Fever Dreams

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.