The Temple

We walked through the archway past groups of cheerful canids and their pups. The smell of old wood and stone was as thick as the air inside a tomb. Long rows of pews stretched like the leagues of a sewn field. Green-carpeted aisles led up to a white pulpit. Rays of light shone through the stained-glass windows above. Stone balconies and walkways wound up the pyramid walls for more than a league, reaching all the way up to the temple’s spire.

“Dad?” I said.

“What?”

“Do they call them pews because of the smell?”

Dad’s burst of laughter came like a punch to his gut. I wasn’t sure what was so funny, but his mood always improved when we went to the temple. Mine soured.

“Okay, Burgeon,” Dad said. “Get to school on time. Let’s see if you can make it through the day without any trouble. I’ve got a lot of work to do, and I don’t need any grief from the headmaster. Pay attention in class and do as you’re told. Can you do that for me?”

I looked down at my paws. Dad was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll try,” I said.

“All you can do is try,” he said, then nudged me toward the stairs with his snout. “Do good things today.”

I started up the stairs leading to the day school. My shoulders slumped. My paws were weights. I felt as though it had already been a long day. I passed biped magicians walking to their temple duties with their hands folded in front of their bellies. They smelled of incense. They wore white masks with tranquil faces. I entered my school’s long hallway, lined with cubbies, doors, and flickering torches. A canid pup I’d never seen before was staring at me. He walked up to me, much to my surprise. My heart beat harder. My ears perked at the thought of making a new friend.

“Can you fly?” he said.

“No.”

“Oh,” he said, then walked away.

I took my jacket off and stuffed it into my cubby, then went into my class just as the bell gonged. All the other pups were already seated on their cushions when I went inside.

“You’re almost late, Burgeon,” the master said.

I meandered down the aisle and flopped onto the cushion in front of my desk at the back of the class, crossing my legs.

“We ended the day yesterday with numerology,” the master said.

The shelves along the wall contained many books. The Indisputable Truth, The Eight Rightful Ways, The Seven Factors of Wizardry, and The Five Preclusions: Boring books of which I had no interest. I liked books. I just didn’t like books that told people what to do. The flicker and warmth of lanterns brought me back to Sleeping Locus. I saw a castle floating in the clouds.

“Pay attention, Burgeon!” I heard, and poof, the kingdom was gone, and the master stood over me. “Take out your books.”

I lifted the desktop and removed a book, The Importance of Daily and Seasonal Routines for Canids.

“Turn to page 106,” the master said.

“Oh, come on!” I said, as if by a reflex.

“You have a problem, Burgeon?”

“Yeah, why do we always have to study this all the time? Can’t we read about something else for a change?”

“You disapprove of my methods?”

All the other pups looked back at me.

“I just wanna do something different. We do the same thing every day.”

“As we’ve discussed many times, routines are important for canids. Routine and ritual keep your four paws planted firmly on the ground.”

“You walk on two paws,” I said.

“Yes?”

“You’re not a canid. What do you know about how we should live?”

“You walk on two paws too, Burgeon.”

The class laughed at me.

“I can’t read this again,” I said, slamming the book shut. “This is stupid.”

The room went quiet.

“Stupid?” the master said. “Get out of my class, Burgeon. Go to the–”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I know where it is.”

I’d lost count of how many times I’d been thrown out for talking out of line. I shoved the book back into the desk. The class roared with laughter as soon as the door closed behind me. I walked down the hall to the balcony overlooking the dark sanctuary. I fought the urge to spit over the side, then went up the stairs to the headmaster’s office.

“Again, Burgeon?” the attendant said when I went inside.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Sit,” she said. “He’ll be with you in a moment.”

I sat on one of the cushions along the wall.

“I encourage you to use this time well,” said the attendant. “Every moment we’re given is precious.”

“You should live one of my moments,” I thought.

Magicians wanted you to meditate, always. Sitting on an uncomfortable cushion all day trying to think about nothing seemed like a waste of time. I never got it. I never experienced the peace. I never felt the sense of pleasurable emptiness they told us about. All I wanted to do was fly away. All I thought about was her.

The headmaster stepped out of his office. Looking up at him was like looking up at the ceiling. I believed he was the tallest magician in the temple, but he didn’t scare me.

