Beyond the Black Door

by A. M. Strickland

  I nodded.

  “Good. I fulfilled the same service for Marin twenty years ago.” So that was how my mother had thrived at court even as a soulwalker. She’d had help. “Do you have a reason to come see a priestess a second time?” Lenara asked.

  “I can get to the palace, at least,” I said, after considering for a second. “I’m being fitted by the royal tailor in two days. I can say I’m considering Heshara’s service—theology, of course, since I lack the ability to become a priestess.” Or so the sheet of paper said.

  “Perfect. I will be here.” She hesitated. “But, Kamai…”

  “Yes?”

  “That misdirection works for now, but that is all it is. Heshara’s temple is not where we will need you. I don’t think I need to say this, but tell no one what you can do, or what I’ve told you. Like I said, it’s not safe here. Be careful.”

  “I will,” I said, but I was hardly listening after I’d heard we. There were more like her. Like my mother. Whoever they were, it was a balm to the ache in my heart. It was a path. It was a purpose. It was a chance at revenge.

  I clutched the paper to my chest and went out to meet Jidras, who was looking less baffled and more irate, with a genuine grin on my face. My feet felt like they were floating over the checkered tiles.

  The thought that Vehyn had helped me only dampened my excitement a little. It made him even harder to hate, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t still furious with him.

  * * *

  Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to be fitted for the dress that would mark my debut in court.

  Nikha, however, was making those two days feel very long. I’d vowed to tell her what was going on, but that was before a priestess of Heshara had sworn me to secrecy. I still planned on sharing everything I could as soon as possible, but first I had to understand the situation for myself … and ask Lenara if I would ever be allowed to tell anyone else. I didn’t know what sort of group the priestess represented, but if they valued secrecy half as much as the Twilight Guild, I had to be careful.

  For all I knew, Lenara might yet decide to execute me if I betrayed her trust.

  “You promised to tell me what was going on,” Nikha insisted for the hundredth time by the morning of my fitting. She was pacing my room, dressed in her hardened leather tunic as usual and looking out of place against the frilly pink decor, while I sat before my vanity mirror deciding which bracelets to wear. “Since when do you smile so much and practically skip about the house humming? Since when do you look forward to getting outfitted so Jidras can auction you off to the highest bidder?” She froze, aghast. “You don’t already have a suitor, do you? One you actually like? I thought I would have noticed—”

  “Gods, no!” I said, horrified at the idea, perhaps even more horrified at the sudden, incongruous flash of Vehyn’s smile in my mind. I’d been busily trying to pretend that he hadn’t played a role in my good fortune. I hadn’t visited him during the past two nights, and he hadn’t forced me to. Maybe I could just forget that he existed entirely. “And of course I would never keep something like that from you. There is no such person, not now, and hopefully not ever.” I spat out the words as if they were disgusting.

  Nikha blinked in surprise at my vehemence, but my reaction seemed to mollify her somewhat. “Still, I wish you would tell me what else it is.”

  In tandem with our growing familiarity, our relationship had shifted from one of her solely comforting me. She still protected my person, but she now turned to me for reassurance more and more, especially in the mere days since I’d crossed over into adulthood. She was treating me more like an equal.

  A friend.

  “I will, soon. I just have to…”

  “What? Get fitted for a gown before you feel like telling me?”

  “No, for the gods’ sake. I’m not excited to go to the palace for a stupid gown. I’m … I’ve arranged to go back to the Temple of Heshara.”

  She looked nearly as horrified. “Kamai, you can’t let the prospect of marriage scare you into becoming a dried-up old husk collecting dust in some temple archive. You’ve never shown any interest in theology.”

  I couldn’t help giggling at her unusually vivid description of theologians. “Do you have something against temples, Nikha?” I paused, growing serious. “Or even Heshara?” She’d never worn a scarf, never offered thanks or praise to the goddess of the moon, only the goddess Ranta—infrequently at that, and probably only because she was a follower of the Earthen Arts as a household guard.

