Little brown feet strapped to a plainly decorated bowl trotted quickly across the temple halls, the pattering resounding throughout polished limestone. Duty came almost without rest when one is so senior among seniors as Helnah'm. For most of his life he'd been entrusted to see to the Du Quam Umdochar's orders, following them exactly to his very prescriptions; in pursuit of such ethics at work, he was, of course, not one to question those orders once; nor was he going to cause delays in their execution.
As he rounded the corner by the Tirkju'a's study where the tapestries hung from the windows, emblems of the Order in pure gold lettering, pots and greeneries hanging delicately from atop, he looked again at his list, seeing what else must be done for the day. New facilities would have to be constructed if the Sijarkes were to stay long; if not, the Du Quam would then advise her to be housed in another temple if living conditions were not up to par in Gu'ambiss.
He had his hopes on a regent to fill in for the Tirkju'a. Two years had been too long—long enough to meddle with the temple's pre-established structure.
Now they had the Sijarkes.
Helnah'm honestly hoped they wouldn't have to turn her away. It meant that Nubejul would follow, and the news of that would likely reflect badly on the temple's reputable hosts—the Du Quams Umdochar and Kedrik. So to give her that needed satisfaction, he had written down the strangest request from her own writing: to build her a pillowfort!
But not just any pillow fort, really—it was the Sijarkes, of course it had to be special and only meant for her personal use. And he was not in any position to judge, only to follow—though he might have a higher degree of freedom than most Quams, he had earned it after all his years in service, his golden years spent being at Umdochar's feet which are not as worn as his, strengthened and shapely due to a highly confidential regimen.
"What would we do without you, Quam Helnah'm," a younger Quam remarked, passing by with a mountain of silks in a basket.
Helnah'm jerked his head to the Tirkju'a's study. "Over there, sir. We'll have those for the tables." He never went a day regarding others below him in rank as inferior, it was not a way to live.
More Quams arrived with baskets also, carrying silks.
The Quams knew this nature of his, and in turn, obeyed him without complaint, pleased to have an elder such as him to guide them. But this didn't come without any questions. "Does the Sijarkes prefer all these in her study?"
"She might want to lie down, I'm guessing," Helnah'm trailed off, now actually pondering on that thought. The younger quam raised a brow, but left to do as he was told. The old man was in the habit of spending time in his head more as he was growing older. His wrinkled brown face had a perpetually gentle expression, brows only moving slightly, incapable of any hints of unpleasantness. But when he was happy, he wouldn't be able to keep that joy to himself, for when he smiled, his cheeks became full and inviting, reaching his dark eyes, twinkling with a certain glow you wouldn't find much in just about anybody.
He thought about reporting the list to the regent Du Quam Nubejul to see what he thought. Time was like childhood, slipping by so quickly that he only realized now that it's been days since he and the regent had spoken. If he was not mistaken, it never went to that extent. They had been so very close. Nubejul had always sought his company, his council had been very precious and rather meaningful to the boy's upbringing, being so alone here as a child taken in at such a young age, he had none to share his deep love for music and poetry with but Helnah'm or the Du Quam Umdochar, his then-sponsor.
With such an expensive education backing the child Nubejul, his compass for morals and ethics had only been Umdochar before Helnah'm entered the picture, a comfort from the pressures that came with being raised into a Du Quam's successor. But perhaps now, the temple was calling for his attention more and more, and he had none of that time he used to have then to spend with Helnah'm.
Helnah'm would miss those days terribly when time held still as, together, they took care of the ponds behind the temple. Nubejul went there often as a child. Those visits came less frequent as he aged. To find him, Helnah'm would need to go to Nubejul's own quarters which were barely decorated with the likes of his rank. It was all vases and jars with him—this boy of the arts.
"It's alright, I only just got this room for myself. Plenty of time to fill it with all sorts of unimaginable things—riches, treasures, whatever," Nubejul mused when Helnah'm had inquired. He might have contributed to that attitude, encouraging him to write in his freetime. If he had not been Du Quam, the elder Quam thought he might've been a musician, or a writer—a pleasant disposition as Nubejul's was best used when he engaged not in politics or court conflicts.
After he had been welcomed in, Helnah'm presented the Sijarkes' scroll of requests for Nubejul's review, who was surprised it had not gone through him at all, yet first to Umdochar.
