by AB Bradley
Olessa crossed her arms and thought. “Gia, Gia, always so brave when bravery would make you look like a saint, yet here you are standing before me and not on that skiff with your friend.”
The woman wheeled around and backhanded Gia with her bare hand. “Do not presume to tell me what I believe and what I must do. Be careful to remember your place in the world.”
Mara winced as Gia winced. The girl turned to the side, meeting Mara’s eyes. I tried, they said.
Madame Olessa reached into her dress pocket with a sigh. She produced a corked vial filled with glittering gold. Uncorking the container, she dipped her pinky in the powder and shoved her powdery nail toward Mara. “Put this under your tongue. Try to remember your wits when the glimmer takes hold. If you tell anyone you took this and they find their way to my house, I will deny I ever knew a moon maiden named Mara. Understood?”
Slowly, Mara nodded. She opened her mouth and leaned toward Olessa. The woman dropped the powder beneath Mara’s raised tongue.
The glimmer tingled against the soft flesh beneath her tongue. It sent dazzling sparks racing down her spine. Colors gained crisp clarity. Her aches and pains ebbed.
Mara straightened. Olessa kicked the skiff with her heel, and the boat slipped away from the House of Sin and Silk.
“The glimmer won’t last all night,” Olessa said. “Best hurry, or you’ll collapse somewhere in an alley and be the plaything of every drunk and scoundrel in the city.”
Mara nodded politely, even as Olessa’s warnings fed another log to the fire of her fear. She turned to her friend and waved. “Goodbye, Gia!”
“You will do this, I know you will!”
“Goodbye, Madame Olessa!”
Her madame turned and strolled casually toward the front of the barge as if nothing had occurred. The woman paused at the bend. She lingered there as if she wished to speak, to call reassuring words to Mara as the distance grew between them.
Olessa stiffened. She darted around the deck and disappeared. Mara sighed and turned away, her eyes set toward the long, crowded docks of Sollan.
The House of Sin and Silk retreated behind the bobbing labyrinth of the Floatwaif. They passed between a line of carved statues of Sollan’s past kings, a barrier that separated the Floatwaif from the docks so larger ships sailing into the city wouldn’t shatter the tangled barges.
Tolstes rowed into the open water. Not a word slipped from his lips, and his eyes kept well away from Mara. She didn’t know if it was his fear or pity that kept him silent. She suspected it might be both.
His oars dipped into the glassy waters. They came out, tossing droplets that rippled the smooth waves the skiff made on its journey to the shore.
“I’m sorry, Tolstes,” she finally said.
His bright, blue eyes flashed toward her. “It’s fine. It really isn’t your fault. Sometimes the gods just spite us. It is the price we pay as their creation.”
“I didn’t mean to bring any of this on you. I just—what’s that?”
Mara’s eyes caught something ahead bobbing on the dark waters. Because Tolstes rowed at the prow, he faced the stern and couldn’t see the silhouette approaching.
Frowning, the strong boy turned and peered over his wide shoulder. “Looks like another skiff. Probably heading to a party on the Floatwaif, maybe even going to Olessa’s. Keep your head down and don’t say a word.”
Mara did as she was told. She cradled her child and took deep, calming breaths as she cowered in the shadow of her burlap hood.
“Ho!” Tolstes called. He rested the oars on his knees. “On your way to celebrate another plentiful harvest?”
She heard no reply. Mara held her son tighter against her chest. “Six, keep us safe,” she whispered.
Tolstes cleared his throat. “You’re coming awful close, friend. Mind giving us some room? I’ve got a sick one here, and I’d hate to ruin your festival with a fever.”
Still, not a single voice answered the strong boy’s call. The skiff rocked as Tolstes came to his feet. No strong boy carried a sword because Olessa feared they may accidentally scar her maidens in a tiff. A strong boy’s skill at brawling, however, held no equal in Floatwaif.
Mara risked a glance up. The strange skiff floated close enough to paint its passengers in starlight. Terror jolted Mara’s glimmer-fueled veins. “Tolstes, watch out!”
