by AB Bradley
The silent son disappeared within the darkness. Mara slowed in the deepest depths of the shadows and searched the black with her free hand. The wall rose not inches from her face, and yet, she found no solid surface.
Mara leaned into the darkness. “Silent son? Are you there? Will you take my hand and lead me through?”
No one answered.
Mara licked her lips. She glanced behind her. Guards’ harried voices grew ever louder. She faced the black and stepped into it.
CHAPTER TEN
A Good King's Unkind Words
Mara stumbled from the shadows. She wheeled around and searched the darkness. Instead of an opening in the wall to Lower Sollan, now only thick, solid stone remained.
She spun back around, her rough burlap cloak itching her legs. If the silent son who opened the wall for her came through, he had either long since left or cloaked himself in invisibility. Mara had no idea if the man really could do that, but then again, before that night she’d never seen someone move a wall like a velvet curtain.
Tall apartments dotted with graceful balconies lined Upper Sollan’s wide avenues. Thin curtains fluttered from wide windows thrown open in the cool night air. Murmuring fountains quietly poured pure water from the mouths of lesser gods and creatures of the First and Second Suns. Tall pillars supported angled roofs tiled richly red, a stark contrast to the smooth marble of the homes and luxurious shops of the neighborhood.
None of the intricate fountains, graceful pillars, or thin veils billowing from the windows captured Mara’s heart more than the flowers. Lavender grew in great bushels on every corner. Poppies spread their brilliant petals beneath nearly every window. Wax flowers bobbed on their rigid stems, their tiny violet petals casting shadows over their spindly leaves.
“It is not a different neighborhood,” she said, looking to her son. “This is a different world.”
Mara closed her eyes and smiled as she lifted her chin. “And it smells wonderful!”
Tall poles set at even spaces lined the road. Bulbous lanterns grew from the poles like fungus. The lights cast a calm glow on the serene district and filled the air with a sense of tranquil security.
Mara stepped into the lane. Her smile quickly faded beneath the lanterns’ light. Despite the beauty, despite the tranquility, she did not belong. She was a splinter in a foot. She was a beggar at a ball. She was an other, and the people in that place would quickly mark her for it.
With her free hand, she clasped the hood that had fallen to her shoulders. She drew it over her head until its shadows locked her in their safety.
A light breeze played with her burlap and toyed with the dark locks protruding from her hood. She hoisted her babe against her collar and stalked forward, eyes casting about for any sign of soldier, or Six forbid, the frightening priestess with the foreign-sounding name and scowling mask.
“Silent son?” she whispered. “Where did you go?”
She waited in the quiet. A moth fluttered by. It rose to one of the lampposts and flapped around a lantern, desperately trying to find a way to the light it could never reach.
Mara cradled her child’s head. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath through her nose. She darted into the lane, passing a tall fountain of a woman pouring water from a vase.
“Where is everyone?” she wondered. Not a soul milled in the avenues, and not a single resident lingered outside their home. The music of Lower Sollan drifted from beyond the wall, but the tall barrier muted the merry tunes as they passed through hewn rock.
The road wound like a serpent through the city. Tall apartments with their overhanging roofs blocked most of her view, but she could tell she headed in the right direction. The homes grew taller, their columns crowned by more intricate vines of ivory. The gardens grew richer. The fountains became monuments to an artisan’s skill.
“Citizens,” a voice called from beyond a bend in the road. “Calling all citizens of the upper lanes. Your good king summons you. The good king calls!”
“Well at least I know there are actually people in Upper Sollan,” she said.
Mara slowed and twisted to the side of an apartment. She pressed her back against the wall and leaned toward the edge. Beyond, the lane spilled like the mouth of a river into a wide plaza. A crier stood upon a platform raised in its heart, a great lamppost dotted with lights towering over him.
The people missing from her walk through Upper Sollan had gathered there. They formed a crowd packed shoulder to shoulder, a multitude of heads and and faces robed in fine silks and gold-hemmed dresses.
