Sticks and Stories - 7. Temple of Baire

The trio of adventurers pointed and exclaimed. Bounding for joy, their journeys through sweltering savannahs and frigid mountains paid off. Many townsfolk and countrymen called them crazy. Some even cast them aside, taunting their hopes and dreams. Now, they stand mere yards away from their fantasies in an unfamiliar jungle.

The gossip, rumors, and tales about the Temple of Baire appeared to have been quite exaggerated. Vibrant gold bricks were vine-covered clay. No sparking cobblestone laid before them on the path. Only untamed, grassy soil stood in their way, but something told the three they had arrived at the right place. The aura– peaceful and soothing… It intertwined with their souls.

Upon entering, they spotted unlit sconces throughout the corridor. Flurin took the responsibility of lighting the way. “Best if I do it.” The scrawny man trepidatiously examined the first black torch, observing and smelling the object. Once determined the fuel was active and healthy, he lit it with his own. “It won’t create a poisonous fume, or explode,” he claimed assuringly.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Thief,” Garren bellowed. The ever-irritated and moody barbarian followed closely. Wielding his trusty handaxes, the muscular man remained ready for combat. Despite the temple’s aura, he lowered no defenses.

“Now, now,” Akhir murmured, “we’ve trekked this far. We’re here, so why continue the name-calling?” The portly man sauntered behind, his cyan robe wavering. Throughout their expedition, the umber-toned sorcerer acted as the trio’s voice of reason on numerous occasions. He chuckled and asked, “Flurin, shall I conjure a ball of light? It would be safer should one of those torches be trapped.”

“The same could be said about you accidentally setting off a rune,” the rogue quipped.

Rolling up a sleeve, he studied his arcane tattoo– a white inking with various overlapping ancient text. “There are none within our vicinity, from what I see. My ink isn't glowing.”

“Go for it.”

Channeling his energy, Akhir formed an off-yellow sphere in his palm. He gently pushed it out while muttering under his breath. As they continued onward, the light followed overhead. The corridor went on and on, never seeming to end. Akhir and Flurin were still enamored by the temple’s discovery, while Garren constantly voiced his temper. An hour had passed. No advancement was made. Everything appeared the same, as if they were repeating their steps.

“You said there’s no magic here,” the barbarian grumbled.

“There isn’t.”

“Then why do I feel like we’ve been snared?”

The party began to scour their environment. Excluding the unlit sconces, the two walls were bare. The floor? Ever so dusty. Flurin illuminated the nearby torches to provide more light. All three searched for the slightest of clues. Even the faintest of chips in the clay brick teased them. When Garren dared to venture forth, the others worried separation was what the trap wished for. They stayed within a confining distance of each other for safety.

When hope dwindled, the sorcerer hummed. Akhir pivoted, finding nothing behind him. He looked down and saw nothing. With a childlike giggle, he peered up to the ceiling. “Ah, that explains it.”

“What is it? I see nothing,” admitted Flurin.

In odd behavior, Akhir laid on the floor. Staring at the vine-covered surface, he craned his neck as if he was puzzled. Then, he wiggled and pushed himself back. His smile curled as he turned himself to be perpendicular with the hallway. He patted the floorspace next to him. “Come, look.”

Garren and Flurin glanced at each other, clearly disturbed by their companion’s behavior and request. The rogue was the first to abide.

“See?” Akhir pointed and traced the air.

It took Flurin a few moments, but gasped at the sight. The vines, varying in length, girth, and hue draped in different ways and directions. To the unobservant, it appeared ordinary. From their perspective, it spelled a message. “Reflect upon thine self.”

Standing, Garren prodded a vine with an ax hilt. “The blazes are you gabbering about?”

Flurin remained cautious. “It’s a puzz—”

Akhir seized and gasped. His body tremored, alarming the other two. The sorcerer’s hand grasped about, desperate for something to hold. The rogue clenched one of them. “Akhir! Garren, my satchel. Give me the vial with a purple fluid.”

