The Temple of Doubt

by Anne Boles Levy

  I placed a fingertip on the spear and tried to push it away. It wasn’t budging. The guard took a step forward and glowered. I took a step back and held my breath. “How is he? Did Valeo survive? Please.”

  Three more soldiers strode over at the second mention of Valeo’s name. I soon found their spear tips leveled at me, too. I wondered how far I could push matters before they closed their distance. Amaniel tugged on my sleeve to go, as if my errand couldn’t be as important as hers had been the last time we’d had to get past guards. The first guard gave me a once-over, up-and-down look.

  “You know His Highness?”

  “I accompanied the Azwan yesterday to the swamp.”

  “You’re Lia?”

  “I’m Hadara, her daughter.”

  The men exchanged words in Fernai, and one strode off. A moment later, he returned with a guard I recognized as their Commander. Except for his sunburned face, I couldn’t tell he’d been through battle the day before. Even the bronze on his armor gleamed anew. The cold blue eyes held me in the same low regard as ever.

  “You clean up well,” he said. “The men didn’t recognize you.”

  I bowed again. “I thank you, Pious Sentry of . . .”

  “He struggles.”

  “Valeo?”

  “The Prince of the Realm, to you. Unless you know him better than I think you do.”

  I bit my lip. Maybe I only wished I knew him better. I could feel my face growing hot. He struggled. I didn’t know what that meant and tried to ask.

  Amaniel interupted. “Please, Righteous Guardians of Nihil’s Person, you must forgive my sister. Her speech is unworthy, but her soul is pure. I know she’s grateful to hear your prince yet lives.”

  By Nihil’s wives, she was good. I wanted to elbow her in the lip though. My speech is unworthy? I’d show her unworthy speech later. I smiled through gritted teeth at the Commander. He waved the spear tips away and nodded toward Amaniel. “Then explain to your sister the injured were moved to your Customs House. There’s nothing else to tell.”

  We left with another deep bow and sped toward Pilgrim Bridge, where guards waved everyone past so long as no one paused for too long a look back at the Ward. There was nothing to see anyway, not a single sign of life besides the many patrols. The star-demon had obviously brought this on.

  I wasn’t about to forget that the tin box was meant for me. At least the Gek said so, and it seemed to have spoken to them. They weren’t afraid of it. S’ami insisted the demon caused the fire in the swamp, but how did I know that was so? Maybe its clash with S’ami had destroyed the swamp. The Gek certainly wouldn’t harm their own homes. Nor would they have harbored a creature who threatened to destroy them, and they hadn’t seemed like they were being held hostage or under some sort of spell.

  Maybe I was rationalizing to myself. I didn’t want anything to do with any demon if it was a killer. The very idea made my flesh crawl. What would I do with it? I at least wanted to know what it wanted from me. Was that too much? A few moments to hear its mission for me might be all I needed. What did it mean by getting something undone? And what did it want undone so badly it would ravage everything around it in the process?

  And why me?

  I had no standing in the Temple, that was for sure, and that probably was reason enough for the Temple to keep it from me. It wasn’t right. The star, whatever it was, might have nothing to do with Nihil at all.

  Then again, maybe the Azwans could get rid of it, and then they’d leave Port Sapphire and life would go on. Maybe that could happen without anyone or anything leveling the whole town the way the swamp was all but gone. Maybe I could get close to it without it jumping into my head, or whatever it was that people were so afraid of.

  And maybe I could get Kuldor to rotate backwards and make day into night.

  I sighed, and Amaniel nudged me.

  “You going to stare all day at soldiers again?”

  “What?” I turned toward her, momentarily thrown off.

  “Like you do with sailors. I don’t know what you see in them, honest.”

  I scowled. “You will. Wait a year or two. And just so you know, my speech isn’t unworthy.”

  “It is,” Amaniel said. “No one was threatening to poke a hole in my throat.”

  “We weren’t in any real danger.” I was going to throttle her. “Not compared to yesterday, anyway.”

