by AB Bradley
“Men, did you hear something?” a man called from the base of the stairs.
Mara recoiled, shuffling away from the top steps. She clutched her son and stared at the stairs, the only sound disturbing the night was the wind tossing her robe around her legs like a playful patron.
No other call rang from below. Slowly, Mara leaned forward, peeking down the flight. A familiar pole with lanterns fastened to its upper end appeared, bobbing with the footsteps of the soldier who carried it.
Mara spun around and sprinted into the park. She passed beneath long, looping boughs and enormous, knotted trunks. Tall grasses tickled her knuckles and lapped at her son’s burlap.
She reached a pond that came nearly to the high wall. The barrier’s shadow blanketed everything around her in a tranquil black filled with chirping crickets. Her breaths labored, her lungs burning, she hobbled to the water and crouched at the sloping shoreline.
The soldier’s patrol appeared at the steps. She watched the leader of the patrol scan the park, pointing his lantern like it might reveal Mara hiding at the water’s edge.
But the park was so large and the grasses so high that the man’s meager light couldn’t hope to chase away the shadows enveloping her. The lantern pointed away, and the soldier disappeared back down the steps.
Alone in the structure’s shadow, she lifted her chin, gazing at its imposing height. “I’d need wings to climb that. It really was built to keep a titan at bay.”
Her vision flicked to the enchanting sea and the black silhouette of the titan at the bay’s mouth. They built this entire city expecting your return.
Mara stalked to the wall and placed a hand upon its stones. Her palm couldn’t find so much as a single imperfection or handhold in a single brick. She pressed her brow against its face and savored its cool kiss against her sweaty skin.
“What am I to do?” she wondered.
A gentle hand clasped her shoulder and squeezed. She recoiled, spinning around, her arm soldier-straight toward her attacker.
“Don’t touch me!” she hissed. “I’m—I’m an evil sorceress, and I’ll turn you into a moth and smash you against the wall!”
She pressed her back against the stones. At first, nothing appeared in the darkness. Then, a milky mask melted from the black like the moon revealed from a passing thunderhead. The silent son’s expressionless mask nodded, angling to a side.
The adrenaline flooded from Mara’s veins on her sigh. “You really should be a little better about how you approach someone. What if I had a knife? I might have run you through.”
The silent son bowed. He calmly motioned down the curving wall. Mara peered in the direction he pointed. “But I don’t see anything.”
He dropped his arm and floated like a ghost down the base of the barrier. Mara followed in his footsteps, her eye ever on the park separating Hightable from the rest of the city.
“Why do they build the walls so high?” she asked the priest. “And why did you build your temples behind them? No army of men will ever scale Hightable.”
Of course, he did not answer. Mara scrunched her nose. “What is the Burning Mother’s temple like?”
The silent son continued on his quiet course. Mara rolled her eyes. “I need to find her temple. I don’t know why you help me, and I don’t know why the king and his awful serpents hunt me. Can you tell me anything? Anything at all?”
The silent son continued on his annoyingly silent way.
“You are very frustrating. I am a moon maiden, and I have lived my life doing nothing but pleasing others. This is my first time in the city that I can remember, and I come with my dead child in my arms because the Six demand it. What happens when I get here? Everyone in this city spits on me. They throw rocks at me. They hunt me. They want me dead! And for what?”
Her words lit a fire in her heart. She squeezed her son and picked up her pace. “And for what? Why are you here? Why am I here?”
While the silent son did not reply with words, he did halt. The priest of the Loyal Father stiffened. He whirled around, his soft black robe fluttering around him yet still not revealing a hint of the man beneath it.
His unblinking, emotionless mask stared over her shoulder. He leaned forward, the dark pits of his eyes scanning the park behind them.
He reached out and grabbed her arm. He ushered her onward, but this time, Mara had to run to keep up with the man.
“What is it?” she asked.
The silent son raised a hand, his palm inches from the wall. He never slowed, he never looked any direction but forward. He kept flying ever on with Mara in tow, his fingers caressing the stone face like a child might toy with a waterfall as they ran past its rushing waters.
