by AB Bradley
The child cocked its head. “I seen you come into the alley,” he said in a light and scratchy voice. “I haven’t come to kill you. No, not that at all.”
“Then you have no long knife?”
The boy giggled and bent to Mara. “I wish. I’ve got a dagger, but it’s a little dull and could use a bit o’ cleaning. I like to keep it rusty, though. Folks don’t want to lose a leg to rot from a beggar boy’s bad blade. My name’s Tag.”
He had a little arrow of a nose stained by dirt that also stained his dimpled cheeks. He flashed a wide smile, slipping the pink curtain of his lips from his broken front tooth.
Tag extended a hand. “Who might you be? I mean, I know you’re an ashwalk pilgrim and all, but you’ve got a real name, right? One you go by on the regular?”
“Mara…” Slowly, she took his hand.
He squeezed, and she gasped, yanking her hand from his grip. “Your finger!”
“It’s missing. The price of bread’s pretty high if you’re caught without the coin for it.” He slid next to her and lifted his hand. A stump wiggled where his index finger should have wagged.
“They say in the early days of the Third Sun,” he continued, “that the priests of the Gentle Lover could regrow fingers and sometimes even arms or legs. These days with magic as it is, I doubt they could grow a nail. It’s too bad. I’d have gone to the temple and said all my prayers and then some if they could bring my finger back.”
“I’ve never seen magic,” she said. “Not until tonight. I think—I think a silent son used some to help me get to shore.”
He shrugged and lowered his hand onto his lap. “It’s nothing special if you ask me. They say it’s dying. It’s why the priests of the Six keep to their temples. They’re afraid if people know the truth, they’ll turn their backs to the Six. Can’t say I blame folk when there’re other faiths out there with gods who listen.”
“I’ve only ever prayed to the Six. Madame Olessa wouldn’t allow for any other gods.”
“Madame? You’re a moon maiden, then. I thought I caught a glimpse of brass around your neck when I saw you on the road.” His lips split in a cockeyed grin. “Yeah, there’re many other gods out there, and with the Six’s power what the way it is, I hear about more every day. Even the king’s got himself a cult. They call themselves the Serpent Sun. Fitting I guess. There’s supposed to be some kind of crazy monster lizard holed up in his castle with him.”
“I’ve…I’ve heard of the serpents. I don’t like snakes very much.”
“They don’t like moon maidens much either I bet. I hear they’ve got wicked powers, and the snakes they wear around their necks have a bite that’ll drop even the toughest sailor in a breath.”
A shiver raced down Mara’s spine cold as ice melting down her back. She licked her cracked and peeling lips and glanced at the boy from within the safety of her hood. “What do you want, Tag?”
The boy blinked. His chin dipped to his chest. “I don’t want a thing.”
Her mother’s instincts wanted so badly to embrace him, but her fear held her back. “I’m sorry. It’s just you’re the first kind person I’ve met in Sollan. I’ve never been to the city before, and it’s odd for one so young to know so much of the Six and the ashwalk.”
He sucked in his breath, lifting his chin. “It probably does seem odd. You hear about ashwalks, but it’s not often you see the pilgrims in the flesh. When I saw you, it reminded me of…it, ah, it reminded me of someone I knew.”
The boy’s fingers fidgeted in his lap. She sensed the knotted ball of emotions twisting in his heart.
“Who did I remind you of?”
Tag turned to her and flashed his broken smile. “My momma was an ashwalk pilgrim. She had my sister, but my sister never took a breath. I helped cloak her in burlap and ash, and together we walked to the Mother’s temple. Well, almost to it.”
Dread sunk into her stomach like a weighted fishing line. “And where is your mother now?”
His smile faded. “She never made it. We were robbed on the way. They had a blade, and we tried to run, but the blade was faster than Mom’s feet.”
Tears glimmered in his little almond eyes. “I was fast enough to outrun them, though. I made it. I’m very quick. I’m very smart. My momma always told me so. She told me to run and never stop. I never have, except maybe when I see another pilgrim like her on the road.”