A large apartment in the plaza’s corner thrust a short flight of stairs not far from the crowd. Mara waited for the right moment and sprinted for it. She padded up the stairs and crouched behind a column, just close enough to hear the crier’s voice ring out Good King Sol’s proclamation.
“Dear citizens of Upper Sollan. Good King Sol regrets interrupting your revelry. He knows his compassionate hand and bountiful wisdom has blessed the people of the Kingdom Eloia with yet another harvest that will feed all bellies for another year.”
“He calls himself Good King Sol?” Mara rolled her eyes. “You are no good king.”
The crier looked up and waited. The crowd clapped. A few halfheartedly cheered. The crier forced a smile and locked his gaze on the parchment unfurled in his hands.
“The Serpent Sun has seen calamity on the horizon. This night of celebration hides a grave danger to our peaceful kingdom. There is a threat among us, an evil so dark, it imperils the souls of every man, woman, and child of Sollan…of Eloia…of even Urum!”
His words finally animated the quiet crowd. Whispers erupted. Husbands and wives exchanged worried glances. A few slipped their hands into one another’s grasps.
“The king has summoned the mightiest soldiers Eloia has to offer to protect the innocent in our city from this threat. He wishes nothing but safety and celebration for this night. So the normal guard shall be doubled until sunrise. No villainy shall disturb your merriment, of this Good King Sol swears upon the Serpent Sun!”
Many more than before clapped. Heads nodded in agreement. Mara seemed to be the only one wearing any kind of frown.
The crier cleared his throat and continued his message. “Thanks to the dedication of the one true religion and the ancient serpent who grants their wisdom, their power, and our bountiful harvest, the king has thrown away the shadows hiding this threat. He has uncovered the vile plot. He knows the faces of those who seek to bring you violence.
“They worship the Six. They are the Six. Their power wanes, and their bitterness has poisoned their hearts. They are angered the Serpent Sun rises. They hate the king for recognizing this truth. Good King Sol does not know how many in their ranks plot this vile treachery, but he believes the corruption may reach even the highest of priests and priestesses.”
The crowd gasped collectively. Priests of the Six were not necessarily pacifists. In fact, many old stories Gia whispered to Mara involved a warrior priest laying waste to armies or moving mountains to topple monsters or changing the flow of rivers to save towns. Gia never whispered of priestly plots to kill kings. Priests did not rule. They served. First they served the Six, and then they served their kingdom.
“Therefore,” the crier shouted, “all priests and acolytes of the Six are confined within their temples. None shall walk the roads of Sollan tonight, pestering its good and faithful folk. Keep an eye open for them, especially the silent sons of the supposedly Loyal Father and the men of the Slippery Sinner. They toy with shadows and cloak themselves in darkness. Their hands make doors from solid stone that could lead straight into your child’s chambers.”
Mara glanced at her son and clenched her jaw. “How dare they. No silent son would hurt an innocent. I do not need to see the eyes behind their masks to know that truth.”
She looked back to the crowd. Soldiers lingered at its edges like vultures might linger above a dying hare. They eyed the people within the mass,
searching for someone. Most likely that someone just happened to wear burlap stained by ash and carried a dead child in her arms.
“But why?” she asked herself.
“If you should see a priest or priestess, raise the alarm at once,” the crier commanded. “Your king will greatly reward all who are loyal in this request. To those who may harbor the Six’s servants…” the man pursed his lips, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “…You will see a good king sour.”
The crowd took a step back from the crier’s platform. He smirked and pushed his shoulders back, gleefully soaking in his own obnoxious self-worth. “Now to the threat itself. A woman walks among us…”
Mara wrinkled her nose, her lip protruding. “Now here’s my grand entrance, I suppose.”
“…She is not like any woman you have ever known. She will be sweet. She will weep and pluck at your heartstrings. Do not listen! Do not allow her into your heart! For she is not a woman. She is a sorceress, raised from the dead by the Six, a creature of the Second Sun whose power will burn the souls of all who touch her.”