Mara frowned at the man’s extended hand. She glanced at the wall, its face hidden beneath an impenetrable blanket of darkness. “What did you see?” she asked, her voice soft despite their frantic pace. “Who is chasing us? Those soldiers?”
Eyes weighed upon her back. Mara glanced behind her as the wall’s shadow peeled away like the petals of a flower peeling from a bud. The living black became other silent sons, their pale masks smiling, laughing, crying, and scowling behind her.
So the one helping me has been the same priest all along.
The other priests formed a wall behind her and herded her along the Blooming Ring. Her footsteps pounded against the soft earth. She hoisted her son higher and tried to ignore her burning lungs.
“Why are they here?” she asked. “What is wrong? I know something’s wrong. Please, you must tell me.”
The silent son broke into a full run, and so did Mara. The priests behind her nipped at her heels like hounds chasing a rabbit.
A long, thin structure like an arched walkway appeared along the curve of the wall. It jutted from the barrier’s top and spanned the distance of the Blooming Ring. Spindly arches supported it, and from its mouth a ribbon of water spilled in a snaking line into Upper Sollan.
“An aqueduct!” Mara exclaimed. “That is the way to climb this cursed wall?”
The silent son motioned frantically. He slowed, grabbing her wrist and keeping her momentum moving forward. He spun her past him, his brothers lining up beside him to form a barrier against the quiet shadows.
“Why are you stopping?” Mara looked frantically at the line of priests.
They turned to her, their masks a spectrum of every human emotion. They pointed over her shoulder at the massive aqueduct or pleaded with their pale fingers. While Mara couldn’t see their faces, their fear and anxiety washed over her like the waterfall spilling from the high channel.
“You’re not going to show me how to climb it?” she asked.
The silent sons frantically stuck their fingers toward the aqueduct. Slowly, Mara nodded. “I—I understand.”
She stepped back, turning to face the precarious path into Hightable. “Thank you,” she called, running toward the aqueduct. “I hope the Six bless all of you for your kindness!”
Mara darted into the thick grasses flowing toward the aqueduct. She knelt within them, their tall, tawny stalks closing over her.
The silent sons wanted her to climb the structure. She knew they risked much to get her there, but she would not leave until she knew what they feared. Maybe, just maybe, she would discover something important.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In Tall Grass
Shadows and soft grass enveloped Mara. Long, thin stalks swayed before her vision like dancers on a stage.
Mara watched from her hiding spot, close to the silent sons, yet far enough away to remain hidden. The Mara from the House of Sin and Silk would never have stayed to see who or what the priests of the Loyal Father faced. But Mara no longer stood on the long, flat deck of the pleasure barge. Olessa would not be there to scold her. The strong boys would not be there to crack their knuckles. Gia would not be there to stand by her side.
Then again, Gia would have stayed to discover the truth. Gia would not have been afraid to see. If Mara
wanted to save her son’s soul, she needed to be more like Gia and less like herself.
She glanced quickly at the sky. The stars still dazzled against the blackish field. The night was deep and dawn would sleep beneath the horizon for awhile yet. Mara had time enough.
She cradled her son close to her chest. She glanced down and smiled at his closed eyes and puckered lips. He would have been such a handsome man when he was grown. Moon maidens would have jumped to serve him.
Her heart twisted and hardened into a shard of coral. No, she thought, he would not be one take moon maidens as patrons.
Movement interrupted her idle thoughts. A form that could have been sculpted from moonlight melted from the shadows before the silent sons.
Mara’s fingers tightened on her son. An ember of anger inflamed her heart.
The man wore pale wrappings that hid him head to toe. His hood cloaked his face in darkness. His fingers danced with anticipation.
Her eyes narrowed. “Brother Caspran,” she whispered.
Unlike her first encounter with the priest, Mara noticed that with moonlight framing his form, the daggers tucked into his garments glinted in the silvery light.