As the barbarian knelt and fumbled in the cloth bag, Akhir lashed out, clutching Flurin’s shoulder. “No!” the sorcerer shouted. “I… I see… Another message!”

Paused by fear of the unknown, Flurin stammered, “W-what is it?”

Agonizing seconds passed. Without warning, Akhir slumped back to the floor, gasping for air and fluttering his eyelids.

“Akhir, are you in pain?”

With a boisterous laugh, the man ignored Flurin. The man panted with a smile on his face.

Garren groaned. “He’s far from it. Man is in pure bliss, I’d say,” he said, gesturing to the sorcerer’s tented robe. A damp spot slowly grew in diameter at the mound.

“It… It seems,” Akhir mumbled, “our next clue is a riddle. One of length, at that.”

Garren snorted. “Length.”

“What riddle?” Flurin asked, rising and offering a hand to his friend.

Sitting up, Akhir took the offer and stood. He adjusted himself and brushed the wet off his robe. “The words spoke within my mind after I thought of my past. This trap… It’s intriguing. Masterfully crafted. No ordinary wizard laid it. Makes me feel inferior, in a way.”

“The riddle,” Garren stated in a gruff tone.

“Ah, yes. It said, The past is the past, and can not be changed. Those who dwell can not swell, yet those who reflect can find something to protect. Together, they find a space, to which precious trinkets can be placed. You have the key to an open door, but what for? Inside, you can find answers, whether they be to questions, locks, or puzzles. But those who place their memories… They are the free. Adventurer, what is this supposed cage?”

Garren broke the lingering silence that followed with a low whistle. “You remembered all of that?”

“It is burning inside my mind. I worry I’ll never forget it.”

“The past is the past,” Flurin muttered, deep in thought. “It’s obvious the past can’t be changed, no matter who wishes for it.”

“I’m focused on the supposed space where trinkets are placed,” Akhir stated.

“Well, we’re in a temple,” Garren pointed out. “Kings put their prized possessions in places like this when they prepare for death.”

“Yes, but it would be silly for the answer to be in a place we’re already inhabiting. Especially when we’re trapped here.”

Pressing his back against the cold wall, Flurin thought aloud. “Where would one put a memory?”

“Or an answer,” Akhir added. “That one confuses me.”

“You keep a memory inside your head, right?” asked Garren.

The sorcerer hummed in agreement. “Or your heart.”

“No,” the rogue whispered. He kicked off the wall and reached inside his shirt from the neck. Brandishing a locket, he opened it. “A memory can be an object.”

“And an object can be an answer,” Akhir continued. Garren’s befuddled face warranted him to explain. “A key can open a lock. A missing piece to a puzzle can solve it.”

“So what do memories have to do with all this?”

“I believe this riddle is simpler than we give it credit for. Where do you put your memories? The ones represented by trinkets?”

“Around your neck!”

“In your heart.”

Akhir shook his head. “But you put it in a cage with an open door. Somewhere you wish to protect. I can think of one place.” He raised a hand, and with the other, he fingered a gold ring. Removing it, he stared at it lovingly. He took a deep breath, then put it in his pocket.

The sorcerer vanished into thin air, alarming Flurin and Garren. “Where did he go? What was that ring?”

The rogue, inflicted by fear, managed to speak. “That was his marriage band, to his late husband.”

“And, what? He took it off and poof! That thing had to have magic!”

“No, he removed it first. If that’s the case, he would’ve disappeared then. He disappeared when he—”

Realization struck. “He put it in his pocket! That’s the answer– pocket! You can put your valuables in a pocket, like a key or an item with memories attached.” He held out his locket. “Garren, your lucky coin.”

“Right.” The barbarian plucked a dented coin from a slot upon his shoulder. “Feels wrong putting it somewhere else. Ever since it stopped a sword many moons ago, I’ve kept it there.”

“Then it shall become even more lucky, for it will send us to unfathomable riches.”

