No Land for Princes(s) (ONC2024 Entry)

Chapter Four: Only if for a Night

As the rain storm grew even worse, Jieun and Chaleek searched the abandoned shrine. The building was small, built to house a couple of monks and a carved effigy of The Four Winds in a swirling dance. Its storeroom, likely once full of incense and oils, had been demolished when the roof collapsed. They couldn't get into the room and the cold rain made a mess of the hall beyond. Whatever salvage might have survived the collapse was beyond their reach. That left the main room, wet and covered in fallen leaves blown in by the elements, and the monks' personal quarters.

To Jieun's relief those quarters held a simple bed and a dry floor covered by thin wicker mats. A wooden door separated the room from a narrow passageway connecting it to the shrine proper. It gave the space a buffer against the storm. There had probably been a similar space connected to the storeroom, but the collapse left it inaccessible.

Under the monks' bed, they found a few robes. Too big for Chaleek and too roomy for Jieun, they were warm and, more importantly, dry. He left her to change in privacy. The room was warmer than the rest of the shrine, designed to keep the monks comfortable throughout the year. Jieun peeled off her wet clothes and put them in a pile at the foot of the bed. She looked down at her body; slim and lithe. A form fit for a prince or a serving girl. Worried Chaleek might find her and learn her secret, she pulled on the monk's too large robes. As an afterthought, she slid her knife into one of the sleeves.

Distant singing wafted into the room, a sweet sound that pleased her ears. Fully dressed, she left the room and followed the sound back to the shrine proper. The singing stopped abruptly just before she turned the corner and found Chaleek working on a small fire within a brazier behind the effigy to The Four Winds. He looked up from the burgeoning embers and smiled. He'd changed into his own dry robes and had hung up his wet tunic between the back of the effigy and the brazier so it would benefit from the heat. His knees were dirty and the marks on the floor suggested he'd been kneeling. He may have been trying to hide it, but it was clear he'd just been in communion with the divine.

Jieun knelt beside the brazier, watching him through the growing flames and appreciating the differences between the Switang and Ngun-Mwari style of praise. Before the first King on High united The Lands of Gale, the only thing binding its disparate peoples was the worship of a single deity and his four aspects. Some called them angels, some called them aspects, some called them by their cardinal points, but all knew them as The Creator's hands upon the world of men.

Jieun's people whispered to the points and pleaded with the divine. Chaleek's people sang their praises and thanked god for the boons he might provide.

"You have a beautiful singing voice," she observed. His pitch was surprisingly higher, in contrast to his deep and brusk speaking voice. "I think I'd love to hear it reciting one of Sheba's Epics."

"I do not sing in public," he responded sharply. "I– you know of Sheba's Epics?"

"Yes, A visiting dignitary from your land brought a written copy as a gift to Prince Kkachi." Jieun chided herself, having decided to put distance between herself and the prince, she mentioned him at the first chance she got. She continued before he could speak. "He had a number of the castle staff sing verses for him," she said in a rush.

"That was fortunate for you. Sheba's Epics are considered the greatest stories of the fourth age. In my land most children learn them before they learn the sword."

"So you could sing them for me?"

"No!" His cheeks darkened and he scrunched up his face. The sudden shift turned his handsome features almost pretty. "I can recite some for you... if you'd like, but don't ask me to sing, sister."

"I won't. I'm sorry." They locked eyes for a moment, then Chaleek looked away.

"If you bring me your wet clothes, I will arrange them on my makeshift line. Hopefully by morning they will be wearable again." His tone hadn't softened, but his expression had lost its edge.