He came to Umdochar that same afternoon at the Hall of Du Quams as he was inspecting the portrait and station set up for Nubejul which he will soon fill with all sorts of treasures as the centuries pass.
"I wish I would be here to see its completion," Umdochar nodded towards the station as the Quams went about setting it up.
The Hall of Du Quams, the most visited and most popular spot in the temple, was an altar to humans who came closest to being gods themselves. Every station displayed treasures from faraway lands, never lacking in statues, murals, and artifacts which had belonged or have had some connection—or even just contact—with their deceased predecessors. Every Du Quam's corpse took this as their final resting place, and in its revered state, it was the Order's reminder of its most mystical blessing to mankind—the ability to move mountains even, or shape the skies to their desire, pure unimaginable power.
"How will I know what to put on display?"
"If you like something so much and don't mind the younger children touching it when no one's looking, those should be wise," Umdochar replied, pleased and at ease.
"But would I trust others to see my grave in full?"
"There are no graves here." Umdochar removed his headdress out of respect. "They are, as you know, somewhere else." His eyes fell.
Nubejul's eyes followed his gaze, where the true resting place of the Du Quams lie, and looked up again at the Hall itself, here to stimulate a sense into its tourists that these revered men are still alive and that their blood and spirit runs through the daily movements and activities of the temple, ever on guard at its secret ploys.
"But would you trust the other Quams? I won't always be in the temple. I'm sure the Sijarkes would be just as adventurous and busy as the former Tirkju'a had been. Who will watch your grave when you are gone?" Nubejul frowned as he brought up the matter softly.
Umdochar knew this was much too early to discuss, but it was his responsibility to ease the mind of his spirit son even as it was yet too early to think of his passing. A time of merriment was a time of merriment.
"I do not trust most people." Umdochar had to be clear. "I have yet to learn then of whomever else I can entrust the safekeeping of my grave. As I had done the same to Du Quam Gurkiim—such a good spirit father he was to me—and because of my resolve to be of some use to you while I am still here, though I feel I grow weaker by the day, I feel you, too, would already have felt the need to guard my tomb all the same."
A moment passed where they both retreated back in their own thoughts. Between the two of them, Nubejul recovered much easily.
"I guess I'll see in my case." A bubble of laughter erupted from him. He had always been a good-natured boy, never quick to anger nor gloom. In many ways, he reminded Umdochar of the Du Quam of the west, the Du Quam Moschkataii, who came from Cussarossia also, like Nubejul. But Nubejul would outperform Moschkataii in every facility—Umdochar would make sure of it.
He's never had a son.
Du Quams are prohibited to rear their own unless they were to be their spirit son—their successor. Those sons had to be chosen and anointed, not born from blood relations unless by very exclusive conditions.
Though Nubejul Tavhaii was not his true son, he felt he could not have known a truer son who was as devoted as he is to the Order; who could care for Du Quam Kedrik in a way that assured Umdochar as he left the temple for longer periods of time, having no reason to fear any such consequences.
For once, he loved someone else apart from Kedrik. But this son would be taken from him very, very soon, an insurmountable debt; for he loved deeply, more than others could understand; and he hurt, also. He hurt more than anybody he knew—for the last three centuries, this constant cycle of agony had been thrust upon his shoulders, with no right to cry and wail as everybody else did.
And it never seems to end—he was as cursed as Kedrik says.