The pair pocketed their treasures, and the temple corridor faded from existence. In its place, an emptiness filled the void. Deep within the space were ribbons of stars in a multitude of colors. A faint hum of a string instrument played a soft lullaby, enhancing the remnants of the temple’s calming aura. No matter where they looked, they could not determine the origin of the music.

The rogue and barbarian spotted Akhir, who merely waved. “Ah, my friends! I wondered if you had forgotten about me.”

“Forget your liveliness?” Flurin asked.

“Or that childish giggle?” Garren added.

“How rude.”

The three looked at each other. None of them made the insult. The voice was unfamiliar.

“Who goes there?” The barbarian withdrew a single ax from his belt.

Akhir waved a few fingers and muttered some unintelligible words. Red sparks danced about the area. “No creature I’ve encountered, but we’re being watched.”

“Oh, I’m lookin’ alright,” the strange, gritty voice claimed. It laughed boisterously, and it sounded full of joy.

“And just where are you looking?” the sorcerer asked kindly. If he could word his way out of a hostile situation, he would.

“Right up your sexy skirt, big fella! Do your friendos know what you’re packing down here?” The question was followed up with the most innocent of squeaks.

Leaping back, Akhir gripped and raised his robe. “I beg your pardon?”

The retreating cloth revealed an abnormally small creature. It appeared to be of gray and white fur with an odd pink emblem on its breast. Laying on its back, the adventurers assumed the animal had tripped or fallen. It looked completely harmless as it rose to its feet like a toddler. Standing, it looked like a bear, of sorts. “Isn’t the saying ‘looking is free?’ How dare.”

Garren, never known for taking chances, lowered his ax and pointed its eye at the mysterious being. “I dare to strike if you don’t reveal who you are. Are you this dungeon’s keeper?”

Unthreatened by the ax’s spiked eye, the toy-like bear merely giggled and pushed the deadly point away with a finger. “More of a dungeon master.”

The barbarian’s weapon remained in place, no matter how he struggled. It would not sway, retract, or even move after the man let go. The ax hovered mid-air, frozen in time.

Akhir commented, “Which makes us your pawns.”

“Oh, pawns is such a nasty term. Why would I treat the first visitors to Pocket Space in many years so terribly?”

“Pocket Space?” Flurin asked. “Where is Pocket Space?”

“Not just where, but also what and why!” The bear raised its paw and twirled about. “Pocket Space is a living place, surrounding all and those who inhabit it. Here, we hold all that is most important. The belongings we consider near and dear, the riches that enable survival in various worlds… And a surprising amount of lint, which can be great for starting fires.”

As it cackled at its own humor, Akhir couldn’t help but join. “All very important objects to store. But may I ask, who and what are you, little bear?”

The creature gasped. Clutching his heart, the bear’s smile was beyond genuine. “He called me little! Oh, how kind! I am just a little guy! Oh, that just warmed my itty bitty heart. Thank you so much, Mister Magic Man.”

The adventurers– two smiling and one scowling, stared expectantly.

“Right, the questions. Darlings, my name is Nico, and I’m the dungeon master for the Temple of Beaw.”

“You mean Baire,” Garren corrected.

“Nope, Beaw.”

“Baire, with an i and r.”

“Sir… Sir…” Nico waddled closer to the barbarian. “Not sure if you know this, but this is my domain. I’ll call it whatever I please. Don’t test me. I’d hate to be a foul host.”

Garren grumbled and brandished his other ax. “Is that a threat?”

“Garren!” The other two hollered.

“Do you perceive me as a threat?” Nico held out his open paws. “For I see you as a menace. One that barks too much.”

The barbarian roared and raised his spare weapon. Flurin started for Garren to tackle him. Akhir’s hands glowed, prepared to launch a pushing spell.

In the blink of an eye, Nico grew and reshaped. No bubbling skin, no bone cracking… The change was instantaneous. He was no longer a toy-sized bear, but a fearsome dragon adorned with the same-colored scales. It sported an impressive mane and beard of dark gray hair. The dungeon master’s eyes became apparent for the first time– green and pink heterochromatic irises. Nico towered over the trio. He suddenly became a threat.

