James sat down beside me and offered a handful of chickpeas. Food didn't go down easy, but I still chewed through it out of stoic principle — I'd been given it for free, after all.
He was probably going on about his master's greatness again, right? I haven't been here long, but trust me — Prok's Simon is magnificent, like the first bloom of a poppy. And that belly people laugh at? Not a gut — it's a miracle vault!
Had to cut short his poetic wave and ask again how the hell I got here. Up until now, everything sounded muffled — but now my hearing was returning, and it hurt. When James explained we were in the House of Prayer, I had serious doubts.
What a racket! Screaming and shouting everywhere! The stench of sheepskin and burnt herbs stole my breath, so I grabbed Prok's bottle and took another long swig.
And where's the reverent silence that's supposed to reign in these shelters of Divine Will? That's the – Said the fighter with fists instead of hands, – we came here (you got dragged in, by the way) for a reason! The one everyone calls Mori told us, through that wondrous woman, that it was time to ditch the fake canons. Then he said something like: "Zeal for Thy House hath consumed me." Beautifully put. His sincerity really struck me. Thank you for bringing me to this man!
Always happy to So… what are we doing here?
To put it plainly, Jesh is furious — even if he hides When we got here, instead of people crying out to… well, just look around and see how defiled this place is. It wounds my soul, brother…
With James's help, I finally managed to prop myself up on my elbows and saw a scene all too familiar to me (though an abyss apart, if you ask Maria the bouncer).
The first thing I laid eyes on was the classic stall of an amulet peddler (yet another lucrative little business one should never overlook). Those shysters, it seemed, were making a fortune off lies. Not bad, not bad... The seller himself looked like a rabid beast, and every time he got a dinar from a customer, he bellowed:
"You'll be blessed as long as you wear this! No refunds!"
Then my vision blurred from the flood of stalls selling caged doves. Their noise mixed with the guttural cackle of a woman buying herself a handful of incense. Along the colonnade, the good old moneychangers lounged, their broad low tables ringing with drachmas, shekels, and assaria. The gods of the currency exchange market were clearly French-kissing Lady Luck today. Especially that one hustler with the rigged weights (I caught a glimpse and thought: someone's about to get his due).
Looking up, I saw the high arched ceiling covered in symbols of the Jewish tribes. Light pierced through narrow slits, taking the shape of thin blades.
But Jesh, apparently, didn't need swords. He looked quite satisfied with his rope, twisted from belts, which he now carried through the hall. Mar-Rukh shuffled beside him in her ever-present hood, Simon wielded a naked sword, and Prok held a dagger. Bartholomew bounded ahead of the pack
with a sling, and bringing up the rear were Philip with a strange musical instrument and the unarmed Mattia.
The whole gang was here. I, meanwhile, decided to stay down and scope things out. My legs
weren't listening anyway. They wouldn't even obey Jesh if he suddenly pulled a "Rise and Walk"
— let alone my own pitiful attempts.
Stepping into the center of the crowd, they froze.
Unsurprisingly, in this epicenter of human greed, no one paid them any attention. They didn't smell like profit. When their slow-motion entrance failed to provoke any reaction, Mar-Rukh, after Jesh gently touched her collarbone with the back of his hand, spoke in her solemn, monotone voice:
"The temple you believed in — is now dead. It has ceased to be the House of the Father, for you have turned it into a miserable den of pride and avarice. Greed must forget the way to this place. And let the new Temple be built not from stone, but from living human souls!"
Powerful stuff. I gave a weak applause, but one of the merchants, a guy with a black eye, didn't share my appreciation for fiery speeches. He grimaced, spat, and said:
"Get lost already. Stop with the holy crap. You're scaring off the customers."
A moment later, the rope came down on his stall, sweeping part of his goods onto the floor. "You son of a...!"