He squeezed his fists and rolled his shoulders. A breeze whipped through the park and sent the silent sons’ black robes flapping. They stood before the man without a word passing from their lips. As always, their masks revealed nothing of the men behind them.
Brother Caspran slipped his fingers into the folds of his clothes. He pulled his fingers out and brought with them a slender blade he danced over his knuckles. “Good evening, kindly priests. Did you by chance miss Good King Sol’s proclamation that all who’ve sworn oaths to the Six must confine their flesh to their houses of worship until Harvest Festival ends?”
The silent sons stiffened. The man flipped his dagger into the air, and it rose a glimmering shard against the wall. He caught it between his fingers and continued bouncing the razor over his knuckles.
“She is here, is she not? You’re hiding the whore somewhere in the pretty grasses of the Blooming Ring, are you not?” His shadowed gaze scanned the park. “There is only one who would bring you fools out from your dying god’s hovel tonight. You cluster together like a bunch of old hags watching their wigs being braided. There is of course no other reason you’d be in this place on this night other than for Mara.”
Mara’s eyes widened as he spoke her name. She’d never met him once in her life, yet he spoke her name like they’d been common enemies for ages.
“You’re desperate to save the whore, aren’t you?” he asked.
The silent sons did not reply.
Caspran smirked and flipped his palm so the dagger would land within it. He closed his fist on the blade and held it before the priests. Drops of crimson oozed from his wraps and dripped onto the grass. “I know a thing or two about desperation. Your Loyal Father happily visited it upon me. He turned his back on me. He spit on me. I remember holding my daughter’s body in my arms. I remember looking into her dead eyes and wondering why the Six would do such a thing. We were their children too, just like you!”
The man’s hand shook. Mara tightened her grip on her son. She looked for any reaction in the silent sons, but they might as well have been statues. No matter the painful devastation that darkened Caspran’s past, he would hear no apology from men who had sworn their voices would never ride the breeze as long as their bones walked the land.
Brother Caspran seemed to acknowledge the same thought as Mara. He lifted his fist, opening the palm wrapped in leathers to the world. Blood dulled the little dagger’s glimmer and soaked his glove.
“We will find her. Nothing can stop the serpents from rising. The King will bury your sun and raise his own, and then the stain of the Six will be forever crushed. Unless, of course, your Loyal Father will bestow some of his mighty power upon his faithful? Perhaps he’ll bless you with his strength? Perhaps he’ll save those who swore their life to him? Perhaps his magic isn’t really dying, and all the fears that make your skinny little bones shake beneath those flapping robes of yours will finally disappear? If you have true faith in a true god, then you will be protected, will you not?”
Caspran flicked his wrist, and the bloody blade spun slowly around his hand. It floated over his stained wrappings like a moth might flutter around a flame.
Loyal Father, Mara prayed, protect them. They are your silent sons. Don’t let another die for me.
One of the silent sons raised a hand draped in black. His pale fingers protruded from the dark robe. Lightly he touched them to the brow of his mask, its expression one of tearful sorrow. He motioned at Caspran with the same fingers and bowed.
“Forgive me?” Caspran asked in a shaking tone. “How dare you offer me forgiveness! I need no forgiveness. I need no compassion from the likes of you. You should be begging forgiveness from me. You should be on your knees, hoping I show you mercy for the sins your gods committed.”
Another silent son mirrored the first’s gesture. And so did another. And so did yet another. The silent sons all at once forgave the priest of the Serpent Sun, bowing their heads in respect to the man.
“Filth and vermin! Filth and vermin!” Caspran flicked his wrist, and the dagger whistled from its orbit around his hand. It zipped through the silent sons, bursting in and out of their flapping robes, moving so fast Mara’s eyes had to work to catch the flashing glints of silver.
“What’s wrong, silent sons?” he asked with a cackling laugh. “Did your Loyal Father abandon you in your time of need? Did the magic that once burned through your veins whither like a flower beneath the power of the Serpent Sun? How does it feel to know he abandoned you? Tell me…How does it feel!”