But Garren was undeterred. He dashed forward with the ax ready to fall. “Foul beast!”

The dragon huffed and lowered a claw, blocking the warrior from progressing further. “Check yourself, sweetheart. I don’t want to defend myself, but I will.”

Garren pivoted and moved around the obstacle. He hacked at the dragon's paw to no avail.

“Fine,” Nico uttered. He repositioned a talon and flicked Garren, sending him sprawling across the imaginary floor.

Akhir held out an arm, stopping Flurin from advancing. “No, let this play out.”

“But Garren, he’s in—”

“He’s done this to himself. We fare no better by getting involved.”

They watched as their friend feverishly tried again, only to be thwarted by the same talon. The dragon, however, acted differently on the second strike. Its head lowered as Garren struggled to rise. A thin plume of smoke blew from Nico’s mouth, encompassing the barbarian. Coughing could be heard, coming from both combatants.

When the smoke dissipated, Garren laid on his back, barely able to clutch his trusted ax. He seemed unharmed, but he was clearly in a daze.

“Garren,” Akhir called out, “are you well?”

Garren grumbled something unintelligible.

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Nico ordered. His giggle was raspy and joyful. “Been holding that smoke in for the hottest of minutes.”

Flurin took a cautious step closer. “What did you do to him?”

“Gave him some of the good stuff. He needed to chill, don't you think? I'll wager he's seeing unicorns and leprechauns by now.”

“So,” Akhir pondered aloud, “you're a shapeshifter. To change between a tiny bear and a large dragon…”

“Oh, hunni. I can be whatever I please! A little beaw, a big derg, even a smelly satyr.” As he mentioned it, the dragon vanished. At chest-height, a half-goat man stood, sporting the same coat and skin from Nico's previous forms. He reached into a hidden pocket within his fur, procuring a brown jug. The adventurers were amazed as the container grew in size as it was lifted from its hiding place.

“Is that a power of yours?” Akhir asked, pointing curiously. “You can stow and retrieve objects at your will?”

Nico strolled closer to the prone Garren and chuckled. “It’s not just my power. That’s the power of Pocket Space. All who inhabit or visit can do it. If you’ve put an object in a pocket at any point in your lifetime, you may recall it. Simple as that, darlin’.” He removed the jug’s cork and took a swig.

Akhir hummed and dipped a hand in a pocket. “Any object at any point in time. What is the underlying purpose for the ability? Unless we can use the power outside of the temple, it seems rather silly.”

“You’re not thinking hard enough, then.” The satyr stared with a mischievous smirk. “Think of the moment that made you the happiest. The most treasured time of your life. Envision the one item that would bring you back there.”

Playing the proverbial fool, the sorcerer closed his eyes. Wandering back to the Farrarel region, he felt the scorching sands between his toes as his former self stumbled upon a mysterious stone tower. Owning nothing but his grandfather’s tattered robes, he journeyed the dark, spiraling staircase. Upon reaching the top, he looked out to the endless desert. He spotted a speck beyond the pitiful village he called home. It called to him. The next day, he traversed the red sands for hours, only to find a glorious city.

He opened his eyes. Something sizable pressed against his thigh. “No,” he whispered. In disbelief, he slid his hand into the pocket. Feeling the familiar leather-bound cover, he gasped and pulled out a worn tome. “It can’t be. You’re… This is supposed to be on my shelf at home.”

Flurin neared with curiosity. “What is that? An old book?”

“It…” Akhir smacked his lips with pride and ownership. He couldn’t help but smile. “It’s the book that taught me. Everything I know about magic came from this. It gave me knowledge of spells unlike any other.”

“That’s the magic of Pocket Space,” Nico murmured. His tone was full of sincerity and love. “Upon first explanation, pocket magic seems useful to recall tools. Instead, its purpose is sentimental. You look back to see how far you’ve come, to relive past moments– whether it be to learn, to reminisce, or even to grieve. Pocket Space is for self-reflection, for that, you can become a better person in the world.”