“Come in, Burgeon,” he said.

I went in, and we sat in our usual places on the cushions on the opposite side of his desk.

“What happened this time?” he said.

“We do the same thing in class every day,” I said. “I want to read something else.”

“You have a problem with your lessons?”

“Yes.”

“Why, Burge?”

My wings furled behind my back. I felt my face go hot. My fists balled at my sides. I never understood why people felt the need to shorten names. Was there something about you they hated, or was there some reason they couldn’t acknowledge you in your entirety? Or were they just lazy?

“You’re angry?” the headmaster said. “Why?”

“I hate it when people call me Burge,” I said, clenching my teeth. “That’s not what my name is.”

The headmaster sighed heavily as though exhausted and rubbed his temples under his mask.

“Well, Burgeon,” he said. “I don’t know what to say… You’re angry about a lot of things – angry all the time. You’ve got much of your mother in you, and I’m not sure I can help you anymore. But you cannot use words like stupid and think this is acceptable behavior. It’s improper speech, and you know it. As usual, there will be consequences.”

“You’re going to tell my Dad, then?” I said, looking down at my hands.

“I don’t know yet what the consequences will be,” he said. “But I want you to spend the rest of the day in the meditation hall with the monks.”

I was in for a long afternoon.

“As for your lessons,” he said. “You must learn to humble yourself before those who know. Your master knows what she’s doing. She deserves your trust and respect. Please stop disrupting her class.”

My ears drooped to my shoulders. I felt ashamed, even though I was sure I didn’t do anything wrong.

“We’re done,” he said.

I walked out of the office and onto the balcony. The meditation hall was eight floors up from the headmaster’s office. I was in no rush to get there, but up I went. Chanting rang in my head like the gong of a bell. I spent the rest of the day on the cushion, sitting upright with my eyes closed, but I did not meditate. My mind was on Mom. My mind was on flying. My mind was on the ships floating through the Infinite Beyonds. I thought about everything I could to pass the time. I thought about everything in me which had nothing to do with their objects and ways. Monastic chanting became the background noise of my greatest fantasies.

* * *

The evening bell gonged. It was time to go home. I jumped off the cushion before the magicians could open their eyes and skipped down the stone steps to the day school hall where my cubby was. I pulled out my jacket and started putting it on when someone bumped into me and knocked me over.

“Watch it, cur!” growled a canid pup twice my size.

“You’re not a pure-breed either, Wulfy,” I said, getting back to my feet. “Why are you calling me a cur for?”

Thinking made Wulfy go cross-eyed.

“Because nobody likes you,” he finally said, and everyone laughed at me. “You’re not supposed to be in the Loyal Trench. Your momma should have taken you back to her realm.”

The pups started gathering around and looking up at me. A stitch of sadness formed in my gut, and my lip quivered.

“Aw,” Wulfy cooed. “It smells like he’s gonna cry.”

They laughed at me louder than before. A magician pushed through the crowd and stood between Wulfy and me, shaking his head and holding a finger up in warning.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Wulfy said, trotting off with his head and tail held high. The crowd dispersed, and the magician walked away, leaving me alone.

“You won’t be seeing this tomorrow,” I said, holding up the coin pouch I lifted from Wulfy’s collar. Wulfy may have had an edge over me in a fight, but he’d never outsmart me.

I considered the purse a small victory on a horrible day. I placed the coin pouch into my inner jacket pocket and left the temple. My ears drooped, and my tail tucked when I saw Dad sitting across the grounds in front of a waiting carriage.

“Get in!” he barked. “I earned just enough to take you home, then come back and finish my work.”

“You have to come back?” I said, climbing into the carriage and hopping onto the bench. Dad leaped in behind me, and the door slid shut.

“Yes. I couldn’t finish my work with the headmaster nagging me all afternoon, so I have to come back if we hope to eat tonight.”

The thought of Dad having to make the journey through the dark zone four times in one day filled me with shame, drowning the high of humiliating Wulfy.

“Dad … I’m sorry …”

“Sorry’s not going to cut it this time, Burgeon.”

