Jorad led Corvan through a maze of low passages and out a concealed door into an empty alleyway. To the left, Corvan could see the top of the high-arched gate leading back into the courtyard between the palace and the temple.

  “Where are all the people?” Corvan whispered.

  “I already told you,” Jorad replied over his shoulder. “The palace has sent most of the population out to harvest food in the settlements. Those are the only places left where we can still grow our crops. We have concentrated our remaining lumiens there under heavy guard to make sure not more are taken.”

  Wisps of fog snaked across the cobblestones, and Corvan noted that Jorad was going out of his way to avoid them.

  “Is the fog poisonous?” Corvan asked.

  “No,” Jorad replied as he skirted another patch. “But when you live in the Cor, you learn to avoid water at all costs. It is the harbinger of all things evil.”

  “I used to be afraid of the water,” Corvan bragged. “Before I learned to swim.”

  “Swim?” Jorad stopped and turned to him. “Are you saying you went into the water intentionally?”

  Corvan was glad for the hood to hide his blushing face. “Well, I mostly dog paddle, but I am no longer afraid to jump into water that’s over my head.”

  Jorad grabbed Corvan’s forearm. “Never make jokes about the water. The only ones who jump in are those who wish to die.” He squinted into the recesses of Corvan’s hood as if he was going to say more, then released him and walked on.

  Corvan followed in silence down the flight of stairs with the broken balustrades toward the central plaza of the city. As they neared the gatehouse, Jorad motioned for him to stay quiet and stay further out in the shadows. A red-cloaked guard saw them coming and opened the gate.

  “Priests,” he snarled as they passed by. “What a waste of lumien light.”

  Jorad ignored the man and marched straight ahead. The gate clanged shut on Corvan’s heels.

  As they crossed to the right side of the plaza, Corvan noted that the statue in the middle was actually comprised of three separate figures: a man, a small child, and a woman. It had looked like a solitary figure with extra arms because the woman’s head was broken off. Now he could see her sad, hollow eyes staring at him from the muddy water of what was once a pool.

  Leaving the statue behind, they turned up the same street that he had seen Kate go up the night before. Rayu had followed as he promised and had found her.

  “Tyreth is the only girl I’ve seen so far,” Corvan said. “Are all the women working in the settlements?”

  “No.” Jorad put a lot of anger into one word. “Since the rise of the Watchers, many females who come of age have gone missing. Some are lost at the Wasting to appease the new gods. We don’t know what happens to the rest of them.”

  His pace slowed. “It is a curse to bear a child these days. Younger boys are pressed into service as soldiers for the palace.” He looked overhead. “It may be a blessing that as the lumiens have faded, fewer children have been born.”

  Corvan wanted to ask more questions, but the young priest squared his shoulders and walked away so quickly that Corvan had to jog to keep up.

  Jorad very off to the right into a narrow back alley clogged with rubble from the crumbling buildings. In the early light, it was even clearer that this other side of the once-great city was now an expansive ruin. The stench of decay floated in the air, and the cobblestones of the alley were slimy with mold.

  Jorad stopped where the alley open onto another wide road. He listened for a moment, then entered the road and turned right again.

  “Jorad,” Corvan whispered as he followed into the open street, “does anyone live on this side of the city?”

  Jorad shook his head and slackened his pace. “The remaining productive citizens of Kadir live inside the dividing wall and close to the palace for protection.” He glanced down a side street. “There are some who manage to live in these ruins. We call them the Broken.”

  “Why?”

  He stopped and faced Corvan. “They lost their minds in the anarchy following the rise of the Watchers. Now they roam about on this side like wild animals.”

  Corvan cast a quick glance over the ruins. The deep shadows and rubble provided ample hiding places for an ambush. “Are they dangerous?”

  “There is a rumor they practice abomination and eat flesh, but I believe that the Chief Watcher uses that story as an excuse to hunt them down. He should have left them to die off on their own as lately the Broken have fought back and killed some of his soldiers. Now, none of the palace guards come to this side except under direct orders.”

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  A rock tumbled from a heap of stones behind them. Corvan glanced nervously over his shoulder.

  Jorad frowned. “You shouldn’t be afraid. A Cor-Van does not give in to fear.”

  “Do you think you should say my name like that? Someone might overhear you.”

  “Is there another name I should use?”

  “My mother called me Kalian.”

  “If you wish to use a child’s name, that’s fine with me,” Jorad said. “Kalian you shall be until such time as you can earn the title of Cor-van.” He turned on his heel and headed up the wide street.

  Corvan reluctantly followed behind the priest as he navigated the debris-clogged street. Having someone assigned to help him wasn’t that great when it was so obvious that they didn’t want to do it. A shadow appeared to shift off to his right in a doorway. Corvan was glancing nervously back at it when Jorad stopped short and Corvan bumped into him.

