The Temple of Doubt

by Anne Boles Levy

I bent closer, until my ear was nearly to his lips, my eyes on his chest and the uneven way it rose and fell.

  Golden eyes, he whispered. The city. Burns. The city.

  “He’s been saying that since they brought him in.”

  I backed away, smoothing the folds of my dress, again and again, anything to distract me from Valeo’s ranting. “You don’t think it’s about me?”

  “You have golden eyes.”

  “With all deference, Healer Mistress, so does my mother. So do a lot of women.” My stomach felt like a flock of birds was practicing aerial maneuvers in it.

  “And the fire could be the swamp yesterday. Yes, we considered all that. Come.”

  I looked over my shoulder as I followed her. Poor Valeo. I didn’t want to leave him, but Leba Mara had other ideas. With a clattering of beads and a swoosh of her wide skirts, she motioned me to the next bed, where a Feroxi convulsed and pulled against leather tethers. An orderly rushed over to pin him as he shouted in Fernai at an unseen foe. Even tied down and feverish, the giant easily tossed the man off. I helped the orderly up, and he skirted around me to sit on the soldier’s chest.

  Leba Mara checked the sick man’s pulse. “They tell me he’s been shouting, ‘Nihil is god. There is no other.’ Something he’s seeing is shaking his faith.”

  “Are all of them this way?” I glanced around at the thrashing, gyrating, struggling men, the guilt rising up in me again. I remembered the pin and something about salamanders. “Is it the Gek poison?”

  “Is it? You’d know, not us. It’s why I sent for you. You or your mother, but you’ll do.”

  The healer didn’t stop mopping men’s brows or forcing a few sips of water through their lips as we talked. The disquiet in my stomach settled itself. There was work to be done.

  Sure, I could blame the healers for not listening to me on the pier when I’d first shown someone the pin. I couldn’t have told them much then, though, and Mami had warned me about thinking too much of my own poor, misunderstood, self-pitying self. Nihil spit on me, if I hadn’t once again wrapped myself up in my own need for glory, or fawning praise, or to be at the center of things, or whatever it was I’d thought I wanted.

  Here, I could be of some help, at least. I could be truly useful, not to mention mindful of who really needed attention. I followed Leba Mara on her rounds without waiting to be asked, tucking blankets around those too feeble to resist or squeezing out wet cloths in basins set by every cot. I wasn’t sure if that was what I should be doing, but Leba Mara didn’t correct or scold, so I kept at it. Tuck blankets, dampen foreheads, refill basins. Every part of me moved to an imaginary drumbeat—steady, swift, but cautious and gentle.

  When the orderlies nodded a hasty thanks here and there, it was a better compliment than all the flattery in the marketplace. I picked up my pace, and so did Leba Mara, until we were racing as fast as any of the other healers. Tuck, dampen, refill.

  The sick Feroxi weren’t any better for my feeble efforts, and there was no convincing me their misery wasn’t partly my fault. If I’d kept a few more pins so we could be sure of the poison. If I’d stayed up later to make an antidote. If I’d known to ask the Gek girl about it. If I’d gotten here right away and offered my help. If. A thousand ifs.

  I tried to keep my mind on my tasks and on Leba Mara’s rapid-fire questions. I related to her what I knew of Gek potions, what herbs we’d seen them use, and what few recipes they’d agreed to share. Leba Mara listened intently, nodding at times or shaking her head in wonder.

  In turn, she filled in what she knew. The Azwan had struggled with the demon box the entire way back from the swamp, she explained. It had spun and shook, floating over his head, as if trying to get away. He’d strained to keep it in check, until the healers begged him to take some water, at least.

  A laborer whose life was considered expendable held it while S’ami rested. I chafed at that. Who decides who is expendable? S’ami, probably, but I didn’t ask. While in the laborer’s lap, the box rested, too, not moving or making its grating sound. Its quarrel seemed to be only with S’ami. That jibed with its reaction to Mami; I recalled her alone in the boat with the glowing box, a memory that jammed in my head with the sight of the sick, restless men.

