Ball shrugged. “Let your beard grow and get some sun. Then you might feel more like a Sunan.” The fat merchant paused. “Hungry? Ready for a stroll?”
Wren nodded. He had to be careful with his words.
“Good, we’ll visit the royal bazaar, like we did when you first visited Sunan. It will be just us and two of my personal guards.” Ball clasped Wren on the shoulder as if to say he could be trusted.
Wren would never trust the man again, but he followed him out of the palace all the same. Ball’s two guards replaced the sterner looking prison guards. They walked to Ball’s carriage, which was waiting outside the palace. It was a short ride to the legendary bazaar of Sunan. They got out of the carriage and began to walk along the bazaar’s main passage.
As large as the central square of Valemidas, the bazaar looked like a great place of trade. There were hundreds of merchants selling elegant rugs, fresh fish, exotic spices, weapons, and everything else under the sun. But Wren saw through the façade. He had enough experience with markets to know that this one lacked sufficient buyers. Nor was there a woman in sight. Men were not shouting out about their wares. They were not competing about their prices. They looked bored as they dutifully made transactions and recorded each sell on a uniform-looking ledger. The bazaar was not a market. It was a distribution center managed by a privileged few.
Ball was one of the privileged. Every man in the bazaar lit like a lantern upon seeing the royal merchant. They would say something eagerly in the Sunan tongue, and Ball would nod and respond with an appreciative, condescending tone. By the time they had walked the length of the bazaar, Ball was glowing. Wren figured he had soaked up all the groveling respect.
They reached a long set of stairs overlooking the sea beyond. Ball sat on the top stair and motioned for Wren to join him. Wren sat and gazed over the water.
“Now,” Ball began, “this is a safe place to talk. I suspect you have questions for me?” No one was close enough to hear, especially over the cries of gulls above.
Wren swallowed the first three questions that came to him. The breeze felt good on his face. Even in the Sunan linens, his skin felt ablaze under the sun’s heat. Maybe it was an act of mercy that the Sunan men made their women stay mostly indoors, out of the sun.
Eventually, while staring at the fleet in the harbor, Wren decided to be direct with Ball. “When can Ravien and I leave?”
“A hard question,” Ball said. “You imply that you will leave, and that you and Ravien will leave together. That’s what makes you a shrewd dealer. I like that about you.”
Ball looked like he had not slept in days. He smiled at Wren, beads of moisture covering his face. Wren held his stare and tried to stay calm, waiting for an answer. Ball had not dodged his question.
“You and Ravien can leave,” Ball broke the silence, “rather, I believe you will leave when the Sunan army sets sail. It took great effort, great sacrifice,” he glanced down at his chubby hands, “but I convinced His Excellency that you may be released from your cell. The only conditions are that you will work with me, organizing our supplies for the journey, and you will, and—”
Ball stood suddenly and pulled Wren up. He nodded toward the bottom of the stairs, where three men were approaching them. Unlike most the Sunan men, they wore black instead of white.
“Those are Malam’s men,” Ball explained as he led Wren back into the bazaar. “Malam is one of His Excellency’s three advisors, and along with Ilias, one of the Sunan high priests. Malam opposed me when I requested your freedom. He extracted a heavy compromise.”
“What compromise?” Wren asked.
“Well, the other conditions for you leaving Sunan result from the compromise with Malam. You will not like this, so before I say more, I need some assurance from you. I have staked much on this.”
“Assurance from me?” Wren tried to stay calm, but Ball was the betrayer. He was the one who should be offering assurance.
“We can talk more in the carriage.” The merchant’s face was red as he continued leading Wren through the merchants. When they had reached the other side, Ball looked back. The three men in black were nowhere to be seen. “Let’s go.” Ball climbed into the carriage, and Wren followed.
“Do not let that happen again,” Ball demanded once they were inside. Wren had never seen the merchant so serious. “Never challenge me in front of my fellow Sunans. I assure you that unless you do exactly as I say, you will die before the sun sets, and your wife will be raped and ravaged until she submits. I am your only chance.”