  Nikha blew out a breath, hard enough to stir a spike of her short hair jutting over her forehead. “No, it’s just…”

  Now I was curious, even though we were getting off topic. “Just what?”

  Asking the question was like opening a floodgate in her. “I just don’t see what good any of the gods, especially Heshara, have offered anyone. She just”—Nikha threw out a hand—“holds back, mysterious, doing nothing, and lets men speak for her, fight her battles. And don’t get me started on her allowing her daughter to bind herself to a human king. Ranta could have stood on her own, for one, and for two, now all we humans have is a queen consort, not a real queen with power equal to the king’s. No, the ‘true’ queen is Ranta, who isn’t exactly around to exercise her power. Convenient, that. Oh, but if one were to question it, then we’re told that’s not the king’s fault, because that’s how the goddess wanted it, so we can’t complain. Yes, thanks, Heshara, thanks so much,” she bit off sarcastically.

  I stared at Nikha as she stood with her fists clenched, breathing hard, her chest flattened under her armor, her hair short, her face free of makeup, her body adorned with only a sword. It struck me again, suddenly, how little like a traditional woman she seemed most of the time.

  Not that I couldn’t relate to her frustration, but I believed there was much more to Heshara than that. Much more to a woman like my mother, who had never striven for the exact same things a man would and was yet one of the strongest people I had ever known. Much more to faith and devotion than submission. The argument seemed to be based upon how Nikha saw strength and weakness.

  “Are you sure Heshara is your problem?” I asked quietly.

  Nikha flushed bright red. “Maybe not. Sometimes I think it’s all a bunch of gutter wash made up thousands of years ago by a few men so they could forever determine the lives of women. If I don’t like Heshara much, it’s because of them.” Before I could gape at her blasphemy—no one doubted the existence of the gods—she turned and stalked out of the room. “Let me know when you’re ready to go,” she said over her shoulder, shutting the door more forcefully than usual behind her.

  I hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell her I had no plans to pursue theology within the Lunar Arts. All I had done was prod her into admitting her own painful, personal truths instead of sharing my own. Some friend I was turning out to be.

  * * *

  The royal tailor was able to fit me in only because the king’s niece’s closest friend had canceled her appointment, and also because Jidras had offered to pay extra on top of what was already an exorbitant amount. Only the best for his daughter—or the best for seeing her married off and gone, leaving his own pristine image intact. He didn’t bother accompanying me to the palace this time and sent only Nikha with me as an escort. I wasn’t bothered; I didn’t even need to give him the excuse I’d prepared to cover meeting with Lenara again.

  At my fitting, I requested a black gown. The tailor complained that it was a bit somber, given the occasion … but then she mused that it might make a splash by being out of the ordinary and, since black symbolized the freshness of the new moon, it was actually thematically perfect for a debut gala. Besides, it was the wet season, when darker colors were permitted. By the end of the appointment, she imagined she’d thought of it herself.

  I’d chosen the color not only because it was my favorite, but because it was probably the exact opposite of what Jidras would have chosen for me. I didn’t let myself consider …
for long … that it was also Vehyn’s favorite.

  Nikha walked me across the palace grounds to the Temple of Heshara afterward, as silent as she had been all morning since she’d stormed out of my room. She hadn’t even commented at my fitting, just stood in a corner, arms folded, as taciturn as possible, while the tailor scrunched her nose up at Nikha’s attire and then disregarded her as if she weren’t there.

  It made me even more eager to talk to Lenara, to learn who she was and what I might be getting myself into, and what, if anything, I might be able to tell Nikha. I didn’t want this to divide us.

  No one stopped us until we arrived at the top of the wide temple stairs, blinding white and gleaming black in the sunlight. One of the guards raised a hand as we neared. Several pairs of them flanked the doors, silver-plated armor glinting and making Nikha’s leathers look plain and well used. I still had the feeling that, if not going to my doom, I was voluntarily entering a sort of prison. I had to remind myself that this was what I had been wanting, needing, for years.

