The Well of Prayers

by Anne Boles Levy

  His wife patted his arm. “Maybe not so fast. Don’t be in a hurry to volunteer men younger than yourself. They might have their own ideas for their future.” At that, the woman nodded toward me. Of course, she was one of the ones with a son my age. She wouldn’t want him getting speared before she could seal a deal with House Rimonil. I refixed my Smile of Welcome and refilled her husband’s cup. He meant to continue his argument, but Babba interrupted with a wave of his hand.

  “You forget, friend, these particular Feroxi aren’t land-grabbers,” Babba said. “They’re Nihil’s guard, or mercenaries, or call them what you will. They leave the boot-stamp of the Temple. Unless you want to take Nihil on, that is.”

  “No, Nihil forbid it,” said the merchant. “You can make them back off, at any rate.”

  “Meaning?”

  The merchant pointed straight at me. “You’ve got a weapon. Use it.”

  I froze in my spot, the wine jug tilted at a dangerous angle.

  “My daughter isn’t a weapon.” Babba’s tone was quiet and purposeful.

  The merchant took the pointed finger and jabbed the table with it. “She’s got Nihil’s blessing. An official one. Not just us and our prayers and wishful thinking. How many people on the mainland can say that?” He stared around the table. The ships’ captains shook their heads. Not many, apparently, or they didn’t know. I wanted to tell them I’d paid too high a price for it.

  The merchant jabbed at the table again. “Use her to get at the Temple. You’re her father. Get them to back off.”

  Dina piped up from the corner where she’d nestled with her son. “I’ve come from the street merchants to ask you to intervene, too. You know, because Hadara’s my cousin, so they picked me. Sorry, cuz, but we’re getting desperate. Two stalls’ve been smashed in the past six-day, and we’d barely recovered from their raid.”

  It was my turn to wade into the thicket. I’d been looking for a chance, and here it was, big as a fish platter. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but Leba Mara’s request sounds like these others,” I fixed the fat merchant with a stare. “She’s worried too many people are headed to the funeral pyres.”

  One of the sea captains shrugged. “As I say, you don’t have the problems they do on the mainland.”

  Babba shook his head. “This is the Azwans’ business. You cannot expect me to have sway where the priests do not.”

  The fat merchant wouldn’t stop. “We have a portreeve who’s new and untested and we’re under Feroxi siege from within. What are you doing about it?”

  “I believe you mistake me, friend,” Babba said, his tone cooler. “Some good men have died here in recent days, including the former occupant of this house, my friend and mentor and as fine a lord as ever guarded this port.”

  The fat merchant leaned back as if getting a better view of us all. “I repeat. And you’re doing what about it, exactly?”

  “Again, what can I do that the priests haven’t already tried?”

  The merchant spoke up quietly, his voice low and serious. “The priests aren’t in a position to ask.”

  “I won’t grovel,” Babba said. “And I won’t send Hadara.”

  “How about Amaniel?”

  “She’s fourteen, for Nihil’s sake.”

  “Perfect. Nihil likes them young.” The merchant tented stubby fingers in satisfaction. Amaniel didn’t flinch beside me.

  Babba reached across the table and grabbed the man’s arm. “You don’t take my hospitality and offer up my children. You can leave.”

  The fat, sweaty merchant stared bug-eyed at Babba’s tight grip. “Remember who put you in this fine house, Lord Rimonil—and who can take you out.”

  All I heard after that was a din of angry voices. Shouting here, pounding the table there, a number of wagging fingers from the wives. In other words, it was perfect for hatching a conspiracy. Sapphirans love to argue; it’s like a sport. The winner’s the one who gets the last word, or maybe the loudest word—it can be hard to tell. Babba can hold his own against anyone, and if they really made him feel cornered, I half-expected him to march them all down to the Ward before dessert. Just to show them.

  Getting Babba’s back up was all part of my strategy, such as it was. The angrier he got with the others, the more he’d listen to me—or so I hoped.

  At first, it looked like I was right. The threat to unseat Babba didn’t come to anything. The other merchants took Babba’s side against the fat one. They were all in the Merchants Guild that had made Babba their portreeve. The dispute, though, made me suddenly curious about what Valeo had wanted to show me, and what power he thought I might have.

