Boot in the Door
Five days have passed since their arrival in Rhaz, and it’s only now that Khimi finally shares the news with Ennui. She’ll be spending several weeks traveling across the Desert Cities to ensure Aleyna’s safety. Although she feels a twinge of annoyance for not being told earlier where Lumi and Khimi are running off to, she’s glad that Khimi is taking some time for himself. On top of everything, Khimi also mentions the possibility of bringing Mamir on board to help manage the Rhaz estate if all goes well in Sidi. Mamir has always been a reliable friend, and after all they’ve been through together, Ennui can’t shake the feeling that she owes him something. In preparation for her journey, Ennui spends the last three days meticulously gathering essential supplies from the local bazaar—waterskins, dried meats, and vegetables. It isn’t easy, but she manages to convince Mamir to join them by offering him the chance to operate the Rhaz Estate. His eyes light up at the thought of wealth, and he eagerly agrees to come along.
And now, here they are, miles outside Rhaz, hurtling through the vast desert landscape on a camel-drawn wagon under the cool night sky. The wagon bounces along, while Ennui rubs at her thigh, still sore from the wound Lumi had healed with Rashid’s assistance. But the memory of the pain, of the sharp bolt piercing through her flesh, lingers still.
“Bum leg now, is it?” Mamir asks and pulls on the reins between his cheerful whistles.
Ennui scoffs. “Nothing of the sort,” she replies and sucks her teeth, the phantom pain lingering in her thigh.
“Right, right,” Mamir responds, cocking his brow. “Doesn’t seem like nothing to me,” he says before he begins to whistle again.
Mamir breaks the quiet with his cheerful whistling, but Ennui remains preoccupied with her thoughts. She looks out into the vast expanse of dunes, the two camels pulling their wagon grunt with each step. The canvas covering flaps in the chilly night air, and Ennui runs her finger along the length of her horn absentmindedly, a habit she indulges in when deep in contemplation. She gives Mamir a quizzical smirk from the corner of her eye.
“What’s on your mind?” Mamir asks, returning her gaze with a cheeky grin. “Just spill it out.”
Ennui growls. “Fine,” she mumbles, “it’s something that happened during our trip.”
Mamir whistles. “Must have really been something if it got you worked up…”
Ennui crosses her legs, leaning back against the wooden board behind her. “I had taken a bolt in the thigh. Rashid managed to close the wound and staunch the bleeding—”
“Isn’t the first time you took a hit,” Mamir interrupts. “Remember that time when—”
“That’s not what I’m trying to tell you,” Ennui interjects, growing frustrated. “After that incident, we knew our ship would be overrun by pirates. So we came up with a plan… to reveal Khimi’s true identity and submit ourselves as ransom.”
Mamir raises an eyebrow, surprised by this uncharacteristic behavior from Ennui. “That doesn’t sound like you,” he comments. “Giving up so easily.”
“I was in pain. Losing consciousness,” Ennui explains, her tone softening. “But that’s just it. We didn’t have to give up our problem… vanished.”
Mamir looks intrigued by this turn of events. “Well, now you have to tell me what happened,” he prods, adjusting the linen scarf around his neck. “What do you mean by ‘vanished’?”
“Have you met the aslan?” Ennui asks, her fingers laced together as she thinks. “I’m not sure how to put it into words…” she trails off, pursing her lips.
“What are you trying to say?” Mamir prompts curiously.
Frustration and anger radiate from Ennui as she grips her horns in aggravation. “That idiotic lion, Mamir… he’s been chosen by the gods.”
Mamir’s hums to himself. “Chosen? Like an acolyte?”
“No! Not like a bloody acolyte!” Ennui snaps. “Like… one of those.”
“Chosen?” Mamir’s eyes grow wide. “Like what? A chosen? Like a saint?”
“Yeah, just like that.”
“Bloody hells,” Mamir mutters, wiping his brow of the sweat that appears abruptly. “Bloody fucking hells.”
They both fall silent as the cool desert wind blows against their faces. Pulling their scarves up to shield their wind-burned cheeks, they each retreat into their own thoughts. The silence is broken when Mamir speaks up again.
“Well… what did he do, this aslan?”
“He blew them up.”
“Blew them up?” Mamir asks, his voice muffled by the dark-colored scarf. “What d’ya mean? I’ve never seen Hollgrehenn do anything of the sort…” His voice drops to a whisper, “Ain’t seen Holl do much of anything every… that bastard’s sat there in Winterholt for hundreds of years—”
“He blew them up,” Ennui replies with a scoff. “Just like that. They disappeared into thin air. There was a deafening sound of thunder and then a blinding light through the window. We heard the lion yelling on deck… and then everything went quiet. The crew said there was a huge circle in the sky and the aslan’s eyes were glowing red. And there were golden marks all over his body, like ivy.”
“Laurels,” Mamir corrects her, “they were golden laurels.”
Ennui tosses Mamir a curious look. “Well… yes, one mentioned golden laurels. How would you know that?”
Mamir glances back at her. “I wanted to be an acolyte once, in my younger years back in Winterholt. I studied under the Saint of Creation for a while. But it wasn’t the life for me… although I do remember learning about all the different saints and their features. Some of them are larger than life.”
“And what about this aslan? Which order would he represent?” Ennui asks, trying to hide her fascination.
Mamir keeps his eyes focused on the camels moving through the sandy valley. “Based on your description, it sounds like he could be the Saint of Flames. That is the title given to the one who speaks for the gods of light and fire,” he pauses, biting his thumb in thought.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?” Ennui presses, sensing there is more to the story.
