The Temple of Doubt Read online

  “By all three moons, you’d think Nihil himself was arriving, with all the fuss.” Babba scowled at the crowd and squinted into the distance. “There’s sails on the horizon, don’t you know.”

  Amaniel brightened at that, seeming entirely too chipper. “Red sails?”

  Babba guided us to a spot along the balcony edge, where I had a perfect view of Ward Sapphire across the wide half-moon of Sapphire Bay. It was the only building taller and grander than the one we were in, the two buildings gleaming like bleached pillars of a giant gateway; one sacred, one secular. I felt more at home here on the commercial side of the city, surrounded by clerks jostling one another in handsome uniforms of flowing frock coats over gauzy shirts and ballooning trousers.

  Babba wore four different shades of green, all clashing, but I thought the hues looked stunning against his bronze skin, and Mami had embroidered vermillion vines around the collars and hems. I could be proud of the figure my Babba cut. Crowds would part as if he were some visiting potentate or a powerful priest and not an ordinary, if high-ranking, bureaucrat.

  A few men stared at me, but I averted my eyes. That was the proper thing to do, even if what I really wanted was to stare back and soak in their features, figure out what made one handsome and another hideous. I wanted to look. I wanted to revel in whatever it was that kept them looking at me. I followed Amaniel’s example and kept my eyes on Babba.

  He kept his own eyes on the horizon, and we quickly figured out why. There, in the distance, two sets of crimson sails soared above the waves, billowing like a baby’s cheeks in the coastal breeze.

  It was as if lightning had swept the crowd, both below and around us on the balcony.

  The Temple of Doubt was here! Nihil himself, perhaps!

  How our lives would change, someone said. What a blessing, said others. A blessing, yes!

  A blessing.

  I felt cursed. My whole world was about to change, I knew it even then, peering across the harbor at the pretty ships, not knowing what to expect, except the worst. The mighty Temple of Doubt had arrived, at least the part that wasn’t built from rocks on a faraway cliff. It could still flatten us all. I had my own doubts, even if I couldn’t quite figure out how to say so.

  Keep my enemies from me, stand between me and them; stamp them out like quick tender, else we would burn together, a bonfire of souls, razing a civilization as a field in drought.

  —from Oblations 14, The Book of Unease

  The days leading up to this official visit had made everyone fretful and stupid. The adults had scurried around fixing things that looked just fine to me, until I wondered if I’d also get a coat of whitewashing if I stood in one spot too long. All eyes were on the harbor, even mine, as if those crimson sails would appear between one footstep and the next. The worries were a contagion that nothing in Mami’s bag of physics would cure.

  At last, the day had come, and two fine schooners closed in on our deep blue bay. I couldn’t see what difference the preparations had made. The pier was a jumble of bodies as people pressed and jostled for a better view. It was all as delightfully messy and chaotic as ever, maybe more so. The god we worshipped might be coming here. We were no longer beneath his notice. Even so, I struggled to feel excited. If Nihil was anything like the priests or the schoolmistress, it promised to be a long visit, full of things I couldn’t and shouldn’t do or say or even think.

  The lookouts began signaling the rest of the city, and Babba translated for Amaniel and me. Neither ship sailed Nihil’s flag. Instead, the vessels flew the banners of two mighty magi, called Azwans, a word meaning “navigator” in an ancient tongue. People around us argued whether that meant good news or bad, whether we were too far or too barbaric or too bothersome for a godly visit.

  But why should that be bad? I tried to recall what I could of the day’s painful lessons. Perhaps there’d be no human sacrifice after all, if Nihil wasn’t coming. My sigh was a crisp, loud burst of air that instantly unraveled entire knots of emotion. I caught myself and glanced around. The milling of the crowds below had swallowed up the sound, and I wouldn’t have to explain why I felt so relieved.

  Others, Amaniel among them, whispered that the Azwans came to spare us a terrible war between Nihil and his enemy.

  I didn’t understand, and said so. A falling star wasn’t a living thing, was it? How could it be Nihil’s enemy? Besides, two of the Temple of Doubt’s greatest magic users were coming, people who could wipe out evil before it gained a foothold on our world. If, in fact, evil had landed in our midst. “Isn’t that honor enough?” I asked.

