by AB Bradley
“Mara, how can it be that I have found the one woman in Sollan with sight who does not see? Can I have your eyes since you don’t seem to want them?”
“I use my eyes, I do.” Mara’s heart picked up its pace. “Tag will take me. I will make it.”
“You pretty little ashwalk pilgrim. The streets are more your enemy than you think. The Six are not looked kindly upon beyond Lower Sollan. The Serpent Sun will never let an ashwalk pilgrim to the steps of the temple.”
“But…but it’s Harvest Festival!”
Galladus spit. “It’s a party. The king would be a fool if he banned the city from the one night all within it could get drunk and fill their bellies. Tell me, Mara, what priests of the Six have you seen? Have you caught the eye of an acolyte of the Burning Mother and received a blessing? It is her festival, yet strange how it seems she hasn’t been invited to it.”
Mara’s stomach twisted. She glanced out the alley, desperately hoping Tag would come darting into its shadows any moment. But Tag did not appear. Only a sea of unfamiliar faces continued rolling by.
“I saw a silent son on the waters to the city,” she said, “but no, I haven’t seen a priest in Sollan.”
“And you won’t. The king will not let them out of their shining temples. The Serpent Sun has spread poisonous rumors like a plague from house to house. Mark my words. Soon, I will hear of the day when those temples are crushed to dust and burnt to cinders. It will come soon, very soon.”
“I will make my ashwalk before then. Tag will take me.”
Galladus dipped his chin and placed his tin on the stony ground. “I was a soldier once.”
“You told me this already, Galladus Fellinus. You fought for the old king.”
“I did,” he said with a nod. “And I saw many wondrous places. But above all else, I learned one thing about the world.”
“And what is that?” she asked despite the creeping dread sinking deep into her bones.
“Kings and beggars, priests and sinners, soldiers and thieves—Trust not one of them. In the end, they will leave you for dead in a dark alley if you have nothing left to give them.”
Mara’s gaze shot toward the alley exit. She hoped to see Tag’s toothy smile, his bright, almond eyes, his arms burdened with meats and figs and a flagon of cool water.
Tears wet her eyes. Her chin trembled as her grip tightened on her son. “He will return. He showed me kindness. He was hungry, and I gave him the only thing I had. He will return and take me to the temple.”
A rough and calloused hand gently lay over hers. She turned to Galladus. The man stared at her with blanched eyes that somehow saw so much. Liver spots dotted his sagging brow. His breath reeked of rot and decay. Yet, when he smiled, it wasn’t one of hate or hunger, but one of pity. He wasted away in that alley, bent, broken and forgotten, but still he pitied her.
“Mara,” he whispered. “The boy called Tag will not return. He has taken from you what he wanted, and with that oily brass, he’ll fill his belly for a night or two. You must understand he was not evil. He did not want to hurt you. But if a rotted old beggar in an alley knows the danger of the ashwalk, then a boy who knows the streets understands it much, much better.”
“No…” Mara dipped her head, touching her brow to her son’s. “He showed me kindness.”
Galladus squeezed her hand. “And if there truly is any in him, he’ll regret tonight for the rest of his days.”
“What do I do now? I couldn’t find my way back to the docks if I tried. I’m alone, Galladus.” She looked to her child, wiping the snot from her nose. “We’re alone.”
“If I had useful eyes, I would fight each of the king’s heretic priests myself to take you to the Mother’s fire. But I have no useful eyes, and my legs fail me. So instead, I’ll arm you with my words, my warning. Trust no one. Do not waver. Do not bend. March ever on, and the Six will guide you.
“You are in Lower Sollan now. There is a wall that keeps Upper Sollan protected from the riffraff like you and I. Beyond Upper Sollan’s apartments, you will find a great round plateau dotted with stairwells to the Blooming Ring. The Blooming Ring encircles the mighty wall of Hightable. There is only one gate into Hightable, and it is always manned. I hear from thieves who’ve wandered in my alley that there are other, more secret ways to enter the highborn realm if you have a sharp eye, but those ways are old and full of danger.”