  I couldn’t shout like they could. How could I ever hope to get heard? It just seemed best to let the arguers do what they did best—give Babba grief, and then give in.

  I’d pick up the subject later, of course. Poor Babba would get no peace tonight.

  A wooden spoon banged on a tin platter for everyone’s attention. We turned shocked faces to Amaniel, who held the spoon aloft as though it were the schoolmistress’s pointer.

  “It wouldn’t help,” Amaniel said. “Sacrificing me, it wouldn’t help your cause at all.”

  I thought I’d been brave breaking protocol to speak up, but Amaniel was outright brazen. That wasn’t like her at all. She continued, her voice trembling.

  “The Azwans are determined to bring Port Sapphire under closer scrutiny. We are a proud people, and pride brings certainty in ourselves. The Azwans will return us to the certain path, but it will cost us. If the city could’ve gotten off with the sacrifice of a single virgin, it would’ve been done already.” Amaniel leaned back, clearly satisfied at her speech.

  A sea captain shook his head. “The curse of a pious household.”

  The fat merchant smirked. “When we master our doubts, our faith will be certain, eh, Amaniel?”

  “You’ll not question my daughter’s piety,” Babba said. “If there is nothing the priests can do, there is nothing I can do. And that is all we shall discuss on the matter.”

  If I could’ve stuffed my unhelpful sister into a wine jug and tossed her into the Grand Concourse, I would’ve done so. She’d just made my task about a thousand times harder.

  One of the wives leaned forward, her voice a loud whisper, as if worried the Azwans might be under the table, listening in. She tugged on my sleeve.

  “But you know what to ask, don’t you?” she said. “I mean, specifically, about what they’re up to. The Azwans.”

  I spoke up without thinking. “The warehouse?”

  The merchant chuckled, which I despised hearing. He wasn’t worth feigning my best behavior for. “Since when do the host’s daughters command the conversation?”

  Mami swooped in and shooed both of us away. “Hadara, Amaniel, inside.”

  We curtsy-bowed and left, my ears hot with indignation. Once inside, Mami put arms around us both. “My brave, outspoken girls. Of course, I was mortified from head to toe.”

  “Sorry, Mami,” I said.

  “I spoke the truth,” Amaniel said. Her chin quivered. “God’s truth is greater than any household custom.”

  Mami shook a finger at Amaniel. “You’re a hostess. You hold your tongue when your father entertains.”

  Forget the Smiles of Welcome. My eyes did the Roll of Disbelief. Once, Mami had been a smuggler, stealing out into the fens with me beyond town. We’d picked rare herbs that we sold as medicine, something strictly banned by the Temple. We’d taken such secret pleasure in our apostasy, Mami and me. Now, she was just another rich man’s wife, fussing over platters and manners and things that didn’t matter at all.

  “You educated us at the Ward, Mami,” I said, sticking up for Amaniel. “What did you think the schoolmistress talks about when she’s not whacking girls with her pointer?”

  Mami drew a deep breath and held it. In the interval before she let loose, I caught Amaniel’s hand and squeezed it. The haranguing that flew from Mami felt like it seared th
e hair off my scalp and curled my toes. Then Mami turned on her heels and was gone in a huff, back to refilling platters and making small talk with the wives or fussing over Dina’s baby.

  Amaniel and I flopped down on floor cushions in the spacious living quarters where the parties would move indoors in winter.

  “Well, that was a disaster,” I said.

  “Mmmm.” Amaniel shrugged and propped her elbows on her knees. “Next time, let’s agree not to anger our parents before dessert.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I barely ate a thing.”

  “Me too. All that serving.”

  “And hostessing.”

  “And smiling. How can we eat through a smile?”

  “Carefully, I suppose.”

  I snickered. “So. No offending anyone before dessert.”

  She nodded and fluffed up a cushion before settling in. I did the same, and we waited for someone to send for us, or an all clear, or something to indicate Mami had relented and our exile was over.

