The Temple of Doubt

by Anne Boles Levy

  “But what if they’re watching us for signs of illegal activity?” I said, my voice low.

  The guard remained rigid, his eyes on the three of us, one hand hidden beneath his shield, the other loosely gripping a pike. The rain streamed along his form and cascaded from the end of his shield. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it. Mami backed toward the door. “Time to go in, I think.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed both my parents’ arms. “I’m going to apologize.”

  “I forbid it,” Babba said.

  “Amaniel might be right,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t know that word was a slur, but what if using it did make things worse for us? And what if our impiety wasn’t enough any one single time to draw Nihil’s wrath, but it all added up over time?”

  Mami shook her head. “Then it’s my fault, not yours, Hadara.”

  I barreled on. “Amaniel’s in trouble for the first time in her life. She has no idea how to feel, I suppose.”

  Babba smiled grimly at that. “True enough.”

  “And she’s not thinking straight. I owe her a chance at fixing this. It won’t get her stitching back or Rishi’s doll, but can it hurt?”

  Mami looked over at Babba. “Do you want to tell her no?”

  Babba looked down his nose at me. “I would defend you with my life, if I had to, daughter mine. But no, you’re not going out in this storm to say so much as a word to a fully armed guard with orders to kill.”

  I gazed across the canal again. The soldier was gone and then reappeared between the next two sets of houses. He was making his way to the main boardwalk again.

  “Maybe he’s going away,” I said. “Maybe his shift is over.”

  The three of us stood there watching, sharing the single hope that our personal sentry was off-duty for the afternoon. Instead, he tramped toward our row of houses, making the turn onto our stretch of boardwalk. Babba positioned himself ahead of us, and I was relieved to hide behind his shoulder, peering out only just enough to see the soldier pause and turn to face Babba.

  “First Guardsman Valeo,” I whispered to Babba. “That’s his name.”

  Babba nodded and repeated the man’s name and rank.

  Valeo nodded back. “You have some concern, Rimonil of Mansoril?”

  He knew Babba’s name, and my late grandfather’s, too. A shudder rippled down my back, and I hugged my arms to my chest. There’d only be one reason this soldier would use my father’s family name instead of his title as Chief Port Inspector, which the whole city would know. He wanted Babba to realize he knew who we all were and didn’t give Nihil’s tiniest toenail for Babba’s position.

  Even at my angle over Babba’s shoulder, I could see the long, considering gaze Babba gave Valeo, the faintest squinting of Babba’s eyes as he weighed his next words. “I have only those concerns that our household may have offended our Great Numen in some manner, for which we would convey to the Azwans our deepest remorse.”

  Valeo drew himself up to his full height. His face was still turned toward Babba, but his eyes were on me. They’d always been on me, since the moment I’d stepped outside. I shrunk even as he rose, as if Babba’s shoulder would ever be wide enough to hide me completely. Mami’s reaction was exactly the opposite of mine. She swept past Babba and bowed effortlessly, one hand on her billowing blouse front, the other arcing outward in a graceful display of humility. I did my best to curtsy without bumping into Babba.

  “First Guardsman Valeo,” she said.

  “Lia of Rimonil,” he said.

  She straightened at that, and so did I. How did he know her name, too? Maybe he’d indeed been told to watch our house specifically.

  Mami donned her most appealing grin, the one that charmed every man on the isle. “I see you already know all of us.”

  “I know of you,” he said. “But I only know one.”

  Heat swept up the back of my neck as his gaze met mine again and held it.

  “My husband and I hope your sojourn to our isle will be a comfortable one for you.”

  “And brief,” he said with a grunt.

  “I beg your pardon, First Guardsman?” Mami cocked her head, still smiling, but it was tighter, more forced. Babba leaned toward Mami, as if ready to grab her out of harm’s way.

  “If your family is truthful, as I believe you to be, then you should also hope our sojourn here will be brief,” he said. “And I join you in that wish.”

  Without Amaniel there, I would’ve figured such rudeness was a part of being a soldier, having never met any. But Babba’s shocked look told me this wasn’t standard Temple conversation, and that should’ve worried me. Except that I thought the remark was the kind of thing I’d probably say if anyone ever let me, and that made me hotly jealous.