The man bellowed harder as his dagger tore fabric and flesh. The line of silent sons trembled. A gloss wet their dark robes and splattered red over the grass. Mara shuddered. She closed her eyes and pressed her sleeve against her lips to smother her cry. She had never seen such violence, never thought living beings capable of taking such pleasure in such a horrible act.
“Take this blade for a tithe, priests,” Caspran continued. “Your dedication to the Loyal Father is commendable, even if misguided. He has abandoned you, and now you die. For what? A whore and her dead bastard?”
Mara cursed herself for being weak. She cursed herself for not knowing what to do, for not having the power to stop the madman from slaughtering the only people in Sollan who showed her kindness.
“Stop!” Mara screamed, jumping to her feet.
The dagger paused above a pile of black robes and white masks dripping blood from their eyes and noses. His dagger hovered over his open palm. Like the masks, it soaked in the blood of its victims.
She’d doomed herself. She’d stood and doomed herself. The silent sons died for nothing. They all died for nothing.
Caspran’s shadowed gaze drifted in the direction of Mara’s voice. He snapped his fingers, and any remaining blood on his dagger turned to scarlet smoke and vanished on the wind.
Wind flipped through Mara’s ashen cloak. She stared at Caspran, a statue frozen by fear and hardened by anger.
He took a step forward. Mara’s lip trembled. Her knuckles whitened on her son.
“We’ll find you!” Caspran shouted. “We’ll gut you like a pig and take your son. You won’t succeed, Mara. You will never make it to the Mother’s temple by sunrise. You are not as close as you might think.”
Caspran’s chest heaved. His dagger flipped madly around his body. He thrust his palm forward, and the razor whistled toward Mara. She sucked in her breath and closed her eyes, twisting to protect her child’s body. All around her, the blade hacked away at grass and flower. Thin stems flew into the air.
And then, silence. Mara slowly opened her eyes. She stared at her son, cradled as he was in her arms. Nothing cut her skin. Nothing tore her burlap.
Mara faced Brother Caspran. The man’s gaze swept across the park. He shook his head and twisted on his heel, mar
ching through the grass until the shadows entombed him. “There is no way in to Hightable but through its gate. I will find you there.”
Mara swallowed the knot twisting her throat. He didn’t see us. No, he couldn’t see us. We stood before him, and still he could not find us.
I told you, Olessa’s voice whispered. Ash and burlap keep you safe. But that’s not important at the moment. He let some other bit of knowledge slip. If you weren’t such a glimmer-clouded fool, you’d have caught it. Your son is a bastard, and he called him one.
Mara squeezed her eyes shut to drown Olessa’s voice. “My son would have been more than that.”
You stupid girl, her madame hissed. Think!
“He…” Mara opened her eyes and stared at the murderous stranger. “He knows my child is a boy.”
No one in this city knew Mara’s child. If this mysterious man had gone to the House of Sin and Silk with his flying dagger…
Mara blinked the tears from her eyes. She bit hard on her lip and wrapped her son in her arms. Visions of Olessa and Gia screaming as the dagger buried in their flesh over and over and over again flared across her thoughts. They died for her. Caspran had gone to her home and tortured the only people she ever knew or loved, and they had died for her. No one would be left to bury Olessa. No one would be left to send Gia’s spirit to the Six.
“Murderer!” she rasped. “I don’t care if you hear me. You’re a monster! Monster!”
Mara tried calming her frantic heart. She scanned the park, but from the aqueduct behind her to the gently curving wall ahead, no sign of the man remained.
Rustling from the pile of bodies tore her from her thoughts. Trembling fingers long and pale appeared within the bloody garbs.
The painful knot she swallowed leapt back into her throat. Mara hurried to the bodies. She grimaced, trying as gently as she could to shift the dead priests off the living one. Blood stained her burlap sleeve clear to her elbow. It wet her fingers and seeped beneath her nails.
The priest’s hand clasped hers. She planted her feet and grunted, pulling him from his deceased brothers.