  Leba Mara went on. The Azwan used the hiatus to heal the guards’ wounds, and there wasn’t so much as a scratch afterward. Their journey continued without trouble, save for the Azwan’s grim contest with the unseen demon in its container.

  The poison, well, that was another thing. The guards walked away fine at first, but began shaking and having visions before they’d even sat down to supper. The sick ward was soon filled to overflowing, but there was no chance to treat them. Orders soon came to evacuate the whole of Ward Sapphire. No explanation was offered. The priests shooed their families away; the whole place emptied except for both Azwans and that mysterious tin box.

  “And then this.” Leba Mara made a sweeping motion with her arm. “A room full of dying visionaries. This one sees the Temple itself covered in weeds; that one screams of Nihil bleeding. A dream drug, you say. These men’ll die of their nightmares.”

  “Won’t the poison wear off?”

  “We’ve lost three. Their prince is next, unless I’m mistaken.”

  I spun toward where Valeo lay motionless. He’d been so full of life, so sure of himself. I tried not to stammer and to retain some shred of formality. “May I ask, in all humility . . .”

  “Why I’m telling you any of this?” Leba Mara wasn’t one to mince words.

  “It occurs to me I’m only . . .”

  “The humble daughter of a port inspector, right? Whose family quietly deals in all kinds of Gek witchery. If you know anything at all that could help us, now’s the time.”

  I swallowed hard. If I uttered a single syllable about moonblooms or anything else Mami and I had nabbed, it would be seized, and we might be arrested. There was no shortage of Temple Guards stomping around unharmed. If I said nothing, the men around me would succumb to the Gek’s terrifying toxin.

  Leba Mara gave me a mean squint, the corners of her mouth set. “You do know something. You’re too sweet to keep it inside. Alright, out with it.”

  It was all I could do to draw a deep breath and buy myself a moment to compose my thoughts. I’d seen Mami deal with the priests enough times and knew neither side could ever say outright what they wanted. It was a little like Callers’ Wharf, where you pretended you didn’t want some knickknack so you could whittle the price down until you sighed and said, Oh, alright. At that price I guess I have to take it. Only I was the seller this time, and I’d have to haggle my way out of a noose.

  “There might be a way,” I said. “But there’s no promise it’ll work. At best, it would only ease the convulsions. I don’t know about the visions.”

  Leba Mara nodded. “That could buy us enough time for the visions to pass on their own, if we could settle down their bodies.”

  “I cannot promise it’ll work as you hope. There’s no telling. There’s also the small matter of my safety.”

  “Ah. Of course. Get your father. I’ll work that out with him. Whatever you have planned, it better be good. I can’t defend you if you come up with some concoction and they die anyway, you know.”

  I glanced around the room. Leba Mara was a big woman with a loud voice. Who had heard? I wrung the rag in my hands until my knuckles whitened, my nerves jangling. I remembered what the Commander had said: they’d rather swallow poison than a potion. Then again, my grandmother had refused to help, and that hadn’t gone well, either.

  “Forgive my impertinence,” I said. “But even if it works, the men likely won’t drink it, will they?”

  Leba Mara wagged a heavily ringed finger in my face. “Everything we’ve tried has failed. The Gek clearly set this up so that nothing magic will work, Nihil curse them. You say you’ve never seen this poison either. What does that leave us?”

  I couldn’t shake the image in my head of the Comm
ander’s contempt. “How will you persuade the men to drink it? What if the Temple finds out?”

  Leba Mara shook her head. “I run the priests’ sick wards. No one dies on my watch if I can help it. If you’re worried, I’ll work out something with your father. You’ll be safe if the men survive.”

  Make no bargains with a demon that you’d ask a god to keep.

  —Tengalian proverb

  I’d be safe if the men survived. I suppose that was more lenient treatment than my grandmother got. I took a deep breath and nodded. An orderly went for Babba, who pulled Leba Mara aside as soon as she opened her mouth. They stood as far from the cots as Babba could drag her. I tried to read their lips, at least.

  I sat on the nearest stool I could find, realizing too late it was by the dying Valeo. I didn’t want to be here. I couldn’t watch him die. I wasn’t that brave.

