Summon

"The priest has summoned me," said Mr. Galloway to Aidos.

The young boy, no more than eighteen years of age, frowned and pressed his lips into a thin line. Such was the nature of news, but what followed was far more distressing.

"He has asked me to surrender you to him."

Aidos sighed deeply. His throat tightened around his breath, his hands clasping the soft skin around his face, turning it red.

"I'll—I'll gather my stuff," said he in defeat.

"Why should we listen to him?" Hanno asked his father, hands clutching the railing around the inset balcony on which he stood.

"We don't have to—"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Galloway, but from what I know of my father, he shall not forgive my transgression—"

"He is but a priest, not a god. Is he a god for you, Aidos?"

"No," said Aidos after a moment of silence, his thoughts spiraling.

Hanno could sense the tension in his posture.

"But he feels himself no less than one. And my sister—" he gulped away the tightening in his chest.

Hanno looked between his father, who was standing by the door, and Aidos, who was sitting on a chair, his feet tapping against the floor with an anxiousness that was felt across the room.

"He cannot summon us like that. We are not subservient to a priest—" Hanno reasoned, but Mr. Galloway immediately cut him off.

"We are in foreign lands, ruled by foreign leaders. We must obey the laws of these lands."

"A priest is not a ruler. He does not make any laws that we have to obey. If Aidos has willed to worship a different god, who is he to correct him?" Hanno asked with a calmness that soothed the tension.

"He is my father," answered Aidos.

"He's a father only if you take his faith," Hanno reminded him.

Aidos was not offended by the reminder, although the stress it put him through was unbearable. A father who had deferred his son over belief could not be trusted to protect him. Aidos knew that well. The pride of the priest was of utmost importance.

"That's unkind of you, Hanno," his father scolded the figure up above.

"We will not go to a priest that summons us with an intent to discredit our faith. Nor will we give up a brother in faith to maintain peace," Hanno explained. His grip suddenly grew stronger, his anger fueling his alert figure.

"I hope not to make you feel overwhelmed by this entire ordeal, Mr. Galloway. My father is not a merciful man. I assure you, he will squeeze you out if necessary." Aidos hesitated. "His cruelty is an expectation, not a probability. It is perhaps one of the reasons I have abandoned my beliefs."

Hanno could tell from afar that the young boy had broken into a sweat.

"We are not afraid of his actions. We are traders; we did not harm or oppose. There is simply no reason for me to surrender someone because of religion," Hanno consoled.

"You are kind," Aidos replied before he shot him a glance. "They will not see it."

"That—" Hanno exclaimed, "we should test that."

"What are you saying?" asked his father, who was sitting, his back tilted.

"We will talk to them. Tell them to stop harassing us over our belief."

"They won't be welcoming," Aidos reminded Hanno.

Mr. Galloway, however, shook his head. "You're right, Hanno. I should go meet the priest right now."

"I will go. You will stay at home," said Hanno.

"You can't attend it." Aidos stood from the seat and proclaimed.

"Why not?" Hanno looked inquisitive.

"They expect each visitor to bow to their god, accept it as true. It would be disrespectful to our faith. Inviting you to his temple is part of his mission to demean you," Aidos had begun to ramble, his eyes darting from place to place.

"That does not bother me," Hanno said to Aidos, but he was not done yet.

"My sister. The priestess. She will put you to the test."

"If God wills it, I shall pass every one," said Hanno.

He stood a moment while the silence settled, and then he spun around and walked into his room.

He took his time leisurely to get ready. He wore his best coat, his most expensive pantsuit, and polished his shoes. He combed his hair back and wore his leather gloves. When he was sure of his incredibly polished look, he stepped into the garden, where an old, battered car stood. His driver immediately climbed into the front seat and watched as Hanno got into the seat behind him.

"The Golatian temple," Hanno told him. Then the engine whirred to life, and they were off.

Hanno was thoughtful. A tad bit too much. Oftentimes, he would attempt conversation with those who served him, but his attention would divert, fixating on an issue that did not concern him. Today, however, he did not even attempt conversation. He simply watched out the window worryingly, his sad eyes gloomier than ever. The driver watched from the rearview mirror, wondering if it was the slums that bothered him, the poverty, or the people.

"It's nice weather today," he remarked.

Hanno simply hummed in response. It was indeed a beautiful day—sunny but not humid. It came with a soft breeze, almost like a whisper; it brushed against the skin but did not chill.