Mara brought her fingers to her lips. She almost laughed at the thought of her being some ancient, resurrected sorceress of a forgotten age.
“Yes,” the crier continued, “she seeks to take Good King Sol’s life this night, and she will stop at nothing until she swallows his soul as a serpent might swallow a hen’s egg. If you see her, scream. If you see her, run. If you see her, call out and do not stop calling until the king’s men come. Do anything else, and she will pluck the soul from your body, and you will never have a room in the Serpent Sun’s golden palace. Heaven will be forever out of reach, and you will scream through eternity in an endless void.”
“But what does she look like?” someone asked. “How do we know this demon sorceress when we see her?”
“That is her true villainy,” the crier said. “She has come to Sollan on this holiest of days dressed as the only one who could come within reach of Good King Sol without being troubled. Her face, it will be beautiful. Her skin, it will be soft and smooth as silk. Her eyes, they will be like polished jewels. Yet, you will not see her beauty. You will avoid her. You will turn from her as she moves from shadow to shadow…”
The crier paused for effect. His eyes darted over the crowd, and he leaned forward. “For she will be cloaked in burlap, covered in ash, a stillborn child cradled in her arms.”
Mara’s throat twisted. She gripped the pillar, her knuckles whitening. “Bastard. I am no sorceress! I am a moon maiden. A moon maiden!”
The people hated her. The serpents sought her. The king wished her dead. Yet, Mara had no idea why. Worse yet, her only allies in the city were men who could not speak because their faith forbade them to utter anything but prayers of adoration to the Six.
“That’s vicious!” a man shouted. “To use the ashwalk in such a way. It is a crime against divinity.”
The crier nodded in agreement. “Indeed it is. It is why Good King Sol has proclaimed the ashwalk is forever forbidden. All newborns from this day forth shall be inducted into his glorious house, the temple of the Sun Serpent. Born wailing or still, all babes will be received into his open arms. They shall all have a taste of heaven with Good King Sol’s guiding light!”
Cheers erupted from the crowd. Mara slumped, dipping her chin. She focused on her babe, the stillborn boy whose puffy, swollen eyelids hid above his round, pink cheeks.
She tapped him on the nose and smiled. “You had just been kicking, my son. What happened? Why did you not draw breath? I felt such a fire in your spirit, but when you came to the world, the spark would not light. Now the king wants us dead. For what? A newborn’s soul?
“Yesterday, I was no one. Yesterday, I was property and a plaything for any patron who might have enough coin. Tonight, though…” she stared into the overhang. “…Tonight, I am wanted by a king.”
Mara had no idea if it was her fiery spirit flaring or Olessa’s glimmer making her more a fool than anything else, but the shame and fear and self pity weighing on her shoulders lightened. A king wanted her. The jewel of the kingdom. The lord who wore the crown. He wanted her.
Never had she wanted to finish her ashwalk more than at that moment. An evil king desired her, and she held the secret to his defeat.
Rolling to her knees, she tightened the burlap wrapped around her child. She rocked to her feet and stood within the shadows, staring into the crowd already disbursing and retreating to their silk-draped apartments.
“Olessa said I would never be anything.” Her jaw tightened, and her gaze locked onto her son. “She said I would never be anyone. She told me you would be the servant of a rich family, that you would never achieve anything else because this was our lot in life, and we should accept it with the grace of an obedient slave.”
Mara sped down the stairs. She slipped into the shadows, walking backward between the strip of grass separating two tall apartments. The darkness encased her like comforting veils.
The crowd ambled down the lane, couples whispering plans in their ears of what they might do should they see the great sorceress of the Second Sun. Husbands balled their fists and spoke of meeting the witch in battle. Wives promised to say extra prayers to the Serpent Sun to guard their children.
She watched them all, still as one of the marble statues crowning the fountains of Upper Sollan. The people walked not a stone’s throw from her. Had the sun been shining, she would have been spotted, and the soldiers would have been thrusting swords into her chest in moments.
