“Hope you don’t get lost.” Brother Unaan hung the dragon fat lamp by the door. “I never liked coming in here myself.”

Hepsa followed the man into the Censortorium. The building was small compared to the temple, but it was still an enormous collection of books. As the door closed behind them, Unaan twisted close the lamp’s valve and let the flame burn out, surrounding them in darkness for just a moment before the walls and shelves glowed with their own light.

“Crushed dragonscales,” he told her. “I argued against its use, a bit extravagant for my taste, but the Inquestors assure me it’s imperative to their work. At least we never have to worry about fire here.”

They passed one of the aides who was busy scribbling a copy of one of the works by the light of a dragonscale lamp.

“I thought all of these were banned,” Hepsa said, “why make more?”

“There are some books that only we have,” he answered. “Inquests from other star systems will occasionally ask that we produce a copy for them, even if it will take decades for a ship to deliver.”

“Have you ever read them?”

Unaan chuckled. “That’s a job for the Inquestors. I know there are some who think that understanding non-believers can help attract and convert them. But it is a dangerous slope to be on, and we risk compromising our own values in the process. Now, what’s this book?”

Hepsa showed him the card Pimala had given her.

“Draconic sciences,” he muttered, “but she wants it shelved as an apostate text?”

“What’s odd about that?”

“The answer might be easier to just show,” Unaan said.

They walked a little longer until they reached the end of the Censortorium. The final section of shelves was locked behind steel bars. Above the gate, the glowing letters of the dragonscale sign read: APOSTATE WORKS.

Hepsa’s eyes began to glaze over as she tried to grasp the totality of what she was looking at. She expected something disrespectful, a pile where disregarded texts were thrown away for later. Instead, it was like looking at a library built within a library.

The apostate section was ten times larger than what her father had procured before his study was burned. Hepsa closed her jaw, reminding herself not to look so amazed in front of a priest, although her eyes and her mind couldn’t help but wander. Already she could see books with spines thicker than her head, dragonskin bindings that most likely belong to heretical interpretations of the Star Scripture.

How many voices in there were like hers?

“For obvious reasons, we cannot have these be as accessible as the rest of the shelves,” Unaan said. “Not even the aides are allowed in.”

“So, can I…?” Hepsa’s voice lingered.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be fine. Simple shelving is no problem.”

There came a rattling as Unaan found the key for the lock. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll return to my prayers. Let me know when you’ve shelved the book and I’ll lock it up.”

Hepsa’s blood ran cold, not just because the room was insulated from the sun, but because she could not believe what she had just heard. Unaan was leaving her alone, here, in possibly the largest collection of heretical texts on their side of the Cluster? As if welcoming her, the gate gradually creaked open.

She didn’t waste a single second finding that spot on the shelf. The sooner she found it, the more time she’d have to herself to explore the books. If Unaan asked, she’d tell him she had a hard time finding the shelf. But that wasn’t a free pass to take as long as she liked. She had to act within reason.

Fortunately, organising was a virtue of the Sisters and the Inquest alike. Every book was in its place, and the spot for the Gnosic Draconis had been marked by a wide gap and a matching shelf number.

As soon as she gave it a home, Hepsa turned her gaze to the next row of books. The shelves themselves were divided by millennia, then century, and then finally the author's name and the shelf number. The further to the back she went, the older the texts became, even to the time when the Church did not oversee every law and teaching in the Cluster.

She recognised a copy of Ketil’s Spiritalis as she continued down to the very last shelf of books. Though some she remembered from references in other apostate works, most were completely new to her.

“Perhaps this place isn’t so terrible after all,” she whispered to herself, grabbing the first book that came to her eye: Rationalities of Al-Mhoire. She didn’t even know what it was, only that she wanted to read it.

Stop it. A voice echoed in her head, half hers and half her father’s. Do you think no one will notice?

Surely not. No one came here, Unaan said so, aside from the Inquest. And what were the odds that they’d need to reference such an old book? She opened it to the first page. The card inside it read that it had been written over nine thousand years ago.

A book exposed you in the first place, but now the Odessa isn’t here. Is this necessary? Is it so hard to live a lie?

Hepsa swallowed her excitement and slowly turned the page. The papyrus had been worn thin with time. She could look through one page and see the dragonscales glowing behind it.

The book itself was nothing like the modern texts. Though this copy had been given a modern binding, the contents inside were of its time: direct, with no preface or introduction or content table. The words simply flowed.

Falsehoods hath so twisted all the people

That wrangling sects each other's faith collide;

But were not hate our natural tendency,

Church and temple had risen side by side.

The nova burst comes, the dragons sent,

Then lo, the word of every creed repents.

No church is founded that escapes decay,

Even dragon bones soon dissolve away.

What is piety? A seed planted and grown in human hosts;

Without distinguishing between a true teacher and a false.

Of all the goodly doctrine that I have heard about the suns

My heart has never accepted so much as a single one!