  “It’s not our honor that’s at stake, Hadara.” Babba didn’t take his eyes from those crimson sails. “Nihil is god, he can make anything happen . . . except one thing.”

  “Oh, I know this,” I mumbled before Amaniel could cut in, pleased I knew a little something, at least. “Kuldor is his prison and our planet. He can’t leave here. Am I right?”

  The men closest to us chuckled. One said, “It’s medicines she knows, I suppose.”

  That drew more chuckles, of a knowing, winking kind. He may as well have praised my knowledge of picking locks or tipping scales. In a world where magic could supposedly cure anything, or at least anything the priests said we deserved to have cured, medicine was regarded with suspicion. The man hadn’t paid me a compliment at all. My ears burned. Worse, I’d embarrassed Babba, who had his mouth set in a firm line. “Oblations 14, Hadara. You’ll memorize it tonight.”

  Scriptures. I made a face. It was Nihil this and Kuldor that, begetting fruits of the trees and crops of the fields and who did wrong to whom and was smited for it, unless they conquered someone else without Nihil’s permission so he smited them, too. And then there were his women. Many, many, many women. Of which I wouldn’t be one, which made me happy, no matter how awful it would be to have to memorize Oblations 14.

  Amaniel nudged me and whispered, “A conflagration erupts when one of his foes attacks him face-to-face. The last one nearly destroyed the whole planet.”

  Babba’s eyes looked beyond us to the bulging sails. “Nihil stays away from our island, so there’ll be no conflagration if his enemy is here. His Azwans will wage any battle instead.”

  The men around us murmured their agreement, though Babba had spoken softly. I got a glimpse between two sets of shoulders. The ships floated high above the water. Powerful spells must have lifted those massive vessels from the sea, under full sail, with their double-masts perfectly perpendicular. Nothing but empty air coursed beneath the keels, sunlight glinting off waves disturbed only by the ships’ rippling shadows, which left no wake. Now I knew why there’d been no rain in days: that, too, must’ve been the work of magic designed to speed the ships here.

  The schooners slowed as they approached the bay, and each unfurled a banner atop the main mast: one white, one purple. Each bore a constellation embroidered in glittering thread. I remembered them instantly, but then I’ve always had a knack for the stars. The white one was closer, with three silver crescent moons. The purple one bore the twisted, double strands of a wisdom knot. That ought to make that one more important, I reasoned.

  Amaniel elbowed me again and whispered, “No, the white one is. It’s the Azwan of Ambiguity.”

  I’d thought aloud, but only Amaniel had heard. “Ambiguity, what does he do?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s in charge of all five Azwans. The other one is Uncertainty.”

  “Let me guess, he’s number two.”

  “No, he’s number four, but in some ways he’s number one because he’s Nihil’s ear. Nihil’s confidante, in other words.”

  “But you said the other one is in charge.”

  “I know. But it’s Nihil, so it’s supposed to be enigmatic.”

  More like confusing, I muttered to myself.

  The white banner’s ship bore the name Sea Skimmer on its hull. It pulled in first while the other waited out in the harbor and glided along a length of pier before haltin
g just beyond our balcony perch; then it eased itself into the water with the gentlest splash. Once in the water, Sea Skimmer groaned and heaved with the currents, as any other ship.

  The second was the Nomad’s Grief, an unsettling name for a ship. Perhaps it was some Scriptural reference, but I wasn’t about to set Amaniel on one of her windy jags by asking. The ship came to rest with the bow below us. On deck, an ebony-skinned man in a flowing kaftan to match the banner stood praying. The Azwan. He looked no different from any of the Tengalian merchants who roamed the docks haggling down shipping prices or giving Babba and his inspectors an earful. This Azwan had that same haughty air, his shoulders back, master of everything he saw. He was no older than Babba, I was sure, but better fed, judging by the way his kaftan swelled around his barrel chest.

  Babba turned to Amaniel. “You recognize the Azwan of Uncertainty, of course.”

  Someone from the back piped up, a light note in his voice. “Let’s hear it then, Amaniel. The full honors. Just for our little crew up here.”

  “Full honors, yes,” chimed a few others crammed in beside us.

