Chapter 52: Chapter 52: Shadows of the Past

Chapter 52: Shadows of the Past

Quentin leaned back and tried to get comfortable, but the beetle pulling the cart had a bad limp. Every fourth step forward was jerky, leading to an uncomfortable pattern of three seconds of smooth ride followed by a hiccup that shook the passengers and had them shoving into each other. Sitting between Razia and Lucy, Quentin did his best to anchor himself and let the girls stay close rather than bump into the other passengers. They followed the unspoken rule of trips by beetle: keep to yourself and don’t make eye contact with anyone.

It would’ve been difficult anyway. All three of them wore cloaks and kept their heads down. Quentin was used to it and would’ve done it even if they weren’t worried about venturing into enemy territory, as Razia put it. Razia wore one and was uncharacteristically muted on the trip there because their destination was passingly close to Warlord territory, and she didn’t want to risk it. And Lucy wore one because after several days of healing, her face was still a mess and the poor girl hadn’t wanted people to see her and stare or whisper. Quentin could hardly blame her. So they remained huddled up and stayed mostly quiet for their trip.

“You doing okay?” Quentin whispered to Lucy, who was unconsciously clinging to his side. He was starting to get used to Razia doing that, but it felt strange for the youngest of his new friends to be that close.

She nodded. “I’m nervous,” she said. “What if they refuse? What if they just turn me away and say they won’t help me?”

“Why would they do that? You’ve done nothing to hurt anyone and this is their job. They help people.” Of course, Quentin could think of a few reasons for the temple to not help. All of them were tense for different reasons. He’d had prior experience in the temple district and wasn’t looking forward to reliving it, but it was unlikely Lucy would receive the same treatment he did. If she did, he’d…Razia would probably take care of it. And get them thrown out.

“They have some issues with whores,” Razia whispered from the other side of him. “Apparently providing comfort and companionship to the faithful out of devotion is acceptable, but doing the same thing as a living is dirty.”

Quentin winced. As little love for the temple as Quentin had, it still stung to see Razia’s disenchantment with them. Ever since Sister Sylvia threw Razia out and practically banned her from the grand temple, the subject was a sore one. “But they’re not going to turn you away. They’ll help, and they’ll fix all of the damage. It’ll be like it never happened.” Except, of course, for the nightmares and panic. Still, he was trying his best to stay positive.

Lucy reached up and gingerly touched her face. It wasn’t just the physical damage that left scars, as Quentin well knew. He wouldn’t have blamed her for wanting her looks for her job, but it was more than that. Scars and damage were permanent reminders. This wasn’t about vanity, it was about healing. “I know it’s silly,” she said.

“It’s not,” said Razia. She reached across Quentin’s lap to take Lucy’s hand. “You don’t want to get your hopes up. It’s okay to be nervous.”

Quentin put his hand on both of theirs awkwardly and squeezed. “If they try to say no, I’ll let Razia go after them.” That made Lucy chuckle, at least. They fell into silence for the rest of the ride as the city passed them by. When the cart came to a stop, Quentin hopped over the side immediately. He picked up first Lucy and then Razia, bringing them down to the ground before the driver even left his seat to open the back. They set off together, now in an area Quentin found uncomfortably familiar.

The temple district wasn’t just known for having temples to the nine gods. It was also a place where servants of those gods and the services they offered lived, and where some of the city’s poorest could find a smidgeon of charity and hope in the face of the perpetually hostile environment. Sometimes that was a warm meal and a simple job to get shards in their hands. Sometimes it was low-cost housing for the families of the ill, recovering in the Hearthmother’s long-term hospitals.

As they walked through what was effectively a sub-city, the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up and every one of his instincts was telling Quentin to turn around and go home. He wasn’t welcome here and that was made abundantly clear years ago. Quentin was grateful for the two women clinging to his arms as they made their way through. It was hard to be a coward when they were relying on him for strength. So he suffered in silence, heart beating hard and fast as they arrived at their destination.