  “Oh, so sorry I didn’t go to the swamp and get all filthy with you, big sister. Y’know, back here in civilization, you have to keep your mouth clean, too.” Amaniel sniffed at me. “You should be glad I helped you.”

  “You should be glad I didn’t snatch my dress off your ungrateful back while the guards were standing there.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Would.”

  We stormed along without speaking after that. Was it so difficult to get my own sister to respect me even a copper-weight’s worth?

  Not that it mattered what I wanted—no matter how much I’d given the Temple yesterday, I’d gone right back to being nobody today. Amaniel would always be the one everyone preferred, even soldiers who wouldn’t be able to pick us out from a crowd.

  The humiliation burned, as it always had.

  A dram of good gossip’s worth a crate of gold.

  —Meridian proverb

  On Callers Wharf, people went about their business but in hushed fear. More Feroxi archers held their rooftop vigils, and foot patrols eyed activity in every kiosk and stall.

  Two new merchant ships had berthed since yesterday, and longshoremen were unloading their holds in silence. Their work songs were usually smutty and made my ears burn, but I found myself missing their raucous sound. The bazaar was as packed as ever, but I needed no prodding today to make straight for the Customs House until a woman called to us from a market stall. A cousin of ours waved us over to where she sold spices and pungent teas—all certifiably without any natural medicinal properties whatsoever—out of burlap sacks and wooden bins.

  She leaned in close and whispered.

  “Hey, loves, what’s the word by your hearth?”

  Amaniel patted our cousin’s pregnant belly. “You look beautiful, Dina. Maybe you can give us good news soon.”

  “By Nihil’s whim, the baby will come any day,” Dina said. She glanced about as if one of the soldiers might take it away. “Anyway, you’re just about tearing up cobblestones in your hurry. I figured you had word of something. Especially you.” She pointed at me.

  “You mean about yesterday?” A day ago could’ve been a decade ago from the way I felt about it. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d be the day’s main gossip as, mentally, I’d already moved on to needing some new piece of news about the Azwans barricaded in the Ward or the wounded Valeo. Dina would probably hand over her whole stall to hear what had happened in the swamps yesterday.

  I’d guessed right. She could barely contain herself.

  “Listen, cuz,” she said. “You go nowhere without the full story.”

  This was exactly what I needed—a salve for my bruised pride. Sure, I’d gone into the swamp, but I’d come back with the rarest, most refined gold any gossip-starved person might want. I had returned with a story that no one else had ever heard, and it was so out of the ordinary, they probably couldn’t imagine the slightest detail, either.

  I grinned. “I divulge nothing without a glass of tea.”

  “You don’t haggle very well. I was going to offer.”

  I sat down on a worn rug that served as the stall’s floor, Amaniel beside me. Dina waved over a small throng of other vendors and bystanders. I relished the attention, sorry to say, and forgot all the maidenly modesty I’m supposed to show on such occasions. Not that anyone would’ve endured a sweet demurral; I was peppered with questions before I could take a breath. A few kept an eye out for guards, and others shushed me if my voice rose above a murmur.

  The glass of tea eventually turned into a midday meal. Someone produced a plate with flatbre
ad piled with fish stew from one of the many food vendors. I washed it down with some of Dina’s best tisane blend, making sure to praise its quality.

  “Never mind that,” Dina said. “Drink up, and tell us more. The Gek tried to give the box to you? What did they say?”

  What had they said? I tried to recall word for word, seeing in my mind their hand gestures and translating them again.

  The star seeks one who knows to undo what must be undone. The star comes to you as you come to it.

  The crowd reeled. Amaniel gasped. I hadn’t realized until then to what degree those words indicted me as an enemy of the Temple. It did make it sound like we’d chosen each other, the demon-star and me. That wasn’t the case. Not exactly. The fish stew churned uneasily in my stomach. I could choke on the flatbread. It wouldn’t be much of a reach for anyone here to consider me the opposite of all that was pious and wise. I fidgeted with the lace on my head scarf, tugging at a loose thread, my insides beginning to bubble unhappily. This isn’t what I had wanted at all. I was right back to saying the wrong thing. Would my wayward tongue be the only talent people knew me for?