“I bet you’re very fast.” Mara smiled, and it was the first real smile she had in a city of unfriendly roads and dark alleys.
A thought sprung like a weed in her mind. “Tag, do you know how to reach the Mother’s temple?”
The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Of course I do! It’s in Hightable, and it’s the grandest thing you’ll ever see! Marble pillars carved like women, ceilings so high you could never reach them, the Mother’s statue, and at her feet the Ever-Burning Flame.”
“Could you—could you take me there?”
He bit his lip, his brows pinching together in a boyish frown. “I don’t know…we’ve got to go through Upper Sollan first. The nice roads aren’t paved for poor folk like us. The serpents don’t want us there and neither do the nobles.” His gaze drifted to his missing finger. “If they catch us, I could be down to three fingers. Probably worse.”
“Oh.” Mara stared blankly at the alley wall, and a silence settled over them even as the city thrummed with the flutes and drums of the festival.
If a child who knew the streets feared the journey to the temple, she could only imagine what might be waiting for a stranger to Sollan like her. She imagined her own hand missing its finger. Olessa would never take her back then, even if she somehow finished the ashwalk.
Tag sighed. He jumped to his feet, brushing the grime from his hands onto pants that Mara suspected held much more filth. “My momma never reached the fire. Maybe it’s a sign from her that I take you now. Maybe that’s what I need to do to put their souls to rest.”
“But it’s dangerous, Tag. I could never ask you—”
He waved her off, spinning toward the alley exit. “We can do it, Mara. Trust me. I’ll get us both there and back with no fingers missing. No more than when we have left, that is.”
Her heartbeat quickened. She grinned despite the pain in her throbbing ankles and the looseness in her tired knees. “You are a good boy. Thank you for showing me kindness.”
Tag paused just where the shadow’s alley met the bright lane, his back still facing Mara. “Everyone could use a little kindness.” He glanced over his shoulder and flashed his brows. “You hungry?”
Mara’s stomach rumbled. She tightened her rough cloak, and with her child cradled in her arm, she followed Tag into the bright roads of Sollan.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Brass Collar
Tag led Mara through the winding roads of Lower Sollan. Crowds packed the avenues and spilled from Sollan’s many taverns with wine-stained lips and laughter bubbling from their slurring tongues. Joy hung in the air, carried by the song of countless drums, flutes, and mandolins casting their notes toward the heavens.
Only magic could keep her invisible among the multitudes, but only priests new such spells, and so far, Mara hadn’t seen a single one. In fact, the only clergy of the Six she’d encountered was her quiet savior on the calm waters beyond the docks.
She and Tag paused behind a dive of a bar, its only sign the scratched painting of a grapevine on its wall. Men and women drifted in and out its doors, eyes glassy from wine, steps unsteady from their many drinks.
Mara noticed Tag staring from their hiding spot at the train of visitors filtering inside. His little fingers danced over a crate of rotten food. She saw the longing in his eyes. She could practically hear him praying to the Six to gift him a life like the ones he watched.
He licked his lips, and his stomach grumbled. Mara frowned and gently clasped the back of his neck. “You really are hungry, aren’t you?”
“A little.” His chin dipped to his belly. �
��I haven’t eaten in a few days, and the, ah, the food smells really good.”
“You don’t eat every day?”
The boy smirked and shook his head. “I wish! They hate us beggars more than strays, even in Lower Sollan where the richest are still a little poor. I usually sneak through the trash for my meals after everyone’s gone to bed and hope the cats and curs haven’t got the good stuff first. I had…I ‘d hoped tonight would be so busy, maybe I could snag something still a little fresh.”
Mara’s belly rumbled with his words. While Olessa’s glimmer gave her energy and focus, her body still cried for sustenance.
The night was young. With Tag as her guide, they would reach the temple long before dawn. A scrap or two of food might even make the journey quicker.
Tag looked up at Mara, his small, almond eyes glittering with the all the innocence of a child. “Do you have coin? Maybe we could get a bowl of stew or a few fried shrimp?” His eyes widened as he hung his hope on his words. “Maybe even a glass of wine!”