Wren boiled inside but held it in. “I’m listening.”
“I am afraid we have little time,” Ball said. “We go now to visit His Excellency in the palace, and all will be better for you if you pretend you do not know Ravien when you see her.”
“When will I see her?” Wren interrupted.
“Probably soon, when you bow before His Excellency and declare your faith in him.” Ball hesitated, as if waiting for an answer.
“I can bow,” Wren said, “I can say words.” He remembered swearing to Tryst months before while meaning none of it. He was coming to this oath-breaking too easily, but whatever it took to protect Ravien. “What else?” He asked.
Ball took a deep breath. “Malam and Ilias have long vied for favor with His Excellency. They are both high priests, faithful to His Excellency, but their sects are very different. Ilias represents the sun sect of our faith. He believes in a god much like your Valemidas god, and he believes His Excellency is god’s appointed leader in this world. Malam represents the moon sect of our faith. He believes His Excellency and those before him are themselves god, or part of god. He holds to older, darker ways. I have long been a supporter of Ilias, not Malam. Our faiths—”
Ball paused as the carriage began to slow. “I will tell you more of that another time. I must tell you the other condition.”
“I’m still listening,” Wren said.
“I keep you under my watch,” Ball shrugged as if this was not his desire. “You see, Malam keeps Ravien under his watch. Ilias protested this. He wanted Ravien with him, and I think Malam did this to spite him. It is only a formality, though, because she seems to be staying close to His Excellency.”
Wren did not fully understand Ball’s words, but the tone was clear. This would not be a good thing. There were risks in this compromise, even if he could not see them.
“What do you mean that she is staying close?” Wren asked. The carriage had stopped.
“You will see for yourself soon,” Ball answered. “She will be in the palace, and you must not overreact at anything. Ignore her, bow to His Excellency and declare your faith in him. That will buy you and me more time.” Ball pulled back the curtain of the carriage. “Come, we must go.”
As they stepped out and walked through the palace gate, Wren’s mind raced through what he had heard. It was true he had no leverage, but he also could think of no reason why Ball would risk pulling him out of his cell and giving him some measure of freedom. Maybe he could trust Ball, up to a point.
Ball did not say anything else until they were standing outside gold doors as tall as four men. The doors had a massive sun imprinted in the center. Just as the guards outside began to pull the doors open, Ball whispered: “Make this humble and simple. No smiles, no defiance. Follow my lead.”
The warning gripped tightly as soon as Wren saw inside. It was a cavernous throne room, with enormous columns, gold everywhere, and enough soldiers to wage a war. They were aligned in tight rows on almost every square inch of the golden marble floor. Their spearheads were like a field of ripe corn. A path between the men led to a throne. It was a chair of pure gold set against the far wall.
Wren followed at Ball’s heels to the base of the throne, and he bowed to the floor when Ball did. He then went to his knees as Ball did and looked up. The boy ruler was not quite so young as Wren had thought upon first seeing him. His face almost looked gentle and kind in that moment. But then he spoke.
>
“My bird?” The boy’s voice was petulant and arrogant.
A woman dressed in the full black Sunan coverings stepped up the stairs to the side of the throne. The coverings were a light fabric, almost translucent. Wren could see the woman’s body underneath, lean and assured.
He realized it was Ravien a moment before she turned to look at him. Her eyes were all he could see. They might have signaled something, but he saw only recognition and mystery in the instant before she turned away and took the boy’s hand.
“My bird tells me you are a wealthy merchant in Valemidas, and you funded her travel here.” The boy king pulled Ravien closer to him and kissed her hand. “I thank you for that service and for the beauty it has brought me.” Wren felt his heart sink. “Between my captive princess and my own royal merchant,” the king continued, “you have strong allies. Malam and my soldiers would have me kill a Valemidan before we set sail. Should it be you?”