  In the meantime, my Stomach of Empty grumbled.

  6

  The man who has never been humbled by his own child is neither strong nor bold.

  —Sapphiran proverb

  We hadn’t been waiting long, just letting the voices rise and fall from out on the patio, when a pair of luminous green eyes peered around the corner at us. Babba never had to order our not-so-secret houseguest to stay hidden—she made herself scarce when strangers were about.

  “It’s okay, Bugsy,” I said. We’d all adopted the pet name Rishi had given the Gek girl. She’d come to live with us after her swampy homeland had burned. She’d been the one to snatch a tin box from my outreached hand, and in that box had been the demon and everything it caused.

  Amaniel motioned hello with a curl of her fingers.

  “That’s good,” I said. “Who taught you that?”

  “Bugsy. We talk when you’re not around. I’m learning her hand signals.”

  “I thought you hated her.”

  “Nihil loves us all.”

  “You are getting religious.”

  “Well, you were declared pious officially and all. Though sometimes I can’t tell if you mean it.”

  I snickered. “I’m ambiguous about it. Or maybe uncertain.”

  That brought a smile to Amaniel. “The five Doctrines of Doubt, eh? Well, at least you’re not incredulous, discordant, or irreverent.”

  “Oh, I’m definitely irreverent,” I said. “Enough to make Azwan, I think.”

  I’m not sure what our parents would’ve thought if they’d walked in on us snickering, but at least the Gek was impressed. She nestled between us to steal some warmth for her clammy body.

  “You’re making your ha-ha noises,” Bugsy said. “You’re happy.”

  Bugsy didn’t speak the human and Feroxi common tongue, not at all. Her lizard-mouth couldn’t make word sounds as we did, but clicks, cackles, croaks—all of which developed as speech patterns the Gek—and I—would recognize. That was another weird gift from the destroyed demon. No matter how obscure the language, I could understand it. I could only speak the few languages I’d learned in childhood, but my ears caught every nuance of everything else.

  I only regretted it when I stood on the docks and listened to sailors singing. Nihil’s knuckles, the things they think about when at sea without women for too long.

  I threw an arm around Bugsy. I rarely saw her, since the sick ward kept me busy until after sundown most workdays. At least that meant fewer chances to betray myself in conversation with her. I couldn’t risk anyone knowing I understood her speech. It raised too many questions I was afraid to answer.

  I wanted to talk with her, seizing the rare opportunity. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to ask, or how to phrase it, since she was convinced I was a piece of a star, just as the Azwan S’ami believed my mind held shards of a demon.

  I feel bad, I signaled. You’re alone.

  From outside came Babba’s deep voice saying something about Rishi that prompted laughter. Then came the high-pitched voice of my littlest sister as she sang a nonsensical rhyme she’d made up. Something about pickle berries. The adults laughed some more and clapped. They must be desperate for entertainment if this is the depths Babba went to.

  Bugsy’s bug eyes lit up and she began tapping her foot. I waved a hand in front of her face.

  Talk, I signaled.

  Amaniel eyed me sideways and listened for Rishi’s voice.

  Bugsy cocked her head to one side and then the other, surveying me. “Talk about what?”

  I signaled to Bugsy. Star.

  The star had fallen to Kuldor, but instead of a meteorite, the debris was shaped like an egg and contained a demonic spirit, at least, if you believed the Azwan’s version. The demon didn’t exist any longer, except it did in some form or other, and those were the demon toenails that scratched inside me, and I knew because I shouldn’t be able to know how to speak to Gek.

  But Bugsy was no help at all. “You understand me, so you must be the star. We talked about this. I even showed you the space in the sky where you were born, and where you are now missing.”

  Amaniel got up and began pacing, oblivious to us. She often did this when her head was stuck in some scriptural passage and she was imagining how her unique interpretation would make her the wisest mage—all the way up to Azwan, perhaps. We were all going to bow to her superior worthiness someday.

  I shook my head and gave Bugsy a friendly squeeze. I signaled: How did lizardfolk come by the fallen star?