The flesh sculptor worked in one of the Pierced Heart’s areas, by far the most numerous among the gods. Orchrisus was, after all, the Pierced Heart’s city. They passed by children playing and acolytes guiding the poor in tending large, outdoor gardens on their way in. Quentin led them into a large building, filled with the sick and injured. Razia craned her neck to get a good look at everyone as they passed, while Lucy just clung tighter.

“Can I help you three?” A handsome priest in his late twenties found them and stopped their progress. His expression was friendly enough, but it was clear he was making sure they were supposed to be there. Without answering directly, Lucy looked up, tentatively lowering her hood. The look on his face changed to understanding. “Ah. What happened?”

Lucy licked her lips and started to speak, but no sound came out. Razia answered for her. “A bad man had her beaten to send a message. She’s missing a few teeth and might have a broken cheekbone.”

The priest clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “You’ve come to the right place, Miss…?”

“Lucy,” she answered, in a tiny voice.

“Well Lucy, I’m Brother Bobby. We’ll get you taken care of.” He smiled at her, taking her hand and leading the three of them down a corridor. A visible wave of relief went through Lucy. She looked back at Quentin and Razia as if making sure they weren’t leaving her. Quentin tried to give her a smile he wasn’t feeling. As welcoming as this place seemed on the outside, he knew better.

They were led into a neat, clean room with a single table, a chair, and a few large mirrors. Brother Bobby turned around and patted the table. “Have a seat Lucy. Can I get you anything to drink?”

She hopped up on the table, cautiously shedding her cloak and immediately shrinking. It would be a while before she stopped doing that, Quentin feared. He knew exactly what that was like and made a note to double and triple check on her later, regardless of how this went. “I’m okay,” she said. “You can fix my face?”

“I can.” He smiled warmly and pointed to the mirrors. “We here at the temple understand what it’s like to be disfigured or not look how you want to, and some of us have practiced and been given the tools to correct this. I don’t know what you looked like before your incident happened, and I can’t promise you that you’ll go back to looking exactly the way you did before, but we can at least give you a new normal. There’s virtually nothing we can’t fix with enough time and effort.”

Quentin snorted before he could help himself. The rest of them turned to face him, and his face heated up at the attention. “Virtually nothing,” he said, unable to help himself.

Brother Bobby cocked his head to the side, getting a better look at Quentin’s face under the cloak. He wasn’t as hidden as he once was, but between the shades and his expression, it sometimes seemed like it accomplished more to hide who he was in plain sight. The priest clicked his tongue. “I don’t believe we’ve had the privilege of meeting, but I think I know what you refer to. We’re not in the habit of undoing gifts from the gods. It wouldn’t be right.”

Rage flared in Quentin, white hot. “Doesn’t stop you from changing most peoples’ appearances if they have the shards, right? I thought the temple teaches that our appearances are all a gift from the gods, every one unique.” He forced himself to relax before his fists clenched so hard he broke something. This wasn’t going to help anyone.

“Quentin,” Razia admonished. She turned to the priest, “I’m sorry, we’re not here to cause trouble. Are we?” She turned back to Quentin sharply. Lucy looked ready to panic. He wasn’t going to screw this up for her. He shook his head and looked away.

“I think I understand a little of what you’re going through,” Brother Bobby said, making Quentin’s blood heat up again. “Sometimes, your body feels like a trap you can’t escape. Some of us are able to change it to suit our inner self, and others can’t. For instance, I was born a woman and it didn’t suit me. That’s within our power to change, over time and with a lot of work. Any work we did on your skin would only be, well, skin deep. We can’t change how the sun burns those kissed by the moon.”

“But you can help me?” Lucy interjected, and Quentin was grateful for it. It wouldn’t do to punch out a priest who was only trying to help. It wasn’t Bobby’s fault he kept saying exactly the wrong thing around him.