  Yes, indeed, we wished his visit here to be extremely brief. Yesterday would’ve been a great time to have left.

  “I assure you, First Guardsman . . .”

  Valeo cut her off with a single tap of his pike against the wooden street. “You’re to remain indoors until the morning, when your civil authorities will collect your rubbish.”

  And that would’ve been that, had Amaniel not shoved past me into the rain. “Oh Pious Keeper of the Unsleeping Vigil over our Great Numen’s Borrowed Personage, I wish to know what has become of my . . .”

  She didn’t finish, because Babba had already yanked her back.

  Valeo gave no indication he’d heard. I could feel his eyes on mine, though I looked away. I suppose soldiers could stare at whomever they wished. He could insist until the next rains that he’d accepted my apology, but I wouldn’t believe him. And my resolve to apologize again had pretty much vanished with that tap of the pike.

  Mami cleared her throat. “There is the matter of two small items you and your men found? My middle daughter wishes to know if . . .”

  Another tap of the pike.

  “Your high priest will summon you when he is ready,” Valeo said. “Now you may go.”

  Babba crooked his head at Mami, who herded us inside, which I managed to do though my spine was rigid as Amaniel slid indoors without looking at me. I’d thought about apologizing to Valeo again, sure, but there was nothing I wanted to say to him after all the pike tapping and order barking, no apology or excuse-making or exchange of polite whimsies.

  If I had to remind myself a few more times, then I would: he was here to do his job, and he did it well. And I both hated and envied him for it.

  Babba followed us back inside but stood just inside the doorway, peering out. When I’d go over to see out past him, there would be Valeo’s silhouette again on the opposite shore.

  “He kept looking at me,” I said. “And not at you or Mami.”

  “I noticed that.”

  “Why do think that is?”

  “For reasons I don’t wish for you to dwell on.”

  I wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but I knew better than to push Babba when he didn’t feel like talking. So I went back to sweeping, and he stayed by the doorway. Amaniel stayed out of my way and kept herself busy stifling more sobs and folding blankets and clothes. I tried to ignore it, tried to focus on how Babba had defended me, on what he’d said about us as a family staying together. But all I could think was that Amaniel had ripped a limb from me, and I didn’t know how to sew myself back together. And then I knew that the limb was Amaniel herself, and she’d ripped us in two, and I needed us to be whole. She had always stood by me in school, when I was frankly an embarrassment even to myself.

  We had to be whole. Only it wasn’t going to happen just because Babba said so. I sighed and decided to turn in for the night. I needed today to end. I needed to rest and rethink this whole day.

  But it wasn’t until long after the moons had risen that Babba gave up his vigil by the door.

  “Still there,” was all he said.

  The pious may seek refuge within the Temple walls, but there is no shelter for those without merit. Seek no forgiveness from me until I have found you worthy.


  —from Oblations 2, The Book of Unease

  The rain had finally cleared, but my sandaled feet landed with wet splats as Amaniel marched Rishi and myself to the Ward. Morning had indeed brought another all-clear horn, and constables had made the rounds to tell people to put out their debris. That brought everyone outdoors to sweep and mop and scrub, with workmen hired to haul off barges loaded with trash.

  Stuck in Amaniel’s head, however, like the refrain of a bad song, was some notion about her being hanged for a scrap of needlework the size of a dinner bowl. She’d paced the floor snuffling and sniffling and hiccuping unhappily. She didn’t dare utter a word, but every now and then, she’d gaze around at the piles of sweepings and then over to me, and then her eyes would tear up again, and she’d flop down into the corner.

  I finally gave in and decided to take her to the Ward, since the streets seemed busy enough, and there were few soldiers about. Babba had already gone to the Customs House, and Mami wanted to check in on several elderly aunties. She had given her nod to our plan, provided that Rishi—and not me or Amaniel—would be the one to decide if she was scared. And if Rishi was scared, we all turned around for home. Instantly. So be it . . . or else.

