The temple is quiet when I arrive. Nobody stirs in the courtyard. I look around before I enter, but nothing stands out to me. All the waking rituals are complete, and the priests are busy going about their business. The gate is open. A man comes out of the central building as I walk into the square. He's tall, thin, with the first edges of gray encroaching on his night-black hair.
He looks me over from top-to-bottom, then sighs. "Can I help you?"
All business. Not even an introduction. "I am Zefra of Odun, daughter of Ramir." He blinks when I say the name. "I keep a shrine in the outskirts, and I need money for new altars."
"New altars?"
"Yes."
"Come in." His voice is hushed, and his face darkens with concern. "Your father's name is Ramir?"
"Yes."
"That is my name, too. This is a day of coincidences."
"How so?"
"Were your altars split in two? Cleanly? Like they had broken themselves?"
I'm sick in my stomach. It creeps and crawls, twisting itself into a knot. "Yes."
He furrows his brow. "It's happened all over the city."
"What happened?"
"Only the gods know. Vandals, maybe. We don't close the gate at night, but the boy who keeps watch ran off and we can't find him."
Was Hanun right? Why would the gods break their own altars? "What do the elders think?"
Ramir sighs. "The elders never agree on anything anymore. They're too busy with their own concerns. They spent three hours arguing whether the Third Oracle of Olipha was written before the Songs of Akkun or afterward."
"What did they decide?"
"Nothing."
"Does that interfere with the temple's duties?"
"What duties? You've seen how many people come here. If it weren't for the king, we'd have to beg table scraps for the weekly offerings." He leads me through the doors to an annex. The mosaic tiles on the floor are brilliant shades of blue and green, arranged to make the sacred patterns of Olipha. This must be her own sanctum.
It's larger than my shrine, and it's not even dedicated to all the gods.
"You don't have alms to give out?"
"All the beggars have started going to the Glassmakers."
"They don't strike me as charitable."
He looks at me. "They aren't. You know they use blood in their craft, right?"
"I'd heard it, but I didn't believe it."
"The Glassmakers give people money for their blood. Aren't too picky, either. Sometimes it kills them, but Glassmaker coin is good. They can make a living off of it."
"How could the king allow that?"
"He doesn't care. The Glassmakers built his palace."
We pass through the threshold of the inner sanctuary. An elder hunches over a table covered in scrolls, his beautiful blue-green robes glimmering in the light. For a moment, lost in thought, he reminds me of the elders back in Odun. Then he looks up at me and his face curls up. "This is not the time for distractions, Ramir. Who is this woman, and why have you brought her here?"
"Good morning, father. Zefra, this is Serhum. He–"
"We have more pressing issues than beggars."
It stings a little. "I keep a shrine on the outskirts."
The elder's face relaxes. "I apologize." Everyone is silent for a few moments, then he continues. "I assume Ramir has told you about our problem."
"Her shrine's altars broke too."
"That is troubling, but it no longer surprises me."
I respond. "It happened sometime between midnight and dawn."
Serhum perks up. "Oh?"
"A dream woke me up during the night. The altars were fine then, but they'd broken by morning."
The elder strokes his beard, running his fingers through the black and gray curls with a distant look on his face. "Tell me about this dream."
"It's nothing unusual. I have the same dream every night."
"That makes it more interesting."
"Akkun asks me who I am, like I'd died and gone to the underworld."
"And then?"
"Then he gets upset with me and complains that too few people follow the gods. And I wake up."
"You haven't taken an order?"
"No, I'm just a shrine keeper."
The elder chews on his lower lip, then Ramir butts in. "What should we do about the altars?"
"I'm thinking about that, Ramir. But what comes next is less important than understanding what happened."
"Father, you're always focused on the past."
Serhum sighs and turns to me. "He wouldn't be my son if he didn't have a temper. I have a task for you."
"Oh?"
"First, I need to know if you can travel."
"I can, but my betrothed is a guard here in Ehram. He's doing his service for the king."
"Does that matter?"
It does to me, but I don't want to offend the elder. "No, I guess not. I'd need to let him know I'm going, though."
"That is fine. Just make it quick. We should send someone to the Oracle. He is more in touch with the gods than we are. If anyone knows why the gods are angry, it would be him. Do you know the way?"
"I know where it is. I grew up in Odun."
He looks at me, his face blank.
"It's not far from us. Sometimes we'd send trades or offerings to the Oracle."
"Excellent. I will write a letter detailing the situation. If they're busy, it'll get you to the front of the line."
"And my shrine?"
"I'll have Ramir watch it while you're gone. That'll teach him to watch his tongue."
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