The priest turned back to her. “Yes. The hardest part will be regrowing your teeth and settling on a stable look. It will be a bit painful and it won’t be cheap, but you could potentially walk home as your new self if all you need is facial work done. But it really won’t be cheap.”

“Not an issue,” said Quentin through a clenched jaw.

Razia saw the look on his face and decided to help. “How about you tell us what it’ll be and we’ll give you and Lucy some space to get it done?”

Brother Bobby bowed his head. “Twenty aquilos for facial work, mostly due to needing to deal with fixing or regrowing bones. If you can pay half up front --”

Quentin pulled out his purse and fished out four purple 5 aquilo pieces and set them down on the table next to Lucy. “Whatever she asks for, give it.” He made to turn around, but Lucy put her hand on his arm and stopped him. She pulled him close and hugged him tightly around the middle. After stiffening for a second, he hugged her back.

“Thank you, Mr. Q,” she whispered in a thick voice.

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“It’s nothing,” he said. “This was my fault to begin with. The way I see it, I still owe you.” He squeezed one last time before releasing her. He left the room without waiting for a response or acknowledging the other two. His heart was pounding and there was lightning in his veins. It felt like he was in the middle of a fight without a single punch being thrown.

His feet took him back down the corridor and into the foyer, where a couple of acolytes were talking by a statue of a graceful woman dancing. Quentin only realized he was storming his way there when the sounds of his stomps made them look up at him. Looking away from them, he paced in the hallway, focusing on steadying his breathing.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Razia asked, meeting him there just a few seconds later. “You can be broody and grumpy, but you’re usually not hostile. What’s wrong?”

Quentin stopped and gesticulated in the direction of the flesh sculptor, but no words came out. He motioned all around them and a sound came out of his mouth, but they weren’t words. Razia reached out for his hands and squeezed them. He breathed in and out, forcing himself to calm down. It wasn’t working.

“I know you’ve said you’ve had some problems with the temple,” Razia ventured in an even, soothing voice. “Does this have anything to do with that?”

Quentin nodded. He could do that much, at least.

“Did something happen?”

At that, he couldn’t help but laugh, low and harsh. In the large, mostly empty room it echoed menacingly all around them. One of the acolytes took a step back, and then retreated down a hallway at a speed just shy of running away. Immediately, he felt guilty. There he was, the big scary moonkissed unable to get a grip on his emotions. Razia remained patient, and he felt bad for that too. She would’ve been well within her rights to be annoyed with him.

“I,” Quentin croaked, then cleared his throat. “I used to live around here. In the hospital area when my mother fell sick. For about a year.” Exactly one month and three days shy of a year, an unpleasant voice in the back of his mind reminded him.

Razia made a sound of understanding. “And like a lot of the places you’ve lived, people were shitty to you here.”

“Most, but not all,” Quentin admitted. And that was one of the hardest things about it. A measure of kindness found among apathy and cruelty. “Things didn’t end well. I never thought I would come back here, and when we had to take Lucy…” he shrugged, pulling away from her. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

That was an understatement. Being here brought it all back again. The pain, the loneliness, the isolation, the fear. Just standing around in one of the most neutral parts of the complex had Quentin wanting to leave before more memories came flooding back. But it was too late for that now. He wasn’t going to abandon Lucy in what was, according to Razia, enemy territory. It certainly felt like enemy territory.

“I’m not going to say I understand,” said Razia, “because I don’t. I’ve never seen you like this, so I know it has to have been bad. I’ve watched people say some cruel, hateful things to you without you doing much more than staring at them. All I can and will say is that it’s in the past, and it can’t hurt you anymore. Not if you don’t let it. I’m not going anywhere and I’ll help you deal with it in any way I can. We’ll wait it out and go home.”