I reached into my pocket for the purse I stole from Wulfy moments ago. Judging by how heavy it was, we could eat for a week, but something kept me from taking it out. Dad would never have approved of how I got the purse. He’d march me straight back to the temple and have me return it. There’d be rounds of apologies and humiliation to no end. He’d probably have me put to work shoveling the stables again. I couldn’t take anymore shame. He couldn’t find out about what I’d done.

“I’d have the mechanism pick you up and take you home,” Dad said. “But it’s too dangerous for him outside the inn. You’re going to be punished again.”

“Aw, come on, Dad!”

“You bring this on yourself.”

The closer we got to the inn, the darker the trench got, but the city still rushed about. Every canid in was trying to finish their day’s business before going back into hiding from the coming storm. The carriage thumped to a stop.

“What’s the holdup, driver?” Dad said.

“I’m not sure,” said the mechanism sitting in the driver’s seat. “There are a bunch of creatures blocking the way.”

Pandemonium erupted all around us. Hundreds of pedestrians and canids started running in the other direction. Dad pulled the window lever with his paw and stuck his nose out.

“It’s a recastorm,” he said, closing the window.

“Now?” I said, my voice aquiver with fear.

“It’s okay,” Dad said, drawing me close with his paw. “It’s a small one. Close your eyes, and I’m sure it’ll be over soon.”

I had to peek. Canids were fleeing, yelping, and barking for help. Strange. Some of them had blue fur. Some of them had no fur at all. Someone’s tail was on fire. Dad reached over and locked the door when someone tried to get inside.

I felt the thoom, thoom, thoom of a titanic mechanism that ran up. He was as tall as a castle turret, with rusty legs that screeched as he moved. His heavy footfalls made the carriage bounce on its suspension.

“A resister is here!” Dad said.

Resisters were hundred-story walls with black faces. The titanic mechanism stepped over the line of carriages, stopped, and planted his feet. He shielded us as the storm’s red wind blew into his face, deflecting it into the darkness above. Canids stopped fleeing, caught their breath, and collected themselves as the storm died.

“It was just a small one,” Dad said. “It’s over now. Those resisters need maintenance so bad it’s a wonder they can even move.”

The crowd dispersed as canids went about their business. The resister walked away. Then, the carriage rumbled forward. Misery settled back into my mind when I realized the day was far from over.

* * *

The carriage rumbled to a stop and the door slid open.

“You can’t take us any further?” Dad said.

“My master insists you get out right here,” the mechanism said.

It was getting dark. Nose to the ground, Dad sniffed our way home with me skipping behind, hanging onto his tail. He stepped lightly, stopping at times and making his way around dangerous areas. The smoke made it harder for predators to smell us from a distance, but they could still follow us. We arrived at the Whyborn Inn and went up the garbage chute and down the hall. Dad scratched at our door. The mechanism peered through the peek-plate, and our door screeched open.

“Welcome home,” the mechanism said.

My mouth went dry, and a lump formed in my throat.

“I asked you to behave yourself today, and you didn’t,” Dad said. “So now you’re going to pay for it.”

My ears and tail drooped.

“You’ll dust,” Dad said. “Then you’ll sweep the whole room and clean the basin and countertop. You’ll do your studies, and you’ll meditate. You’ll get all this done before I get home, and you will not have the mechanism do it for you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said.

Dad stopped before disappearing in the dark hallway.

“Give it back to him,” he said.

The mechanism removed my red book from the cupboard and handed it to me.

“You can open this after you finish your work,” Dad said. “And go ahead and light a fire. Stay away from the window and lock the door after I leave.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, my face lifting into a smile.

Dad left. I pulled the locking lever, and the door slammed shut. I slapped my book down on the table and lit the candle. The worn, red leather cover said Madam Bolford’s Recipe Book of Basic Miracle Making. I flipped it open and started turning the pages. I really should have gotten started on those chores, but I couldn’t help looking at my book for a little bit. I didn’t have any studies and had already wasted the whole day with the monks in the meditation hall, so I’d have plenty of time to finish everything before Dad got home.

Dad bought my book for me as a souvenir at a magic show we went to last year. The show was held in the temple. It was the first time I’d ever seen miracles. I was transfixed, watching magicians perform on stage with various instruments. The lights. The sounds. The stories. I don’t think I blinked the entire time. I was irritated with how ready the audience was to leave when the show was over. I didn’t want it to end.