  He began to twitch and turn his head this way and that. I fought to avoid looking down at his fevered face, which wouldn’t have been handsome even when well. Then again, how could I treat him any differently than the other men? I reached for a cloth in the nearest basin and got it good and wet, wringing out only just enough to keep it from dripping.

  I mopped the brow that wasn’t quite as pronounced as the other Feroxi, the nose that looked like it’d been broken more than once, and along the scar that ran from chin to cheek, now that his helmet was off. Some men have chiseled features; Valeo’s had apparently been pounded into existence with a hammer. I should’ve felt repelled, I suppose, but I’d never minded ugly men. Mami would say Nihil must have put all his handsome on the inside. Though I hadn’t seen much of that, either. There must be something attractive about him, or why was I so attached to every finger-width of him?

  I worked my way down his torso, pretending I’d have done the same for any of the other men, given the chance. I’d have paused along those shoulders for anyone, had anyone else had shoulders the approximate width of a doorway. At least, that’s what I told myself. After another moment, I abandoned any thought of being too generous with my time.

  The curls of hair that tufted along his chest gleamed with sweat and obviously needed me to gently swab them all back into place. His head thrashed as I bathed along his arms, but I kept going. The left forearm sported a new scar, gnarled and angry red, from where the Gek girl had tried to chew herself free. S’ami or one of the healers had obviously gotten to it, and I wiped the grime from his hands.

  I rinsed and squeezed the cloth again, giving me a moment to clear my head. The air was getting much warmer, which was odd, since it was evening, and a cool breeze would be coming in off the harbor. No, it was me. I was once again having thoughts about the sort of thing a woman does with her husband, wanting to feel his skin against mine, enjoying the sharp contours of his body beneath the damp cloth. What was wrong with me? I was in a sick ward, not a brothel.

  This wouldn’t do at all.

  Valeo shivered and convulsed, but it was feeble, as if he hadn’t much fight left in him. That jarred me back to reality. It’s not that I couldn’t watch him die—I couldn’t sit and do nothing, and that impulse gave me more bravery than I felt. He wouldn’t remember me doing this, I was sure, but that seemed beside the point. I would remember him this way forever.

  It wasn’t love, exactly.

  I reached for his blanket and tried to tuck it around him, but he kicked it off. I laid it atop him, draped over his middle, and this time he let it stay, still shivering.

  No, it wasn’t love. It was something much deeper.

  All the times I’d seen him, he radiated authority and confidence. I’d always felt silly and small around anyone having to do with the Temple, including my sister. I was so obviously inferior, always saying the wrong thing, every misstep noted and pored over by the schoolmistress or classmates, even Babba.

  But Valeo had been different. We’d gotten off to a bad start, to be sure, but he hadn’t cut my tongue out for standing up to him, and there was the mash cat and the Gek and the swamps, and, through it all, I’d been something of an equal, as if the possibility of me being equal wasn’t a completely crazy idea.

  And he was a prince and treated me that way.

  If he died, I might never know that feeling again.

  From across the vast hall, I could see Babba suddenly gesticulate as if a spark had set him off. He scowled and stabbed one finger in the air. Opposite him, Leba Mara had folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips into a firm line. That didn’t look promising for Babba. They were discussing me, and my suggestion for making a moonbloom tonic of some sort, or my safety, and from the looks of it, Babba wasn’t hearing what he wanted.

  I couldn’t overhear them from this distance, so I squinted to see if I could make out what Babba was saying. I’m no lip reader, though, and his mouth formed words rapidly in obvious anger. I kept my focus on what my father might be saying until I felt a tugging at my dress.

  “Golden eyes,” Valeo said, his voice grating and uneven.

  I looked down. His eyes were slits, but they were open. He clutched a fold of my dress.

  I wrapped both my slender hands around his meaty one. Please, Nihil, don’t let this be his last rally before his breathing stops. I peered into his face to see if there was still fire in his gaze, or a spark, anything. But his eyes had dulled over, his pupils dilated and unfocused through his fever.

  “You are half-human and half-Feroxi and all-over fierce,” I told him. “And you are going to fight this, yes? You’re not going to let a bunch of lizards take you down.”

