by Stephen C. Curro
in Issue 126, July 2022
Against all advice, Mira journeyed to the Tiger Temple alone.
Among Mira’s people, all talk of the Tiger Temple was taboo. Villagers whispered that it was once a shrine to the Tiger God, but now it was cursed. All Mira’s parents dared to tell her was that the temple had once held a great treasure, a guardian had protected the grounds, and it had been abandoned for eons.
Sometimes, when children thought adults weren’t listening, they would lower their voices and share notions of rituals, fragments of riddles, or, if you were lucky, a name. It was infuriating for Mira to nibble these crumbs of knowledge; she nourished herself on the vivid details of a story. Mira ate stories, breathed them, wrapped herself in them like a snug blanket. Yet she was never quite satisfied because she was forbidden from hearing what she knew was the greatest tale of all.
One day, Mira resolved to learn the truth for herself. She made the trek to the forgotten shrine and found a great complex strangled by trees and vines. The entrance had collapsed, the outer frame of the doors now a pile of moss-covered rocks. Even so, Mira found a gap in the rubble to slip through.
Inside the first chamber it was oppressively still. The floors were cluttered with debris. Stone columns lay broken amid a forest of spikes that protruded from the ground. The spikes were blunted at the tip, but still looked dangerous and unsettling, especially since several of them were tangled with rib bones that once belonged to impaled bodies. All of this was draped with cobwebs and a layer of flint-colored dust.
Mira’s gumption vanished like ice in sunlight. She didn’t feel a curse weighing on her soul, but if there ever was a place where a curse should have been, this was it. The young woman shook herself. With resolute steps she waded between the spikes, clawing at cobwebs that blocked her path.
The second chamber was a long passage, almost like a tunnel through a mountain. Sunlight spilled through a jagged hole in the ceiling, exposing six tree trunks that clogged the walkway. The end of each was fitted with spear points; they resembled tiger paws. What were these things tumbled about the corridor like firewood? Mira climbed over them, taking care to avoid the bones strewn about the ground.
At the other end of the passage, a pair of cracked stone doors three times her size stood open. In the dim light, Mira could see they were painted with elaborate depictions of the Tiger God whose name her people had forgotten. He stood on a platform, roaring under the moon as worshippers prostrated in adoration. It was the moment of creation, a story her grandmother had told her a thousand times. She did not recall, however, the Tiger God being part of the tale.
Mira entered the third chamber. Her footsteps echoed through a silence that had fermented for decades. The room was coated in dust, littered with bones, rocks, and dead vines where the jungle had crept in. At the back of the room stood the fractured remains of what had been an enormous statue of a fearsome tiger—the Tiger God, Mira presumed. The stone carcass was splayed over a shattered altar.
Mira beheld the dead sanctuary, scarcely breathing. She sensed something in the air, almost a whisper, as if the ancient walls held her in contempt. “I shouldn’t be here,” she murmured. The young woman turned around and made for the exit.
A vortex of dust rose before the doorway. It took solid form, grew legs, a tail, ears, and a muzzle. In seconds it had become a tiger the size of an elephant, with a glistening coat of moonlight and burning opal eyes.
“Why have you come here?!” The tiger’s voice was as loud and final as thunder.
Mira tensed to keep her limbs from shaking. She recalled a time when her friend Badek had leaned close and whispered a precious Tiger Temple secret. “You are Chava,” she exclaimed with amazement. “The temple guardian!”
The tiger roared, jumping as if stung. “Who are you who knows my name?”
Mira’s tongue spasmed as she tried to explain herself, but fear had gripped her to the marrow and all she managed was, “I…I…I…”
“Speak!” Chava’s claws dug into the ground. “Speak, or I will feast on your flesh!”
Mira did not doubt the tiger meant it, yet she noticed something behind the anger in his eyes. It was a thick, bitter anguish that made her heart wrench. She forced a deep breath and blurted, “I wanted to see.”
The tiger did not move, keeping his furious glare fixed on Mira. “See?” he snarled.
Mira nodded. “No one in my village will speak of this temple. Please, tell me, what happened here?”
The ferocity leaked from the tiger’s frame. His ears and tail drooped like wilted plants. With a defeated growl he trudged past Mira to the center of the chamber where he stared at the ruined statue.
“Ages ago,” he began in a deep velvet tone, “I presided as protector of the temple and its patrons. People from every tribe came to be healed by the magic of the Tiger’s Flame, a gem of unparalleled power. Their maladies would be cured, and in gratitude they would worship at the altar of…” He trailed off. “You don’t care. No one does.”
Mira came alongside the temple guardian. She raised a loose fist and placed it over her heart. “I do care.”
Chava sighed and sat down; his head bowed. “In time, the Tiger’s Flame was abused, turned into a weapon. Many were killed, including the First Priestess, the leader of the faith.” Chills stung Mira’s skin as Chava continued. “The surviving clergy decided to lock the gem away until the rightful successor of the First Priestess appeared to restore order. Devotees were banned. Traps were installed. Riddles were devised to inspire the worthy and guide them here.”
Mira felt her heart leap like a frog. Before she knew it a verse flew from her lips. “A precious key that cannot break / Unlock for all but one’s own sake.”
Tremors shook Chava’s body, accompanied by a disdainful growl. “One who knew the ancient ways could use a clear quartz crystal to navigate the jungle from afar.” He sorted, his tail twitching. “Imagine my surprise when raiders learned this skill and violated the temple floors with their wretched feet.”
Mira dared to take a step forward. “But that’s why you’re here. To protect against invaders.”
