The Temple of Doubt

by Anne Boles Levy

  I wasn’t aware of movement or light, only sounds, mostly snatches of conversations in hushed tones that hovered about my ears and then winked out. Other times, I could remember drifting, cold and alone, high above the dusty continents that straddled the graceful arc of the planet. Mountains nosed above tree lines, and rivers cut downward to craggy coastlines and jostling seas.

  I fell in that memory, or maybe it was a dream, the falling, when the biting cold gave way to a sudden heat. I gathered speed, and the heat rose above boiling to some point where the air itself melted around me. It seared every scrap of flesh from my bones and then the bones, too. I disintegrated, dropping as ash into a marsh, feeling the mud kick high around me, the cooling mud. My mind traced the outline of that memory, feeling its sharp edges, dwelling on the serrations of fire and pain and loss.

  I dreamed Gek voices, high and nasal, and human ones, urgent and shrill. I thought I had answers for all their questions, but I couldn’t recall what they might be. That bothered me. I ought to know. I knew what they were asking, or thought I did. I should have the answers, too.

  That part of the dream lost shape and sifted away even as I reached for it.

  I gave up and pushed aside the memory of the dream, or the dream of memories, whenever it surfaced. It sat in the back of my head, jagged and dangerous, waiting.

  Will you choose my enemy over me? I am your only friend among the heavens; trust no one who says otherwise. He will only tell you what it pleases you to hear.

  —from Oblations 14, The Book of Unease

  The morning horn blasted closer than I’d remembered, as if the horn tower were beside my house. I shuddered awake. I wasn’t at home. I didn’t recognize the small, airless room or the scratchy blankets tucked around me.

  Deep, manly voices chanting their morning prayers filtered through the thick stucco walls. Giants. Something sounded familiar about their words. They sang in Fernai, but, then again, it couldn’t be. I don’t speak Fernai. Yet the “Dance of Life” sounded so lilting in their tongue. How could I know this?

  I realized I must be in Ward Sapphire’s sick ward, with its musty smell tingling my nostrils. I lay on a canvas cot in a threadbare nightdress I’d never owned. I didn’t know how I’d gotten there. Probably I’d been sick, maybe with a fever of some sort.

  The door creaked open, and someone peered in. My eyes took a moment to focus on Leba Mara’s round, smiling face. Her relief was palpable. “Didn’t think you’d ever rejoin us.”

  I closed my eyes. I struggled to form words, in too much of a fog to know what to say. When I opened them again, she’d placed a tray on a low table with a bowl of soup and some tea.

  “An Azwan’ll be here after dawn prayers,” she said. “Said to make sure to fetch them if you awoke.”

  My parched throat didn’t allow for more than a thin gasp to escape. “What happened to me?”

  “Azwans won’t say. Nor am I allowed to ask.”

  I could see the curiosity reflected in her kind features. She touched warm fingertips to my neck, feeling along my glands, and across my brow. She examined me like this for long moments, checking my pulse, listening to my breathing. I closed my eyes through much of the exam and focused only on slowing my breath, in and out, fighting the weariness that pressed me downward into the coarse bedding.

  “Where am I?” I asked.

  “In the sick ward, of course,” she said, fluffing a scroungy pillow as best she could. “We’re all back at Ward Sapphire again, and apparently we have you to thank for that.”

  Thank me? My memories faded in and out. Valeo in his cot, dying. The altar. An egg of some sort. Falling. Pain. I clenched my eyes shut again. More falling. Valeo. “How long?”

  “A whole six-day. You missed a Sabbath and your own Keeping Day.”

  My eyes fluttered open. My Keeping Day—I’d turned sixteen without even knowing. But I was alive at least. I had to focus on that. “My family.”

  “We turn them away when they ask after you. No news of you leaves this room.”

  My throat felt dry. I tried to swallow and couldn’t. A grating whisper emerged from my parched lips. “But they know I live?”

  “Not even that.”

  My spirits sank again. My family wasn’t being encouraged to nurture hope. I could disappear or die still. I tried to imagine my fate, struggling to remember what had happened, as Leba Mara fed me and held a glass to my lips. The last I knew, I was making some sort of tea for the soldiers. Moonbloom tea, and Mami and I were in some sort of trouble. No, only I was in trouble.