Flurin sniffled. All eyes fell to him as the thief held a locket. “But even then, the magic of this realm has a fallacy. You put something in a pocket, you might forget it. For me, this locket… I can’t afford to forget it.”

Without a sound, Nico moved instantly. He stood before Flurin and laced a finger along the locket’s chain. “Your parents, right? I feel a former fire’s warmth, and the cold of a love lost. I’m terribly sorry for what you’ve been through. And you’re right. Pocket Space’s magic is not for everything. Some belongings should be worn. Some should be carried by hand or neck. But see?”

He pointed to Akhir, who had sat cross-legged. He was reading his book with a nurtured smile. “He forgot about the book. It hadn’t escaped his mind, but here in this moment, the book called to him. A soul knows when something is worth being on the person versus tucked away. Your locket… It belongs around your neck. Wear it properly.”

The satyr strolled away. “Stay here until your hearts’ content, darlings. As for this silly-billy on the ground, he might be here for a while. No telling when he’ll sober up.”

Garren writhed about. “Stupid… dragon…”

“Sweetheart,” Nico said, stooping down to greet the barbarian face to face, “darling, honey-sweetie-baby… If you don’t start being nice, I’m going to introduce you to my hairy ass. And if you thought my breath did something, whoo!”

He returned his attention to the other two. “I’ll be around, gentlemen. When you’re ready to leave, give me a holler. Enjoy your ti—” He snapped, his face full of revelation. “Oh! Right, one more thing! If you’re hungry, your best bet is candy. You know, from when you were kiddos. Unless you stuck a cheese-stuffed crust pizza in your pocket at one point. In that case, share, pretty please? I got extra pepperonis for us.”

Curious, Flurin asked, “You do?”

“Of course he does,” Akhir answered. “Being the keeper of this domain, I imagine he has an assortment of odds and ends stowed away.”

“But wouldn’t that mean he could have this pizza?”

The lovable gritty laugh filled the space. “I have many things in my pockets. Can’t say pizza is. Some things require travel to experience. Even if it’s Pizza Hut.”

“I don’t believe I’ve heard of such a place. A hut where pizza is made, that is.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Different time and place than the one you call your own. Buh-bye for now,” he cheerily cooed. WIthout a single disturbance, the satyr vanished.

***

Akhir, Flurin, and Garren traipsed out of the temple. The calming breeze eased two of the spirits. The third was left in frustration. “I’ll come back one day,” the barbarian stated. “Stronger. Faster. Wiser. That creature… I’ve never left something like him alive.”

“Garren, my friend.” Akhir stared off into the jungle. “Even you have to recognize the gift we were privileged to. The creature, Nico… He was an oddity. But I’d be a fool to ignore the beauty in his power and soul. He spreads a joy unlike any other. I’ll forever remember today.”

“As will I,” Flurin commented. “I won’t speak of this day. This is a sacred place. It’s right to be shrouded in rumor. Pocket Space…” He trailed off, unsure how to continue his thought.

“We journeyed far and wide to be here,” stated the sorcerer. “In search of wondrous treasure, we found priceless enlightenment. My friends, I’m inclined to continue on the supposed rumor. Only to those we deem worthy of what they might find.”

“We encountered tragedy and death during our trek.” Garren gripped an ax hilt. “If we were any less skilled, we might have perished.”

“Then only the worthy may discover it. We give the same hint we were provided.” Akhir took a cautious step forward. He absentmindedly pocketed his hands, finding nothing within them. Smirking, he loosely rubbed the soft fabric. The objects, food, and memories he retrieved in the starry realm warmed him. Pocket Space had reignited a love for the things that made him who he was. Things that were lost, not within his reality but his memory.

He sighed and relaxed the hidden hand. The pocket’s fabric danced around his fingers. He knew his treasures were there, and he would always have them.