The Lover's Curse

Chapter 4: The Bard's Song

I step outside on a beautiful late summer's day. It's only the early afternoon, but after the day I've had, it feels much later. I breathe in the fresh air, glad to leave my stuffy home. The sky is clear and blue, and the temperature is pleasantly mild. I spot the great temple of Valeia glimmering in the distance, looming over the surrounding buildings. It's there that I'll find Joan, so I set out. I'm in no rush, and I take my time enjoying the weather as I weave between my fellow pedestrians with practiced ease, taking shortcuts when possible. I detour around the market, wanting to avoid the heavy foot traffic, passing several small shops on a narrow street just outside the market square—a street I seldom pass through. There's an apothecary, several artisans, and a small boutique that catches my eye. The store is small but better maintained than the others on this strip. The stone is clean, and a fresh coat of vibrant purple paint colors the wooden trim and door. A hanging sign above the door reads the Purple Pansy; it, too, is purple. Through the large window, I glimpse vibrant colors and shiny fabrics. I'm intrigued, but I have somewhere to be—I'll have to visit another time.

I quicken my step and soon reach my destination. Valeia's temple is grand, grander than any other temple in the city,
. It sits atop a small hill, with a wide set of stairs leading to the temple's two massive bronze doors. The main chamber is tall and circular, lined with towering columns, with a huge domed roof made from gold that shines in the afternoon sun. My mother believes that it was built on the foundations of a previous elven structure. I bound up the short steps, three at a time, and then I pass through the massive doorway, each at least twenty feet high, and into the main chamber. It's circular and open. The floor descends downward in wide rings of red and white marble to a massive statue of Valeia, looking beautiful and fearsome. She stands tall and muscular, wielding her famed sword in one hand and holding a rose in the other. Her face is stern but not cruel, and her eyes seem to follow me as I search for Joan.

My search is difficult, as the other priests dress in the same red tunic as Joan. Many of the countless priests scurry about carrying scrolls and supplies; the other priests kneel in front of their Goddess in prayer. Twice, I called to someone, mistaking them for my friend. Joan doesn't seem to be in the main hall, so I ask a group of kindly old women if they can help me find her. No one knows except one taller woman, who points me to the library, a large, square room that offshoots from the main structure. I thank them and go on my way. I pass through another pair of large bronze doors into the library. Inside are rows and rows of tall shelves lined with dusty tomes. The air is thick with the smell of leather and parchment. Large windows let in ample natural light, though there are still several lanterns placed at even intervals throughout. The many tables and chairs are filled with scholars and priests engrossed in their studies. I peek around a few rows before I stumble upon Joan in quiet conversation with a lanky old man with a long beard. She sees me approaching and politely ends her conversation with the man who takes his leave.

"Hello, Joan," I say in a low voice, not wanting to disturb anyone. "Find anything useful?"

She shakes her head, making her loose curls bounce. She has a mildly frustrated look on her face. "No. No, I didn't. They all say the only passage into the catacombs is through the White Tower, and the mages would never let us in."

"Well, you were talking to the wrong scholars. I spoke with the foremost expert, my mother. She's been down there before and has some information you'll want to hear." My tone is a bit facetious, though my words catch her attention. I don't elaborate. My mother doesn't have the closest relationship with these priestly scholars, and I wouldn't want any of them eavesdropping. I mouth the words: "Not here" and make a small gesture toward the door. She catches my meaning.

As we avoid bumping into a group of young acolytes, she asks the question I have been dreading. "So... are we going to talk about last night?" She nudges me with her elbow.