Kalimpura

by Jay Lake

  Even then, I could see the balance this represented, action countervailed by consideration, thought bolstered by deed. In my years since, my appreciation for the arrangement has grown. At the time, I was mostly annoyed. Justiciary Mothers found Blades messy, and I was surely the messiest Blade since at least the youth of the late Mother Meiko, more than two generations ago.

  The other orders of the temple grew naturally out of the internal functions of any religious house of women. The Domiciliary Mothers ran the kitchens and workshops, cared for the youngest children not yet taken into their training, and maintained the temple’s physical and social structures. The Caring Mothers raised the older children, eased the lives of our most elderly Mothers, and served as the temple’s healers. The Mothers Intercessory saw to the more basic and general education of the children, kept the libraries and scriptures, served as witnesses to what had been written before in prophecy and temple law, and tended the altar, relics, and other holy duties of our worship of the Lily Goddess.

  I knew from my training here that the post of Temple Mother had once belonged almost exclusively to the Mothers Intercessory. About forty years ago it had passed between the Blades and the Justiciars several times before settling with the Justiciary Mothers. Fairness had been claimed at the time, and the supposed value of experience in negotiating with the city beyond our doors.

  Many had their doubts, especially the Blades. Including me. Our temple seemed to have become ever more deeply enmeshed in the schemes of politics to the benefit of, well, no one.

  I stared at Mother Srirani, knowing this show of open disrespect would irritate her. That concerned me in no wise at all. She stared back, scowling down her nose at me with lips pursed. The white and gray robes of her office did not hang well on her, and I wondered if she wore Mother Umaavani’s old garments, or if she had lost weight of late. Mother Srirani was not so tall, only a bit more than I, and rounder of face and body than any Blade would ever be.

  Just to trouble her further, I offered my sweetest smile. The look she returned me cleared any of my doubts. The Temple Mother seemed to take our silent exchange as her cue, for she straightened and addressed the congregation in a voice that was unfortunately reedy for a woman in her role.

  “Mothers. Sisters. Women of the Temple of the Silver Lily, of Kalimpura, of Selistan.” Well, that arguably left me out on all counts. Beside me, Mother Vajpai stirred a bit at the words. The Temple Mother continued: “We gather today to consider the errors of one who was once among us.” At least it was only me who was on trial today, not Mother Vajpai. “Sent forth in exile carrying woes of our own beloved goddess with her, the miscreant Green has returned against holy writ and our goddess’ will to once more trouble us here.”

  At that, I stirred, ready to leap up in answer, but Mother Vajpai laid a steely grip upon my right arm. I could have broken it—probably—but chose instead to heed her silent counsel.

  “Across the seas in the barbarous place of her exile, Green to my certain knowledge has betrayed the interests of our temple. She has abrogated the writ and will of our beloved Lily Goddess. She has brought disgrace to us and upon our city with her behaviors public and private. Trusted persons of high station here in Kalimpura were subject to her depredations in a manner that could have called ruin down upon us all.”

  Mother Srirani turned from playing to the gallery to instead stare me down. That, at least, she would not best me at. I stared back at her, letting her see in my eyes what awaited her. I did not need to promise a bitter fate, I simply knew.

  “You stand accused of misdeeds outside even my purview to adjudicate, Green. But it is within my purview to pass judgment upon your return from banishment without proper leave. It is within my purview to rule upon your fate as a Sister and Mother of this temple. It is within my purview to punish you for those infractions that are sadly ours to make amends for. For the rest of your crimes, well, you shall have to seek the mercy of those you have wronged, the powerful across Kalimpura.”

  The mercy of the powerful was a folk saying here in Selistan, implying something to be laughably unlikely. Much as a Petraean might have said diamonds in the sewers. I and everyone listening knew that what she meant by that was throwing me to our enemies without, and relieving the temple of responsibility for my fate. Death at the hands of the Street Guild—a very likely outcome given the display of an hour ago—would in this case go unanswered by the Lily Blades, who in general never let a slight or injury to their own go without strong response.

