by A Van Wyck
“It’s almost dark,” she explained. “It isn’t safe on the ground at night. The roofs are much better.”
He watched her shimmy up onto the roof.
“Come on,” she encouraged.
He put a foot up on the first crate. He’d climbed trees in the Temple orchards. Each one much higher than this roof. But trees wanted you to climb them. They had branches filled with handy handholds. He’d just have to do his best without them. Sunny had made it look easy. He wasn’t about to be outdone by a girl.
“Not bad,” she complimented when he heaved himself onto the roof.
“Thank you.”
He was determined to hold on to his good manners even if she didn’t notice.
“Now try to keep up. You don’t want to be climbing around on the rooftops in the dark.”
So saying, she set off at a half-jog. Surprised at the pace she set, he fell in behind her. It was obvious that she knew her way. He followed her between chimneys and smokestacks and beneath strung washing lines, stepping where she did, careful of old, rusted nails and the occasional broken bottle lying on the filthy roofs. The buildings were spaced close together and she leapt easily from one to the next across the narrow divides. He held his breath nervously for his first one but contrary to his fears the gulf did not attempt to suck him down. He landed safely and fell back into his jog after a surprised stumble. Sunny smiled briefly over her shoulder at him and he couldn’t help grinning back. This was actually a lot of fun. He could even do this better than she could.
Increasing his pace, he drew level with her. Laughing, she ran faster and he matched her. They flew across the roofs.
She cheated. Technically, she knew where they were going and he didn’t. So when he started to pull ahead, she changed direction, leaving him to speed after her.
Suddenly she was flying.
Shocked breath hissed between his teeth but he was going too fast to even try and stop. He had only enough time to grit his teeth desperately before he too was soaring. His wide eyes glimpsed his elongated shadow drop down six stories – were they really that high up? – into the chasm, then race maniacally up the opposite wall to meet him again on the ledge of the building across the street. Where his knees promptly locked, pitching him headlong into the dust of the roof where he lay gasping. The sounds of hysterical giggling came from overhead.
“Not funny!” he managed between clenched teeth. The giggling redoubled and he heard Sunny sit down heavily on the roof. He cracked his eyes open a pinch to see her rolling helplessly, clutching at her sides.
“Not,” he reiterated irritably, “funny!”
Her hilarity was a long time dying down.
“Sure it was,” she assured him eventually, tears cutting runnels in her layers of dirt and grime. “You should have seen your… your face…!” and she was off again. Incensed anger drew him to his feet. She met his glare with outrageous, fish eyed contortions, puffing her cheeks and pouting wetly. Each effort collapsed her into renewed giggles. He definitely hadn’t looked like that. He made a frustrated sound, placing his hands on his hips, and looked away.
The sun, a great orange ball trimmed in golden clouds, dipped beneath the horizon. For a moment it distracted him completely. He breathed in deeply and let the goddess’s gift wash through him, melting the anger. And felt a little better. In almost all depictions, Holy Helia was shown holding the sun in the palms of her hands. He’d heard that other nations referred to them as an empire of sun worshippers. An easy mistake, especially considering the Imperial crest was the Rising Sun. No, they worshipped Helia and only Helia, the one true god. She was the life giver, the light of truth, the warmth of love and compassion and the bane of darkness. The sun was her natural aspect. From there phrases like, Helia light your path or Light of Helia smile upon you. It was her way of reminding them she was there.
The end of the day loomed. Gloom descended. Glancing down, he noticed his shadow had quit for the evening. A great bell tolled sonorously from far away. He turned around. And caught his breath.
The Temple!
It stood like a monument, the Lilly Tower rising like a godsend, the very top still illuminated by the absent sun. Its tiered walls beckoned welcomingly. Old Greencall tolled again, his voice muted with distance. Bells from across the city took up the call, adding their voices to Tellar’s evensong. Somewhere in there, Keeper Justin might already be waiting for him. He could feel the warmth start at the soles of his bare feet.