  Yes, that was it. I was in trouble, and one of the Azwans was leading me away. To Valeo? No, not that. Whatever had happened, I was fairly certain it involved only my family and me.

  I strained to figure out what came next and couldn’t. Bits and pieces floated to the surface but refused to stay, and there was nothing to hold any of the images in place. My memory had simply melted away.

  I expected the tea brought to my lips to taste like the soft, sensuous nectar of moonbloom, but it didn’t. I nearly gagged at the syrupy sweetness of the tisane Leba Mara poured down my throat. It served its purpose, though, and quenched a thirst that must’ve been building for some time. I’d dehydrated, and the over-sweetened tea sent strength seeping into tired limbs. Leba Mara left as soon as I could show her I could hold the tea glass without trembling. That took more effort, I think, than I let on.

  I didn’t want to worry her. She could get word out to my family. Even if she couldn’t tell them anything, they’d see in her face signs that she’d stopped fretting over me. Mami would be skilled at reading such signals, and she’d tell Babba. I sank back into my pillows and let relief wash over me. Yes, Mami would see Leba Mara’s face, and there’d be communication of the half-winking and quarter-nodding sort. Leba Mara could make a huge speech that way without the Azwans overhearing a word.

  She left to make her rounds, leaving me listening to the fading chants outside that either were or weren’t in Fernai, I was too weak to ponder it, and I got stuck again on my death that wasn’t, or might yet be. There was only a blank after I’d left my home, when I had to answer for the moonbloom petals we’d prepared. I could feel Reyhim’s coarse hand tugging at my own as we walked, wondering how a priest could get calluses on his palms, and wasn’t that an odd thing to have my mind get stuck on. Calluses. Maybe I ought to have remembered his raspy voice, and then I could’ve recalled what he’d said. When that didn’t work, I listened to the footsteps in the corridor outside my room.

  They belonged to Reyhim. I wasn’t surprised by the coincidence. I wondered if my punishment was finished yet. Reyhim sidled in, bringing his own floor cushion. His thin voice was artificially cheery. “Can’t stand the stool. Bad for the back.”

  He arranged his seating as I finished my tea and set it aside. I knew this encounter was coming; Leba Mara had said as much. That didn’t mean I was ready for it. Reyhim propped himself against the wall and leaned one arm on my low cot. “Well, well, if Nihil’s ambiguities aren’t the best salves after all.”

  Then S’ami barged in, sweating in his prayer vestments. “You ask her anything yet?”

  Reyhim shook his head.

  S’ami turned to me. “What’s your name? You remember it, yes?”

  I told him. Then he asked after my family, their names, ages, and all sorts of trivia about myself. How well I did in school, where my family usually sits at Sabbath prayers, and so on. They were all things he could’ve learned within Ward Sapphire’s walls. I wasn’t sure why I was being tested but knew better than to protest. I answered calmly, slowly, gliding past any tremor in my voice by keeping it low and soft. The questions seemed simple enough, with the men unusually eager to question a mere schoolgirl. Wasn’t I being punished? It didn’t sound that way. The whole situation was starting to seem curious.

  Both men produced their gold totems and waved them over me with more chanting. I could feel odd tingles wherever the totems passed, and each lef
t a faint trail in the air of glowing dust. I hadn’t noticed that before, and I watched them work, more fascinated than ever. Sparks flew out of the totems and intertwined before fizzling out or fading. I wondered if they knew I could see all this or if they even knew it was happening. I got a sense they didn’t; they kept passing their hands through the dazzling wake their magic left as if oblivious.

  The two men finished their work and fell silent, glancing from each other to me and back again. Reyhim cleared his throat, but his voice was its usual rasp. “She knows who she is. There’s never been a case of possession where the victim was left with any sense of self.”

  “That we know of,” S’ami said. “There’s also never been anyone who’s survived a deathcast.”

  “I still say you threw a faulty spell.”

  “Leave off.” S’ami’s words sounded clipped with anger. “This isn’t the time or place.”

  “Will you be giving it another try?”