“Thank you for your knowledge, my friend.”
“Trust the Six, and they will see you to the Mother’s steps. They will show you signs along the way. Follow them, and from the serpent’s fangs they will deliver you.”
Mara blinked away her tears. She stared at the green stain her collar left behind, and the child who would never wake wrapped in burlap just beneath it. She shifted to her knees.
“I will trust the Six,” she said.
The old man smiled, clasping his hands. “And no others.”
“I will not falter.”
“Bless the Six, then.” The man’s cracked grip tightened on his cup. “Now go, Mara, and hurry! The serpents slither in the night. Watch for them. Keep away. No priest of the Serpent Sun is your friend. If you see them, run and hide and do not whisper a single word. Now go!”
Mara took a deep breath and bolted from the alley.
CHAPTER NINE
Serpents in Sollan
A rock whistled past Mara’s ear. She ducked, and the stone clattered against the bricks of someone’s home. She turned a corner, darting into a blessedly empty avenue walled by tall, ramshackle brick and adobe houses.
With her free hand she touched her bruised shoulder, wincing at the flash of pain that washed through her arm. Not every rock hurled at her met its mark. The ones that did bruised both flesh and soul.
Mara leaned against the wall and stared into the starry sky. Loose lines hung from one rooftop to another. A single paper lantern swayed from a drooping rope. The lantern’s once bright light dimmed and painted the narrow lane in an eerie blue.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting her spirit flow into the world like Gia had taught her. For that moment of tranquility, the world slipped away, and her spirit danced among the stars.
“I’ll get through this, Gia,” she whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”
A smile grew on Mara’s face. She knew the glimmer probably tugged it there because any normal fool who’d let their one valuable thing be stolen by a child with a sad story would have been furious with themselves.
“Tag, Tag. I hope you eat well.” Mara smirked and pulled away from the wall. Securing her son’s burlap around his tiny form, she inched down the lane.
A cool breeze whipped through the narrow avenue. It carried with it the faintest hint of sage and salt. Overhead, ropes crisscrossed from window to window, their lines weighed by linens drying in the fresh air.
The lane gently turned and sloped upward. She followed the curve of the wall and spotted an intersection with another avenue.
Mara hesitated in the safety of the blue lights. Unlike most other roads, she traveled, not a single passerby drifted into view. Even the drums and flutes grew distant in her solitude.
After a few calming breaths, Mara straightened and padded toward the exit. The curved wall cast a shadow angled inward she did not want to leave. She reached the edge of darkness, the city beyond awash in the gold of burning braziers and the strange blue lanterns hung from high lines.
“Where did everyone go?” she wondered.
She stepped from the shadow and into the wider lane. Beyond the curve, a pale wall rose above the buildings built snug against its side. An arch set within it opened like a titan’s mouth into Upper Sollan.
“Walls within walls,” Mara said. “This city fears itself.”
Through the archway, Mara caught a glimpse of the next district waiting patiently. Luxurious apartments connected by bridges crowded the street. Delicate fountains poured graceful arcs of crystalline water into glittering pools wal
led by blooming poppies and the delicate spears of lavender blossoms.
She bit her lip to keep her smile down, and for the briefest of moments, her fears and trepidation flowed away on her girlish giggle. Without another moment wasted in the darkness, she darted for the opening.
Each step she took brought the wide mouth closer. Iron braziers burned on either side of the archway, their flames beckoning her nearer like maidens teasing a patron. Not a single reveler or guard lingered at the entry. It was as if the Six had finally bestowed some small blessing upon her after a night tinged by glimmer and fear.
“Get back to your posts, you lazy fools!” a woman called, her voice a fiery lance tearing from beyond the arch.
All of Mara’s hopes vanished in a puff. She skidded to a halt and spun between two homes, crouching at a corner so she could peek longingly at the destination that was so close and so far all at once.