The eunuch tensed. Silver flashed from the strange skiff. Tolstes’ hands went to his throat. He gagged and coughed and fell into the sea in a splash of fear and foam, leaving Mara and her stillborn child alone in a rocking boat facing the sailor Kard.
The man’s dark eyes focused on Mara. He grinned, bending his serpent of a scar along his cheek. He stepped on the prow of his boat and leaned forward. “Well, well, if it isn’t the moon maiden from the House of Sin and Silk. How fortunate to find a whore so far from her hag’s protection.”
Two other sailors manned the oars of his skiff. Mara saw the starlight glitter on their toothy smiles.
Her gaze darted to the water. Tolstes floated to the surface, eyes wide and dulled. His boyish cheeks paled from the blood draining from his throat, a gift of the dagger sticking from it.
“What do you want, Kard?” Mara asked in a voice much more confident than she thought possible. “I have nothing to give you. I’m on an ashwalk, and…”
She lifted her chin and glared at the man down her nose. “…Unless you’d like to dream with the alp tonight, you’ll let me go.”
His companions laughed. Kard snorted and crossed his arms over his burly chest. “I don’t fear tales told to little shits before their bedtime. I’ve seen the alp’s sunken cities. I know their ruin. Your superstitious madame might get her wig knotted thinkin’ about them, but I’ve sailed the seas and faced what really lives in Urum’s shadows. There’re greater things to fear than ghosts, and those things fear me.”
“What do you want?” she asked again, her voice harder.
Kard picked dirt from his nail and flicked it in the water. “I knew you were special when I saw you. We all know you girls slurp that ebon orchid. It’s a nasty draught, ya’ know. Works like a charm every time. In fact, I’ve never heard of the stuff failing. Not once, and I’ve been to many a pleasure house in my day. So when I saw you, I knew something must be odd with the pregnant maiden at the House of Sin and Silk.”
Mara glanced at their surroundings. Not a single other boat disturbed the waters between the Floatwaif and the docks. For all the people flooding Sollan’s streets and barges, she was more alone than ever.
“Rare things happen, Kard.”
“They do. When they do, people take notice. Important people, if you get my drift.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Why Mara, how unfortunate of you to live in Olessa’s silky prison out of earshot of the happenings in the world. You’re a wanted woman. A very wanted woman.”
“What?” Mara recoiled and nearly fell into the sea. “Why? I’ve done nothing!”
“You’ve done something, that’s for sure. I heard whispers out in the street the king’s eye has turned to the Floatwaif, looking for a mother and child. He sent his serpent priests from that cult of his looking for her. Those same whispers say any who bring the woman’s child to them will be rewarded with the mother’s weight in gold.”
“But why would the king’s guard want me? I haven’t done—”
“You?” Kard laughed and slapped his knee, and the other men joined him. “They don’t want you. They want the child. You can die for all they care. You’re a moon maiden. That’s less than nothin’ in their eyes. And really, who’ll miss you? Gia? She’s probably already forgotten all about you. She’s likely tickling some bloated whale of a highborn or three, glad to see you and that cursed corpse out of the way.”
“No, no.” Mara clutched her son tight against her neck and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Give it up. Maybe if you hand him over real nice, I’ll give you a little tickle of my own.”
<
br /> Mara heard the hunger in his voice. She knew he would never be gentle, and once he finished, she would float alongside Tolstes until the sharks stripped her to the bone. But worse than all of that, the despicable sailor would have her son.
“I won’t let him have you,” she whispered. “Please, Six, Burning Mother, any of you, help me. I will finish the ashwalk. I swear I will. Just please, give me the chance. I’m at your mercy.”
She waited for Kard’s rough, calloused grip. She waited to fall into the cold, unforgiving waters. She waited for the coral sharks to nibble at her feet.
But Kard’s grip never came. No waters embraced her, and no sharks tasted her flesh.
Mara opened an eye. Kard still stood at the prow of his skiff, his two companions holding the oars behind him with trembling grips. No longer did the sailor have the confident, hungry glimmer in his eyes. No longer did his chest swell with arrogant pride.