Ah, purge the good thou dost from hope of solar flares

Or profit, as if thou wert one that sells his wares

Hepsa sank to her knees and held the book closer to the shelves for more light. Faiths colliding? The Church and Star Scripture both claimed that only one belief arose when a star dragon graced humanity. It pained her to think these ideas had been around all this time, a completely different history, overshadowed just because of doubt and disbelief.

There was more she needed to see, but the pages were too weathered to read easily. Her eyes scanned repeatedly, guessing at faded words in the dim light until the stanzas made sense.

The poet had not given any reason or motives for their disposition, and yet Hepsa felt the breath utterly taken from her. The voice she heard as she read, though she whispered it with her own breath, was someone else’s voice.

That’s enough. No one takes this long to shelve a book.

Hesitating for only a moment, Hepsa unbuckled her school bag and placed the book underneath her classwork. Even though every instinct screamed at her to put it back, there was no telling if she’d ever be allowed in again. Once she had arranged her bag in such a way that the book couldn’t be seen by a passerby, she grabbed another. And then another.

Three was all she could hide. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to be. She wore her bag and stood upright with as much confidence as she could muster. Now she only needed to act as if nothing had changed.

When she exited the Censortorium, she found Brother Unaan still sitting in the pews, his fingers clasped into a tight ball as he prayed.“Finished already?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“U-um, yes,” Hepsa stammered.

“Amazing,” he chuckled. “I had never considered working in the Inquest for a reason. I’ve always had a problem with finding my way around things. Was there any trouble?”

She nodded slowly, conscientious of the time she had taken. “A little bit. Even dragonscale light is a little dim, and I placed the book in the wrong place a few times.”

“Sounds about right. So, that’s it? Sister Pimala doesn’t have another task for you?” Unaan unclasped his hands and turned to face the open temple doors. “Before sundown, too. Lucky.”

Hepsa giggled at that, relaxing a little. “Another long day. At least you can lock up now.”

“Hm, yes, my favourite part of the job.” There was clinking from his waist as he grabbed his key ring. “Just as soon as I check your bag.”

Hepsa froze. “My bag?” her voice shook.

Unaan merely shrugged and waved his hand around. “It’s nothing, just a rule the Inquest put in place. Such a bother, I know, but only Inquestors and priests can use the Censortorium freely. So, if you don’t mind,” he stretched one hand out. “Just a quick look.”

Hepsa had to weigh her chances in an instant. She took half a step back, measuring the distance she had to the door. How quick of a look would he take? She had stacked her school books and pages over the stolen ones, but that was useless if he closely inspected them.

Would he recognize them? He said he had never even read one of the apostate works. There was a chance he wouldn’t. That kind of hope is as blind as faith. The books she had taken were older than old, well worn beyond normal use by anyone’s imagination.

“What’s the matter, something embarrassing I shouldn’t see?” Unaan raised a brow. “Come now, if it’s some boy’s love letter, I won’t tell.”

Oh, I think you’d have to, she thought to herself. Her stomach twisted as Unaan reached out his hand. And in weighing the options, Hepsa made her choice. She leapt over the pews and broke into a run.

#

Children waved to Hepsa as she ran.

She didn’t stop for them. She didn’t stop to look and see if Unaan had followed her, or whether he had informed the Inquest. But the sound of the temple bells ringing was not a good sign.

First, she stopped at their hostel, pulling off her school dress and throwing on her preferred shirt and shorts. She rid her bag of everything unnecessary, taking with her only the three books she had stolen, as well as her copy of the Spiritalis. As soon as she was certain she had everything that mattered, and when she was sure no Inquestors were outside the hostel, she made her way to the docks.

Korepol had become more familiar to her, but even so, with most of her days spent in school, she only knew the main streets, which would never hide her from the Inquest.

“Hepsa!” she whirled when she heard her name from Unaan’s voice. The priest had walked around the corner of the street when she saw him, with Sisters and church aides by his side. “Hepsa!” he shouted again, scanning the crowd.

Without thinking she made use of the smaller roads, jumping between two markets and sprinting down a tight road. She rushed through the unfamiliar streets, not slowing to look at the smaller shops and restaurants that waved around signs to catch buyers’ attention.

The warehouse her father worked at was not far. She didn’t know the exact way, but after every twist and turn, and every shop that flung open its doors for her, she still knew which way the ocean was. She could still find the docks.

“Father!” she shouted the moment she set foot inside. It was late, the other dockworkers would have gone home while her father signed off on tallies and manifests. She swerved between crates of metals, jewels, dragon bones, and other goods commonly shipped from space, expecting to find her father when she reached the office.

“Oh, burn me,” she muttered when she arrived. Her guess had been right, Itham still had a desk filled with sheets of papyrus. But it seemed he had taken a break to speak with a guest, a Watchful Sister.

“Hepsa?” her father immediately looked to her with a worried face. “What happened? What’s the matter?” He rose from his chair and quickly held her close, inspecting scrapes and bruises she hadn’t even noticed.

Hepsa wanted to assure him that she was fine, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Pimala. She knew it was her before the woman even spoke. Her piercing green eyes were unmistakable.

“Sister, what is going on?” Itham insisted. “You said she wasn’t in any trouble. What were you going to talk about?”