Clattering metal echoed near the archway. Long shadows stretched down the lane. Two tall men clad in shiny breastplates and metal greaves scurried to either side of the arch. One of the soldiers kicked a flagon, and the container spilled ruby wine that filtered slowly down the sloping road.
The soldiers stiffened and lifted their chins. They stared down the lane where Mara had just been sprinting like a fool. They pressed their hands against their legs. Their arms shook. Their skin glinted with sweat in the firelight.
A long shadow split the archway in half. The darkness bled down the lane and swallowed the snaking line of wine making its way past Mara. The shadow grew in rhythm with the footsteps of the woman who made it, her footfalls hard and steady.
Mara squinted and leaned forward just enough to get a better look. The woman strolled through the archway until her back faced the men. She had the body of a dancer and the stature of a general. She wore a pale mask with a hungry scowl framed by elaborate gold and a shimmering robe of white that hid every inch of her features. Around her neck rested a loosely coiled serpent, its scales pale shades of desert sands. Strapped to her side hung two swords secured in scabbards painted with swirling gold curves and strange symbols.
The masked woman paused, hand resting on her hip. The breeze toyed with her robe and sent it whipping around her ankles. She stared down the lane, the frozen scowl of her mask surveying Lower Sollan.
“Filth,” she said. “They are filth, these lower folk, getting drunk and tasting flesh for some dying goddess who couldn’t care less for them. Yet still they sing. Still they dance. Still they drink until cheap wine soaks their beards and saltwater gin rots their teeth. Pathetic.”
Mara did not know much of Sollan. Patrons did not speak of politics at the House of Sin and Silk, and Olessa’s protective shadow kept much of the world at bay. Even then, she knew beyond a doubt the robed woman standing in the lane was a priest of the Serpent Sun.
Waves of power billowed from the woman as if her very soul rejected the air of Lower Sollan. Behind her, the two soldiers shifted uncomfortably. They shared a sweaty glance and wrapped their hands on the grips of their swords. The priestess stepped forward. Her foot planted on the trail of wine. She looked down at the burgundy staining her boot.
“Tell me,” she said in a voice clear and sharp as a polished trumpet, “why you two thought it wise to get drunk on wine when you have a duty to perform?”
One of the soldiers cleared his throat. “My deepest apologies, Sister Ialane Donra. We merely had a glass to celebrate Harvest Festival. You have my word not another drop will touch our lips.”
The woman called Ialane said nothing. Her serpent lazily lifted its head, flicking a pink, forked tongue toward the lower city. Ialane brushed her fingertip beneath its jaw as her robe rolled with a gust of wind.
After a pause just long enough to become uncomfortable, Ialane dropped her hand from the creature. “I’m curious why you celebrate Harvest Festival. Enlighten me.”
Once again, the soldiers exchanged glances. The same soldier licked his lips. “Because we must give thanks for a year of plentiful food so the next will be just as plentiful.”
“You must give thanks?” Ialane strummed her fingers on one of her sword’s hilts. “Why must you celebrate it?”
“Because, ah, because the king has blessed the celebration, and we would not go against Good King Sol’s wishes.”
Mara frowned. Harvest had nothing to do with the king. It had everything to do with the Burning Mother. It was for her they lit the paper lanterns that carried their prayers to the stars.
“Good,” Ialane said, her back still to the men. “Because our king would not be pleased to know his men thought that whore, the Burning Mother, would ever grant them kindness or care about their stupid paper lantern prayers. Has anyone passed into Upper Sollan? The low folk should know better, but they’re drunk tonight, and tonight more than all others, we need to keep the trash out of the true city.”
“None have passed. We have kept careful watch like you commanded. The, ah, the trash know to keep far away from Upper Sollan tonight.”
“Yet I feel as if that little fact is not known to all who prowl the streets this evening. Keep an eye out, and if I catch you leaving your post again, my serpent will be spitting out the remnants of your manhood by morning. Then you can join the trash. I hear the Floatwaif has use for men like that.”
