The Numen's temple is, usually, the biggest and gaudiest building of any given city, excluding the capital and the mansion of eccentric nobles.

  Every temple was unique, since they were built with the materials most easily found in the surroundings, usually wood and different kind of rocks, but they all shared three fundamental characteristics: a big, square, paned window depicting the triumph of the Numens on the horrors of the Night, in all their glory, made of tinted glass that shone in the sun and asked the interior of the trample with light during the whole day, flanked by two enormous columns called the singing pillars, with painted carvings narrating the stories of the saints and heroes of the faith, who made a pleasing sound when the wind blew on them, and a series of nooks, each containing a statue of one of the ten Numens, with their respective hue.

  The first, Tolsivincus, and the tenth, Alun, were the brightest and the most visible, in their gold and silver shine.

  Today, this colorful, gaudy temple had two fierce competitors.

  “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  Liliane looked at his husband. He was wearing a flat gray cap, his face was somewhat paler, and his gray eyes were now a deep green. His hair was tucked underneath the cap, and what could be seen was a dirty blonde color. He wore a bright orange shirt, coupled with tight red pants. He held the walking cane, now a bright blue color with strange inscriptions on it, in his right hand, and with his left he was trying to fit the shirt better inside the pants.

  “It will. I did it so, so many times, it's almost second nature. I know it's been a while since my last time, but it's like riding a horse. I'm positive this is going to work, Liliane.”

  The old woman made a weird face.

  “Please do not speak of horses. And… Well, what if it doesn't? And where's this city you keep talking about?”

  “We're already excommunicated, what are they going to do? Get us another Numenuptial, then excommunicate us again? Put us in a galley for public ridicule and some pomàto fruit throwing? Get us to work as temple staff until osteoporosis does us in?” he asked, a bit stressed by the situation, but sure about what they were about to do.

  I contrast, Liliane seemed off balance. Her clothes weren't helping.

  “I'm still not convinced.”

  “It worked with the Knights of the Evening sun, it will work with an oldish cleric. It's one of my best tricks. You'll see.”

  “I don't know. I feel really self conscious wearing this… Disguise.”

  The old man looked at his scowling wife, who looked deeply uncomfortable inside the wide, yellow dress which covered her neck to ankles, with a blue dotted pattern and a crisscross of turquoise lines, coupled with a flowery handkerchief on her head, with bright, pinkish colors, and a pair of big, thick glasses with fake lenses.

  “Oh, come on, I've seen you wearing worse stuff and…” he winked, “still looking extremely pretty.”

  “Sure! But that was back home,we were not out in the open!”

  She kept unbuttoning and buttoning the collar of the dress. “And you know, I have a reputation to uphold.”

  “And since these awful clothes are disguising us, you'll keep your reputation. Don't you worry. Now, once again. Who are we?”

  Liliane hesitated for a second, then spoke in a low voice.

  “We are Mr and Mrs Goodcat, from… Ugh… Horsington, and we are doing a tour of the temples?”

  “A pilgrimage”, Lazar gently corrected, “yes, to all the Numen's temples of the region, to thank them for saving our son Lucky from a horrible illness.”

  “And we would love nothing more than to pray in the temple and, if possible, take a look at the tomes in the library because we heard so many good things about it in the last one we visited in Cranesworth!”

  “Should we actually ask about the library even knowing that only the clerics and those with a special dispensation from at least a Duke can enter them?”

  “I think we’ll just need to ask, it does not matter what his answer will be. We just need to keep his mind occupied.”

  The old woman looked pensive,and kept shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

  “I just hope old Willgamber will have forgotten our faces, even if we have makeup on and we're hiding our hair.”

  “I really think he did”, answered Lazar, hopeful. “It's been years, Liliane, do you really think he would still be hung up on… That?”

  — — —

  Edramund Willgamber had been the only priest at the Numen's temple for more than thirty moons. Since his mentor passed away, after the… freak accident, he was led alone in the only temple of this little village. He relished in being the spiritual guide of the place, the one so many looked toward with reverence. The best of the chosen ones.

  He took the tunic when he was still a teenager, hating the smell of beasts and the stench of manure of his family farm. He didn't want anything to do with any of that, especially after those miscreants desecrated the temple floor all those moons ago.

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  Learning the chants and being subjected to the… tough discipline of his mentor had been hard on him, but he managed to create an opportunity, he took it, and now at almost sixty he could enjoy the fruits of his toiling.

  He was cleaning the holy relics for the upcoming Numenuptials, where he, hopefully, would not have to ordain a new colleague, and he would bring all of the two ten years old inside the flock of the Numen’s loved ones, as probationary husbands and wives.

  He regarded the sacred chalice looking longingly at its glorious, unknowable inscriptions, and basked in its amber tinted hue.

  This chalice was pretty new compared to the other relics, but how could it be different? As that couple of miscreants, no, nightspawns had spoiled and broken the last one? He still had the image of their faces, laughing and dancing in the temple, the shards of glass everywhere, burned into his retinas…

  No. He needed to stop thinking about that. He never even saw them again in the temple, or at the market, or heard about them from the gossip of the supplicants, so they probably died in a ditch or smitten by the Numens far away from his sight. “Happy thoughts”, he mumbled, “happy thoughts”.

  All of a sudden, three knocks could be heard from the door of the temple. It was indeed quite strange, since there would be no other celebrations during the day, and the time for the collective prayers had ended at least one hour ago.