“Sunny…” he whispered.
But there was no answer. The giggles had faded away.
“Sunny?” he looked over.
She wasn’t laughing anymore. She sat staring at him accusingly. He was taken aback. Why was she angry? Because he’d spotted the Temple? He had a rare moment of insight.
“You weren’t planning for me to see it,” he stated.
“What do you want to go there for?” she questioned shortly, not bothering to deny it. Her cheeks were still wet from her laughing.
“They’ll be waiting for me, wondering what happened to me. Worrying about me.”
“They’ll stop eventually,” she predicted with certainty. “They always do.”
He shook his head.
“Not Keeper Justin.”
She glared at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know he’ll never stop looking for me.”
“Oh? Then where is he?”
“How should I know?!”
“Well he’s not here, is he? No! I’m here!”
He blinked stupidly at her, taken aback, as she screamed at him.
“Who saved you in the market this afternoon? Huh?” He opened his mouth to answer but she overrode him. “Me! Who helped you when nobody else would, hmm? Me! Who showed you how to eat crow clams? Me! Who was going to show you a safe place for the night? Huh? Me!”
He stood, dumbfounded, as the tears started to flow again.
“I could have shown you how to live here. It’s not so bad. I helped you. I told you about my mom.” She said it like an accusation. Her hands had curled into fists. “What makes this Temple of yours so special?”
He struggled to find his voice for a moment. He could tell it was going to hurt her but he couldn’t lie. And he needed her to understand.
“It’s where I belong.”
She scowled at him.
“Then go.” She wiped irritably at her cheek with one forearm, spreading the grime into a new pattern. “Go!” she raged suddenly, lunging forward to hit him in the chest with both hands. He stumbled and fell, looking up at her in hurt surprise.
She aimed a kick in his direction, spraying him with pebbles and debris.
“Go!”
He climbed slowly to his feet but didn’t otherwise move.
“Sunny…”
“Go!” she pointed a trembling finger over his shoulder. The last of the light died.
Dejected, he turned away from her and walked the few steps to the edge of the roof. He looked out over the darkness.
“You can always come with me,” he said quietly, not looking at her.
She sniffed.
“They wouldn’t want me in your temple.”
He shook his head.
“You don’t know Keeper Justin.”
“Just go, Marco,” she said wearily.
He nodded sadly but waited. Hoping she might change her mind. After a while, it became clear, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.”
He set out into the darkness, angling towards the Temple. His feet felt like lead. A hole had opened up in his chest. Even the happiness of his imminent reunion with the keeper couldn’t fill it. He walked with his head bowed, trying to distract himself by placing his feet carefully so he didn’t plummet to the ground below.
Eventually, his feet refusing to go any further, he stopped to look around but she was gone. He started to go back but his rational mind intruded with the t
hought that he stood virtually no chance of finding her. Gritting his teeth, he continued on his way, feeling like a traitor. He should have tried harder to convince her. If Keeper Justin had been there, he would have known the right words to say. He glanced up at the gleaming mass of the Temple, pearlescent in the darkness, for reassurance but it was far away and cold comfort.
True night had fallen and stars peeked from overhead, transforming the city. Scattered torches and lanterns attempted to illuminate the capital’s streets but this far from the city center they were few in number and none of their light reached the roofs. Alone now, he found that the character of the rooftops had changed. Clotheslines turned into tripwires. Chimneys made wells of deep shadow anything could hide in.
And then there were the noises.
He was used to the only night sounds being the quiet breathing of his fellow novices and the infrequent tolling of the bells. If you ventured outside in the Temple at night, you could wander around for bells in its comfortable silence. But the city was noisy. It was alive with sounds, few of them pleasant.
From the streets and alleys he passed, he heard coarse laughter bubbling up, accompanied by the clink and swirl of glass and strains of music. Occasionally he would hear voices raised in muffled argument or anger, competing with the cries of babies, the low of oxen and the high yip of dogs. Now and then a disembodied scream or yell would carry on the dark.