The color drained from his skin. “S—Silent son…” he stammered, falling back into the rowboat.
A shadow slipped over Mara like the boughs of a tree sheltering a weary nomad. Mara’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. She cupped her son’s head and slowly looked behind her.
A towering figure stood upon the calm waters. A black drape covered the silent son from the crown of his head to the water’s surface, making him appear to grow from the Sapphire Sea as a tree grows from soil. Like all priests of the Loyal Father, he wore a pale mask where his face should be.
He lifted an arm. A porcelain hand extended from the black. Its palm flattened before Kard’s skiff, and the boat gently careened away, picking up speed as it headed for the distant, open sea.
The sailors paddled frantically. Kard yelled curses at them, his voice growing more panicked as the boat glided in circles toward the horizon.
Mara sat as a statue. She had never seen a silent son and only knew they served the Loyal Father. Neither had she ever seen an act of magic.
Gathering her courage, she turned as calmly as she could toward the cloaked figure. “Did you hear my prayer?”
The silent son said nothing. She knew he wouldn’t. Those of their order bound their voices to silence until death claimed them. Still, she had to try.
Like a ghost, the silent son wafted toward her. He reached the edge of the boat.
Mara cowered in his shadow. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
He extended a hand sculpted from starlight and reached for her. She winced and closed her eyes, pressing her son against her bosom.
“Please,” she whispered.
A touch soft as silk and light as a feather caressed her jaw. She opened her eyes, and they met the expressionless stare of the silent son’s mask. The man’s long fingers traced the curve of her jaw and stopped at her chin.
He cupped her cheek and squeezed so gently, she almost didn’t notice. Straightening, the silent son grasped the lip of her skiff. He pushed the boat, and it glided toward the shore as if the vessel skated over ice.
The silent son shrank against the dark table of the Sapphire Sea. A few moments later, he disappeared, and the skiff came to rest upon Sollan’s rocky shore.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sollan
Alone on the edge of a raucous tempest of revelry, Mara stepped from Olessa’s small rowboat and onto Sollan’s rough and unforgiving shore. So many crowded the docks the land seemed to sway with the drunken dancing of men and women working their way through foaming mugs of ale or tin cups sloshing with saltwater gin. Multicolored ribbons and banners of Harvest Festival fluttered above the packed and winding roads leading deeper into the city.
Mara trembled and wrapped her arms around her son. The city had always been so close. She had often dreamed of visiting. Yet standing on the dark shore, staring at the streams of bodies laughing and rocking to the rhythm of drums and mandolins, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into the sky and paddle back to the House of Sin and Silk.
Despite her fervent searching, she spotted no children with knives or villainous scoundrels licking their teeth within Lower Sollan’s shadows. “Sollan’s not evil at all.”
She smiled, the spark of her courage gathering strength. “They’re celebrating. It is a happy time. It is celebration. I will save my son’s soul and be back home long before dawn.”
Her sandals crunched over the shore’s smooth rocks as she stepped away from the waves lapping at her ankles. She glanced over her shoulder, peering through the great ships moored to the docks. Beyond their bobbing hulls, the empty sea stretched to the titan at the bay’s mouth. To the side, the Floatwaif glittered with the lights fastened around the small boats.
She imagined Gia gazing at the shoreline, praying to the Six that Mara landed upon the rocks unharmed.
“It was close, Gia,” Mara said, “that bastard Kard killed Tolstes. He would have killed me, too, but a silent son saved me. He used magic, Gia. Maybe it isn’t really leaving the world. Maybe if you really do believe in the Six, they can still grant you the power.”
Her gaze lingered on the stretch of water where the strong boy’s body fell. Whispering a quick prayer for the eunuch, Mara turned from the world she knew and faced the strange one before her. She darted from the docks, carefully avoiding clusters of sailors downing shots or crying out toasts that boasted of their exploits.
Mara stepped out of the shadows and onto the first stony avenue of Lower Sollan. Scents of fried shrimp seasoned with paprika tickled her nose, the inviting aroma drifting from a noisy tavern a few steps from where she stood. Her belly rumbled and gurgled like an old bog, and for the first time that night, she felt the empty, ravenous pit within her stomach.