But no one saw her, a lowly whore the mighty king feared. Mara closed her eyes and felt her spirit flow into the world. She lifted her chin and smiled at the stars. “I will overcome this. No king will stop my ashwalk. This I swear to the Six. I will find the Mother’s temple before dawn, and damn the king to the hells where the other demons wail if he tries to stop me.”
The last of the crowd drifted down the lane. Mara scanned her surroundings before slipping into the city streets, ever onward, ever closer to Sollan’s heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Widow and the Maiden
Burlap and ash fluttered around Mara as she darted from building to building. Her child’s weight began to wear on her arms, but the mix of her determination and Olessa’s glimmer kept her moving at a steady pace toward Hightable where the Mother’s temple waited.
A new determination also blossomed within her. Knowing that Good King Sol wanted her, a simple moon maiden and ashwalk pilgrim, it gave her something in life she never had before. She had meaning. She had value, and not just value to another, value to herself. For the first time in her life, something important hinged on her actions, and not even the king would stop her.
“I can do this,” she muttered, twirling into a grassy strip between two tiered apartments. “I can really do this!”
Mara pressed her back against the cool marble of one of the buildings and listened to the rhythmic steps of soldiers as they marched through Upper Sollan’s stony lanes. Evading them had almost become a game of cat and mouse, but while sidestepping the men and lurking in the shadows thrilled her, more rational thoughts eventually prevailed. Once when Olessa had caught Mara stealing buttered shrimp from her madame’s table, the woman told her the cat always eats the cocky mouse first. The beating her madame gave afterwards etched the words onto her heart.
The soldiers’ rhythmic marching died into a muted echo. She darted through the grass and spilled into another avenue. Ahead, a few small but ornate apartments appeared stacked one atop another like the tiered steps of a queen’s wedding cake. Interlocking decks and balconies strung with loose lines weighed by lanterns gave the stonework an inviting glow.
Mara focused on a line of linens drying in a yard beside the homes. A taupe robe fluttered like a moth’s wings in the breeze, beckoning her with the promise of soft threads free of ash. She looked at her arm, at the rough burlap threads fraying at the edges and the soot marring the brown fibers. “Maybe it’s time for some
thing that blends a little better…”
She licked her lips and scanned the lane between her and her goal. No guards lingered in the street. No watchful eyes peeped from within the curtained windows.
With a last, deep breath, she sprinted for the courtyard. The pitter-patter of her sandals on the stones echoed on the apartment walls rising around her.
Her feet landed on the yard’s soft grass. Sweat rolled down her back in cold lines. She twisted into a dark nook and stared down the lane she had just crossed.
A door opened. A man stepped onto his patio. He held a sword that gleamed in the lantern light. His narrow gaze swept down the road. Mara inched deeper into the corner, lifting her heels and pressing her back as deep as she could into the darkness.
The man grumbled something. He disappeared within his home, and the door clicked shut behind him.
Mara exhaled, her shoulders slumping. She bit her smiling lip and spun from the nook. Before her, the linens billowed just above the grass, pinned to a line stretching from one apartment to another.
One robe looked about her size. She could easily toss the burlap and hide her son against her bosom. No one would be the wiser.
Mara approached the line. She grabbed the soft linen. Looking left and right, she yanked the robe from the rope. The clothing fluttered from the bobbing cord.
“Like my robe, do you?” a woman asked. “It is simple, but simple is the fashion this season, or so they tell me.”
The fabric rolled in gentle waves toward the ground. Behind it, a woman appeared wearing a deep frown.
Mara’s hand trembled. “I…”
The woman wore her hair tied in two buns just above her ears and oiled them to a glimmering polish. Grey and silver streaked the brown, but her smooth cheeks and bright eyes revealed an age much younger than her hair displayed.
They stared at one another for a long moment. The linen in Mara’s hand tickled her knuckles and wrapped around her leg like the curling tongue of a lizard. She released the robe, and it collapsed in soft waves onto her feet.