  “I’m here to see Priestess Lenara,” I said, unsure if that would be enough for them to let me enter, never mind Nikha. Jidras hadn’t allowed her to come along last time.

  But all one of them said was, “She is expecting you. Please leave your weapons outside.” I only had the dagger Nikha had given me to unbuckle—I hadn’t brought my mother’s gift to my fitting—while Nikha had to remove the sword from her hip and two additional daggers from both her belt and her boot. Another pair of guards opened the heavy doors for us and waved us forward.

  No one waited at the podium in the entrance hall this time. Our footsteps sounded loud in the cavernous space. Twisting white columns rose high over the black-and-white-checkered floor to support the entry wing’s vaulted ceiling, and white walls were shadowed in lightly carved, intricate patterns. Oddly, the style reminded me a little of Vehyn’s fortress, except infinitely smaller and brighter. That somehow made it less intimidating, and I peered farther into the temple as we headed for Lenara’s door.

  Four such wings as the one we traversed, each topped with a white crescent spire outside, were lined in twisting columns and met in the middle under a dome. The dome’s huge, curving ceiling, black on the inside as well as out, was seemingly as high as the nighttime sky. Glittering mosaic tiles depicted the phases of the moon, but set in a cross pattern like a compass rose, with the new moon at the center of the dome and four pale full moons against the edges, set above the vaulted opening to each wing. The gibbous, quarter, and crescent phases marked the journey between each outer point and the new moon at the center, either waxing or waning. In the dark slices of night in between, more mosaic tiles sparkled in the form of Heshara’s Guardian Constellations.

  We arrived at Lenara’s weighty wooden door, one of a few spaced widely and evenly along the wing. There was distance between rooms—probably so that unless a priest or priestess was inside with you, no one could intrude upon your soul. It was privacy for both the clergy and their “guests.” I knocked softly.

  Lenara answered, her eyes and voice as steady as last time. “Come in, Kamai—but, oh, you have a friend,” she said with some surprise. “That is fortunate. Can you please remain by the door and inform any visitors that they’re not to interrupt?”

  No doubt any visitor would already know not to intrude upon a priestess’s soulwalking session, but I took the words as a subtle request for Nikha to both wait outside and guard the entrance. Nikha did too, judging by the grave nod she gave before she assumed her position.

  “A formidable friend, she is,” Lenara remarked after closing the door and bolting it. “I assume she doesn’t know why you’re here?” I couldn’t help hearing an edge of warning in her tone.

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Good.” The word stopped short any question of mine about telling Nikha. “The fewer people who know about your business, the better. It’s best not to even speak of these things in the waking world.” She held up a small, clear vial.

  Sleeping tonic. I glanced between it and one of the brown leather couches and took it from her tentatively.

  “There is nothing to fear,” Lenara said, misreading my apprehension. “I’ve cleared plenty of time for us to talk, and now, with your friend’s help, I’m especially sure no one will come upon us while we sleep.”

  “It’s just…” I hesitated. “We can’t meet in my soul.” Not only was mine inaccessible, but I couldn’t even let her near me in the sleeping realm in case she saw the black door and started asking questions I didn’t know how to answer. Even if I could confirm that my mother had once trusted her, Marin had warned me to never mention the black door to anyone. Ever. She’d made it sound more forbidden and dangerous than speaking of soulwalking.

  If Lenara wouldn’t sentence me to imprisonment or death because I was an illegal soulwalker, she very well might do so because of the black door. Not to mention my lack of a soul.

  “I understand,” Lenara said immediately. “Your mother told me about her protections, but not in detail. They’re still in place?”

  “Protections?” A chorus of questions rose in my mind, but for once, there was an answer among them. “She hid my soul.”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No,” I said. Once again, my mother had explained absolutely nothing to me. “She said I didn’t have a nehym because my soul was so deeply hidden that no one could find it, but I thought…” I trailed off, shame and wonder mingling in my voice.