  Mother Vajpai released my arm and rose painfully to her feet. She allowed a wince to cross her face, which I knew was her own playing to the gallery. “Hello, Rana,” she said to the Temple Mother with a nod. Addressing someone in authority by a child’s nickname was a supreme impoliteness only nominally disguised by her tone. Then she turned her attention to the gallery.

  “How many of you here know me well?” Mother Vajpai pointed. “You, Mother Aasi, I shared a sleeping mat with when we were both too short to open the doors of the refectory. You, Mother Urgattai, argued the case of the Glassworks Poisoning that I uncovered during the Death Right action against that old bastard Mansajurat. You, Sister Feillig, I plucked from a wrecked cart on the Street of Silversmiths when you were a babe, and looked to the care of until you took your vows among the Intercessors.”

  The gallery was muttering again. Mother Srirani’s face darkened with anger, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Mother Vajpai was just ahead of her, just forceful enough to stop her.

  Even old Mother Umaavani would not have permitted this to go on, I thought with satisfaction. Embarrassment was the most potent weapon against a woman in the Temple Mother’s position, because people lost respect.

  “Every one of you knows I was sent forth with specific orders from Mother Srirani. The blessing of the Lily Goddess was claimed.” Oh, that bit of sarcasm was artful. “I was told to take Mother Argai with me and fetch the exile Green back from Copper Downs, for reasons that were said to be good and proper at the time.

  “So how is it that such a mission, dispatched by the very woman who now accuses Green of violating her banishment and numerous other unspecified crimes, has become a gross violation of the will of our goddess? Could it be that the interests served never were those of this altar behind me? Could—?”

  “Enough!” Mother Srirani’s voice rang shrill. “You speak foolishness, and have been too long out of the councils of this temple to know what has been judged right. Mother Surekha will escort you to a quiet chamber where the Caring Mothers will see to your disturbances. There you may rediscover reason and dignity.”

  “I will not be silenced.” Mother Vajpai’s voice was ominous.

  “It is not silence, Pai-pai.” The Temple Mother lowered her own tones until only the closest could hear. “It is safety. Yours and mine.”

  Mother Surekha and two of her handle stepped up to Mother Vajpai. The women looked uneasy at effectively arresting their own Blade Mother. I wondered who had held Mother Vajpai’s post in her absence, and if that one stood to gain it permanently should Mother Vajpai be deemed unfit to resume her duties.

  Then my old instructor, the most dangerous human woman I’d ever known, nodded at me. A glint of satisfaction, of all things, rode in her eyes.

  I could take that hint. Touching Mother Surekha’s arm, I muttered, “Abide a moment,” then strode from my bench at the base of the gallery straight toward the altar.

  “Let the Lily Goddess to speak to us!” I shouted. This hand I had played before, that memorable day with old Mother Umaavani when the Dancing Mistress and I had been on trial here. This was a temple, after all. Ultimate authority rested with none of the women who served the Lily Goddess. Not when the goddess Herself could be summoned. “I have been back on these shores only an hour, and already I am tired of wordplay in place of simple, honest truth.” I shot Mother Srirani an exaggerated glare that could surely be seen even from the highest gallery. “And I might have expected the
lies to be slightly more clever. Or have we all lost our senses to fear, surrendered to politics, and given up who we are meant to be?”

  “You will sit, or I will have you seated,” snapped Mother Srirani.

  “I am still a Mother of this temple, banishment or not.” Not quite technically true, I’d never finished taking my vows, but that was how most of the women here viewed me. “I have the same right to appeal to the Goddess’ intercession as any of my Sisters here.” I turned my gaze from the Temple Mother back to the dozens watching. “If she can strip that right from me by whim, she can strip it from any of you. Are you all so eager to surrender your place before the altar to the coin of outsiders?”

  That sparked an eruption of angry chatter from above. Several women jumped to their feet. A few hurried out.

  Now Mother Srirani was trembling with furious passion. A bad tendency in one who would lead, I knew, ignorant then of the reflexive irony of my thought. “I will not have this fane be made a mockery!”

  “Too late,” I called, to a ripple of laughter from those who could still hear me. “Now, will you beseech the goddess or shall I?”