  I squeezed his hand harder. “Squeeze back.”

  Nothing.

  “Squeeze, Nihil damn you.”

  He squeezed. Hard.

  Several of my rings bit into my fingers. I winced.

  “Alright, you proved your point. You’re fighting, yes?”

  He nodded, ever so slightly, his eyes finding and fixing on my own.

  “Well, don’t stop on my account. You need to keep going. That’s an order.”

  He didn’t smile. His eyes closed.

  “Stay with me, or I’ll think up something else to call you. Something terrible.” I was so close to tears, I didn’t know what terrible thing I could say just then.

  I wished I knew how to help him. None of the healers knew either, but at least they’d know better how to identify what was wrong. I wanted to be good at healing. I wanted to be them, even in all their panic and racing around. The healers had purpose, and their purpose had a certain purity to it. I wanted to know how it felt to see men get up off their cots and walk away, as fine as ever.

  I could do this, if I knew how. But I didn’t. All I knew was how to brew and concoct and ferment and distill. So I simply stroked the back of Valeo’s hand as I watched Babba confer with Leba Mara. It was something, at least. Babba’s expression hardened from stern to furious, his jaw setting in that way of his, his neck coloring.

  “Golden eyes,” Valeo said again. His grip was loosening on my hands.

  “I’m here,” I said. “Everything will be alright.” Wouldn’t it? If there’s truly an Eternal Tree to shelter us in the life beyond life, wouldn’t everything come out right? I bit my lip.

  He struggled to raise his head, and it wobbled as he whispered to me.

  “Your sister’s at the gate,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Beware.” He let go, his head rolling back on his pillow, his eyes closing, his hand sliding from my own. I choked back a sob.

  There was nothing more I could do.

  I paused long enough to check that his chest rose and fell again, and then again. Then I tucked his blanket around him and fled over to Babba.

  “Amaniel, where’s Amaniel?” I was almost yelling.

  “Upstairs,” Babba said. “Did you agree to Leba Mara’s terms, Hadara?”

  His glower told me I’d done something wrong. I hadn’t remembered agreeing to anything. All I’d done was nod my head when she said I wouldn’t die
if the men lived. Had that constituted an agreement? Was this another of the Temple’s tricks?

  Leba Mara shrugged. “It’s a deal as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Hadara, you’ve made this more difficult,” Babba said. “I told you to leave any negotiations to me.”

  What difference did it make? What difference did anything make any longer?

  “Their prince is dying,” I said, choking back a sob. “He’s slipped into the dreaming world.”

  Leba Mara exchanged a surprised look with Babba. “I shall take care of this.”

  Babba shook his head. “I’ll get that letter first.”

  “Letter?” I asked.

  Babba gave me a nasty, sidelong glance, as if wondering what I would mess up next. “Leave us.”

  Amaniel. I had to find Amaniel. What gates would she be at? What did Valeo’s words mean?

  I bounded up the spiral stairs and nearly flew off the balcony before I realized the landing faced the wrong way, toward the outside. I reoriented myself and weaved back through the many hardwood desks. Had Amaniel gone to the Ward, with its wide gates? No, of course not—there she was at Babba’s desk, practicing her calligraphy with his inkbrush and scraps of hemproll. She seemed shocked at the sight of me. I was, after all, entirely out of breath and in an utter state of panic.

  “Whatever’s wrong?” she said.

  “Don’t get ink on my dress.”

  She smirked. We both did, but for different reasons. There was no truth to Valeo’s vision; it was just a fever rant. I hugged Amaniel tight and tugged at her head scarf. I couldn’t hug Valeo, but I could hug her, and she returned my hug with some of the same intensity. I knew she had worried about me this entire time, and all yesterday, too.

  “You raced up here to tell me that?” she asked.

  “And don’t go downstairs.”

  “They want some other mission for you. It’s so unfair. I get the good marks, and you get the favors.”

  The man at the next desk cleared his throat and pointed to his work. We were bothering him.

  I whispered in Amaniel’s ear. “You don’t want this favor—trust me.”