Instead of answering, Pimala pointed a finger at Hepsa’s backpack. “I imagine we can simply see for ourselves. If you would be so kind, girl.”

Hepsa clenched her hand around her bag. “You knew?”

The Sister’s veil billowed over her face as she released a tired sigh. “Young child, I have been instructing girls for longer than you’ve been alive. I know when a lesson falls on deaf ears. Now please, catch your father up.”

“Yes, please,” Itham said, looking nervously at his daughter.

Scowling, she squatted down in the middle of his office and turned over her bag onto the floor. Then, she looked away as he carefully picked them up one by one, inspecting their covers and weathered pages.

“The Censortorium,” he muttered. “Why?”

Hepsa took a deep breath. “I couldn’t help it. When I saw the books, I—”

“No,” her father interrupted her suddenly, something he had never done before. The way it cut her breath short, she almost would have preferred it if he slapped her for acting impulsively. But then Itham continued. “I wasn’t asking you. I already know why you did it.”

Hepsa stared at him, wide-eyed, and then he simply shrugged. “I’d hoped you didn’t take after me, but, I can’t say I would’ve done differently.” He tilted his head, gesturing to Pimala. “But you? Why are you here, and not an Inquestor?”

“And she sent me to the Censortorium,” Hepsa added. “How did you know?”

Pimala snorted, the only sign of emotion Hepsa could recall from the woman. “You are willful. Stubborn too. Not at all like the shy girl Brother Unaan thought he had met. And you sailed fifty years across space, for what? Just to change schools?” She shook her head. “Of all the secrets you could have been hiding, apostasy was the easy answer.”

“Giving me that book was what, a test for your hypothesis?”

“A test for you,” Pimala said. “To answer your question, Itham, I did not call the Inquestors here because it would be a waste. She has shown more than enough of her determination.” The Sister bent over and picked up the Spiritalis. “The Church will always need strong heads like hers, but the Inquest would treat her as an adult and find her guilty of apostasy. I want to prevent that.”

“To what end?” Itham asked.

“To become a Watchful Sister.”

“What?” Hepsa gasped. “That’s ridiculous! You can’t be serious!”

“Hepsa!” her father shouted her down, panic clearly in his voice. We have to hear her proposal at least.”

She backed away from her father, shocked that he could even suggest listening to her. “But you said—”

“I know what I said, but you took books from the Censortorium. What do you think is going to happen now? The Odessa is months away.”

Hepsa seethed, but couldn’t find a reason to refute her father. Seeming to sense her cue, Pimala reached into her robes and produced a papyrus slip and handed it to Hepsa.

She took one look at it and immediately wanted to scream again. It was a prepared confession.

“For obvious reasons, your father’s influence cannot be near if you are to become a Sister.”

Hepsa glared at the page. I confess, the first line read, to having read and believed the words of apostates over those of the Star Scripture, in accordance to the wishes of my father.

“Sign this,” Pimala said, “and when the Inquest takes you, I shall submit it as evidence that you are prepared to repent.”

“But this incriminates my father.” She held up the papyrus for him to see. “He would take all the blame.”

“As he should,” the Watchful Sister said. “It was irresponsible of him to jeopardise your spirit with his beliefs.”

Hepsa threw her hands up, letting the confession flutter to the ground. “We have no spirit!” she shouted. “When will you understand that? You expect me to give up my father for a fable invented by ancient fools?”

“You know not what you speak of,” Pimala said, audibly irritated now. “I have given you your chance and you will take it! And when you have been properly shed of your ignorance, maybe you will be more appreciative.”

“Not if it means becoming a Watchful Sister,” she said. “I am my father’s daughter, and I will never, ever, be anything more than a sailor.”

“Hepsa,” her father murmured, “are you sure you want to do this? Think about what it means for your life. There are so many things you could do as a Sister.”

“But it wouldn’t be my choice,” she said. “This is my choice. Being a sailor is my choice. The only one who’s ever stopped me is you.”

Itham closed his eyes and nodded. “So this is how much you wanted it. Okay then.”

“What are you saying? You have already done enough to her!” Pimala yelled, raising her hand to slap him. But Itham surprised her. He even surprised Hepsa. Sailors were a rowdy bunch, and even the old ones remembered their early years of roughhousing. He slipped under her arm and came behind her, wrapping his arm around her neck.

The Watchful Sister screamed, flailing and clawing at his eyes. But out of all the disciplines they were taught by the Church, fighting clearly was not one of them. Hepsa’s jaw hung wide open as her father’s arms rippled around the woman’s neck, squeezing until the veins in her hands seemed like they were about to burst. And then he dropped her to the floor, unmoving.

“Is she?” Hepsa asked, unable to finish the question.

Her father motioned to his throat. “Air choke. She’ll wake soon. Which means we have to run.” He gathered up her books and put them back in her bag.

“Where will we go?”

Itham stopped in his tracks and suddenly started fishing around in his pockets. “You want to be a sailor, yes?”

Hepsa nodded.

“We’ll start with the first lesson, then.” He tossed her a pouch of gold stellas and winked. “You’ll need to learn how to pay a few bribes.”

The End