"Things would have to change, at least to acknowledge my settlement," Nubejul remarked under his breath. Taking the scroll, he read aloud, "I would most like it if you followed these exact requests. I work under very strict conditions, and I know this to be true (so does the former Tirkju'a), that is why I came up with this set list so you may be guided henceforth.
As the Domma Sijarkes and Tirkju'a, I hold two Domminical seats; one is prime and high, whereas the other, obscure and uncertain. Thus, I will be regarded as the Tirkju'a until my duty as the Sijarkes comes with purpose. I want to impose that strict image of myself. I will take nothing else but the best you can offer in Gu'ambiss, or all of Oriehem, please. You have the power to grant me as I wish, and I trust you will read the following carefully and with care to my greatest interest."
Nubejul flipped the scroll open to reveal more writings in the Sijarkes' own hand. "I require oils for maintaining my skin. Exposure to the sun for several hours is manageable, but the air is dry in Oriehem, and my throat might get scratchy."
Nubejul flipped again. "I require a pillowfort inside the Tirkju'a's study. Move all that I require there (because that is where you might find me most of the time). I do not like tables and chairs. Bring me your finest silks and then I can do my job well."
Nubejul looked up from the scroll, his head tilting. "A transitory phase, of sorts?"
Helnah'm nodded.
"Shall I go on?" He had no reason to waste the old Quam's time.
"Go on. See," Helnah'm insisted. With permission, Nubejul flipped the scroll several times over to see how much of the writing was left.
As he let it cascade down unto the tiles, it revealed several meters more of just lines and requests in the Sijarkes' own hand.
At first, Nubejul and Helnah'm could not mutter a word.
But after a while, Nubejul began to speak: "I suppose it must be done," Nubejul affirmed, an earnest smile on his face, giving Helnah'm the confirmation he needed to proceed with the preparations. He had only a week to go before they were to welcome a new Domma, the Sijarkes. Or rather, the Tirkju'a—like she had requested to be called by.
But Helnah'm had one last important question:
"Do you think she would like bright colors?"
Nubejul had no answer. He did not know her as Umdochar did; a part of him felt like this was not a question that Umdochar would have liked to answer to, anyway. The elder had always spoke terribly of the Sijarkes, and on the matter of her preferred color, he might as well remark on the seaweed shade of her locks.
"Is it safe to go for a sensible green?" Nubejul suggested.
"Yes, it is. But won't she like a pop of color to go with that?" Helnah'm knew how children liked their belongings.
Nubejul looked at his own choice of clothes and noted his adherence to blues and golds. Helnah'm caught on. He left quickly to accomplish the rest of the day's tasks, agreeing that blues and golds would send just about the right message all while being pleasing to the eye—it was the color of the sea, deep and rich—so there can be no mistake there.
Once alone, Nubejul got to thinking more on the sort of matters he himself would have to face on his own when the Sijarkes arrives to live in the temple alongside the Domma Margijer. He hoped that he would not have to face her wrath should he again decide to make decisions on her behalf. Would this count as strike two? It was just color.
If this was about the Domma Margijer, she would not have found it offensive because Kedrik knew her very well. Almost inseparable to a disturbing degree. Yet it was amusing to Nubejul, choosing to perceive Kedrik as his rather peculiar uncle, and the Margijer, his bad-tempered aunt.
He held his chin high as he took turns about the temple in a faultless manner, so composed and kind, his small stature still commanding respect everywhere he went, for as any templeman or tourist would say, he was beautiful in his making, his features large and distinct. His mixed heritage only added to the allure of his person, once even elevating him above other kids his age upon his arrival into the temple.
If that had been unfair, he knew he was not to blame, even as Umdochar was resented by Kedrik for having spoiled him. He knew he worked very hard, just as hard as he was expected to, sometimes beyond. Perhaps some semblance of Nubejul enraged a part of Kedrik's soul, vilifying him before one who'd be the least to believe accusations of that sort.
Nubejul never saw anything wrong with his countenance nor his demeanor. If at all, he thought himself perfectly faultless, at the very repulsion of the Du Quam Kedrik upon his denial of having been unsuitable of successorship.
"You have a bad head, a very bad head on your shoulders," the old Du Quam had croaked then, shivering inside his shawl, pulling it tightly. "A very bad head."
Nubejul merely smiled, ever pleasant, ever pleasing.