It couldn’t hurt him again? Quentin wanted to laugh in her face. That implied that it ever stopped hurting. Some things got their claws into you and never let go. No matter how much time passed or who you became, those wounds still bled. How the hell would she know anything about that? Most of her problems were self-inflicted and she just ran away from them. Razia must’ve seen it on his face, because she winced and opened her mouth to speak but didn’t get a chance.

The priestess’ footsteps echoed through the open room, making them both turn around. She was a beautiful woman in her late fifties, austere and statuesque. She wore the multicolored silk wraps of the temple in a way that seemed to cancel out the chaos and make them all seem muted and orderly. With a start, Quentin realized he recognized her and nearly broke down crying immediately. She stopped a couple feet away and considered them.

“My acolytes told me someone was scaring them,” said Sister Maggie in a voice like ice water. “Imagine my surprise when they described you and I realized who it was. It’s been a long time, Quentin Quintius.”

Quentin swallowed hard, but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He just nodded, eyes dropping to the floor. Anything to avoid meeting her gaze. If he looked her in the eyes, she would unmake him, as easy as she breathed. “Sister Maggie,” he choked out.

Razia looked between the two of them suspiciously. Realization washed over her, at least partly. She put herself between the two of them, holding out her hand. “Razia Rashid. How do you know Quentin?”

Sister Maggie smiled humorlessly. “It’s impossible to forget the people who have profaned the temple.”

Razia looked over her shoulder at Quentin. He didn’t meet her eyes either. She didn’t need to know this. This wasn’t something he ever planned on sharing with her. The past was supposed to remain in the past, dead and buried. He never should’ve come along. He should’ve asked Demetrius to go as a bodyguard instead. “I have a tough time believing Quentin ever did such a thing.”

“Believe it.” Sister Maggie sidestepped Razia and got closer. “Quentin is responsible for tainting an acolyte’s training. Roxana never did finish her rites because of you. A promising talent, a faithful celebrant ruined because of your grief and selfishness.”

Quentin swallowed a lump the size of the moon. He tried not to think about Roxana, but it had become increasingly difficult. His hands shook at his sides and his eyes burned, but he forced himself to stay very still. He couldn’t look at Sister Maggie, and now he couldn’t even look to Razia for comfort or help. Shame clung to him, like hot sticky tar. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“And yet you did. And here you are again. Why did you come back, Quentin? You know you’re not welcome here anymore.”

“We’re here because a friend needed services,” Razia said. “Last I checked, your temple was here to serve the people, not exclude them. If you were so worried about not having enough acolytes, maybe you people shouldn’t turn away those who apply.”

Gods no, that wasn’t going to help anyone. Quentin shook his head sharply, but it was too late, the damage was done. Sister Maggie’s next breath was a hiss and she turned a frown that could wither roses her way. “I remember you now. The arrogant child who thought she could just come in and declare her place. With no faith, no dues paid, no service.”

Razia smiled. “With plenty of faith, and a life dedicated to the service. Gods, I can’t believe how narrow minded and judgy you bitches are.”

Quentin let out a choked gasp. His hands shot out and closed on Razia’s shoulders, pulling her to him and trying to warn her from speaking further. Like most warnings, she ignored it. “No,” she said, pulling away and getting right up in Sister Maggie’s face. “There’s no reason why we should be bending over backwards to try to appease these people. You don’t deserve the way she’s talking to you and neither do I. Who the fuck do you think you are, Maggie?”

Sister Maggie radiated pure malice. “An elder sister of the faith, a direct envoy of our god/ess of in between. A faithful vessel of pain and pleasure, guiding those who are lost. What are you, Razia? Some uppity slut. Do you really think the only thing we do is sex? I’d pity you if I didn’t find you disgusting. I want you both out of here. Now. Before I have you removed.”

“We’ll go,” Quentin said quickly, this time actually covering Razia’s mouth. “I’m sorry. We’ll go and never return. Just…Please. Let us wait outside for our friend. We won’t cause any trouble, we won’t talk to anyone, we won’t touch anything. We just want our friend to be healed so we can go on her way. Don’t punish her for our bad actions.”