  “The elders found it in the swamp. It talked to my mother. She was shaman.” Bugsy’s eyes began to well over again. She righted herself and took a gulp of air. “The shaman knew what the star wanted and why. Until the evil drabskin killed her.”

  That made me flinch. The evil drabskin had been Valeo. This conversation was about to take a wrong turn.

  “Why did it pick me?” I signaled, keeping my fingers low on my lap so Amaniel wouldn’t see, even if she did look over.

  Bugsy shrugged. “You or your mother. You’re the only ones we trusted. My mother said the star wanted the human who wanted it. That we would know. And then you came for it and you asked for it.”

  So I showed up and opened my mouth and got myself picked. Just superb. “So why not a Gek?”

  “We aren’t good enough vessels. I don’t know why.”

  I stroked Bugsy’s scaly head and scratched behind her earhole. The creature sighed.

  “I wasn’t allowed to be there when they spoke,” she croaked. “But I know I didn’t want the unnatural drabskin to have it. Did I do the right thing?”

  She was talking about S’ami, the Azwan of Uncertainty, and his magic, which Gek saw as a violation of nature. Bugsy had taken a flying leap onto a roof to keep the box from him. It hadn’t gone well for her. I sat her in my lap and put my arms around her. If there were a wound I could see, I could figure out some way to patch it up, but all my smarts were useless in the face of hurts that stung on the inside.

  It seemed like that would be all I’d get out of the Gek. Eventually, we’d have to help her find her home. I wasn’t sure how I’d do that safely, but I had promised her I’d try. We sat around, Amaniel, Bugsy, and myself, taking in the arguments from outside as the voices rose and fell. After what seemed a long time, Rishiel poked her head in. “They’re serving dessert and Mami needs Amaniel to make tea.”

  Amaniel went to fetch a jar from a cupboard and I filed outside after my youngest sister. Our cook had made a sugary nectar from a succulent that grew just about everywhere, which she drizzled over a spongy pastry and fresh berries. If anyone remained angry with me after I served it, they were beyond hope.

  Fortunately, anyone can be forgiven almost anything over dessert, especially after an evening of wine. Babba pulled me onto the cushion next to him and rested a hand on my shoulder. It was the closest he’d get to reconciliation in front of so many people.

 
“Tell me what you know of that warehouse,” he said.

  I told him what little I had learned from Leba Mara.

  Babba drained his cup and set it aside. “They’ve been very businesslike about the whole thing. Very organized. They use the Ward priests as their clerks. I assume that’s for added secrecy.”

  “Clerks? That means they have records, though.”

  Babba nodded.

  “You can close it down though, right, Babba?”

  No. He shook his head once. “There is no closing down something the Temple wants open.”

  “You can talk to the—”

  “No one. There is no one to talk to on this matter.”

  “And there is no one else who can try? No one with your clout?” I hoped that would appeal to his sense of pride, at least. He gazed at me thoughtfully.

  “I won’t use you, Hadara. The Temple wouldn’t appreciate it, for starters. They’d see right through it. And I think being willing to sacrifice you once should be the quota for any father.”

  I resisted the urge to hug him and kept my demeanor businesslike and calm. This was no time for sentiment. “I know you don’t want to see me put in further danger. But everyone is in danger now.”

  He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “My eldest. My half-wild, stubborn, strong-willed, and utterly kind-hearted daughter. It’s never mattered to you to get all those religious details right, so long as you are doing the right thing for people. You get that from your mother, you know. You get the stubbornness from me. The night the Azwan dragged you off was the worst of my life. No, I don’t want to see you in danger ever again.”

  I should’ve soared at all the praise. Between Leba Mara and Babba, I was hearing all kinds of unfamiliar compliments. But my spirits flagged anyway. What if there really wasn’t anything Babba could do? He had all these new responsibilities as the city’s chief burgher. Whatever it is Valeo thought I could do would be pointless. As Amaniel had said earlier, I’d made promises. I intended to keep them.

  The fat merchant cleared his throat but his tone was gentler, more conciliatory. “Lord Rimonil, none of us is accustomed to being under the Temple’s thumb this way. Will I lose my life over a clumsy love poem I wrote for my wife?”