Ialane whipped around, finally facing the soldiers. Somehow the men both managed to stand even more rigid than before. Mara watched the priestess march back into Upper Sollan. Her serpent’s eyes gleamed like Olessa’s polished rubies, their cold stare sweeping one last time across the lane.
The priestess disappeared beyond the archway. Mara squatted in her hiding spot. Her babe weighed on her already tired arms. She adjusted him against her shoulder and watched the men, hoping they might return to their wine now that Sister Ialane left them in peace.
Mara waited. A cricket picked up its chirping. The soldiers didn’t move. They didn’t speak. She might not have known they were more than statues had she not just witnessed the encounter with the priestess.
If she could just find a way to distract them, she might slip through unnoticed. Frustration tied a knot in her chest. She knew no other way through and feared wandering around to find another gate would lead her away from her goal.
I needed you, Tag, she thought bitterly. No longer did she smile thinking of him licking butter from his thumb. I needed you and you left me to this.
After a few moments thinking in the shadows, she noticed the cricket no longer chirped its song. A gaze weighed on Mara’s back. Her heartbeat quickened. She tightened her grip on her son and slowly turned.
Instead of a small, empty alley, a silent son stood tall and imposing. His black robe blended perfectly with the darkness and framed his pale, expressionless mask.
Mara lurched to her feet. The ball of her foot planted on a jagged rock. She yelped, yanking her foot from the stone. It clattered into the lane. Mara’s eyes widened. She twisted around and watched the stone come to rest on the wine-stained stones in the middle of the road.
She grimaced and leaned back, her hood slowly slipping to her shoulders. She peeked into the lane.
Both soldiers glared from their posts. Their knuckles whitened on the hilts of their swords.
“You there,” one said, “why are you skulking in the shadows like some thief? Come out where we can see you.”
“She wears a burlap hood,” the other man said, his voice trembling. “You know what this means, sir? An ashwalk pilgrim! Just like they said would be crawling about tonight.”
Mara twisted into her hiding place. The silent son’s hand lanced from the black and wrapped around Mara’s wrist. The guards’ footsteps pounded on the stones, their scabbards clattering against their breastplates.
She hoisted her son against her neck and frantically searched the priest’s eyes hiding behind his mask. “What do we do? There’s nowhere to go!”
The silent son did not answer. His hand tightened on her wrist. He spun ar
ound, and the pale wedge of his other hand swept in a great arc before the wall. A hole opened in the stones, and the priest pulled them through it.
Mara stumbled after the man as the opening shrunk around her. She leapt through the hole and landed on the other side. Turning, she spotted the men barrel around the corner she had occupied seconds before.
“Halt!” one shouted, clumsily yanking the sword from his scabbard.
The second soldier bolted for the hole. Mara watched, frozen in horror as the man’s brawny frame swelled within the shrinking gap. He ripped his sword from the scabbard and screamed, thrusting the blade into the opening.
The gap sealed around the sword with a hiss. Its razor tip wriggled like an angry snake inches from Mara’s face, the stone wall keeping the steel from burying between her eyes. From the other side of the wall, guards screamed for reinforcements.
Long, pale fingers rested gently over Mara’s shoulder. She turned to the masked priest, and he motioned to follow.
“I’ve never seen magic before today,” she said. “And that’s twice now a silent son’s used it to save me. I thought your power faded from Urum?”
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek and shook his head side to side. She started to speak again, but he turned his back and floated like a phantom over another wide lane.
Mara followed the silent son in and out of narrow alleys, across lanes, and between spaces so small she feared she might crush the child in her arms. Alarm bells rang out. The rhythmic march of guards on the move echoed all around her.
The silent son and Mara slipped into an alley that turned sharply toward a familiar wall encircling Upper Sollan. The barrier towered over her, its long, cool shadow snuffing out the light like wet fingers pinching the dying flame of a candle.
“There’s nowhere to go,” she hissed as the silent son picked up speed.
“Please,” she begged, “slow down. You’re too fast. I can’t—I can’t keep up!”