Mamir sighs. “The title of Saint of Flames… it hasn’t been held by anyone in ages.”
Ennui glances at Mamir. “Why?”
“Well, there are rumors about that… but either way, perhaps Khimi shouldn’t get involved.” He scoffs. “Perhaps it’s best if you don’t get involved…”
“Mamir, come now. Tell me what you know?” Ennui pleads, her interest piqued. “It’s too late for Khimi to not become involved anyway. It seems his cock does most of the thinking around the little lion.”
Mamir leans back against the wooden wall of the wagon. “There were speculations. Rumors. The clerics who traveled back to the Shaper’s Forge[1] spoke of the Sun Temple. There were suspicions about their true nature.”
“Their true nature? What do you mean? Are they cultists or something?” Ennui asks, pressing him for more.
Mamir shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. Their only true worship is money. But there were suspicions that beneath their holier-than-thou attitude and false devotion to the gods, their love for them had long faded. And along with those suspicions were whispers that the Sun Temple had eliminated other saintly candidates in the past.”
Ennui whistles. “Alright, that does catch my interest. So the kindly priests of Loria are actually just backstabbing hypocrites?”
“Ennui,” Mamir says, turning towards her. “None of this is ever proven, but it is known the other servants of the gods avoid sun priests for a reason.”
“Either way,” Ennui shrugs. “The aslan just needs to avoid the temple and he’ll survive, right?”
Mamir shrugs. “Unless they send someone to seek out the next voice of the gods,” he says brusquely. “And I doubt whatever happened will go unnoticed by the temple…”
“I don’t think I can protect the aslan from an entire order of the Faith,” Ennui groans. “I only signed up to protect Khimi… which should in all respects be fairly easy.”
Mamir laughs. “Now you’re expected to protect his pet as well?”
“Pet?” Ennui asks mockingly. “Right, I admit I’ve called him that too… unt-until recently at least.”
“Something else happened?”
“I’ve never seen Khimi this way with anyone, he’s like… a love sick boy.”
Mamir laughs again. “Well, good for them. Everyone deserves to find happiness.”
Ennui cracks her back against the low wooden back of the wagon. “Back to business. After we check up on Khimi’s mother, you’re a boot in the door to running the Rhazian side of the Cerulean Star. Does this… settle up our debts?”
“Certainly,” Mamir chokes in response. “But, you didn’t have to do this.”
“I don’t like debts hanging over my head,” Ennui replies and places her hand on the hilt of her dagger for comfort. “Why’d you ever come to the Desert Cities anyway?”
Mamir remains silent. He looks up at the sky, illuminated by the thousands of stars. The Sisters[2] are both high in the sky, their glow creating a beautiful and serene landscape across the desert dunes. He slaps the reins, spurring the camels forward. Ennui waits for his response, asking her dwarven friend the question once more.
“Mamir?”
“After I left the temple in Winterholt, I went from city to city. Winterholt to Halluin, Halluin to Rennes, Rennes to Wiltz, and from Wiltz… well I finally decided I needed a change in my life.”
“I never pegged you for the religious sort,” Ennui mutters, almost laughing at the thought. “And so… you came to the desert.”
“Been here for forty years now,” Mamir replies quietly.
Ennui snorts. “I guess the desert is where our types go.”
“Our types?” Mamir asks, raising a brow. “You mean outcasts?”
“I suppose if you want to use that term. Outliers… people who don’t belong,” Ennui murmurs. “Anyway…Mamir, I trust you’ll keep your mouth shut about Lumi?”
Mamir sighs. “I have no intention of speaking of this again,” he snips. “It’s not just the Lorians you’d need to watch out for, but also the other orders of the Faith as well. They’re wary of anyone calling themselves saint or chosen.”
Ennui closes her eyes. “I don’t get it. Shouldn’t they support the other Faiths?”
“Sometimes they do. Other times, there is a feeling of hatred or concern when a new saint appears. It’s a curious thing, only a saint may speak with the gods. Because of this, it becomes difficult to verify their status. Over time, certain Faiths have determined signs or symbols that a saint can use to prove their position, but… sometimes these things can be falsified or replicated easily by simple magicks. For instance, if Lumi summoned sigils… that would be a sign.”
“Hells,” Ennui mutters to herself. “It seems… there is more complexity to it than it would seem.”
Mamir nods. “Many years ago, there was a war that occurred, known as the War of the Saints… many false saints arose and challenged those presiding in their positions. The issue was eventually settled, but the orders lost many of its most loyal believers… and the Faith grew much weaker across Talmus.”
“Is there a chance… Lumi could be a false saint?” Ennui questions, almost wishing it to be true.
Mamir shakes his head decisively. “No, from what you described and what your crew witnessed, he seems like the real deal. Only a divine power or something otherworldly could produce such miracles.”
Ennui sighs loudly, slumping in her seat. “Khimi really knows how to pick ’em,” she mutters, crossing her arms, sulking.
“Well, so do you,” Mamir retorts with a smug grin.
“W-what are you talking about?” Ennui asks, shooting up in her seat.
Mamir chuckles through his scarf. “Every woman you’ve ever been involved with—they’re either thieves, con artists, or leave you unsatisfied.”
“Or leave me tied up and gagged,” Ennui retorts with a smirk.
Mamir growls under his breath and shoots her a fiery glare. “You’re only proving my point.”
Ennui exhales sharply, her tail slapping against the wooden seat. “Point taken.”
[1] Shaper’s Forge – The temple dedicated to the gods of creation.
[2] A nickname given to the twin moons of Talmus.