  Amaniel’s grin was matched only by Babba’s. I sighed. It did sound pretty impressive when she recited the whole pious honors bit. She took a deep breath and began, only loud enough for those immediately around us to hear, since it wasn’t polite for a girl to shout:

  “The Azwan of Uncertainty, Nihil’s Ear, Son of the Second Moon, Curator of the Limitless Repository, consort of the Princess Pelia of Tengal, the scholar S’ami, son of the astrologer Shmulai.”

  A trickle of applause greeted the end of the honors. I felt a surge of pride in my sister, who smiled and bowed her head, as custom dictated. One of us should be able to show off a formal education, at least. I had another, younger sister at home, too small for school yet. I found myself hoping she wouldn’t take after me, the wild sister, the bold and curious girl, off to the swamps on adventures that yielded strange items no one could mention in public.

  “Oh,” Amaniel said, holding a finger up. “And he just gifted his daughter to Nihil. She was only twelve.”

  Babba clapped her on the back with a nod on his serious face. “Praise Nihil’s whims and wishes, child.”

  “Nihil’s whims and wishes,” several of the men muttered in reply.

  Had no one heard what I heard? A twelve-year-old girl, sacrificed to our god? I remembered my teacher’s warning. The girl was dead. The proud man on the deck below us had served up his flesh and blood to the god who stayed far away and found us wanting. The Azwan’s fine clothes rustled in the breeze, but his upright bearing didn’t look like it would budge for anything. I dwelled on the one thing I knew for certain about him: he had been someone’s father. And now he wasn’t.

  I shuddered and shifted my focus to the Feroxi crew, anything but the proud Azwan. I almost hadn’t noticed those big men. Not that anyone could fail to see them for very long.

  They weren’t proper giants, exactly, since monsters who stood twice the size of a man existed only in myth. These sailors stood two and three head-lengths taller than Babba, the tallest man in our city. That alone would make them gargantuan enough, even without shoulders as wide as some folks are tall. This was the part I liked best. I wasn’t usually allowed to stare at men—it’s not a modest thing to do, but who was going to stop me now?

  I let my eyes roam over those oversized, muscular bodies as they scrambled about the deck to anchor and secure the ship and furl its sails. The Feroxi were from a chilly northern clime and had the fair hair and pale complexion I’d expected. Their skulls grew a peculiar browridge that jutted over their eyes and formed a chevron over the bridge of the nose, giving them a dark, brooding look, as if permanently annoyed.

  They sang, and it sounded cheerful enough, though I don’t understand a word of Fernai. The sailors dwarfed the Azwan, who ignored them, and they thudded about barefoot, sweat dampening their coarse, crimson uniforms and gleaming from bare arms. As they lowered the gangplank, their song switched to the common tongue for a verse:

  Thorn and thistle and brave men bristle

  Lest flesh be torn to shred

  Thistle and thorn the roses adorn

  Be careful where you tread

  “They’re singing about their women,” Babba said. “They are also fierce warriors.”

  The crowds began to draw back, prodded by port watches with their long pikes and shrill cries. Only the city’s welcoming committee remained, and I recognized the Lord Portreeve, my father’s boss, with the high priest in the sapphire-studded breastplate he wore on holy days. They bowed at first sight of the Azwans and held outstretched palms beneath their chins so that any word that left their mouths might be found acceptable. Really, it looked like they were vomiting, but I kept that interpretation to myself.

  Our perch allowed us a clear view of the Azwans: the one in white robes was an old man with a leathery face, stooped and gray. He raised one hand in greeting to the crowds.

  Polite genuflections disintegrated into wild applause, even cheers. Calls of “Reyhim! Welcome home!” rippled across the pavilion. Women held up babies for a better view, men threw copper coins at his feet. He took it all in with studied calm, his eyes scanning the many faces as though trying to spot someone he knew.

  “Reyhim’s aged since his promotion,” someone whispered behind me.

  “There’s always a price for doing Nihil’s bidding,” said another.

  “How long since he left, anyway?”

  “Thirty years, maybe? A little less?”

  My father shushed them both, as the younger Azwan’s baritone soared across the pier, sounding annoyed, like honey mixed with acid, the way you’d swat at stingflies with your voice, if you could. We all leaned forward to catch every sharp word from him. S’ami, if I remembered correctly. He didn’t sound uncertain.

  “I’ll take some adjusting, is all,” S’ami said. “You must remember my more civilized sensibilities.”