Mara smiled sadly and caressed her fingers down his dirty jaw. “I’m sorry, but I have no coin. I don’t have anything of value except…” her hand drifted from the boy to her brass collar. Her nails clinked on the metal. “…This is really the only valuable thing of mine, and I don’t even own it. It’s Olessa’s. Everything is hers.”
“What’s it made of?” he asked.
“Plated brass. I don’t think it’s worth very much.”
“It would be a meal at least. Maybe a few. Do you think…?”
“No.” Mara clenched her collar. “I—I could never. My madame would have my head if I returned home without it.”
“Oh.” His chin dipped as his tattered shoe toyed with the dirty stones. “Then let’s keep going to the temple. There’s always tomorrow for food.”
He darted from the alley. Mara propped her child against her chest and bolted after the boy. Her stomach gurgled as she wove in and out of crowds that gasped and cursed when they saw the pilgrim cloaked in ashen burlap.
She could never give up her collar. It had hung around her neck for years, a symbol of her station and life aboard the House of Sin and Silk. Yet, she could not shake the boy’s disappointed look and the knowledge that he hadn’t eaten in days. He risked his fingers to bring her to the Mother’s temple, but she couldn’t risk a simple collar?
His mother died a pilgrim, Mara thought, and he risks gods know what to take you to the temple. Are you such a selfish woman you wouldn’t help a child who’s helping you and yours?
They reached another alley and slipped into its shadows. A man sat against the wall, covered in tattered rags. His eyes were blue and clouded, and his matted, silver hair stained with dirt and refuse. Long, deep cracks carved channels in his spotted skin, and one of his legs rested at an awkward angle. He toyed with a tin cup but otherwise ignored the two newcomers to his space if he even realized they were there at all.
A long line of people passed like a slow centipede in the lane. Mara watched them from the darkness, her arms wrapped around her child.
“There are too many of them,” Tag whispered. “We can wait here until they pass.”
Tag eyed the man warily before turning to the trash piled deeper in the alley. He pressed his hand against his stomach and forced a smile. “I think I’ll look through the trash a little. Maybe there’s some meat that isn’t rotten. If I find it, I’ll bring some to you.”
He took a step toward the alley’s back wall. Mara cursed herself and clasped his bony shoulder, pulling him to a halt. “Wait.”
The boy looked behind him. “What’s wrong?”
Sighing, she closed her eyes and brought her hand to her collar. “We both need food or we’ll never make it. If I give you my maiden’s collar, will you get us something nice to eat?”
His eyes lit up with his toothy smile. “You would do that? You really would? Even if your madame will be really mad?”
“I…I will. Olessa’s not so bad,” she said. No need to worry the boy with the beating she would get for losing the collar.
Mara took a seat near the blind beggar. The old man wheezed softly, mumbling incomprehensibly to himself. Mara placed her son in her lap and searched for the collar’s clasp. Her fingers found the chain.
She closed her eyes and took a breath. Tag showed her such kindness when no one else in Sollan would. He lived a hard life, having lost his mother so young and a finger soon after just to fill his belly. Despite his past, despite the danger Mara placed him in by taking the boy on her ashwalk, he still helped.
“Olessa, forgive me,” she whispered. “I have nothing else to give, but I give it to one who needs it more than I.”
Mara unclasped her collar and pulled it from her neck. She looked at her chest, at the olive stain above her breasts where the plating mixed with her sweat and colored her skin sickly green.
Unburdened by the metal, she rolled her neck. It surprised her how light and free her shoulders felt. The soft breeze rolling in from the sea cooled the sweat glistening where the collar once laid and sent a tingle down her spine.
Mara held the jewelry in her hand. She stared at the tarnished metal glinting in the dim light and at her warped reflection on its surface. “I’ve worn this for so many years, I do not remember what it felt like to have it off.”
“How’s it feel?” Tag asked.
“It feels…” Mara smiled and met the boy’s gaze. “It feels nice.”
She handed Tag the collar. He took it in his hands as if a queen had just given him her crown. He clutched it against his chest and bounced on his heels. “I can almost taste the food!”