  The only reason Amaniel gave into Mami’s orders was because Rishi herself pointed out that her doll had been taken, and it was only fair she be allowed to go, too.

  So Rishi led the way, skipping around knotholes in the planks and playing rhyming games, while Amaniel began muttering under her breath the moment our house was out of view. I was right to realize there’d be no end to her misery short of going with her to Ward Sapphire and watching her throw herself at the high priest’s knees, or whatever she’d planned. I don’t think she knew, even for all the fuming she did on the long walk there.

  I did my big-sisterly duty, escorting them with what I hoped looked like stoic maturity rather than barely concealed mortification. All along our route, people swept up the filth and debris, much as we had. Entire houses leaned where guards had taken an ax to one of the stilts—more than one of the smaller huts had toppled completely and lay half-submerged in the canal. We weaved around piles of salvaged furniture and bigger piles of scavenged wood.

  Amaniel plowed on, oblivious to the wreckage, intent on her mission, while I had to tug Rishi away from gawking. We reached the cobblestone plaza before the wide gates of Ward Sapphire, only to find them firmly barred and manned with Temple guards. That was enough for me. I turned to go, with Rishi asking why we were leaving and Amaniel insisting we weren’t.

  Well, pluck all the leaves on the Eternal Tree if she didn’t decide to get us through those gates anyway. She turned to one side and then another, this way and that, as if searching for someone in particular. Then, apparently finding him, made a diagonal toward one of the soldiers off to one side.

  And it was him. Again. And staring at us, as if he’d just been lifted and dropped down again in a new spot, with the same hard stance and harder stare. He’d dried off, at least.

  I hissed at Amaniel through gritted teeth.

  “Why, by Nihil’s thumbs, are you headed toward First Guardsman Valeo?” I said.

  “He knows us.”

  “Oh right, he’s practically family by now.”

  Rishi pulled on my sleeve. “He’s the only one all by himself.”

  She was right, of course. She was only five, but an observant little creature. And it wasn’t just that Valeo wasn’t patrolling in twos or fours, like the others, but stood off as if his isolation was itself a job, like there was some purpose to remaining aloof and alone. He never took his eyes off us as Amaniel strode up to him. I took my time, indulging Rishi in the bugs she needed to stomp or the cracks in the stones that begged for skipping over. Whenever I glanced up, however, his eyes had followed me to my new position, until Amaniel was in front of his helmeted nose. It was as if he didn’t even see her. He saw me, though, with a look that made every long, tucked-away strand of my hair stand on end. It was getting harder to remember to look away.

  Amaniel cleared her throat. “Great Guardian of Nihil’s Person, First Guardsman Valeo.”

  He didn’t even glance at her. “I already know who I am.”

  “I do, in all piety, gently request entrance to Ward Sapphire for the purpose of . . .”

  “No.”

  “. . . pleading my case . . .”

  Tap went the pike. On went my sister.

  “If I could, with your gentle assistance, great warrior, but gain entrance . . .”

  Every muscle went tense on his body, from the vein in his neck that bulged, to the biceps that flexed imperceptibly, the jawline that set like rock—I caught up to my sister and nudged her. I may say the wrong thing, again and again, but I can read people the way Amaniel pores over her scrolls and hand-sewn folios. She’d ignored him, and that was an unwise thing to do.

  She brushed me off and smiled up at Valeo, while addressing me in a singsong, patronizing tone. “Hadara, dear sister, perhaps you can wait at a short distance?”

  “Hadara,” Valeo repeated. “Your name is Hadara.”

  And then I knew why he stared at me, and I knew why Babba didn’t want me to dwell on it.

  “I already know who I am,” I said, smiling tightly.

  Amaniel wheeled toward me and then whipped back again to Valeo, whose eyes were glinting with amusement that didn’t register on my nearly overwrought sister. His stance had relaxed almost imperceptibly. “Please, good guardian, forgive my sister, for . . .”

  “Follow me,” he said with a grunt. Valeo spun on his heels and headed toward the gate, which guards opened for us without so much as a nod from him, as if they’d anticipated him escorting us through. Amaniel held her head high as she whispered a little too loudly, “You see, all it takes is some formality. I wish you’d at least try sometimes.”