  Lenara raised a brow. “That you didn’t have a soul? Oh, child. Of course you do.”

  “I thought she told me that just to make me feel better. Like telling someone they still have a home even if they don’t have walls or a roof around them.” The words were tight in my throat. Knowing I had a soul, somewhere, even if I couldn’t explore it … it was like discovering the villa still existed somewhere even though it had burned to ash. That I did have a home, however distant. “What can you tell me about it?” I asked, unable to keep the yearning from my voice.

  “Not much at all, I’m afraid, only that she sealed it for your protection. I don’t know how or why, exactly, but I don’t wish to pry into and possibly risk what Marin so dearly wanted to keep safe.”

  Frustration rose within me, almost as fast as my relief. Even if my mother had done it for my protection, how could she have left me confused over whether or not I had a soul? She’d told me I had one, but in such unclear terms that anyone, let alone a child, would have been uncertain.

  But I was getting a hunch as to why, at this point. She’d known how potent my curiosity was, so maybe she figured the less I knew the better. That had been her approach to the black door.

  Which I’d opened anyway. Perhaps she’d had the right of it.

  Searching my face, Lenara said, “A mother’s love is powerfully wrought on a young soul, and such a thing is not lightly done or undone, but perhaps you could remove her protections. I might be able to teach you how. Only if you wanted, of course. And even then, it might not be wise. The sleeping realm is a dangerous place, and any protection one has, especially one as strong as yours, is a boon. You are still at risk in the sleeping realm, as a spirit, but your soul isn’t. A rare gift.”

  A gift.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said slowly.

  “In the meantime, we can meet in my nehym.” Lenara’s tone became light. “I keep it quite tidy in case I have guests.”

  I still wasn’t at ease—because of the black door, and the chance she might see it. It didn’t often bloom right next to me, instead forcing me to hunt for it, but sometimes … Maybe Vehyn would lie low. Or maybe that was too much to hope. Either way, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. A priestess of Heshara, who knew I was a soulwalker and that my soul was hidden, was looking at me expectantly.

  My steps heavy, I approached one of the couches and sat down, playing with the stopper on the vial. Lenara mirrored me on the other couch, putting up her feet without waiting
, as if she did this every day in front of other people. She likely did.

  She glanced over at me. “You have taken essence of mohol before, right? This isn’t a terribly strong draft. It will get you to sleep, but the effects won’t linger, and you won’t be drowsy when you wake.”

  “Yes, of course.” I had no more excuses. I drew up my feet, unstoppered the vial, and tipped the contents back into my mouth. In my thoughts, I toasted my mother and hoped that somewhere, somehow, she was still looking out for me. I didn’t trust Vehyn enough to leave it entirely up to him.

  14

  SACRED VOWS

  I opened my eyes in an airy, beautiful space like a conservatory. The room was octagonal, with a large creamy stone fountain burbling in the center that sent ripples of reflected light dancing on every surface. I’d been so used to Vehyn’s fortress that Lenara’s soul was nearly blinding in comparison. Through huge floor-to-ceiling windows, hazy light filtered in that kept me from seeing anything beyond. Between the panes of glass, blossoming vines cascaded to the floor like flowing locks of green hair, and a delicate floral scent permeated the air.

  With a pang of longing, I remembered how beautiful my mother’s soul had been.

  Lenara, suddenly appearing before me, gestured around herself. “Welcome.”

  I spoke around the tightness in my throat. “This is … lovely, truly.”

  “Thank you. You have Marin’s nehym to compare it to, which I know was beautiful, so I’ll take it as an especially large compliment. But I didn’t bring you here to preen.” She took a seat on the edge of the fountain. “Now that I know for an absolute fact we won’t be overheard, we must speak in earnest.”

  That was when the black door appeared in the center of a window behind her like a dark spot of mold on a pale expanse of bread.