  Silence spread from that statement. One of the questions long dogging the temple had been why the Lily Goddess was ever more difficult to address over the years. Even the Temple Mothers, who stood for Her in this world and spoke with Her words, we were all assured, had experienced much trouble with that. I had been able to call Her, more than once. I knew that had greatly troubled some of my elders, though I had largely ignored the discussion at the time.

  From the flash of panic on Mother Srirani’s face, I guessed that she had experienced little or no luck at the rite. The last thing she wanted was me interfering successfully.

  In effect, I had challenged her authority. Oh, such games these women played. Why in the world had she even hauled me and Mother Vajpai here before an assemblage of the temple, instead of simply locking us up, or having our throats slit?

  Because she is a Justiciar, and follows the process. The politics of the temple would allow her to do no less. Too many senior Mothers and Sisters would have questioned not just my disappearance on arrival, but the necessary vanishing likewise of Mother Vajpai and Mother Argai.

  “Shall I pray?” I asked amid the quiet of dozens of watching women. Looking up at them, I added, “Or have the affairs of the temple reached such a state that urgent change is needed? Who among you thinks this whole business has been properly done? Rise if you would see another path.”

  The women already on their feet looked startled, but none of them sat down again. Several Blades stood, grim-faced with their hands loose as if for a fight. To my surprise, a few Justiciary Mothers stood. Then all seven of the Domiciliary Mothers in the gallery rose together—I had always been a favorite of the cooks, to put it plainly.

  After that, slowly, with a rustle of robes and leather, every woman in the room stood. I turned back to Mother Srirani. “Where is your power now, Temple Mother? Let us speak to the Goddess ourselves.”

  “No,” she said roughly, switching tacks in the face of such overwhelming opposition. “I was a fool to think you would respect our rules. You shall not profane this place with your foreign prayers and strange ideas. Mother Surekha will escort you from the temple. You and Mother Vajpai are expelled from your order, and from the service of the Lily Goddess. Her ears will be deaf to your prayers, Her eyes blind to your sacrifices. Our Blades will not help you. No hand will be raised to your aid. May you find what you seek in the justice of the streets of Kalimpura.”

  An urgent jerk of Mother Vajpai’s chin caught my eye. In that moment of pause, I realized that she had the right of things. We were better off withdrawn from this place and shaping our own next moves than risking some new devilment from Mother Srirani, who had so clearly become Surali’s puppet. Even if the Lily Goddess did choose to manifest, She would not play the politics this situation demanded. Her brushstrokes were much broader than that.

  Looking up once more, I made my closing statement. “I go, not because I accept either Rani’s authority or her edict, but because I wish peace upon this temple. I shall see all of you again.”

  Mother Vajpai and I walked out through the little door at the base of the gallery to the thunder of applause. Mother Surekha crowded close behind us, nervous and unhappy as any cat on ice.

  Despite everything that was going wrong, I found myself smiling.

  * * *

  I ignored our escort and headed for the kitchens. Mother Vajpai kept pace with me, Mother Surekha trailing behind. There was no point in stepping out into the circular plaza of the Blood Fountain. The Street Guild awaited us there. And the Blades would not be of any aid. Not right now, not directly. I had my own doubts about the future effectiveness of Mother Srirani’s ban, but they did not signify just then.

  No one else followed us, not even the rest of Mother Surekha’s handle. Mother Surekha herself seemed far more nervous now, judging from my frequent glances over my shoulder. She could be as nervous as she wished. I wanted to be sure she wasn’t drawing a weapon.

  Mother Vajpai seemed more concerned about Mother Surekha’s state of mind. As we slipped down the Lesser Adamantine Stairs, she looked backwards as well. “Tell me, do you wish to see us on the street?”

  Mother Surekha grunted. Then a confession: “I don’t know what is right here.”

  Hot words rushed to my tongue, but I swallowed them. I had another purpose here. Argument with an angry Blade was not on my agenda. Besides, this was Mother Vajpai’s question.

  “It should not be so hard,” she said gently as we banged into the kitchens.

