Chapter 11: The Sijarkes' Neighbor Has a Horrid Sense of Exterior Design

Almost a week and a half at sea, and the Margijer had not come to see her after all. To this, the Sijarkes took the greatest offence.

They were nearing Gulf Ebe now, docking only a few times to unload and reload cargo. The Gulf Ebe she knew then looked almost nothing like it did now as tall spires and towers stood erect from several points through her perspective sitting atop the helm of the ship.

The Ebe nest encapsulated the entirety of the land close to the gulf. The first destination was that of its eastern nest where the Ori'ehemian Quamship temple lay, surrounded by large, white walls much akin to that of Katill broiis.

Every entry and exit point—there being only one of each—was large and wide. The ship headed for the entry, and out of the corner of the Sijarkes' eye, she saw movement inside the watchtowers that lined the white wall.

Shortly after that observation, a horn-blower in blue silks emerged from within and alerted the rest of the watchtowers. They responded in kind, resonating a low sound that expanded as soon as the other horn-blowers reciprocated the greeting.

In response, the captain of the ship raised a hand, motioning the crew to raise banners distinct only to Katill Broiis to affirm their origins. "Easy now. We're licensed to enter." The captain said to the Sijarkes as she observed it all happen.

Their ship slowly sailed through the arched opening into the Ori'ehemian Quamship temple. Channels broke off into multiple subchannels on each side which led to other facilities and ports. Some of those—at least as far as the Sijarkes's sharp eyes could see—led to a farm complete with its own facilities. Another led to what seemed like several streets of warehouses and shops.

Perhaps it was true—that the temple really was like its own city.

It's most integral heart was just right up ahead, concealed by another set of walls and watchtowers. The Sijarkes found it strange that they built towers on those bridge-like walls.

"There, Domma Sijarkes. There's where you'll be." The captain gestured ahead. "I work externally under contract. I don't take internal orders. They got their own shipmen for that. This area is just for people like me, traders, or regular tourists—those who don't actually work inside the temple."

"This entire place runs by water?"

"Its the only way to get around, yes. This place is like a circle inside a circle, you understand? Whole outer circle goes round, surrounding the inner circle—the temple." The captain made gestures to better illustrate the construct. "Only way in is through either side of the outer circle, only way out is the same, and across the inner circle, cutting right through. The Domma Margijer wouldn't compromise her canals, and the Tirkju'a wanted a highly controlled facility."

"Huh," the Sijarkes puffed, gazing around once more, watching the Quams as they went about their work within their respective station isles. A feast would soon be underway yet she could see some of the men watching the boat, possibly looking for a glimpse of her, unsure of whether the new Tirkju'a was already among them.

Within minutes, they crossed the main channel of the outer circle and entered unto the inner, arriving first at the Tirkju'a's templeside from the right. Its wide port was separated from the temple courtyard, both filled to the brim with hundreds of Quams who watched as the ship passed, also looking for a glimpse of the Sijarkes.

"You'll be taken to the Margijer as was instructed, Domma Sijarkes. She'll have to see you first."

The Sijarkes moved to look at the Tirkju'a's templeside, dead set on committing it to memory. First she observed its rather straightforward structure—almost minimal in its design—though it was distinctly the Tirkju'a's doing due to its attention to efficiency and spacial sensitivity. Square and bold. Its empty courtyards stood out the most as the polished stone glistened from being washed with light. Nothing looked unnecessary nor exceedingly out of place. She figured so; the temple had to be large to house a seventy foot tall Domme like him.

Passing the border that divided the two templesides—the only connection between both domains by waters—the Sijarkes looked ahead to compare and found that the Margijer's templeside was of equal measure to the one allotted for the Tirkju'a.

She could see through the gates that it was for sure a whole other spectacle.

However lacking it is in the privilege of its own vast courtyard it made up for by the luxuries and ponds which littered its space, connected by bridges and decorated with rather eccentric—almost provocative—statues depicting the Margijer herself, barely clothed and decent.

The Sijarkes understood the just how much the Du Quam Umdochar had complete control over the Tirkju'a's, and how the Du Quam Kedrik had the Margijer's to his own.

The captain looked back and raised to point a finger at the hall that conjoined between both temples. "That's the only alternative entrance. The Du Quam Kedrik had it built about a century ago."

"A century ago, right?"

"Right."