  “Watch where you’re going,” the priest snapped and turned away, leaving Corvan standing before an ornate iron gate set into a stone wall. The lock was rusted shut and beyond the corroded metal bars was a miniature replica of the buildings they had just walked through, each one meticulously recreated in white stone. A wide boulevard of cobblestones headed up the center. In behind and towering over it all were the grey cliffs he had seen from the entry.

  Jorad was poking about a smaller opening off to the left side, its metal door twisted off its hinges and lying on the ground.

  “What is this place?” Corvan asked.

  Jorad was crouched down and examining the broken door. “A graveyard. It’s a miniature version of Kadir city. We call it the City of the Dead, The priests and the palace guards have a key, but someone has recently broken off the door we normally use.”

  As Jorad stepped over the threshold, a commanding voice called out from behind them. “You there, stop in the name of the Palace Guard!”

  Jorad pulled his hood low over his eyes. “Keep your head down and let me do the talking.”

  Corvan stole a quick glance as he turned around. Three soldiers were heading toward the gate. The one in front appeared to an older officer in a hoodless black tunic and an insignia on his chest. Behind him, two soldiers were carrying a body on a litter. Their hoods were thrown back and sweat glistened on their flushed faces.

  “What are you doing out here, priest?” the older man asked. “The palace was not informed of a burial party today.”

  Jorad spoke in a deeper voice that did not sound at all like him. “This young man has a loved one who is kept here. It is important for him to pay a vow to come and see her on this particular day.”

  The older man grunted and looked at Corvan. “Love, eh? Precious little of that these days.” He stepped into the smaller entry. “Was our access door torn off when you were here last?”

  “No,” Jorad replied. “This was done recently.”

  “I thought as much.” He gestured to the cliffs. “The rebels have a new leader and have been raiding our tombs for weapons and anything of value. The palace will need to be on high alert.” He waved them toward the open door. “Carry on.”

  Jorad nodded, but as he turned to guide Corvan through the doorway, the younger of the two soldiers spoke. “Captain, this body is heavy. Can you order these two to help us get it stowed away? Aren’t the priests supposed to help with burials?”

  The captain nodded and turned to Jorad. “Before you fulfill your vow, you will carry this body to its final resting place.”

  The soldiers placed the litter on the ground. The younger one groaned as he straightened up. “Could we rest for a minute? My back is killing me.”

  The captain shrugged, and the young soldier sank wearily to the ground. The captain stood over him. “You young ones just don’t have what it takes.”

  The young soldier curled his lip. “I’m tired of hearing about the glory days of old. I don’t care that you had food to eat, a home to live in, and a woman who loved you. We have none of those things, so I think we are the ones who are tough.”

  “Would you like me to lodge a complaint about conditions in the barracks, soldier?” the officer asked briskly.

  The frown left the soldier’s face. “No, sir. I don’t blame the palace for what has happened to our world. If anything, it is the fault of the priests.” He spat the final word in Jorad’s direction.

  The captain looked to Jorad for a response. He gave none.

  The young soldier pointed a grubby finger at Jorad. “The rebellion wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for all the rules you priests heaped on us. If you had allowed the people to eat a bit of a lumien or enjoy other pleasures, their anger would not have spilled over to where they consumed every seed they could get their hands on. With all the men fighting over food and women, the palace had no choice but to take over. Things may not be great now, but at least we are alive.”

  “Sure, you’re alive,” Jorad said, his disguised voice thick with disgust. “But how many of our people die at the Wasting and in the settlements?”

  The young man jumped to his feet and stood toe to toe with Jorad. “If the Chief Watcher and the city council believe a person is a threat to our society, why not let the water judge them?”

  Jorad stepped away. “What about the women and children who are taken to the palace? Are they all threats to our society?”

  The soldier shrugged. “All I know is that the palace keeps the rebels in check and that makes all our lives easier.”

  The captain pointed at the young man. “Therein lies the problem. Everyone is out to get what they can for themselves. At times I wonder how long a civilization this selfish can survive.”

  The older of the two soldiers, who had been silent during the exchange, finally spoke up. “I remember the days when our city was full of light and lumiens hung over every doorway. Now our lumien light grows dimmer each day.” He looked at Jorad. “But if we abandon hope, what reason is there to keep living? Tell us, priest. Is there still hope for a brighter future?”

  The young man pointed at Jorad. “Why ask him? All the priests do is offer false hope to control people for their own advantage. I say we should test the priests in the new karst. Maybe we should drown them all at the dedication of the water temple.”

  “That’s enough,” the captain barked. “We have a job to do.” He pointed to Jorad and Corvan. “You two bring the body and follow along.”

  The soldiers moved through the broken door.

  As Corvan stooped to grab the poles, his finger snagged the burial shroud and tugged it off to one side.

  As he tugged it back into place, he found himself looking into the ashen face of Morgan.

  https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/90135/the-cor-series