But that wasn’t as bad as the silence – once he’d left the dubious merriment of the ale houses behind. The relative quiet of a city asleep thrummed, silently, beneath him. Unseen footsteps played an ominous dirge from below, each step a fresh accusation. Whenever that happened, he found himself stupidly ducking from sight.
He caught sight of a pair of glowing green eyes, tracking him from half a dozen paces away and his heart stopped. The cat yowled in anger at being seen and leapt away across the rooftops, leaving him and his embarrassed knees to pull their shaking selves together. Breath left him in a long, relieved sigh. When he felt he had a good chance of getting his feet to obey him again, he set out, slightly rattled.
He walked for a long time without the Temple seeming to get any nearer but that didn’t discourage him. In his head he imagined what he would say to the gate guards. Wondered if they would recognize him or whether they would insist he wait until someone could be fetched to identify him. Either way, as long as he was within sight of them, he would be safe. Perhaps Keeper Justin would be waiting by the same gate they’d used this morning, hoping he’d find his way there.
“No, I didn’t! I swear I– ugh!”
Breaching from the chasm confronting him, the unknown voice sprayed fright over the rooftops. His feet froze beneath him.
“Quiet you,” another voice commanded roughly.
“If it weren’t you,” a third voice, thin and reedy, put in, “then how’d he find out, eh?”
“Please,” the first voice pleaded, sounding pained, “I just do the books! I wasn’t trying to get anyone in trouble, I–”
There was a dull splat, like someone patting a bowl of porridge with a spoon, only much louder. Someone exhaled sharply.
“Oh,” the rough voice spoke again, “didn’t mean to get anyone into trouble did we? I’ll show you mean, numbers man.”
Footsteps.
“No!” the first voice pleaded breathlessly. “I’ll talk to him! I’m sure he’ll hire you back on! Just let me–”
There was another splat, followed by sounds of a scrabbling fall.
They were hitting him! Marco’s eyes grew round with shock. Physical violence was alien to him.
“Too late for that, my son,” the reedy voice said, punctuating the abused man’s desperate gasping. “Should have left well enough alone, shouldn’t ya?” There were scuffs of feet accompanied by more pained impacts and whimpering. “Should have found out who really ran the yard before you went pokin’ around, shouldn’t ya?” The reedy voice strained, as if the owner was exerting himself, speaking in spurts to match the sound of more blows. “The man says do the books and you decide to do your own little investigation? Who are you, the watch?”
The rough voice laughed nastily.
The shock that held Marco was shunted aside in the face of a sudden, gripping panic. He had to get out of here. He cast around. The buildings to either side were too far to jump. He glanced back the way he’d come, trying not to breathe – though the chances of the men in the alley hearing him were small. Now that he had the Temple in sight, going in any other direction was an almost physical impossibility. He feared, if he took his eyes off the enormous, pearly edifice, it might disappear. His chest constricted at the thought.
His eyes alighted on a workman’s scaffold, leaning against the far wall across the alley in front of him. By the looks of it, it had been abandoned long before the intended renovations were complete. If he took a run-up, he could jump the distance from this roof to the scaffold. From there it would be a short climb. He cringed at the thought of the racket his landing would cause. They were certain to hear that. His heart rate seemed to redouble. Panic gave his thoughts wings. If he did it quickly, maybe they wouldn’t see him. Maybe they wouldn’t chase him. Memories of this afternoon’s pursuit through the Furrow returned to him.
Merciful Mother, please let them not chase me, he prayed.
He backed away from the ledge and the sounds of a man being beaten to death which rose from the alley. Guilt mixed with the fear wringing at his heart. But there was nothing he could do. He was no Keeper Justin. He was no watchman. He was only a boy. And he needed to get home. Had to get away. All that mattered now was reaching the Temple. Turning a deaf ear to the horrifying noises, he tried to concentrate on his breathing. His eyes seized on the point where the roof’s edge hid the scaffold. It was a long jump.
Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.
He ran.
The ledge rushed toward him, the scaffold peeking over the top. His front foot slammed down on the lip of the roof and he leapt, sailing through the night air, the wind in his ears temporarily stealing the noise of the beating being carried out beneath his flailing feet. The scaffold ran to meet him. His feet touched down neatly on the wooded boards.
There was a deafening crack of splintering wood. And then he was falling.
He dropped down onto the boards beneath, which also gave way. Suddenly he was the center of a confused maelstrom of debris, jagged wood and dust and noise, pummeling him from all sides. Something slammed into his hip, spinning him around so he saw the beam a moment before it connected with his head on its way past. Light exploded behind his eyes, setting his ears to ringing. He hardly felt the ground hit him. The world spun. Pain nipped, faint but insistent, at the edges of his consciousness.
Above him a lazy storm of dust churned like molasses. Indistinct voices drifted to him as if from a great distance, punctuated by footfalls. A callused hand, swooping like a raptor from the obscuring swirl, closed about his jaw. The world tilted as he was hoisted up. A face hove into view, scar seamed and lumpy. Through the haze and pain that clouded his mind, he tried to scream but the strangling hand held his jaw shut.
“What’s this, eh?” the rough voice from before asked. “Take a look at this,” it said, turning to the side to speak over its shoulder.
Another face appeared, peering over the shoulder of the first.
He felt fidgety hands pluck at his robes.
“Might have been one of them priests in training once,” said the reedy voiced newcomer. “Looks like a run-away.”
“Yeah?” the rough one said. Menace ran deep as oceans in that voice. “Ain’t runnin’ anywhere now, is he?” The seamed face turned back to leer at him. “Are ya?”
A man sized fist drove into his stomach. The thick fingers gripping his face let go and he dropped, winded and unable to spare a thought for breaking his fall. His head bounced off the dirty cobbles. The already spinning world wobbled on its axis. He vaguely felt like he might want to sick up again.
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br /> “What ‘appened to the numbers-man?” the rough voice drifted from somewhere above him, muffled by the cotton stuffing his head.
“Ran for it.”
He felt like he should be doing something but couldn’t remember what it was.
“Too bad. I kinda liked ‘im. Think ‘e’ll go to the watch?”
“Nah. ‘E knows we can find ‘im again.”
He should try to get away, that was it.
Away from what? Where am I?
“Right. So what we gonna to do ‘bout this one ‘ere?”
“We could sell ’im,” the reedy voice speculated from far away. “I know a man down dockside as will pay silver for ‘im.”
“Yeah?” the rough voice answered with a dark undertone of excitement.
“’E won’t be worth as much if ‘e’s damaged,” the reedy voice cautioned.
What were they talking about? Nothing that had anything to do with him. He just wanted to sleep… But he was being raised up. Maybe they were going to carry him back to his cell…
“That’s alright,” the rough voice said. “I been laid off today. Any money is free money. And right now, money ain’t gonna make me feel half as good as you are.” The world shook roughly, making his stomach clench. “Ain’t that right?”
A sharp blow rocked his head atop his neck, making his vision seesaw drunkenly.
“I said, ain’t that right?”
They’re asking me a question, he realized. You should always answer when asked a question. He tried to speak but couldn’t get a sound out. There was pain everywhere.
He was vaguely aware of his back pressing into the uneven cobbles.
“What’s that you said? Speak up.”
Through the haze, a seamed face leaned in close.
What? Oh, yes… Some reality returned to him.
“Please,” he managed to whisper this time.
“Please? Oh, that’s good. I like please. Say it for me again.”
A callused hand scraped his skin, tugging hard. The rough-spun of his collar briefly dug into the back of his neck and under his arms before the material ripped away. The seamed man tossed what was left of his robes aside.