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The Eternity Gate

By Katherine Briggs

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Through the paper window, lingering stars winked against a cold sky, the morning my eighteenth winter passed and I, Seyo, came of age. The temple had given me blue skirts and overlays, a rare color among its helpers. One didn’t wear blue for long before graduating to a priestess’s yellow, or not. And I would stick out in a sea of yellow when I served my first midnight vigil that evening, my soul stained by a mountain of confessions.

I burrowed into my too-short quilt and counted the rules we planned to break that night. Two temple statutes and a king’s law shattered, all so I could see the Heart, the forbidden cave weaving through our hills. I would drag my friends Kiboro and Jorai along, and I was too excited to feel guilty. What was wrong with me?

Qo’tah. They lived for after-curfew adventure, and I had dreamed of seeing the Heart since we were children. But this was my last escapade. Tomorrow I would live up to wearing blue. Kiboro would understand, but Jorai wouldn’t. I imagined that conversation and groaned.

The straw cot creaked. Princess Kiboro, who I served as attending maiden, rose for sunrise prayer. She crouched by my pallet and shook me. “Happy birthday, Seyo. Ready for tonight’s ghost hunt?”

Did she have to say it that way? I remembered the gravelly voice of our first tutoring priest and mumbled into my blanket, “Indulgences, such as birthdays, weaken the will. They lead to memory lapses during recitation, and snores interrupting teaching.” I hesitated. “Also leading one’s friends astray.”

“Stop worrying.” Kiboro grinned and snatched the quilt.

Chilly. I uncurled from the pallet and crossed our cramped quarters in three long strides to light a candle and retrieve clothing. Kiboro almost squealed seeing my new garments. I shushed her, had her sit, and bent to braid her dark hair into a crown.

As Kiboro preferred, we arrived early for prayer, before the other temple helpers and even the presiding priest or priestess. The day raced in a routine of prayers, chores, lunch, instruction, ignoring the extra glances my blue overlay earned, and dinner. Back in our room, we laced our boots and opened the window to shimmy to the grounds and find Jorai. But then Kiboro received a knock at the door from a young priestess, the one who lived inside the helpers’ compound as guardian. The woman bowed and extended a letter bearing the queen’s seal.

I closed the door after our courier, and Kiboro tore the seal. Her spine straightened as she read. “Mother is ill.”

Headaches. Queen Umoli must have quarreled with the king again, and faithful Kiboro would care for her mother at the palace. As attendant, I would accompany her, and my chest squeezed as I gathered shawls. How could this happen now? This night? Please—

“No. You’re going with Jorai to see the Heart. It was your only coming of age wish, and I’ve never seen you look forward to something so much. Besides, you have a vigil afterward.” Kiboro sighed in disappointment.

“I promise to make this up to you.”

I blinked. It was my place to remain at her side, but despite being friends, I didn’t dare argue with her, the princess. And I didn’t want to.

Kiboro tugged a shawl from my arms and left to join her bodyguard.

I stood in silence. Alone. It felt wrong. If Jorai and I were caught without her, there would be no protection for either of us, a disgraced nobleman’s daughter and the king’s despised second-born son. But if I didn’t see the Heart now, I never would.

From the opened window, frigid air teased my face. So much for spring. I climbed through the hole and scrambled to the darkness covering the grounds. Rule against sneaking outside after curfew—broken.
Shafts of moonlight pierced cloud cover and dripped across the forest and hills of Laijon. In the west, distant mountains rose. I jogged east, toward cliffs guarding the harbor and sea beyond. Evergreen trees made for better cover than their seasonally skeletal companions as I crept near the temple.

Washed with night, the temple rose in severe lines, sloping roofs, and bright glass windows. Dormant gardens sprawled everywhere, and I skirted these to a fenced thicket, Laijon’s holiest site, called the Handprint of God. Hidden among wild brambles and bushes, a covered stone well stood. Only the high priest or priestess passed the wooden gate to draw water from the well, and only once a year after the spring rains. Within the pages of the holy Nho, it was written that the Handprint of God was where the Father of Light first formed the world. Many believed the water still pulsed with dangerous, divine power. I bowed toward the site and looked around.

A form paced between clusters of trees. One foot dragged. The young man folded a hand behind his back and gripped a cane with the other. He wore an ordinary cloak, but his fancy tunic and trousers defeated his disguise. Oh, Jorai, second prince of Laijon, will you never learn?

When he saw me, Jorai’s striking golden eyes brightened. He tucked his cane under his arm, stepped into a puddle of moonlight, and reached for my hands. “Seyo, may light guide your path—”

“The temple can see.” I pushed him into the shadow of the trees. Metal jangled under his cloak. I ignored that and bobbed a bow. “May light guide your path, too, but are you trying to get caught?”

Jorai laughed and looked over my head. “Kiboro?”

“Queen Umoli is ill.”

“My sympathies.” He stated this without emotion, but it wasn’t his mother. Jorai, born to the second queen, towered over Kiboro and Crown Prince Huari, and even me. He would be a portrait of Laijon’s ancient kings if he’d stop knotting his ebony hair like the Nazaks, our rebellious southern neighbors. It increased the king’s contempt for him. Jorai, why?