“I love magic,” I said as we left.

“There’s no such thing as magic,” Dad always said. “All that flash is just an illusion.”

My memories brought me back to that show whenever I opened the book. The pages still smelled of popcorn. The dirty parchment was smooth under my fingertips. I’d written notes along the binding and margins and drawn pictures of the monsters I intended on slaying. My attention was so fixed on those pages that I didn’t even feel the cold, and I forgot to light the fire and put on my sweater. I didn’t hear the drunken belches of the nocturnal pirates outside. I didn’t hear the screaming and pounding of neighbors on the floors above and below us. I was ignorant of the night and the darkness that came with it. Then reality shoved its dagger into my gut.

“What time is it?”

“Three tocks after sunset,” the mechanism said.

Given everything that’d already happened that day, I’d be in big trouble if I didn’t do those chores.

“Build a fire,” I said. “Then clean the basin and the counter, sweep, and dust.”

“Consider it done.”

The mechanism made short work of my chores, then I wound him back up. I pulled my sweater on and sat in front of the fire with my book in my lap and a quill in my hand, sketching a wand in the margin. There came a scratching at the door a short time later, and I saw Dad’s tired eyes when I glanced through the peek-plate. He came in, and I unbuttoned his jacket for him and tossed it on his basket bed. He locked the door and sniffed around.

“Did you do those chores?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, sitting in front of the fire and opening my book again.

“Burgeon?” he said.

“Huh?”

“Did you do those chores?”

How could he have known? It was impossible.

“Yes,” I said, insisting on the lie.

Dad’s face twisted with anger. I was in trouble again.

“Get over here,” he said.

I got up and walked over to him, looking down into his eyes, my hands fidgeting with one another behind my back.

“Tell me the truth.”

One of those horribly long moments passed. He loomed over me even though I was a lot taller. The silence broke me.

“No,” I cried. “I don’t get why I have to clean stuff when we have a ...“

“You have to do them because I told you to do them. I’m aware that we have an appliance that can do our work for us, but that’s not the point. I trusted you to do as you were told. This was supposed to be your tax for bad behavior.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry … Always sorry … You’ll be sorry once you pay the price. You’re doing those chores over again. You’ll do them again, and again, and again, and again. You’ll do them until they’re done right, and then you’ll do them again.”

I did pay the price, a price three times as expensive as the cost of doing the job right the first time. I did those chores six times that night. Every round was worse than the last. After I finished, I flopped onto my basket bed and instantly fell asleep.

* * *

The smell of my favorite food woke me.

“Pesgeddi?” I said, sitting up.

Dad was already sitting at the table. The mechanism slopped red noodles into his bowl. This was just what I needed after the day I’d had. I wished we could have had that for dinner every night.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Dad said. All I had to eat that day was some bread and milk. I was starving.

I pulled a hunk of bread from the fresh-baked loaf in the center of the table. Dad was good at making pesgeddi even though he had paws instead of hands.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“The master was talking about routines again today. Why are routines so important?”

“Routines make sure you stay busy. Staying busy means staying focused, and focus is concentration, which is the same as meditation.”

“Why don’t the masters tell me that?”

“You ask too many questions. It’s not your place to challenge things all the time. A routine keeps the mind occupied, which helps people be less afraid.”

“Afraid?” I said. “What are they afraid of?”

“All kinds of things.”

“I’m not afraid,” I said.

“You’re not?”

“Nope.”

“Well, what if I told you that a recastorm was coming tonight?”

“The resisters will block it.”

“What if they fail?”

Could the resisters actually fail? I had never thought of that before. It was a scary notion. The stories I’d heard of what had happened to canids and other creatures who’d been caught in recastorms gave me nightmares. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I was afraid. Very afraid. But not of recastorms.

The noodles were missing something. They weren’t as red as they normally were and smelled different too.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“This tastes funny?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s missing something, or something.”

“I’m not sure what that could be. I didn’t feel like cooking tonight, so I had the mechanism do it. I know I gave him the right recipe.”

Tears spotted my pillow after the fire burned out. I wanted my Mom. I wanted to go home to Sleeping Locus. The dream realm was the only place I was ever happy.