The boy looked away from Wren and out over the hall. He shouted something in the Sunan tongue, something short and rhythmic. The soldiers responded in unison with a shout that sounded almost the same.
“Because you may be put to some use, I will find another Valemidan if you declare your faith in me as your ruler and your god. Am I not merciful?”
“Say the words,” Ball said under his breath.
Wren kept his eyes on the ground and muttered, “I declare my faith in His Excellency and in Sunan.”
“That was hard to hear,” the boy king said. “Say it louder, Valemidan. And Ball, translate it for the hall.”
Wren looked up. Everyone’s eyes were on him. “I declare my faith,” he shouted, “in His Excellency and in Sunan.” The boy’s smile wavered.
Ball translated quickly, calmly. The soldiers shouted something in their tongue again, and the boy responded in kind.
“You may live, foreign merchant. Serve Ball well, or I’ll give my princess the honor of slitting your throat.”
The boy grinned down, taunting. He stood and put his arm around Ravien’s waist. It almost looked like she drew closer to him, compliant. She whispered something in his ear. He smiled.
Wren rose to his feet and moved forward. Something held him back by the shirt. He turned and saw Ball large and round as a boulder.
Ball said a few words up to His Excellency in a light, mocking voice. The boy laughed and waved them off.
Wren found himself being dragged out of the hall by his shirt. Ball had not loosened his grip. The boy ruler began to speak to the hall in a commanding voice. The soldiers looked ready for war.
Doubts filled Wren’s mind as Ball led him down palace halls. He knew Ravien could have good reasons for placating the boy, for drawing close to him. But it was not her way, it had never been her way. Part of Wren questioned her intentions from the start. She had wanted to come to Sunan, and he had funded it.
He assured himself that Ravien would not betray him. Their love was real; it had been too visceral to fade like a mirage in this desert place. But Ball had once been loyal, too.
He followed the waddling boulder and felt trust unraveling all around him. Trust was worth more than gold, and he had always had plenty of both. Now he felt bankrupt.
***
By evening, Wren’s temper had cooled and left a throbbing block of jealousy and hurt. He sat at a table and dipped his pen in ink. A blank note was before him. The night air was cool through the open windows. The lamps gave the whitewashed walls a rich luster. Ball’s estate made for a much finer prison.
Wren had been crafting these words in his mind, seeking the delicate balance of telling his brother all he needed to know while hiding the meaning from those who would inspect it. When Ball had agreed to arrange for its delivery, he had made no promises of keeping it secret. He did, however, consent to a messenger Wren trusted: Cid. He was a Sunan who knew the black market and could make sure the message reached his brother.
Jon,
The dark bird has landed on another’s shoulder.
Wren wrote meticulously on the small paper.
Her song is a spell, convincing when to fly and where to land.
At least, that was Wren’s hope. He restrained his hand from penning his next words: Her song pleases her perch, plays upon his desires. Those words were too revealing, and Wren’s feelings were not relevant. He dipped the pen back in the ink and continued.
The little bird flutters in a cage. He will go about his business with a ball under the sun.
Jon would know the little bird as Wren, the ball as Ball, and the sun as Sunan.
Tell our man the sun is at its zenith and setting soon toward the west. Stay the course, consider the coming dusk, and withhold no gold. Bright metals mean nothing inside the fire.
—her little bird
Wren set down the pen and waited for the ink to dry. Andor had to know that war was coming soon. Judging from the fleet in the harbor, Wren guessed the Sunans would come with forces tripling that of Valemidas. He hoped Ravien knew what she was doing. He had to believe it was all a game, but the throbbing in his head diminished his trust.
He folded the note and stood with it in hand. After stopping to pick up his empty wine glass and the empty bottle beside it, he walked to the door. He tapped the bottle against it, and the door opened a moment later.
The two guards standing in the hall outside pretended to be servants. Their hard faces gave them away almost as clearly as their spears.
