Chapter 38: A Temple Built on Honor

In the wake of Ronan and Scindo’s clash, the soft wind blew calmly on the grassy hills.

Day had begun to break, but as the group traveled on towards The Temple of the Seahorse, they could still hear the festive cheers and praise ringing out from within the stone walls.

Ike nudged Clove and gave her a soft smile.

“And I thought the Butterflies knew how to throw a good party,” he said.

The morning sun that was the same color of rust on an ancient blade had begun to edge over the night’s dark clouds, and the lighting made the smirk Clove returned to Ike exceptionally beautiful.

She grabbed his hand, knowing that the two of them together would give each other the strength to tackle whatever awaited them ahead.

Maritza had made a timid attempt for Ronan’s hand too, though she didn’t quite make it in time. Ronan took a sip of the rum Scindo had handed him, and Maritza’s hand fell flat by her thigh, making her feel all the more lonely and isolated.

The one thing that set her apart from everybody else in her world was that she had abilities from The Shroud. She had thought she was unique, that she was going to fulfill an ancient prophecy, that she was some kind of fated chosen one.

With Scindo in the mix, it only confirmed to her that not only was she not special whatsoever, all the other Nightblades utilizing The Shroud’s powers did so with better success than she did. And on top of that, Scindo had identified Ronan as the leader of the group, not her. She was filled with mixed emotions; while she was glad that Ronan had been gaining more strength, she was upset that she felt outpowered, outmatched, and lesser.

There was a time where she felt as though she had been protecting him, and now it seemed like he was protecting her.

Ronan held the rum bottle out in front of her and whispered her name gently, but she didn’t hear his words. She only thought of her father, and his final days, plagued with angry drinking and manic shouting.

Had he hung himself because The Shroud was taking him over, turning him into a Black Blade soldier?

Would that be her fate as well?

Maritza snapped to and heard Ronan say, “I know you prefer wine, but I think this rum might be up your alley too.”

Maritza accepted the brown bottle, saw the orange morning sun reflect in the glass, and tried to empty her mind.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She took a big swig, choked, and coughed.

“Easy there, Black Butterfly,” Scindo laughed. “I brew that mix myself. It’s meant to knock you on your ass.”

Martiza passed the bottle to Ike, and asked, “Will the Seahorse Nightblades take our claims seriously if they’re all well into their cups with that stuff?”

Scindo tossed the rum bottle’s cork up and down in his hand and replied, “Believe me you, the Seahorses take their monster hunting work very seriously. And again, I mean no offense in saying that while you Butterflies have been locked away, annexed out of our trade routes and undispatched from our communication officers, you’ve really got no clue what’s truly out there, and what we’ve been taking care of.”

There was a seriousness to his tone that seemed to silence even the calm winds.

Clove gripped Ike tighter and asked Scindo, “What sort of monsters have you been fighting?”

Scindo arched his brow beneath his tricorn hat, and his long indigo hair concealed half his face when he said, “Well, my dear. Hellsworn abominations, of course.”

The rum bottle was passed to Scindo next and he took a fierce gulp.

“Rest assured,” Scindo said, “We’ve been on top of things, fending off the Black Blades wherever possible, and sailing to those in need.”

Ronan straightened up at Scindo’s words. Although he looked like a swindling buccaneer, Scindo was the first Nightblade to speak like how Ronan had imagined the Nightblades should.

Perhaps he and his friends would fit in well with the new temple after all.

Scindo continued with a shrug and said, “But these aren’t your thoughts for this evening. The success of the Seahorse regiment has always been to work hard, then to play hard. The Black Blades are nowhere close to us, and we’ve got ample time to train you all into proper combatants.”

More of the rising orange sun struck the sides of the temple, and it was a view to behold. Upon closer inspection, the walls were not made of typical stone but some shimmering cerulean rock. Bright red and pink bands of coral as tall as Augustate cottages were dug into the ground and burrowed at an angle. A large sharp tip on the coral would greet any attacker attempting a siege.

Banners the color of clear ocean water flapped in the gentle breeze, and on their weathered fabrics were the images of giant purple seahorses.

The temple itself was three times the size of the Butterfly temple, and so much larger than The Temple of the Serpent that Ronan had no means in which he could compare it.

