And now Regi suspected that he had once again been caught in the hand of a creature too large to consider the damage done to small lives when the gods moved them about the universe. “However, I believe it is a role my goddess has chosen for me,” he finished.
“You believe Poque has chosen an exalted after all of these centuries?”
“I know that I did not suffer the twin blessings of the gods once or twice. I have endured a series of events that goes beyond a simple touch from the hand of my goddess. I was exposed to radiation, and she chose to protect both me and the huuman Dante. Those are not the consequences of being god-touched. If I am wrong, please explain the flaw in my logic.”
Nawr appeared stunned into silence, and he took a minute to visibly collect his words. “You abandoned the temple, so if you were the only Kowri in position to advance the goddess’s goals, she might have touched you, but you assume too much, and the challenge is far too dangerous to undergo on such flimsy evidence.”
“I would choose a life unseen by the gods, but I suspect that is not an option.”
Nawr pressed his lips together so the hairs stood out from the corners of his mouth. “I have been an exalted here for longer than you have been alive. Longer than your mother has been alive. I have seen countless Kowri convinced that their god had chosen them.” The exalted held his hand out, his two thumbs touching the opposing fingers, leaving the four fingers in the middle raised. The position mimicked an obscene gesture. He only had to spread the middle two fingers to fully express his opinion of Regi's claim. “The cold weather temple has an unforgiving sanctuary.”
“I understand that.”
“No.” Nawr’s sharp tone startled Regi. “Your mother is of the growing season temple. Their sacred animals might smell as bad as a vajroon or hunt with the efficiency of a jino, but none would challenge a Kowri. None are truly dangerous the way the cold season’s creatures are. To walk into their temple without the protection of a god is to walk into your own death.”
“I understand that perfectly.” If Regi was wrong, he could die in horrible pain, devoured one tiny bite at a time by the gibuks or trampled by an ior. A dop might sink a poisonous dart into his skin where his blood would carry it to his heart for a quick death, or a slap from the tail of a hefivio could make his blood clot so that a doctor had to amputate his limb to save his life. Even Poque’s frim could beat him to death. Most horror stories took place in the cold weather temple or on some fictional world that was a poorly disguised version of it.
“Perhaps you believe that since frim are not predatory by nature that you will be safe, but I assure you that is not the case. Those large wings can beat a Kowri half to death and then once the victim is on the ground, the great birds can finish the job with powerful feet. A leg designed to lift that much weight off the ground is equally efficient at kicking you to death.”
“I am not ignorant of the dangers,” Regi said. Nawr appeared ready to elaborate on each potential death that waited, but Regi did not require theological instruction. “You have no right to stand between a Kowri and a temple challenge. I formally request the cold weather challenge in order to find my true path with the aid of my goddess.”
The skin around Nawr’s eyes turned pale. “I have seen young Kowri trampled, poisoned, disemboweled, and they all had one commonality. They all believed a god had chosen them. You would be better to pledge yourself to a god of the growing season. At least they are less likely to kill you and leave your body as a warning about the arrogance of youth.”
Regi was fairly sure he could not walk into a temple to the growing season without fostering an impious urge to burn it to the ground. Besides, after a goddess had chosen him was not the time to reject one temple in favor of another. “I am not as young as I once was, so any arrogance is borne by my years,” Regi said. “And both my arrogance and my years tell me that I will survive the challenge.”
“Unscathed?” Nawr demanded.
Regi turned his back on the old man. “I hope so, but I cannot demand more of Poque than she is willing to give.” And Regi had to find out how much the goddess had her fingers on his life and his soul. If he was an exalted, he could not risk continuing with his crew. Their lives were his to protect. He would not risk them by bringing them to the attention of Kowri gods.
He would miss Bevti and Ter and Vk. He could even have a few charitable thoughts for Cota now that he no longer had to contemplate years of his drills and platitudes. And Dante. He wished he could have gotten to know the huuman better. Never before had someone shown such faith in Regi’s leadership. Most of the time, Regi had to fight through the prejudice against Kowri. Regi could read the suspicion and resentment in crew members’ expressions, and he had thought it didn’t bother him. But Dante with his quick acceptance of Regi and his goddess had eased his soul in a way Regi had not anticipated.
However, Ter and Dante already had Poque’s fingerprints on their souls. Regi had no right to endanger their lives further.
“I will challenge the temple today,” Regi said firmly before his fears could outweigh his obligation.
Nawr appeared supremely displeased. Without a word, he rose and walked to the door. His steps unsteady, Nawr led the way toward the sacred menagerie.