  I held my breath. S’ami had tried to kill me and would try again. Though, wait, they just agreed his strongest spell didn’t work. I steadied myself. S’ami barely acknowledged Reyhim’s suggestion. “Our Master has bent my ear on this enough.”

  Reyhim patted my arm. “Nihil’s grateful for your help. You’re safe now.”

  I managed to find my voice. “I can’t remember.”

  “What can’t you remember?” Reyhim’s voice was kind.

  “What happened that night.”

  It was as if I’d held up a straw dummy that soldiers use in their practice. Both men fired off more questions, united in purpose again, asking at what point I’d stopped remembering and prodding me further. At last, I thought I did remember that the moonbloom petals had gone to the sick ward, while I’d gone to the altar. I had a vague recollection of talking to Nihil. The mirror and its jeweled insects loomed before me again, and my attention drifted as I lingered on the beautiful voice that had come from it.

  “But that’s it, then?” Reyhim peered into my face and anxiously took my measure. I shrank into the bedsheets and meekly nodded.

  “I remember Nihil’s voice,” I said. “And the . . . maybe the altar.”

  “What happened there?”

  I closed my eyes and shook my head.

  S’ami cut in. “Then let’s leave it at that.”

  Reyhim chuffed. “Didn’t think you cared for her suffering, exactly. Just the opposite.”

  “Let’s take this discussion elsewhere, brother.”

  “The girl deserves to know.”

  I sat up at that. I was going to hear what happened to me. I could fill in those blank spots. But why would Azwans take pity on me? Maybe they were grateful for my help in the swamp. When we’d gone to get the tin box with the . . .

  Oh.

  With the demon.

  The night at the altar blasted back into my consciousness. The insect mirror, the ornate altar, the glowing egg, my decision to disobey S’ami and touch the thing—it was all there, rushing past in no particular order and making no sense yet. Further back, there were moonblooms and the Gek, and petals everywhere, and the sick ward, Valeo clutching my hand, Valeo convulsing, Valeo warning me about my sister.

  Valeo dying.

  I shrank back into the bedsheets, wanting to disappear or at least make myself much less noticeable. I needed time and space to sort the mess of details.

  A few things I knew for certain: I hadn’t gotten my chat with the egg-demon. That plan was probably stillborn the moment I set foot on the altar.

  And I wasn’t dead. And the Azwans were arguing over keeping me alive. That was a change, even if their quarrel was filled with their usual bile.

  Reyhim scoffed—but not at me. “Were you going to get around to telling her how, exactly, you tried to crush her young soul into nothingness?”

  “Get out.” Beads of sweat popped from S’ami’s brow.

  “I go nowhere,” Reyhim said.

  “Then leave off arguing in front of this girl.”

  “This girl may’ve saved the planet, or at least this corner of it,” Reyhim said. “We’re to protect her so long as she shows no sign of possession. She’s entitled to know who’s on her side and who tried to argue she be put to death some other way.”

  “It’s not as simple as that, and you know it.” Angry flecks of spittle dotted S’ami’s mouth. Had I been one of the men in the Customs House, I’d be selling seats to this spectacle. I could make a fortune with what I was overhearing, and I sat up, fascinated.

  Reyhim sneered at S’ami, all coolness and cruelty. “Ah, yes, talk to me of ambiguities, shall you?”

  Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. If they kept on this way, I’d start laughing, and that wouldn’t do. They could still kill me. And I wanted to go home. “Pious servants of Nihil, I’m sure I don’t deserve all this fuss.”

  Reyhim patted my arm again. “You do, sweet girl. And I shall tell you.”

  S’ami interrupted. “No, you shall not. Leave us.”

  “I don’t recall you moving up the ranks to give me orders.”

  “Or she’ll know more about you than you’d like her to.”

  Reyhim blanched and sputtered. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t I.”

  With more sputtering and flailing, Reyhim rose with difficulty and gave S’ami a hard stare. The younger man only folded his arms across his chest and waited. Their battle had turned in S’ami’s favor, and here was Reyhim, suddenly in retreat, fuming and shoving the door with such force that it squeaked on its track.

