Divine Ties

In the halflight of the breaking dawn, Nkaze temple stood as prison-like as ever. Tall shadows lined every ancient crevice, slowly receding where the weak glow of new morning chased them back. It looked exactly as you had last seen it, all oblique arches and ledges, the style of an era long forgotten. 

Watching it now, you wondered how you could ever forget how lovely the sunrise was from this remote angle. This same red sun had risen the morning you ran away from everything you knew, leaving without so much as a coin, a plan, or a word. The ethereal view was yet another reminder that though you’d lost your religion, nothing could steal your faith.

Your biased memories had warped the place into a living entity, a cage not only for you but for the dozens of followers who frequented each day, bound by something you could not or would not understand. You do not wish to understand. When you were younger you had tried, but now you find yourself fleeing every semblance of your heritage. And yet all roads lead back here. The temple of your dreams and nightmares was a menacing behemoth, sprawled over the face of a formidable plateau. Here and now, humbled by reality, it looks frail, smaller than you left it, diminished somehow. 

Soon, a steady stream of devotees would make the perilous climb to Nkaze’s rustic gates, braving harsh weather to join the early singers. In another life, you had led the chorus, devotees echoing your hollow chords with fervour. There was comfort in the routine; just going through the motions could feel grand when such motions had been repeated unwaveringly for centuries. Then would come the chores, cleaning the fountain, sweeping the glade, preparing the sacrifices. That was the worst part. You remember looking into their glazed eyes, searching for some sort of fight, any residual will to live. That spark would have been preferable to the emptiness in their gaze. As you grew older, you had accepted that the temple's victims were drugged. The heavy doses of narcotic incense they inhaled during “preparation”  were more than ceremonial. It was details like this that had chased you out those engraved gates at 14. These thoughts swirled in your head until a single clear note broke the serenity, snatching you back to the present. You heard the first voice rise in song, and were reminded of the tiny detail that had kept you here until 14.

Your sister Kadija. Momentarily, your heart forgot how to beat. It had been a decade, but she was unmistakably the one. You noted with piercing guilt that she belted out every key of the canticle perfectly, evidence of many rigorous years spent faithfully training, alone, while you had abandoned her in pursuit of “more”. Slowly, with the weight of the years in each step, you made your way in the direction of her voice. This was a path you could walk blinded, and yet you felt lost in a way that defied directions. Taking the discreet route only few knew of, you peeped at her from behind an offering pillar.

She had grown so much. Simultaneously so much bigger than you remembered and yet so small in the voluminous praise robes, it was like looking at a picture of your past. The gowns seemed to swallow her whole. The scene was so familiar yet strange. You leaned forward for a better angle. Mistake. With an abrupt crash, the offering stand tipped over, baked clay breaking against the stone floor loudly enough to wake sleeping gods. Brass pieces clamoured in resounding protest, and you glared at them as if you could make the noise stop, scared to look up at Kadija. There you stood, frozen in time and in place as your eyes met.

“Don’t be shy, nonen, all are welcome here.”

She had paused her song to greet you. For a moment, the term of endearment caught you off guard, until you remembered that was how all devotees were addressed by temple keepers. You struggled to form words, managing only a syllable.

“Oh..”

She did not recognize you. To be fair, you had changed in almost every sense of the word. The long hair, free-flowing clothes and other graceful signatures of a keeper of Nkaze had been absent from your appearance ever since you first escaped. You must look alien, with your city garb and clumsy ways. Still, she smiled patiently, beckoning to you.

“Join me in our morning canticle. I will lead and you will answer.”

Like a switch, your brain turned on. This, you could do. She called, and you responded perfectly in beat. The thin plateau air made you lightheaded, but your lungs remembered what your mind did not. Your voices danced back and forth like this as you crouched in the halflight. Rising, you took unsteady steps in her direction. In an unprompted powermove, you began to sing the lead, the temple keeper’s part. She stopped abruptly, stunned into silence. From anyone else, this would be an act of unprecedented hubris. You watched the light return to her eyes as she slowly made the connection, realizing why this strangely dressed foreigner knew the sacred anthems of an Nkaze canticle. Joining you in song, she took small, hesitant steps before running into your arms. You held her so close as the world woke up, whispering her name into her hair.

“Kadija…”

You were firmly convinced that the canticles had never before held more meaning to anyone that they did now, at this divine reunion.

“I knew you’d return. I always knew. I knew. I knew. I knew…”

Her words blended into a mash of tears and laughter as she pulled back to study you, amazement making her features glow. Your voice cracked as the only words you knew escaped your lips.

“I’ve missed you so much..”

“The gods have sent you home at last. Our parents will be so glad. Let me bring you to them.”

Your heart sank in bittersweet acceptance as you realized she had been fully indoctrinated. Knowing all that you did, after experiencing the wide world, you did not want her to be a goldfish in this bowl, no matter how serene and beautiful it was. That being said, someone had to do it, and at least she was happy.