The tiger sat up straight, and for a moment his voice held a touch of pride. “I was sent from the Higher Realm, bound in spirit to defend this place. Even after the tragedy, I remained to guard this temple and the gem it housed, as was expected of me. But the world moved on. My solitude was broken only when thieves came to steal the Flame. They failed. Those that avoided the traps faced my teeth.”
Mira gasped. She felt her soul being pulled into the tale she’d longed to hear. “What happened then?”
“The first few times I demanded how the thieves had managed to come here. They would confess that they had spoken to many and pieced together riddles not meant for them to solve.” Chava growled. “The priests did not consider that evil people can acquire sacred knowledge through bribery or coercion.”
“Evil people…not from my village nearby?”
“Many were from distant lands. Some were from your tribe, or neighboring ones.” The tiger’s voice quivered. “Meeting those of your people made me realize that the old ways were dying, and as I am bound by spirit to this temple, I could do nothing to change that.”
Anger rippled through the tiger’s body. “Then one day, a motley band of explorers, led by a young man who claimed to be descended from the First Priestess, made it all the way to the altar. He wore a radiant quartz ‘round his neck and walked past the traps with reverence rather than fear. It warmed my heart to see someone approach the Tiger’s Flame with humility. But before I could judge the depth of his worthiness, a pack of marauders that had menaced him attacked. There was fighting, and in the heat of battle someone removed the Flame from the idol prematurely.”
The tiger stopped speaking. He breathed labored breaths, as if wounded. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Mira sat on a broken column. She motioned her shaking hands for Chava to continue. “What happened after they removed the gem?”
For a moment, Chava stood as silent and still as the ghostly walls that surrounded them, except for his twitching tail. “The wrath of Heaven shook this place,” he said at last. “The ceiling tumbled down, and the earth spewed flames. The traps went wild as they were broken. Through the chaos, the villain who snatched the gem fled for the door. I tried to pursue him, but I was outmaneuvered and buried under debris. When I managed to break free, the temple was utterly quiet, the intruders long gone.”
Mira heard the pain in his voice. Her compassion gushed for him. “And you’ve been here ever since?” The broken altar a short distance away seemed pitifully unwelcoming.
“Yes,” the tiger answered. “Here. Without the Flame, the old riddles were meaningless. The temple had no purpose. I had no purpose. Here, where there is nothing for me to do but roam crumbling grounds and watch the jungle slowly smother them. Here, where I am alone to contemplate the depth of my failure, where I wait for the jungle to devour me.” In a softer tone he added, “It’s what I deserve.”
The story Mira had always wanted to hear ended, and it left her soul feeling heavy like iron. She reached out and touched the tiger’s leg. He bristled but said nothing. The girl stroked his fur, felt his thick muscle under his moonlit coat. “It wasn’t your fault. You did your best.”
“Did I?” Chava released a bitter laugh.
Mira shook her head. “Why do you stay here and torment yourself? This all happened so long ago.”
“I am bound to this temple!” The rubble beneath their feet shook when the tiger bellowed. “As long as the foundation stands, I cannot leave.”
Mira felt so sorry for Chava that her bones ached. How long would Chava have to wait before the temple had completely eroded away? Centuries? Millennia?
She turned about the room, took in the murals painted by a civilization long gone. Many of them showed the Tiger God in his mercy or his wrath, but many others showed different scenes. People were building cities, planting crops, making music, making love. This was the history of an entire people, a culture that had faded to near-extinction. She badly wanted to know their stories.
“If you cannot find a new home,” Mira offered, “then why not restore this one?”
Chava scoffed. “What for? This place has no purpose.”
“But it had purpose before the gem was locked away.”
“No one has prayed here in over a thousand years. No one remembers the old ways.”
Mira dropped her head in sorrow. She ran her fingers over the scratches of a broken stone column. The pattern was strange, and when she took a second look, she made a silent gasp. There were carved symbols lining the column. Excitement coursed through her veins. She could not read the runes, but if she could…
She stood up. “Well, we can revive the old ways.”
The tiger raised an eyebrow. “We?”
Mira’s beaming smile made the room less gloomy. “You can teach me how to read this, how to live and pray as the ancients did. Then I’ll teach my people. We can teach the whole world.”
For a time, the tiger was silent. Mira swore she could see stars infinitely swirling in his eyes. Then, he answered, “How then, First Priestess, shall we proceed?”
As Chava’s words settled on Mira’s shoulders, her eyes fluttered in surprise. She cast her gaze from side-to-side over the stones that Chava was appointing her not only to restore, but to govern. “M-me?”
“Who better?” Chava boomed. “You are the first in ages to come here seeking knowledge, and the means to share it.” The tiger nodded, and though he did not smile, Mira got the sense that internally he was glimmering with joy.
Mira felt herself stand a little straighter as if a divine force was pulling her taught. She looked upon the ancient place with new eyes as she realized she was no longer just a seeker of stories; she was entrusted with reviving an entire tradition of faith and culture. Silently she prayed she would be worthy of the task.
“Well…” the young woman began. She glanced about the room and wondered how in the world they would make the temple serviceable again. It was strewn with rubble, littered with the remains of thieves long dead. She decided that the task, like a story, would be best started with a clear and purposeful beginning. “Well…it wouldn’t hurt to start with the bones.”
© July 2022, Stephen C. Curro
Stephan C. Curro lives in Colorado where he works as a high school paraprofessional. His work has appeared, among other places, in The Fifth Di…,Daily Science Fiction, and Acorn. His novelette, The Spark debuted in 2021 from Hiraeth Publishing. This is his first appearance in Swords & Sorcery Magazine.