Through and through, Ronan finally felt as though he was home.

At the gate, Scindo banged on the big blue doors with his ice lance.

On the other side came abundant laughter.

“Scindo?” a woman asked. There was a slight slur to her deep voice.

“Yes, love,” Scindo said. “Tis I. Our new friends passed my tests.”

A series of bolts and locked clanked open, and the gate along with them.

Standing at the gate’s mechanism was a gorgeous woman with flowing hair the color of the darkest red wine beneath a scuffed white bandana. She wore a white bodice that was half untied, and brown leather trousers. Like Scindo, a pant leg was torn, and above her tall boot and on her shin was a Mark of the Seahorse.

“Ilia,” Scindo said, wrapping an arm around her waist and bringing her close. “Can you please get our friends a meeting with the council.”

Ronan and his friends noticed that Ilia was Scindo’s height and of an incredible stature, and also that a little beyond the gates was an enormous campfire with music and dancing. Each participant was dressed in similar garb as Scindo and Illia, and were of equal height and musculature.

Ronan smirked.

This was a tribe of WARRIORS.

Ilia kissed Scindo quickly on the lips, looked down at the group and their Seahorse markings, then said, “You stink of rum, and your tiny friends here haven't even a drunk sheen to their eyes.”

She slapped Scindo’s shoulder playfully, yanked the bottle of rum from his hand, and shouted, “And you’ve been digging deepest into this bottle, no doubt?”

She tossed it and the remains of rum inside into the fire pit. The bottle exploded and a fireball flew into the air, knocking several dancers to the ground. Everybody cheered and applauded the ruckus.

“Get this group good and drunk!” Illia called out, tugging Ronan and his friends into the compound by their arms.

The next thing they knew, they each had a bottle of something potent in their hands, along with thick skewers of scallops, mussels, and big bowls of watercress drenched in oil, vinegar, and chopped shallots.

“Get them some proper attire, too,” Scindo shouted. “How they made a journey from The Temple of the Butterfly in such impractical clothing is beside me.”

“A testament to their strength!” roared a man with a burly beard sitting on a scrap of a ship’s mast. In fact, the communal area of the compound seemed to be built around a capsized ship, and its fallen wooden pieces converted into an area to gather in.

The bearded man continued, “They might be puny Butterflies, but they’re with us Seahorses now!”

Puny couldn’t even be taken as an insult, for with the exception of Ronan, each Seahorse Nightblade was simply of a far sturdier build than Ike, Clove, and Maritza.

Everybody around the fire stomped their feet, clapped their hands, and passed over more food and drink. As they did so, Ronan observed that many of them had high tally marks on their legs, indicating that nearly each Nightblade around the fire was a Master.

“Good on you,” Illia said to the group, “for ditching that miserable excuse of a Nightblade temple. Here, we actually complete bounties, not just sit on our asses talking about how legendary we all are.”

The words hit Maritza particularly hard.

Was she far less experienced in the world than she had thought? She nibbled on a scallop, but the smell of it made her sick. She felt a little better when Ronan put his arm around her shoulder.

“What brings you all here?” the bearded man asked. “A life of real adventure?”

The Seahorses Nightblades burst into a drunken laughter, slapping their knees and nearly falling over their seats.

“We want to help defeat the Hellsworn,” Ike said.

The laughter stopped and the Seahorses focused on him.

“The Temple of the Serpent,” Ronan said, “the temple that I hail from, was besieged and completely destroyed by the Black Blades. To my knowledge, I’m the only survivor.”

A wave of seriousness fell over the campfire, and the Seahorses all shared looks of grief, concern, and protectiveness for the newfound Trainees.

“I’m sorry about your temple,” Ilia said.

“We heard rumors that a Nightblade temple had fallen,” Scindo added. “But we didn’t know that it was true.”

Illia guzzled down rum from a clear bottle, wiped her mouth with her wrist, and looked at Ronan.

Her eyes were a rich amber, like Scindo’s, and she had a long scar from the bridge of her nose and down to her chin.

“If it’s revenge on the Black Blades that you seek,” she said, “then you’ve come to the right place.”