The priestess considered it. She let out a dismissive hmph. “You will leave this place and wait out by the fountain. Don’t ever let me catch you here again, Quintius. I will not have you ruin any more lives. Stick to your own god and stop interfering with mine.”

Quentin all but dragged Razia out the door. The world was spinning fast enough to make him dizzy but he had enough presence of mind to make sure his friend didn’t make things worse than they already were. They were at the fountain before he realized Razia was talking to him.

“...please let me go, you’re hurting me, I --” Razia rubbed at her wrist as Quentin released her. He collapsed on the lip of the fountain, putting his head down towards his knees and breathing heavily. Razia sat down next to him and tentatively put an arm around him. When he jerked violently away, she settled close but not touching him. She said nothing and just let him be in peace.

It was several minutes of heavy, panicked breathing before Quentin even came close to calming down. He wiped at his face, hoping and praying that Razia wasn’t paying attention to him and knowing he was probably the only thing she was focusing on. She had the good grace to not say anything as he wiped away at his eyes for several minutes. He pulled his cloak around him tighter, wishing he had his old one back. He could properly hide under that one.

“Sister…Sister Maggie is…was…” Quentin swallowed again and again, but the lump wouldn’t go down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then we won’t,” said Razia. “I’ll admit to being curious, but I won’t push.”

Silence fell, and Quentin took the time to calm down. If he had his way, he never would’ve had to deal with this again. It would’ve remained a scar. But with the way things were looking with him and Razia, he was going to have to deal with it eventually. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he repeated, “but I think I have to. But not here. Home. Later.”

“No pressure, Quentin.” Again she put her hand on his shoulder. This time he didn’t duck away, so Razia pulled him in closer for a hug. He leaned over on her, resting his head on hers. And then, before he knew it, the tears came and his entire body shook with barely suppressed sobs. She didn’t say anything or even directly look at him. She let him get it out and after a couple of minutes the hitches in his chest stopped. Razia pulled him in tighter and turned to kiss the top of his head.

“Whatever happened, I don’t believe you were at fault. I’m beginning to think that the priestesses here are all stuck up cunts,” said Razia, a bit too loud for Quentin’s comfort. But they were more or less alone in the square, the few other people keeping their distance. “Can’t believe I wanted to be one of them. We’ll…” She let out a snicker. “We’ll get a statue of the Pierced Heart for the house and run our own little temple without them.”

Quentin snorted. “You just want an excuse to spend more of my money.”

“I sure do! You’re the best patron I’ve ever had. You fund my shenanigans and never ask for anything in return. At this point you not wanting to fuck makes me feel like I’m robbing you.”

His throat tightened again. “This…It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s…This. Sister Maggie is why. At least partly.”

Razia winced and rubbed his back gently. “We’ll talk about it later, whenever you’re comfortable with it. For right now…oh!” Razia jumped to her feet.

Quentin looked up, and all of the past hour became worth it. Lucy walked out towards them with the cloak on her arm, beaming. Her face was fixed up, and she looked mostly like she did before. She still had her sharp, pale cheeks and light pink lips but now they looked a little fuller than they had before. Her bright blue eyes weren’t puffed up or bruised anymore, and her teeth were even straighter than they had been.

“How do I look?” Lucy asked, excitement in her tone.

Razia ran up and hugged her, laughing and the two practically danced in place. “Gods, you look so good! How do you feel?”

“Better,” Lucy answered, sounding surprised at that. “Brother Bobby was so kind the entire time. He…” She continued like that for a while, but Quentin’s mind was in a million different places. They set to walking again, away from the damnedable temple complex and the scars of his past. Those scars were bleeding as they hadn’t in years, and the pain was nearly as bad as when it was fresh.

And it was only going to get worse when he had to talk about it. All he could hope was that Razia wouldn’t hate him or laugh at him for what happened.