Your parents gazed at you in stern disbelief before embracing you, eliciting the tears you had been holding in. Though you would not admit it, their rejection would have broken you. You’d spent years justifying what you did, while secretly hoping for their forgiveness, that their beliefs would bring them peace and safety. The day passed in a blur of rituals that felt foreign and familiar all at once. Old feelings of disgust as you watched devotees pay steep fines for salvation were diluted by the love you felt for your family, and grudging respect for what they did. The poor would give their last coins for indifferent beings, give up their children for the service of these beings, in exchange for something abstract, unquantifiable. It seemed like a cruel type of love to receive. You had never experienced this love, and you couldn’t help but wonder what you might be missing. What was so miraculous that thousands upon thousands would willingly pour out their lifeforce for generations? Here and now, you felt a taste of it in the air, surrounded by those whose presence brought more joy than the implications of their absence ever could. 

Ignoring the questions looming heavy in the air, you spent the evening making up for lost time as you cooked together, laughed together, danced. Most of the staff you had known before were dead, as Nkaze mainly took in the elderly. The fresh air was good for them and they could work noplace else. The temple also accepted orphans, but unlike you and Kadija, they were allowed to freely leave. Your family introduced you to a boy they had adopted by the name of Geo. A Pledge, meaning he was family; he had pledged his service to the temple and would not leave. Geo was quiet but seemed very principled, and committed to the temple. He was your age. Almost like a replacement of sorts. You felt immense relief at his presence. If they could exchange you for a more spiritual, dutiful child, all power to them. Your family and the sweet elderly staff took turns catching you up on the past decade. Conversations spiralled in and out of relevance, tip toeing over the sensitive topics. There were things you should say, things you could not, and there would be time for both, later. For now, you dined together. After dinner, Kadija rose, announcing she wanted to make a toast. Your father hushed her.

“Not now, dearest. Let the prodigal child tell us all about their journeys.” All eyes turned to you. You didn’t know where to start. Should you tell them what had chased you away, or what chased you back? Your family judged the fast moving outside world harshly. Foreigners were heretics in your parents eyes. It amused you just how mutual the disgust was.

“I’ve been to many places and seen strange and wonderful things,” you started. “They are not like us.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” your mother cut in, disdain clear on her features. “Is it true that they marry their cousins?”

“I’m sure in some places they do,” you answered. She made a cluck of disapproval.

“ I hear they bring strangers into their households to care for their own children, and send their parents away when they are old. I hear they pray in their houses, if at all.”

You remain silent, unsure of how to answer. She speaks as though the outside world has a collective culture, known simply as Other. She continues.

“And yet they have the gall to judge us for our faith.” She laughed and took a  sip of her wine. Something stirs in you. Before you fully register your words, they are out of your mouth and causing havoc.

“It’s not our faith that they judge, ma. It’s the unpaid labour, the cannibalism, the missing children, the bloodstained cliffs that people go to pray and do not return from. It’s the drugs in the incense, and the fact that some people are born just to be sacrificed, and coincidentally they are never the rich. It’s the way we take in motherless babies, though we are the reason they are motherless. It’s ritually beating the vice of theft out of a pickpocket, and then accepting offerings from a beggar. There are not enough canes to cleanse this mountain, ma. Yes it’s true that the morals seem looser in the city, but they sing their shanties with as much soul as any canticle. They have their own type of faith, in a way. And just like ours, it has its beauty and perversions. The city has been kind to me ma, and its people even kinder. Perhaps this mountain has closed its eyes too tightly.”

Instead of replying, your mother clasped her hands in front of her. She looked sullen and hurt, but to say that you regret your words would not make you mean them any less.

You recalled that when your friends in the city questioned the strange mountain practices, you had told them the same thing. When they had accused Nkaze's devotees of paying for salvation and called them man-eaters, you had simply smiled before answering: "Despite our disagreements, Nkaze has been kind to me, and it's people even kinder. Perhaps you should open your mind more." You looked at your mother and tried to take solace in the fact that you were consistent in this stance. Maybe some stories of your journeys would work better than your monologue had.

Kadija listened with something close to awe as you went on to describe prayer fountains in the city that would fill with coins to help the homeless, sacrificial animals whose meat went directly to feed the needy. You told of nameless preachers in the squares who spoke their truth to passing strangers, blessing those who stayed a while with gems of wisdom in their open-air sermons. The general moodiness of your audience gave way to fascinated silence after a few of your stories. Your sister's eyes sparked with wonder.

A little alcohol smoothed over any residual tension. None for the pure temple keepers of course. Kadija and Geo drank juice. Along with your parents, Geo watched in shock as you sipped at the wine they had reluctantly offered you. Seems like some part of them still tried to pretend you’d never done anything forbidden while you were gone. You had assumed they would separate you from the rules that applied to normal temple keepers considering all that had happened, despite you being born as one. Slowly lowering your cup, you watched your mother’s brows relax as you opted for juice instead. The mood eased considerably.  Beckoning to his daughter, your father warmly beamed.

“Come, Kadija. Now you may make your toast.”

With a kurt nod, your sister rose to her feet, inhaling deeply as though about to burst into song. The flicker of the firelight made her shadow dance. Family and temple staff alike settled down to listen with warm bellies and glad smiles. Her voice was near melodic as she began.”

“Glory be! Fate and her Guiders have seen the safe return of their beloved child; reunited at last at Nkaze temple, where your story began. We welcome you.” 

There was a murmur of agreement. Here she paused as everyone exchanged warm smiles and you mumbled something about being glad to be back.

Then like a mask falling off, her expression changed. She looked straight at you with a conviction that was almost scary. All hell broke loose after her simple statement:

“I will be returning to the city with my brother. I love you all very much but this life is not for me.”