering destruction. They are all sitting on the dirt, looking up at the one figure portrayed standing—Arana Nezra the First. He holds in his hands a small bundle, bathed in purple light, with the petite face of a baby smiling down at the onlookers with brilliant blue eyes.
They move further down the corridor. Banners of rainbow light encircle the good people, the gallery of bright faces, each carrying out some necessary task while the evanescent spirit glow swaddles them. The kind old face of Nezra the First watches over them, translucent in the sky, an apparition of everlasting love. The scene is beautiful and joyous. The Temple floats above the ground like a sandstone zeppelin. The boys scan the painted faces, so content and wholesome looking, clinging to their families and loved ones. Their eyes track lower on the painting and at the feet of those good, wholesome people are the bodies of fallen savages—twisted death shapes crushed under the feet of the Temple born.
“The cleansing,” says Quinlan.
A swell of heartache bursts in Jack’s chest as he looks at the spent carcasses, trampled so joyously to death.
Quinlan beckons them forward.
They come to the end of the corridor and find themselves facing directly a huge full body portrait of King Arana Nezra the Second. He stands cavalierly before a backdrop of billowing white clouds and not one, but two suns bathing him in golden light. Sparkling sapphire gemstones are set into his irises and they glimmer in the murky torchfire.
Quinlan opens a side door and harsh light floods in from outdoors, nearly blinding them. They find themselves in the long hallway at the rear of the Temple, near the baths. The heavy sliding door is open and they are led outside, onto the stage of the amphitheatre.
Nisaq stands in a semicircle with several of the Temple’s residents, carrying on about something that has them all very serious.
“Here they are… Quite a display, isn’t it?”
They tell him what he wants to hear and he beams that proud smile back at them.
“We’ll eat, then tour the gardens,” he says, “I just want to take care of this first. These men here will give you your work duties. Listen closely, because tomorrow morning this is who you’ll report to.”
The boys stand in a line and wait anxiously to be called upon. The youngest are assigned to the fields to plant and harvest, William and Creston are to apprentice the metalworks, and lastly, a suntanned and weather-beaten man named Karus steps forward, holding a small slip in his hand.
“This last detail is for the quarry. That’s for the rest of you that’s left. Braylon, Aiden, and Jack. Report to me in the morning after your lessons. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep, it’s going to be a long day.”
The girls huff up the tight spiral staircase, tired from their walk around the gardens and provinces. Sena leads them down a slim hallway toward the kitchen and they enter through an arched side door. The heavy heat of the ovens gusts into their faces, droplets of sweat bead on their small foreheads.
An island of mortared sandstone takes up the center of the enormous kitchen, with pots and pans dangling above it from a bracket chained to the ceiling. Ezbeth leans against the counter, drinking from a stone mug, engrossed in conversation with the head cook. Sena leads in the newcomers, and Ezbeth perks up and addresses them with airy lightness.
“Hello, girls. How did you like your tour of the gardens? They’re pretty, aren’t they?”
“Mmmhmm,” say the girls.
“I’d like you to meet someone, and be nice because some of you will be working with her starting tomorrow. This is Calyn, head of the Temple kitchen.”
“Nice to meet you, girls. Come in, come on in. Don’t be shy in here,” she says, coming around the island, wiping her hands on an apron that covers her wide belly. She pats a couple of them on the head then scoots forward the few who are hanging to the rear. “Do you girls like sweets?”
A few little smiles break out and they nod yes.
“Let’s see, I think I might have a little something for you.” She rummages on a shelf against the side wall and pulls down a little basket full of honey drizzled sweet rolls and distributes them around. “Here you go, darling.”
She hands a roll to Phoebe, a quiet little waif, who takes it politely and starts nibbling. Lia smells hers first, still leery,