  Amaniel turned to the crowd. “I know she didn’t get the star. My mother told me so. The star’s with the Azwans.”

  Several nodded. The fish-stew vendor waved a dish towel at me. “Them Gek are nasty creatures. I been hearing what they done to the Temple Guards. Lucky all Nihil did was roast their scaly bottoms.”

  Another man shook his head. “Sent their souls back to the forge for remaking, I pray.”

  I didn’t correct them on the reason for the swamp fire. Dina was perched on the only stool, cooling herself with a reed fan. “Never you mind that prophecy, Hadara. S’long as you stay away from the Ward till the Azwans are done with their business, I’d think.”

  The crowd buzzed in agreement, and I didn’t tell them that finding the tin box had until recently been a goal of mine. Now my only goal was to finish my story and the stew, and relish both, if not necessarily in that order.

  The fish-stew cook was an older man, grizzled and lean. “Mind you stay away from all that natural business for good. A fine man like Rimonil should have a pious family.”

  Dina kicked him. “Meaning?”

  He rubbed his leg. “Ain’t nothing on you, Dina of Faddar. But Lia sure is a strange one, for all her beauty.”

  “That’s my uncle’s wife you’re insulting,” Dina said.

  If Amaniel hadn’t intervened, I thought it might come to blows, and I didn’t rate fish-stew man’s chances against Dina.

  “We know, kind sir, what others think of our odd little family,” she said. “I assure you, Nihil has no more faithful servants than my mother and sister.”

  Dina motioned toward Amaniel. “See? Pious. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Master Fish Stew didn’t sound convinced.

  “Listen,” I said, hoping to change the topic. I didn’t like the idea that both Mami and I needed apologizing for or that Amaniel was the one to do it. “I’ve enjoyed this man’s cooking. I should give him what he bartered for and finish the tale.”

  That brought a few smiles, at least.

  I took my time with it, getting to the part where S’ami battled the swamp fire, and found my throat drying despite the tea. There’s nothing quite so satisfying as having a story you’re the very first to tell, and knowing all are itching to repeat it until they’re as hoarse as old Reyhim.

  Two guards burst through the crowd, shoving their way inside, though there was no room for them in the narrow space.

  “What goes on here?” said one, his accent thick. My audience fled.

  Amaniel gave a bow-curtsy, distracting a guard, who tried to peer down her blouse. “Kind sirs . . .”

  “Just break it up,” he said.

  Amaniel and I set out again with renewed haste. Over my shoulder, I glimpsed one of the Feroxi draining the tea from one of Dina’s glasses and crushing it underfoot. They moved on wordlessly, and so did we.

  What a strange and rare gift, to see parts of your life before you have lived it. Yet for every seer whose visions come true are a score of pretenders who perceive only vapors.

  —from Oblations 12, The Book of Unease

  The Customs House bustled with its usual commerce and another score of Temple Guards around the entrances. We bowed and announced ourselves as the Chief Port Inspector’s daughters and were shown to the back staircase, out of sight of the main floor. Babba didn’t look up from his desk when we approached. He was fingering an abacus and jotting figures in his ledger.

  “I told your mother to keep you home,” he said. “Amaniel, too.”

  “She wanted news,” I said.

  “Did you get any?” He kept his focus on his abacus, fingers flying.

  “No. Mostly I did the talking.”

  “Which is why I wanted you home. Best not to go bragging about this dybbuk business.”

  “But, Babba, I . . .”

  “Should keep out of sight. And act humble if asked. You were flattered to have been of some minor service to the great Azwan. That’s all.”

  “Yes, Babba.”

  “That’s not what you did, is it?”

  I hung my head. “I’m sorry, Babba.” This was idiotic. The whole immediate world gathered by our hearth to gossip on a normal day, so why all of a sudden was I the one person in all of New Meridian who should shut up just when I had the piece of news everyone wanted? Act humble. Minor service. So pleased to wade hip-deep in muck, get fired upon, and watch men drop like stingflies around me. Not to mention a star-meteorite-creature that talks to Gek and wants to make my acquaintance.

