Jein tried to ask how he was supposed to remember the steps back down the stairs. The Priest raised an eyebrow at that.
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"Isn't there like a series of steps I have to take so I don't get teleported to somewhere else?"
"Whatever in the world gave you that idea? We wouldn't use something so complex in a place that houses acolytes."
He could hear the pair of guards behind snickering a little at his comment.
"I...I don't know." Jein answered, his ears and cheeks burning.
The Priest turned to leave and went down the stairs with the same awkward gait he had used to climb them.
"Don't worry, kid, the High Priest is a bit strange, but he's kind enough."
The man who stood spoke as if he were keeping his nose to the ground.
"But really, you do need a bath. Please take one."
The other nodded in agreement.
Jein followed the suggestion and headed down the stairs. He was paying attention to the conversation so much during the way up to his room that he hadn't really looked around. Wind whistled through arrow slits cut into the side of the walls of the cathedral that overlooked the temple square. There were still a handful of people meandering about the square. Priests, people whose destinies lay within the clergy, awaited initiation in neat little lines helmed by exhausted acolytes, and those waiting for their families to take them home so that they could register in their given Guild when daylight allowed for working. Jein watched men patting their sons or daughters on the back with some jealousy: if his father ever raised a hand at him, it wasn't a comforting pat; it was fueled by some form of liquor and rage.
The walk down the stairs was short and rather uneventful. A few acolytes hurried back and forth, carrying handfuls of cloth, sacks of potatoes, or bundles of paper that spilled onto the floor around them as they walked: picked up by others that followed after them in an attempt to help control the chaos that seemed to exude behind the scenes of the otherwise orderly Cathedral of the Father. Jein ran into the acolyte who was to be his attendant.
"Are you taking a bath right now?"
The Acolyte looked hopeful, and Jein nodded. The young man shoved a bundle of clothes into The Boy's arms and carried the remainder of the stuff he had up the stairs.
"Your food will be waiting for you on your table."
"Alright," Jein called back as he watched The Acolyte climb the stairs and out of sight.
The Bathroom was the fanciest thing he had ever seen. It was single occupancy, apparently made just for guests spending the night on the temple grounds. Brass knobs stuck out of the stonework wall, and an image of Aelior in mosaic was plastered on the wall behind the tub: carved out of a rather large stone that sat in the far corner.
Jein tossed his clothes in a heap on the ground, and set the new ones that the cathedral had given him to the side on a pedestal that he had assumed was for such a thing, and climbed into the tub. The bottom was rougher than he had imagined tubs to be: normally, his baths would be pailfuls of painfully cold water poured over him a couple of times once a week, to wash the itch out of his scalp.
"How does this work…"
He grabbed one of the faucet handles and pulled it. Nothing. He pushed it. Nothing. He fiddled with it a bit more until he found it turning in one direction. He continued turning it until the spout poured steaming water onto the ground and around his feet. He yelped and leapt out of the tub. Steaming water poured into the tub and out of the small hole on the opposite side. He turned the faucet off and examined the hole. He knew water was supposed to somehow stay within the tub, but he didn't know how that was supposed to work when some idiot left a hole in it! He looked around: surely there would be something that he could use to plug it, right? He looked at the strange block of scented fat sitting on the rim of it and grabbed it, and pushed it until a portion of it broke off in the hole, and set it back on the stone lip. How smart he was! No wonder fate had chosen him to be an archmage!
He turned the hot water on again and let it fill the tub up to the rim before reaching over the scalding cauldron. Bravely, he sank his hand into the liquid and quickly pulled it out. His skin was now red from the tip of his middle finger to his wrist. How was he supposed to sit in that? It would burn all of his skin off! He looked at the other and tried it as well. He would wait for it to cool down, he supposed, so he sat on the floor and looked at the mosaic.
The image displayed Aelior, the Father lowering himself upon a pyramid, and splitting into seven colors: Red, for Thyr; He Who Rules the Passions; Orange for Sahl, She Who Rules the Processions of the Skies; Yellow, for The Mother, She Who Rules the Hearth and Stead; Green for Pian, The Horned One, who looks after the forests and looked after the elves; Indigo, for Jephre, the Trickster; He Who Rules The Beasts and their Kins. Blue for Karakan, He Who Rules the Tides, and Violet, for The Watcher, unnamed and ever vigilant, and the Sentinel of the realms between their world and the Void.
The Watcher was the Patron of Adventurers, whose sole existence was to challenge the powers of the Void wherever they cropped up, and to help uphold the Realms from falling into chaos. Whenever the armies of the world were to go toe to toe with creatures from the Void, the Demons, and the monsters that spawned in their wake from their detestful miasma, they would pray to The Watcher for fortune. It was The Watcher that allotted the 'drops' that monsters and demons sometimes gave, to reward those who would stand against the Ender of All Things; The Demon King Maralin, and his forces.
This was all stuff taught to Jein during his 12th year in preparation for his ceremony, so that he knew who he would have to dedicate his life to after his Ceremony. He contemplated this while watching the steam dance in the air in shorter, thinner wisps. Once it no longer rose from the surface of the water, he climbed in and let it spill over the edge onto the neatly tiled floor.
"Ah…"
His muscles, aching from sleeping in the straw-filled stalls of the stables after his parents kicked him out after turning 13, felt relaxed for the first time. The cold that had seemed to live within his bones was banished, and a small sweat began to form on his forehead. Itches that he scarcely knew existed were slain within those bordering-on-too-hot waters. All the dirt, grime, and God knows what else had been staining his pale skin lifted into the water.
Whenever he passed by someone who had come out of the public baths, they would smell like flowers and other things. How was that possible with just water? He thought that until he, once more, looked at the strange block of scented fat sitting on the lip of the tub. He picked it up and rubbed it on his body. White suds formed, and he brought it to his nose. They smelled good! He rubbed that block of fat anywhere he could reach until there were just as many bubbles in the water as there was dirt, and set it to the side. Such a wondrous thing! Used both to plug the hole that the idiot left in, and to impart its smell to you! Whoever thought of it was obviously also an archmage — a genius of geniuses.
He enjoyed the water until the soap stuck within the drain dissolved by the water, and the tub emptied. And it worked as a timing mechanism. Truly one of the most advanced pieces of technology available in the world. And so simple! What was the Iron Line compared to this? The Airships that carried people and cargo from every which way? Those worked on simple rules of nature; this was a work of the purest form of alchemy! It was magic made manifest.
He dried himself off with the towel that The Acolyte had given him, and put on the fresh set of clothes: leaving sopping puddles of water on the floor as he splashed up each step. Wet foot prints following after him. The Guards opened the door for him, and shut it behind him. And there, he was finally allowed to end that fateful day. He ate his soup, set the chest of clothes left for him on the ground by his bed, stripped, and fell fast asleep on the straw-stuffed mattress. It was the most comfortable thing he had ever felt in his life.