When the car stood before the temple, and the door to the car swung open, Hanno stepped out and immediately landed in a puddle of murky water. The gates of the temple were being washed. They were tall metallic gates. One thing about the Golatian worshippers was that they adorned their temples. He jogged across the barrier, careful not to get caught in the drizzle.

It was crowded today in the temple. People—light and dark, short and tall—all stood about, waiting, while some were preaching from their holy book.

A gentle tap against his shoulder jerked him to reality before he slipped into his thoughts once more.

"Gib miuj jahuda on tou!" the beggar ordered.

Hanno was only slightly startled by the man, whose hands were spread out. The Vetians were aggressive in their right.

Hanno did not speak Vetian, but he knew a beggar's demands. So he took out his wallet and handed him a crisp note of twenty Quails. The beggar stared at Hanno Galloway for a moment as if he had lost his mind. Twenty Quails was a large amount, and he half expected the man to take it back. Hanno, however, stood undeterred by the generous sum he had given out. Instead, he turned his back on the beggar and began looking around at the temple.

The beggar found it strange and walked away, mumbling under his breath. Hanno was observing the temple as a painter would another's art. He was taken aback by the grandeur of its walls. The inscriptions were foreign, but the pictures on the walls spoke a million words.

Amidst all the flying rocks, dying stars, and blood moons stood a child. Its lips were blue, its eyes shut, and yet she stood upright. The fading gold of the heavy velvet dress showed how old it was.

Everyone fell to their knees and cried in unison. Everyone's attention turned to the gates, and slowly, they all dropped.

Hanno was startled. He looked behind him, where everyone's attention had been, and he gulped.

A woman walked toward him, her pride emanating off her—and rightfully so. Her gaze darkened as she approached the foreigner, and even then, the mesmerizing sweetness in her eyes seemed to captivate every soul in attendance.

Her dress was heavy, adorned with ribbons and silks. Her steps were loud, echoing through the grand temple even in the open air. And when she passed through him, he couldn't help but offer a solemn bow, as if owed, not asked for.

The entire courtyard fell silent as she passed. The scent of daffodils remained.

He swallowed hard as he turned around to watch her walk away.

Certainly, the priestess—a being deserving of divine love.

When the priestess had passed, it was as if time itself let out a breath. Everyone stood once more and resumed their actions.

Hanno himself felt his jaw unclench. With a deep sigh, he walked into the temple, ignoring all else in his way to meet his objective.

---

Hanno got seated in an atrocious chair. He worried that should he move too much, he'd break it and fall off. But every chair was in the same sorry state. So he sat awkwardly onto the one he was offered and tucked his chin up to look at the priest sitting on what appeared to be his personal throne.

The priest whispered into the ears of the translator, who then declared his words out loud for Hanno to hear.

"The priest asks your name."

"Hanno Galloway. I'm the son of Pitkin Galloway."

Another few whispers, and then the man asked, "You came empty-handed?"

"Was I supposed to bring something along?" Hanno asked, his brow inching toward the priest as he deciphered Hanno's words.

"You were supposed to bring my son."

"He did not want to surrender his beliefs."

"Then why have you come here? Do you think you stand to plead a case for a traitor when you led him astray?" asked the translator rather calmly, which was a stark contrast to the priest, who shouted his words.

"I have not led him astray. I simply worshipped, and he chose to join me in my work—just as you worship your god."

The translator announced his response to the people and the priest, and they all became rowdy.

"Blasphemy!"

"Forgive me if you have taken offense. I am not familiar with Golatian customs," Hanno said, pausing, waiting for the man to decipher his words before continuing—but he was cut off immediately.

"Obvious, it is. You are ignorant, and so is that imbecile."

Hanno felt the tension rising inside the temple, and when he heard those words, he felt even more out of place. He looked up at the priest and wondered if God would accept praise from a mouth that spoke such words.

Nargis watched from the balcony, her gaze fixated on the foreigner.

"Hanno Galloway," she said his name as if tasting it on her tongue. "Is that the man who has taken Aidos with him?" she asked Pisto, who was beside her.

"Yes, your grace," he responded, his head still tilted low.

"What a sight it is," she said quietly. His full face was in view, and she wondered if he could watch her from behind the soft wisps of hair that fell over his eyes.

"I'm sorry?" Pisto asked.

"I imagined him much older," she quipped.

"He's an heir to a much older Mr. Galloway."

"An heir? A spoiled one?" she asked, leaning over the banister.

"I've heard only good things," Pisto said in a low whisper.

He was met with a tight slap on his shoulder.

"Pin your ears to better walls next time," she muttered.