  I congratulated myself for not elbowing her in the head and followed Valeo and his giant strides into the main courtyard. He pointed his pike toward a breezeway to the row of classrooms where I’d sweated out nearly a decade of formal education.

  “Your high priest is in one of those classrooms,” he said.

  Amaniel gushed and thanked him about four different ways, while I simply whispered my own thanks, and I’m the one who got his curt nod by way of reply. As Amaniel began flattering his great guardian worthy self and all that, two more soldiers strode up to Valeo and thumped their right fists, thumb first, against their chests.

  “Azwan to see you,” said one.

  And then the three men were gone, stomping off toward the sanctuary without a backward glance. Amaniel sputtered about how important Valeo must be and how worthy, and brave, and other things that sounded like she had a mountainous crush on the man who’d slashed open our shared mattress and threw its straw stuffing all over our floor. Of course, Amaniel would admire someone with such authority and obvious standing. He was off to see an Azwan at the Azwan’s request, while we were hoping the high priest would grant us a brief moment of begging.

  My irritation swelled up in me, so I shrugged it off. “Maybe whichever Azwan just needs a good backscratching with that pike,” I began wriggling. “Oh, here, no, a little lower, ooh, that’s it!”

  Rishi squealed. Amaniel scowled. “You’re impossible.”

  She went into the first classroom in a row of them and came out not too long after, beaming. Rishi hadn’t even finished twirling around the breezeway’s columns.

  But Amaniel wouldn’t say a word, not even drop a hint, until we were well on our way back, past the gates, past the guards patrolling the pavilion, nearly halfway to our stretch of boardwalk.

  “I suppose you want to know what a mite of courtesy and modesty gets you,” Amaniel said. “And don’t tell me you’re not curious.”

  “I just want you to be safe,” I said. “And if you had to say something extra mightily religious, well, then, I’m proud of you.”

  She shot a glance at me. “You mean that?”

&nb
sp; I nodded. “With all my soul.”

  I wanted us to be whole, if I could manage to do so without making myself feel worse or making Amaniel believe she’d had no part in ripping us in half.

  She took another few steps in silence. “The high priest said he would personally put in a word for me with the Azwans, should they question my devotion.”

  “So you’re out of trouble?”

  Amaniel’s mouth twitched. “Not exactly. He did say I’d created a graven image.”

  “So there will be trouble? What kind of punishment did he say you’d face? You can still go to school, right? It wouldn’t be worse than that, I hope.” I could picture many things worse than being barred from school, but Amaniel would likely disagree. She knew every mark on every bench, every stain on the walls, as well as I knew every footpath out of town.

  I had more questions for her, dozens more, but she cut me off.

  “Of course, I’m still going to school. The high priest will talk to the Azwans.” But her voice didn’t sound very assured.

  I didn’t know what to make of the situation. “Did he say what they wanted with all that stuff?”

  “Well, obviously, people have been perfidious.”

  “Maybe they all just made mistakes, like you.”

  “I did not make a mistake!” Amaniel picked up her pace. “It’s so useless explaining it to you, anyway.”

  On that, she was right. It would never make sense to me why a patch of cloth and a doll could be worth all this trouble. I gripped Rishi’s hand a little harder, as if I could ward off the Temple’s might with a few reassuring squeezes of her tiny hand.

  Babba came home early that day, looking as if he’d aged a decade overnight. He brought home a basket of fruit and flatbreads from the market so we could have dinner. But once it was over, he ordered Amaniel to take Rishi inside.

  She did as she was told. Babba wanted a word with me and Mami. My sagging spirits rallied at the idea that I’d be with the adults and share their secrets, though I didn’t savor the idea of any scolding along with it. Babba held a finger to his lips and looked straight at me, a signal to listen in and speak only when he allowed it. Mami hugged a handful of nesting baskets to her chest like they were another child. We used them to gather herbs, and they’d survived in all their simple, woven glory. It was almost worth risking a smile, if Babba hadn’t sounded so grim.