Swallowing, she peered into the city rising before her, graceful towers thrusting against the sparkling sky, ropes intertwined between them hanging glowing lanterns from their lines. The ground sloped upward, revealing Upper Sollan in the distance, and beyond it on a raised plateau, the tall wall of Hightable where the Mother’s temple waited.
A fish merchant leaned against his stall and stared into a cup of wine. A wooden pipe hung from his swollen lip as he mumbled quietly to himself.
“Sir?” Mara took a shaky step toward the man. “Can you tell me the quickest way to Hightable? I’m heading for the Mother’s temple, but I’m afraid I don’t know the way.”
“Hm?” The man’s lips tightened around his pipe. His eyes drifted from his wine and focused on Mara. “Brave girl to head so high when Good King Sol’s got his blades out for—”
His bleary gaze looked Mara up and down. He stiffened with a sneer. “Ashwalk pilgrim, are you? Out of my face with that dead thing in your arms. I’ll not have any demon alp or king’s blades in my room tonight.”
“Just point, and I’ll leave. I just—”
“Out!” He threw his cup at Mara, and a burgundy trail of wine lashed out like a striking serpent. The wine splashed against her filthy cloak as the cup careened over her shoulder and smashed against a wall.
The man thrust his shoulders back and hooked his thumbs into his belt. She caught the glint of steel tucked behind the strap of leather.
Her eyes widened, and she spun from the merchant.
The long knives of the docks. They really do exist.
She bolted headlong into the city and nearly crashed into a roving band of sailors. They recoiled when they saw her. One spit and another cursed. The third sneered and licked his lips in a way that said, you might be fun.
Mara twisted from them, her fingers tightening on her babe. Their gazes latched onto her back like insects hungry for her blood.
“You see that?” one hissed. “That was a moon maiden’s collar on her neck.”
“Aye, and one whose womb’s been poisoned. The serpents are right. The pleasure houses are a curse for any who have a taste for their sweet sin. You won’t be seeing me out on the Floatwaif any time soon, no sir.”
Mara frowned. She did not look back or stop and tell them how harmless the pleasure barge really was. No one spoke m
uch of the Serpent Sun cult in the House of Sin and Silk, but she did not like hearing how the priests spoke of her home in the wider world.
Ahead, a juggler tossed flaming swords high above his head, the flickering weapons a hypnotic pattern that brought claps and silver coins tossed into the hat at his feet. When she drew near, his merry face melted into fright. He backed against the wall and lifted his hands, his flaming weapons clattering to the ground.
“Get away, woman!” He slapped his hands against the wall and searched the bricks like he hoped his fingers might find a door. “I’ll be a poor man tonight if I’ve got an ashwalk pilgrim stained with piss and wine skulking in my shadow.”
“Could you please just—”
He swiped a sword from the ground and pointed its burning tip at her chest. “I said get!”
Mara twisted away. She ran through the crowds, doing her best to ignore the gasps and curses and old fruit and fish heads hurled at her back. She ran into an alley. Its calm shadows embraced her as beads of sweat traced cool lines down her back.
She wove between piles of rotting garbage and ignored the hissing cats with eyes glittering like jewels dipped in hateful poison. Huddling in the corner, she sobbed, a pool of spoiled water soaking her burlap. “Olessa was right, Gia. The world is full of hate. I can’t make this walk. I am alone.”
Mara adjusted her son’s swaddling and gently stroked his soft temple. “We are alone.”
A small figure traipsed into the alley. Mara caught her breath and stared at the silhouette drawing closer with each silent step.
Her imagination painted features on the child, giving it pale skin and eyes hollowed like a skull. It grinned with pointed teeth, and behind its back it held a long, sharp blade with her name etched on the steel.
The child edged closer. It stopped barely an arm’s length from Mara. She could see its chest rise and fall with its breaths even though shadows hid its features.
“Have you come to kill me?” she asked. “I have nothing. I am an ashwalk pilgrim. I am a curse to you if you stay nearby. The alp will come for us both.”