“It will be a good meal we share. Now hurry and find us something tasty,” she said, pinching his cheek.
He nodded enthusiastically as he shuffled toward the alley’s exit. “You can just wait here for me. I’ll be right back, okay?”
“How long do you think it will take? I have to finish the ashwalk before dawn, so we can’t spend the whole festival nibbling on soft fin bass.”
The boy’s gaze shot up, and he beamed a happy smile. “Not long, Mara.”
He turned his back to her and glanced over his shoulder. “Thank you.”
The boy pierced the crowd like a dagger through flesh and disappeared behind a shifting wall of legs. She licked her lips and tried not to imagine buttered shrimp melting on her tongue, a little bite of pepper hitting her throat as she savored the taste.
Mara plucked her child from her lap. She kissed his soft, tiny brow and ran her fingers through hair soft as spun silk and so dark, it might have been threaded from night itself.
The crowds passed the alley, coming and going in an endless train. Mara stared at the exit, searching, thinking every child she spotted might be Tag returning with an armful of steaming food.
“I was a soldier once,” the old man croaked.
A bolt of fear jolted Mara from her thoughts. She turned to the geezer. He stared dully into his bent and rusted tin cup. His wrinkled, bony finger ran lightly over the rim.
Mara scooted out of arm’s reach and shifted her son to another shoulder. “You…you were?”
He smacked his lips and squinted. Deep cracks spread from the corners of his eyelids. “That I was. I served the old king long before his son took the throne. Those were different times. Better times. The things I saw, the places I went, they would amaze you. Sollan is a wondrous city and the jewel Eloia, but let me tell you a secret. Urum holds many more jewels far more beautiful than Sollan. Some you can find sailing the seas. Some are buried and better left forgotten.”
Mara swallowed the lump down her sandpaper throat. “I’m sure the world holds many secrets. The titan’s bones are proof of that.”
He cackled, picking up his tin and shaking it, but no coins rattled within the container. “Don’t worry, girl. There’s no need to fear a nearly blind beggar. Unless you fear my cup, the fine weapon that it is.”
She relaxed a little, smiling sheepishly. “
I’m sorry. I just haven’t met many kind people. The boy Tag has been the only one, really. I should not have judged you harshly. It’s just—I’m not what people want to see on Harvest Festival.” Her eyes watered and her chin trembled. “I haven’t had the best night.”
“Ah, but I can hear you’ve got a decent head on your shoulders. Trust your first instinct, my friend. You should judge me harshly. You are a stranger to this city, correct? Mara they call you, if these hairy old ears of mine heard your name right? Do you have a family name?”
“Yes and no. They call me Mara, but I…my madame is my family, but her family’s name isn’t mine. Who might you be, brave soldier?”
The man grinned, flashing a broken wall of bent and yellowed teeth. “Galladus Fellinus. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said with a courteous nod.
“You as well, Galladus.”
“As I was saying, I saw many wonders on my travels before my eyes betrayed me and left me to this life. I saw cities greater than Sollan even though their walls had long since crumbled. I saw creatures I thought nothing more than myth and legend. I witnessed the magic of the Six when it was at its zenith, and priests were feared more than any good king.”
“It sounds like you lived a wonderful life. I’m from the Floatwaif, but I’ve never been in Sollan. Well, I was in Sollan once, I think. I don’t remember much other than my madame’s brother and maybe a street. His smile…I do remember that. But then I was at the House of Sin and Silk, and that was my life.”
“Interesting.” Galladus smacked his lips. “And here you are on Sollan’s grandest night, a night of celebration. But it is no celebration for you, a woman wrapped in unforgiving burlap stained by unwanted ash. It is a long journey for an ashwalk pilgrim. Longer now these days with the eyes of a king on you who has no love of the Six.”
Mara’s grip tightened on her child. “I know the city is dangerous, but Tag will guide me. We will make it to Hightable and the temples, and I will give my son to the Mother’s Ever-Burning Flame. Everything will be fine.”