“Take this to Ball,” Wren demanded, “and bring me more wine.”
The men looked at him with surprise at his orders. Neither budged.
Wren waved the note in their faces. “Ball said I was his honored guest. Do you always disobey his guests?”
One of the men said something in the Sunan tongue to the other. They rolled their eyes, but the man who spoke took the paper and the glass.
Wren went back into his room and fell onto the bed. It was going to take more than wine and sleep to ease this throbbing.
Chapter 11
THE STRANGER
“I opened myself to the
gentle indifference of the world.
Finding it so much like myself –
so like a brother, really –
I felt that I had been happy
and that I was happy again.”
Mersault and I had talked for hours, days, months. We talked of nothingness in all the ways we could. I had come to accept his company—the fits of laughter and aloof stares. Everything was a grasping after the wind, he would say. In our short lives, he would ask, what was better than to eat, drink, and enjoy our works? I had no answers to questions like that.
Our attic could almost have become a home, if not for the smell. It smelled like burnt hair, excrement, and dead rats. Only it was worse than that, because they were dead men, not rats.
We left rarely, when our stomachs demanded it. Mersault had been right about the food. We would go to the central square of the Gloaming together and wait for a falling. When it came, there were no longer any new men. There were baskets, full baskets, of real food. Cain’s men, the only armed men, would gather armloads, but it was too much for them to carry. Crumbs would fall as they hauled their loads to the tower where I had lived and reigned. Once they were inside, Mersault and I and other grey men would rush to pick up what we could. A few fights broke out, but not as they once had. Mersault and I would take the food we grabbed and return to the attic hideaway.
After I lost count of the fallings, at some number in the twenties, something began to tug me back toward Cain and the tall building. I pretended it was just Zarathus, my sword, restless for action. I pretended I could be satisfied with enough food and more discussions of nothingness in an attic with a lunatic.
Pretend as I might, there was nowhere to run from the truth. A simple life of food and talk would never satisfy me. I wanted power. I had always wanted power. I no longer craved it for power’s sake, but leading men was what I was born to do. Here in the Gloaming
I had ruled men like a strong wind rules the waves. They would obey me on the surface. Underneath, below my influence, their motions were governed by something more powerful. Survival was the moon to their tides. It was such a base reason to go on living.
I wondered whether the Gloaming made clear what had always been true. Maybe men were all born fallen, and a terrible place like this only exposed our inner natures. We were harsh, unforgiving, and selfish. Men also wanted to survive in the world above, but everything up there was softer, colorful, and better smelling. Down here men needed more order. They needed me to lead them.
And so I decided to fight my way back into command. Mersault had only laughed when I told him I was going to kill Cain and regain power.
Cain had given me the opportunity. After he had attacked me, he continued securing his position and gathering followers. He probably knew I was still alive, and that I would come back for him. Maybe that fear had motivated him, for he had called a meeting. At the prior falling, his men had announced that this meeting would follow the next falling and take place at the top of the tall building. The announcement had sounded almost civilized.
Mersault came with me to the meeting. We followed the hushed voices and the flow of shadowy figures into the building and up the stairs. The gathering was on the fifth floor, below my former home. Mersault and I moved to a corner of the room, where we had the wall behind us.
A few dozen men were there. They kept their distance from each other, but no one attacked. I guessed their stomachs were not empty. They each tried to be no one, to be some fleck of dust on the floor. Their clothes were ragged. A few wore nothing but grime. They held bones and other crude weapons.
Cain stood in the center of the room. He towered over the others and missed grazing the ceiling by mere inches. After a few weeks here, no one shines as a physical specimen. But a man like Cain wore scars and dirt as if he was born with them, and the horrors of this place only fed his disposition. He glimmered with brutality. Still, I saw the subtle signs of his stress—his nervous eyes, his shoulder still stiff from the wound I had inflicted. Leading men was no light burden, especially men like these.
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