  The high priest answered him, and while I could detect an apologetic tone in his voice, the words didn’t carry back to us. S’ami continued.

  “All these teeter-totter huts and crooked boardwalks,” he said. “It’s like someone squatted and shat this place into existence.”

  The words “That awful man” echoed from the balcony, all too audible and entirely too distinct. The crowd hushed. Everyone around me froze. The words hung in the air, drawing the Azwan’s gaze. With creeping horror, I realized once again my tongue had wandered free from my brain. Babba moved in front of me, blocking my view again. I couldn’t see his face, but I could see color flush the back of his neck.

  I didn’t know who down below had heard, but I imagined Nihil himself, all the way across the ocean in his rocky, hilltop home, had caught every insolent syllable. The stripe on my wrist throbbed. I tried to swallow back the sudden wave of nausea and wondered if I could cover my entire body with my scrap of a kerchief. Hiding sounded like the best option.

  Amaniel ducked behind me, which forced me forward again. Wonderful. No one could miss me. Maybe one of the giant Feroxis would carry me off like they do in legends, and no one would ever hear from me again, except to talk of the brassy girl who insulted an Azwan on his one and only visit.

  “You, up there,” a voice boomed. That meant me.

  My father hissed. “Haaadaara, don’t you . . .”

  “Woman!” It was a soldier’s voice.

  Well, it was nice to be called a woman, if nothing else. The men parted so I could make my way to the front. A crowd gawked up at me. The soldier who’d shouted was another hulking Feroxi in black leather armor. A bronze helmet covered most of his features, except for a scarred chin and two piercing dark eyes glittering from slits. That didn’t stop me from imagining his gaze to be utterly contemptuous, hateful, even. He wasn’t someone I’d ever want to get to know.

  “The Azwan orders an explanation for your words.” His clipped tone held no trace of a foreign accent, an odd thing for me to noti
ce when I should be looking for a way to vanish from the face of Kuldor.

  My father grabbed my arm and clenched. Hard. I’d have a bruise later. He answered the soldier for me. “The girl means no disrespect, she answered . . .”

  “The Azwan orders her to speak.” The soldier’s eyes never left my face, as much as I tried to look away, look down, look anywhere else.

  I made the chin-cupping motion with my hands, closing my eyes as I did so. Both Azwans peered up at me, the one in purple and the one in stark white. The older man, Reyhim, appeared to be grinning, or maybe jeering. Sheer terror clouded my powers of observation at the moment.

  “My apologies,” I said. I opened my eyes to meet the soldier’s unfeeling glare. My throat felt dry, as if any words would get stuck there.

  A stage whisper came from over my shoulder. Amaniel. “Great Guardian of Nihil’s Person.”

  “Great Guardian of Nihil’s Person!” I practically shouted. The soldier nodded. “I, uh . . .”

  Amaniel pressed closer. “Am solicitous of the worthy priestly one’s forgiveness.”

  I froze. The crowd below was so immense. And everyone I ever knew was in it.

  I stared down again at the soldier, judging me. I swallowed.

  Amaniel nudged me again. “Am solicitous . . .”

  “Am silliousness, solicationous, solicitous. Of the priesty one’s forgiveness.” I’d taken twenty years off my father’s lifespan, I thought, and probably thirty years off Amaniel’s. I couldn’t help it. My tongue was completely knotted. My stomach was, too.

  The old Azwan chuckled harder, his chest shaking. The purple one, S’ami, narrowed his eyes at me. He shoved a hand in a leather pouch by his side and withdrew something that flashed gold. He cocked his head toward me, our eyes locking as if trying to read my thoughts. The men around me noticed and followed the Azwan’s stare. I felt a thousand crawling insects burrowing into my flesh and tried to scratch them away. I was wriggling, not obviously at first, but more uncomfortably as the moment wore on. I pulled at my clothes and rubbed my arms and thighs, suddenly frantic. I couldn’t make the sensation stop or break away from it. He held me by some unseen force, rooted to the spot, angry prickles burning my flesh that didn’t spare any part of me, and burned most fiercely between my thighs. I panicked, clenched my legs tighter, and grabbed at Babba’s sleeve, furious this Azwan could see what no man should without my permission. He could sense and explore and violate the most sacred and secret part of me, even with my father standing there.