  Ah, the smell. Scent was the catapult of memory, and there was nothing like cooking to fire your thoughts into the past. Yeast, ash, spice, steam from the washbasins, the green and crumpled reek of vegetables. Such a familiar blend, all the way to the back of my mind.

  I had been taught the many uses of a kitchen under the brutal hand of Mistress Tirelle, back at the Factor’s house in Copper Downs. We’d always cooked with just the two of us. No one to serve the food to, no servants or undercooks to help. Though my taskmistress had spoken much about the varied practices of a more substantial kitchen—such as the one I’d snuck through in the Red House—that had been theory to me until I arrived in Kalimpura, some time after murdering my way out of both captivity and the city of Copper Downs.

  Here, in the lower levels of the Temple of the Silver Lily, I’d had my first real experience of a great and busy kitchen. I’d never worked with large ovens and cooking for two hundred, recipes that were measured in catties and bowlsfuls rather than ounces and cups. I’d shown the cooks here recipes from the cold north, especially the baking that was so little of the tradition in Kalimpura. They’d taught me their crafts in turn, their spices and sauces and the use of the clay oven.

  I’d spent a lot of time with these women, my arms dusted to the shoulders with flour and seasoning, or wrinkled from taking my turns at scrubbing pans. They’d spent a lot of time with me as well.

  So there were not too many surprised faces when I entered the kitchen, trailed by Mother Vajpai and Mother Surekha. Some smiles, yes, and some frowns. Wings of rumor had flown here just as fast as anywhere. The kitchen knew most things before the rest of the temple.

  Old Sister Shatta came hobbling toward me. She was the master baker in the kitchen, answering only to Mother Tonjaree, who was the kitchen’s head steward. She was also one of the women who’d spent the most time with me in the years when I could be found down here.

  “Hungry, girl?” she said with a gritty laugh. She nodded at Mother Vajpai and favored Mother Surekha with a fishy stare.

  “Sister Shatta.” I hugged her. “I have been gone too long.” She looked so much older than I remembered, trembling as she walked but still refusing canes. Or at least refusing to show them to me. “I am sorry to be rude. I am in something of a hurry.”

  “Oh, we’ve heard, girl.” She touched my face, fingers brush
ing down my chin. “And you’ve been talking to voices in the dark.”

  Everything seemed to still for a moment. Even the grumble of the fires and the pinging of the iron ovens quieted. In Sister Shatta’s eyes I saw an unaccustomed depth shining past the wispy webs that would all too soon finish claiming her sight.

  I dropped to one knee, clasped her hand, and said, “I have come home to You.”

  Briefly, I felt raindrops and smelled lilies. Then Shatta’s old woman voice cackled at me. “Get up, girl. You shall never be outrunning those fools if you are bending a knee to every biddy who wants to give you a kiss.”

  Right then and there, I’d have told her of my children and my life, but this was not the time. And the less said in that place about potential hostages, the better. Rumor’s wings flew in all directions.

  The undercooks and kitchen girls drifted closer, casually forming a sort of wall around us. Mother Surekha looked even more uncomfortable, as if she’d never realized how much politics went on in the kitchens. And who would, if she’d never worked here? The interweaving of food and relationships was obvious to anyone who’d ever stood to serve, but not always to those who sat to eat.

  “We must away and swiftly,” I said. “You must know what has taken place in the fane. Street Guild gather outside in numbers too large to evade.”

  “I overheard Mother Maati saying she planned to send two girls marketing for herbs.” Sister Shatta’s voice was cackling and sly.

  “We will need to cover our leathers.”

  “And these,” said a girl I did not know, pushing two large cane baskets at me. I handed one to Mother Vajpai.

  “Robes?” I asked.

  Cloaks were thrust at us. Gray, patched, nondescript, still they reminded me of my belled silk back aboard Prince Enero, and Marya’s. These city folk thought that such a peasant affectation, but the habit of sewing a new bell every day was all I had of the region and people of my birth. Setting aside that thought, I shrugged into one and pulled it close around me. Mother Vajpai donned hers and picked up her basket once more.