  Why did everyone around me always try to keep me down? I thought I’d done something right—many things right. I was entitled to the right kind of attention, for once, and some dignity.

  Act humble, he said. I could snort. Maybe I should go back to school and have them whack me a few more times. That’s humbling. All I said was, “Yes, Babba.”

  Babba kept going. “The head of the sick ward has asked to see you if you should come. You’ll remember my warning.”

  “See me?” That meant going downstairs. That meant seeing Valeo—maybe. What warning had Babba given me? It had flown straight out of my head.

  Then, I realized, so had any thoughts of the sick men.

  “Whatever she asks, politely refuse until she’s talked to me,” Babba said. “A healer has no say over a man’s daughter.”

  Babba looked up, his eyes immediately roaming over our fine clothes. “Did someone declare this a Sabbath? I feel quite outclassed in my uniform.”

  Amaniel and I both smiled in relief, but our humor was short-lived. Babba escorted us to the front staircase that spiraled to the main floor, where merchants from around the world would barter over cargo and currency. The vast trading floor had been roped off for an impromptu sick ward.

  Before we even got there, shouts and moans from delirious men carried across the room. We turned the corner as healers and orderlies scurried around us in complete pandemonium. Both healers and priests huddled over thrashing bodies, waving gold totems and casting spells to no obvious effect. Healing spells often did at least a little something, ease an ache or a fever, but that didn’t seem to be the case this time, not even slightly. Amaniel clutched my hand, and the two of us stood there, wordless and tense, as frantic healers begged their charges to get better. Some were even weeping.

  The giants had been strapped down on cots that creaked and bowed beneath those bulky bodies. They thrashed and screamed, their complexions a sickly green. I realized I didn’t know what Valeo looked like without his armor, so I scanned the cots looking for one with darker skin. They all looked too pale, too wan, too bloodless.

  If only I’d gotten there sooner. I’m not sure what I could’ve done for them, but guilt washed over me just the same. I’d been gossiping in the marketplace, bragging about my haughty self out there in the swamps, while these men seized up and die
d. Mortification crept across my skin in hot, tiny pricks of self-loathing. If there was any truth to the old saying that judgment makes the giant, I was the smallest person in the room.

  I recognized Healer Mistress Leba Mara as she swept toward us, a bosomy woman with a loud voice and firm manner. “I was about to send for you.”

  We all bowed, and Babba spoke. “I lend her to you in all pious trust, Leba Mara.”

  “I won’t harm her.”

  Babba gave me a stern look, a reminder of his warning that I’d forgotten but could easily guess at, and led Amaniel back upstairs. Leba Mara tugged my sleeve and guided me to where one man murmured in his fever, draped only in a loincloth. Beneath his pallor, his skin carried a faint bronze tone. There were scars on his chin. Valeo. He may’ve taunted me cruelly, but any last thread of hatred or fear slipped away at the sight of him so thoroughly debased.

  My gaze roamed up and down his glistening body. I had never seen this much of a man unclothed before, except for the dead Portreeve, and that hadn’t really counted. This man was alive. All that skin, stretching along that taut frame. He looked strong, even laid low like this, as if he could pull a barge single-handed, barely straining the muscles that roped along his upper arms and thighs. The idea that anything, especially a tiny pin, could’ve pierced those mighty limbs struck me as terrifying. If he was vulnerable, who was ever safe?

  And his stomach! It was flat as a serving platter, with thick curls of hair—did every man have that? I lingered on the way it tufted around the indent of his navel; then my gaze traveled further to the first fold of the loincloth.

  I inwardly recoiled as my mind wandered and looked away. Shame on me for taking advantage of a sick man to stare at his body.

  Leba Mara pointed at him. “What’s he saying?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Fernai,” I said. Fire raced up my cheeks. I was sure Leba Mara knew what I’d been thinking.

  “No, it’s the common tongue. Listen.”