"Why?" The Sijarkes wasn't going to not bother finding out the cause for such a silly deed.

"Tourists. They were young first-timers. Broke one of the Margijer's statues. Old man bit them and nearly threw them of the window."

"And did he?" The Sijarkes gasped in amazement.

"No, nearly. He hates tourists, he makes it known. If he didn't hate them before he sure has a good reason to now." The captain chuckled as removed his hat. The Sijarkes sat back in her seat. The captain turned to her, bowing. "Your templeside, the Tirkju'a's, is a popular tourist spot. Your two Du Quams are surely more than enough."

She jumped up again.

"He is here? Umdochar?" Her tongue lashed. The channel gates before the Margijer's templeside slowly rose, cutting the Sijarkes off in her query. This allowed the ship entry unto the toad Domma's domain, and as the ship sailed through, the Sijarkes hurried to take a good look of the other side: it didn't only meet the Sijarkes' expectations, but it exceeded it as she's never known a temple could resemble so much like a resort.

The Margijer's temple had an opening that imitated that of a giant toad, with a mouth wide open for all to enter. Now that was an unnecessary aesthetic choice, or she might deem it borderline ugly and horrendous. Though the two Dommas have not met in thousands of years, she knew that they'd have much to discuss with regards to presentation.

The pinnacle of art and fashion must come straight from the Dommas themselves and not any other!

The captain steered, anticipating the right spot to dock, seeing as the Quams by the Margijer's templeside have now gathered with their peacock feather fans, guiding the wind to assist the ship. The Sijarkes stepped forward. They laid eyes on her, and they were on their knees.

The gangway was set down.

Taking a few deep breaths, the Sijarkes steeled her nerves.

"Alright, here we go." She gasped a large sum of air and exhaled slowly. She knew how to work her nerves. But she was new, she had to excuse herself this time.

A darker-skinned Quam came forward, bent lower than the rest, a golden scroll in hand. "I welcome the Domma, the Sijarkes, to the Ori'ehemian Quamship temple." He spoke gently in perfect Isorgi, a twinkle in his eye never leaving him as he straightened. The Sijarkes began descending from the ship.

"Quams. Ori'ehemian Quams," the Sijarkes muttered, a bit of glee in her tone as she looked at their faces, a toothy smile forming on hers.

"Domma Sijarkes," they said again with all the reverence they could muster as they bent before her with their fans held out. Seeing this, her resolution came to mind: to not appear so cordial with the Quams. She steeled her face, stiffening as she did so. "Right. Show me the way."

The Quams watched her odd change of manner, but none were to bold to question or point to it. Instead they accompanied her on a short guide heading towards the Margijer's bathhouse.

"Look, I didn't like the Margijer's sense of exterior design at first. But inside, I can admit, it truly is something," she said later to the quams. "Look at all those fountains. What lush gardens! She's really built herself something."

"I'm glad you think so," the minister-quam who introduced himself as Helnah'm chuckled. "I only come here several times a year." Though he kept his distance, he seemed somewhat at ease with her presence for he managed to croak out a chuckle.

"Luck?" the Sijarkes asked dryly.

"Oh, the Margijer's Du Quam doesn't believe in luck, Domma Sijarkes. I believe you've met before, or heard a few things about him.." He led her through the mural-filled halls. There seems to be a problem with accessibility here, the Sijarkes thought. Here was this old quam who claims to have only been in the Margijer's temple less times than he could count.

Not even thirty minutes into her entrance, she felt her ears tingle. She grasped to cover them.

"You pitiful, wasteful, dung fecals," bellowed a shrill voice from the other side of the hall not too long after. The Sijarkes whipped around at the direction of its origin.

"Get those dishes here faster or your meals will be halved for the dogs!"

Before the voice could finish, the Sijarkes took off to find its source, leaving Helnah'm to run after her trail, followed by the other quams. "Domma Sijarkes, wait! Not there."

He was too late. She arrived at the end, to a room with floors made of glass.

"Not there!"

The Sijarkes skidded to a halt, almost scratching her precious, golden sandals. "What's going on here?"

Several weary eyes looked at her from inside, her silhouette casting a shadow from the light behind her, enveloping her in a halo that made her presence all the more striking as it reflected against her grass green hair.

The Du Quam Kedrik stood from afar, clutching his shawl, a strange hatred pouring from his acid eyes.