  He went, unhurried, to open the door, dragging his feet a bit. He hated to be interrupted while he was cleaning. He put his hand on the doorknob, pulled, and the light of the Small sun blinded him for a second, getting in his eyes.

  He was greeted by a husky voice with a thick eastern accent.

  “Hello revered cleric, we're Mrs and Mr Goodcat from Horsington, and we would really like - “

  “We are on a pilgrimage”

  “Yes, we are on a pilgrimage and we would be so, so grateful if it would be possible -”

  “We know it's not time for the communal prayers”.

  “Yes dear, it's not, but we wanted to ask if it would be possible to pray now, since we will have to get back on the road after midday, but heard so much good about this temple, especially its well curated library.”

  “In short - forgive my husband, he is a bit long winded - we'd like, if possible, to pray and consult the library. We are interested in Numenology and would hate to lose such a precious opportunity to expand our knowledge.”

  “We'd obviously make a donation for your goodwill, revered cleric.”

  The two shook the hand of the stunned Willgamber, and entered the temple without waiting for an answer, splitting up and kneeling on two benches on the left and right side of the temple. The old cleric turned around, to say something to the two. They looked oddly familiar, even though he was sure he would remember people dressing up like… That. He took three steps, when he was stopped by a thunderous boom that could be heard from outside. A flash of light made the day even more bright than it already was, and from the light, he saw a statuesque figure emerge. A face he dearly wished he could forget,the scoundrel that almost ruined his reputation and brought chaos and strife everywhere he went, according to all his colleagues that had the displeasure of meeting him. And he was half naked, his hair fluttering seducingly in the air, stuck in a suggestive pose, a pair of golden shorts with pictures of… “Are they pictures of the Numens? Such a blasphemy! This could not be allowed to stand!” he bellowed, instantly incensed.

  He ran out of the temple, his face morphing into a mask of rage, screaming.

  “Lazar! Is that you? How dare you show your face again in the grounds of this holy temple?”

  The man did not answer, his face blank, his look lost. Then, he smirked. This seemed to make the cleric even more angry.

  Holy chants began to resound in the air coming from the sacred garments Willgamber was wearing.

  “Lazar! You, vile nightspawn! Wasn't desecrating the temple enough for you! Did you really need to defile the sacred images of the Numens with your antics? I'll smite you where you stand with the power bestowed to me by our divine consorts!”

  The scantily dressed man flexed, showing his wiry body, without uttering a word. His perfectly sculpted physique made him appear similar to one of the statues held in the temple. His perfect proportions were a sight to behold, and his poses were made exactly to make them shine brighter. He also seemed to be starting something nefarious, judging by the devious expressions he had in his face.

  “Oh Cjiren above, you who judges the wicked" he started chanting in a hurried voice “lend me your fire to cleanse evil from the world!”

  The air started churning, and the sky seemed to split as a comet fell. A column of fire engulfed Lazar's figure. It burned, the surroundings scalded by the heat of such a powerful devotion. A chunk of hair fell from the head of Willgamber. He kneeled, seemingly spent. He took a deep breath, regarding the place where that stain on his life used to be: all was well now. He wouldn't tarnish the floors of the temple anymore. He joined his hands in prayer, lowering his head until he was touching the ground.

  “Thank you Numens. Thank you Cijiren for lending me your glorious fire. Thank you for delivering him, Lazar, the nightspawn, to me, so that I could remedy my errors. I am now cleansed. Thank you.”

  He was weeping, full of joy and relief, not doubting for a second that his actions were justified, and sanctioned by the gods above. The dark stain on his curriculum was finally no more. He got up, wiping his face with the sleeve of his green-red tunic, and turned back. He slowly started walking toward the temple. He had almost forgotten the two weird elders. He opened the door and walked through its aisle to check on the couple he left alone. The poor old folks may be seriously scared by all the chaos! And they only wanted to pray and read!

  He entered the temple, finding the couple still where he left them. The man on the right, the woman on the left. They were both muttering, almost whispering their prayers. The woman, especially, seemed to be in deep focus, almost in a trance, her mouth repeating the same movements over and over. Must be a pretty lengthy prayer. How pious and devoted, he thought.

  He went near the brightly dressed old man, touching his shoulders and rousing him from his chanting.

  “Good sir, I am deeply sorry for the commotion. It won't happen again. Ever again.”

  The cleric took a deep breath. He had a blissful look on his face “Thank you so much for visiting our beloved temple in your pilgrimage. Unfortunately, regarding your previous request, I must tell you that the library isn't accessible for the uninitiated. You don’t have a ducal dispensation, do you?” Mr Goodcat shook his head. He seemed a bit downcast, and went back to pray. “Do not worry, though! We have a smaller library in the temple, my private collection of chants and hymns, that I would be delighted to share with you two! You only need to ask. Some of them are marvelous copies of Districa’s books”.

  The old man lifted his head for a moment.

  “Thank you all the same, dear minister. I just ask you not to disturb my wife while she prays. She has special needs about her prayer, and they can get really… deep and personal.” he said, and lowering his head he started muttering again.

  “Do not worry, Mr Goodcat. If you need help to consult the chants, just come in the room to the left of the altar. That’s my office, you'll find me there.”

  The cleric, slowly, turned around and went back into his office, closing the door behind himself.

  Sitting on the bench, Lazar breathed a sigh of relief. He stopped the chanting he had been doing since he sat on the bench, took a moment to compose himself, and got back to it.

  “Thank goodness he didn’t talk with Liliane first” he thought, looking at the flickering image of his wife, growing more concrete as he kept on casting his spell.