“Oh, well. I’ll make up Ki’s loss in your celebration.” Jorai beamed and caught my hands. “Happy coming of age.”

I dipped my head in thanks. Rule against meeting a man without a chaperone—broken. What scene did we suggest without Kiboro? Lovers keeping a tryst? Ridiculous. Jorai was like a brother, except I felt more like myself with him than with my literal brother, or even Father. Jorai was my best friend, but also a thrill-seeker, which reminded me that I needed to make him swear that we would return in time for the vigil.

Jorai pulled me deeper into the woods. His lame foot dragged, cane plodded, and supplies clanked under his cloak. “Shall we be off?”

“Yes. But . . .”

Jorai raised his brow.

“I have been assigned to my first vigil.”

“I’m sorry.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s an honor, but it begins at midnight. Unfortunately.”

He frowned. “Are you changing your mind about our plan?”

“Never. I just need to arrive on time.” So don’t cajole me into doing something foolish, especially without Kiboro to bully you into cooperation.

“Understood and relieved. Honestly, I’m impressed that you’re going through with this. Remember all the schemes you’ve begged us to abandon? And now we’re about to break the king’s law. Trespass through the forbidden tunnels.”

He didn’t name the consequences. The terrifying legends were a more effective deterrent than imprisonment, anyway. Besides, this was only a game to him. Another chance to rebel against the king. Again, I wished Kiboro, who held their father’s favor, were with us, just in case something went wrong.

“How can we ever top this? Storm the treasury? Hijack a royal ship? Take horses and roam the continent like gypsies?” Wistfulness tainted his theatrics.

“Those ideas don’t deserve answers.”

“How about a serious proposition, like stealing into the city to watch the street players? I think it’s my turn to plan our next meeting.”

My stomach twisted. I wouldn’t attend our next meeting. I couldn’t. Should I tell him and get this over with? “I can’t.”

“That’s the Seyo I know. Maybe we can see if the lake’s warmed up and swim, instead.”

“No. I can’t meet anymore because I need to start keeping the temple rules if I am going to graduate to priestess.”

Jorai slowed, and I almost plowed into him. “What does that mean? What rules? You’re becoming a priestess right now?”

“Not yet, but I have come of age. I now wear blue.” Was I lecturing a child? But Jorai had not vowed himself to the temple as Kiboro and I had. Far from it.

“I noticed, and you should wear blue more often. It suits you. But why do you want to become a full-blown priestess? I thought you became a temple helper to visit the Archives. Isn’t that enough?”

Yes and no. “I can’t remain a helper forever. When Kiboro comes of age, we plan to graduate together. But the temple won’t accept me if I don’t purify myself.”

Jorai snorted. “So we’ll only see each other inside the temple? We’ll never speak freely again, of course.”

Agitation bit at me. “We’ll find a different way. I want to still see you, but I can’t continue bending so many rules.”

“Kiboro bends rules all the time.”

I didn’t answer. She was princess, but she would have become a priestess, regardless. And I had marks against me. Secret ones even he didn’t know about.

“So you’ll wed yourself to the temple in the hopes that it will find you worthy?”

I bit back a gasp. But he was right.

Jorai opened his mouth and shut it. Thank goodness. Why was he so annoyed and, frankly, mean? I wanted to wrench my hand from his, but he didn’t let go of mine and quickened his pace.

Just as the trees grew thickest, we reached foothills rising into cliffs. The palace crowned their summit. Kiboro would have reached her mother by now. Jorai hunted around slopes and boulders for the mouth of the cave until the crevice gaped before us.

We passed within the shadowy stone walls and followed the narrow corridor to a metal gate. Jorai rummaged in his cloak for two candle lanterns and a tinderbox. Warm, flickering light revealed rust devouring the bottom half of the gate.

How many times had we brought lanterns and peeked through the bars to the passages beyond? Quieted our breaths and hearts to hear rivers flowing through the veins of the cliffs? The whispering of imagined specters? Yet Jorai’s sulking consumed my focus now.

He thrust a lantern in my direction. I took it, and he stooped to examine the lock. After a moment, Jorai reached into his cloak and extracted a metal ring with two clanking keys. Both were ancient, one small and ornate, the second an eye-catching, jagged key the length of Jorai’s palm. “They were tucked into an old book, of all places,” he said. “A nightmare to find.”

I did not want to know how he had managed to steal these from the king’s chambers. If King Zaujo found out, would Jorai be able to bear his wrath? And Jorai took these risks for me. Shame squirmed inside me again.

He singled out the smaller key. It fit, and the gate squealed open. A breath of stale cave air wafted over us.
Jorai hid the keys within his cloak, dusted his hands, and stepped backward to glower at the night sky. “We’ll let the candles burn halfway before turning around. Then you can have your midnight vigil.”

“Jorai, thank you. This means. . .” I struggled over words, “everything to me. I shouldn’t have let you go through with it.”

His posture softened. “You’ve only talked about seeing the Heart your whole life.”

“I’m indebted to you.”

“Good. I’ll remember that.” He extended an arm toward the cave. “Shall we go ghost hunting?”

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