  My mother sometimes talked about manipulative people, how they worked, what to watch for, especially in men. How they could love-talk you out of your clothes and into trouble. S’ami was as manipulative as a catapult. One moment, you could be standing there, fine as could be, never better, and the next moment, you’re a pulpy lump without ever having seen what landed on you.

  No sooner had the door clicked shut than S’ami plopped down on the edge of my cot. My body remembered his invasive stare from the pier before my mind did, and my legs clenched by instinct. My whole body huddled into a ball.

  “He didn’t see you touch that egg.”

  I fumbled for something to say. “Nihil sows doubts and reaps discord.”

  “Such an idiotic response, I might concede it’s actually clever. I honestly cannot decide if you’re so impertinent because you’re stupid or brilliant.”

  “Um, which would you prefer?”

  “Stupid. No, that would irritate me. Brilliant, then. As hard as that would be to deal with.”

  It was an odd compliment, but I liked it. I’d settle for being brilliant and hard for a priest to deal with, and also quite alive. Which reminded me to ask, “So why am I not dead?”

  “Because you lived.”

  “By accident, I assume.”

  He sighed. “You are bright, as I suspected. A curse. If you were stupid, I’d have less to fear. I could pat your hand and assure you that you’d been forgiven and give you my best smile.”

  “And instead?”

  “I’ll tell you as little as you’ll let me get away with.” One corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. He must be the only man who could reek of dignity with a smirk on his face.

  I thought about his statement, really a challenge. The Temple was setting another trap, wasn’t it? I was supposed to ask him questions that he’d refuse to answer, or he’d ask me things and twist my answers. The latter was how it usually worked. This new twist was a challenge I’d normally avoid like a thundercloud, but it had to mean something that an Azwan, of all people, was asking me to test him. I was either stupid or brilliant, after all. I was tired of people, particularly holy people, thinking me stupid. It took a half a moment, not even that, to decide I’d accept his challenge and try my hardest—weakened and bedridden and all—to pry my story out of him.

  “Did Nihil see me touch the egg?”

  “He felt it.” S’ami’s eyes locked onto mine. I knew
he was looking for any reaction from me, and I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Let him be the one to keep guessing.

  “How did Nihil feel it?” For a moment, I considered what a stupid question that would be. I expected an answer my schoolmistress would give: that Nihil was god and could do anything. But S’ami wasn’t her.

  “He’s aware of his enemy, probably in a way similar to how you knew the Gek were watching us in the swamp.”

  That sounded reasonable enough, and a flicker of gratitude went through me. I’d had a question that someone in the Temple had taken seriously and answered without talking down to me or swatting me. I must’ve come up in their esteem, and all I’d had to do was to not die when they’d wanted. “Am I in trouble then?”

  “You should be. But what’s done is done. We killed the creature, we’re absolutely sure of it, especially with you awake and not possessed. This is good. Nihil will be pleased. I have to say, you came out of this like a thistle rose, a mite prickly but smelling sweet.”

  I grinned. “Thank you, I think.” Really, what does someone say to a compliment like that?

  S’ami kept going. “Your behavior on the altar was outstanding. You didn’t beg or whine and showed a quick grasp of what was occurring. Did you have doubts? Well, yes, but you’ve overcome them, I trust. You should be filled with certainty of the Temple’s rectitude after your ordeal. Are you?”

  My jaw opened and closed a few times, but I couldn’t manage a sound. I remembered telling myself about hope and reason and doubt. Did I have all three? I couldn’t think like this. My head was starting to throb. I was only certain I wanted to leave this room and never talk to an Azwan again.

  He shook his head. “Ah, doubtful even yet. Only Nihil is allowed the privilege of skepticism, even if you find yourself overwhelmed by events. But . . .” S’ami leaned in close and dropped his voice. “You might secretly harbor doubts, mightn’t you? You did all along, yes? And that’s why you reached for that egg?”

  An instinct to nod gripped me, and I stopped my chin before it could bob down even a fraction. No, no nodding. No agreeing. I wasn’t going to say I held doubts and get myself in trouble all over again. But it wasn’t an accident, either—I wouldn’t use a child’s excuse for wrongdoing.