by AB Bradley
“I—I—I wasn’t…”
“You are an ashwalk pilgrim,” the woman whispered. “Are you the one the crier spoke of? Are you the sorceress?”
“No!” Mara held her son tighter against her chest. “I swear I’m no sorceress. I never walked under the Second Sun. I never danced with the alp and cursed the Six. Not once.”
“Good King Sol doesn’t like you very much. There’s a reward out on you. It’s no small sum. It would buy me a thousand dresses and then some.”
Mara stepped back. “I’ve avoided the soldiers long enough. I can run. By the time they get here, I’ll be long gone. You’ll get no reward. You’ll get punished for wasting their time.”
The woman considered Mara for a long moment. Mara lifted her chin in a childish attempt to appear formidable.
“And so I might,” the woman said. Lightly, she shook her and laughed. She turned on her heel and padded toward her apartment door. “You want a bite? Maybe some water to wet your tongue? Your lips look like they’re about ready to crumble to dust.”
Mara’s stomach grumbled. She swallowed and watched as the woman paused before her doorway.
Mara took a step back. “I can’t trust you.”
“Spare me. I could have called the king’s men when I first saw you as you ran down the road and hid while my neighbor searched for you. I could still call them now if you like. They will be turning down the lane soon. Really, how long you’ve survived is beyond me. The Six must be escorting you to Hightable themselves.”
“Then what do you want from me? Why should I trust you?”
Sighing, the woman rolled up her sleeve. Two circular scars marred her forearm.
“Scars,” she said, quickly rolling down her sleeve. “A gift from Sister Ialane Donra and that devil serpent she wears around her neck. My husband worshiped the Coin Counter. He dared stand up to her, so she cut off his legs and watched his blood wet the ground until no life remained within him. Her snake would have stolen my life, too, had she not called it off as my world faded. She chopped my poor Decimus into bits and buried him in a box of copper coins. I hate that masked priestess with every drop of blood in my body.”
“That’s horrible,” Mara said. “How could anyone do such a thing?”
She smirked and stepped inside, holding the door for Mara. “She is the law made flesh. The king’s tongue commands, but she is his sword in the city. Now, will you come inside? Or would you rather run into the arms of a soldier?”
“I…” Mara wrapped both her arms around her son and tightened her jaw. She took a last, fleeting look at the outside world before slipping inside the apartment with the woman.
Inside, the woman walked to a hearth where she had water set to boil. Steam curled from the kettle and tickled Mara’s nostrils with the faintest hint of hibiscus and lemon.
“Tea?” her host asked.
“It smells nice,” Mara said.
The woman chuckled, plucking the kettle from the flames. “Your words are modest, but your eyes are as ravenous as a feral dune dragon. I have some salted pork as well. I’ll pour a cup and fill a plate if you’d like to have a seat and rest those weary feet of yours.”
“You’re very kind,” Mara said as she sat on a stool before a long table. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Vibiana Kel, widow to the late Decimus Kel.”
“I am Mara.”
“No last name?”
Mara’s gaze dropped to the floor. “No. I am a moon maiden from the House of Sin and Silk. My station did not earn one, and if I had one at birth, I do not remember it.”
“I like to think Decimus never visited the pleasure barges.” Vibiana looked into the corner, lost in thought. She blinked and smiled. “I thought about it once or twice when I got wild and took too much wine on Harvest Festival, but it’s just never struck me as worth my while.”
Vibiana placed a teacup with a teal braid around the rim onto the table. Mara leaned over the tea and inhaled its sweet aroma. “My madame makes sure all her patrons leave with a smile.”
“Sounds like a competent business woman.” The woman slid a plate of salted pork next to the tea.
With her child in one arm, Mara plucked a strip of meat from the porcelain. Her throat watered, saliva rolling in lines down her scratchy throat. She ate the meat, smiling as the salt melted on her tongue.
“I’ve never tasted pork so good.”
“Welcome to Upper Sollan,” Vibiana said with a laugh. “I doubt there’s any pork half as good in Lower Sollan, and if they eat pork on the Floatwaif, it is a meal had once in a lifetime.”
The woman eyed Mara’s son while she ate. Vibiana interlaced her fingers on the table and smiled. “I’m sure your arms are tired. Why don’t you give me the child? I’ll wrap him in something proper so he looks less suspicious once you continue on your journey to the temple.”
Mara nearly choked on the pork. She grabbed her teacup and swallowed a honeyed gulp of hibiscus tea. Her fingers instinctively tightened on her son’s burlap. She looked into his sealed eyes. He looked so peaceful, so serene. A stranger might think him sleeping had he not been wrapped in the ashen fabric.
“He’s been with me since the birth,” Mara said. “I haven’t let him go. Not once.”
“Then your arms must be absolutely dying. Here, give him to me, and I will let you rest.” Vibiana held out her arms and wagged her fingers. The urgency tinging her voice turned Mara’s stomach, and the room warmed a few degrees.
Mara pulled her son closer to her chest. “You aren’t scared of stillborn on Harvest Festival? They told me the dark spirits of the demon alp would swarm him and all those who came near us on the ashwalk. Ash and burlap keeps us hidden from them until sunrise.”
“Old, silly stories.” Vibiana laid both arms on the table, palms out. Her fingers waggled harder, beckoning Mara lay her son in the woman’s arms. “Now give him here and let me take care of things.”
Mara’s heart fluttered. The look in Vibiana’s eyes was one of hunger slipping into frustration. She wanted Mara’s son. Mara could see it. As a moon maiden, she knew hunger and lust when she saw it better than most.
“No,” Mara said, scooting from her seat. She licked the last of the salt from her lips and bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Vibiana Kel, for your hospitality, but I fear I’ve already lingered too long. I must be on my way.”
Mara turned, heading toward the door she only just realized had its bolt thrown. The walls closed in around her. She hurried past the table, flashing a polite smile at the woman.
“Wait! Before you go…” Vibiana slid from her stool and turned her back. She hurried to a counter and opened a drawer, searching contents that clanked and clattered within.
“You’ve already given me far too much. Thank you, Vibiana.”
Mara turned to the door. Her fingers fumbled with the lock, but it held fast. “I did not listen to the beggar’s warning, Gia,” she whispered, her fingers clawing at the lock. “I should not have trusted a soul in Sollan tonight.”
Vibiana shut the drawer with a bang. Mara wheeled around, pressing her back against the sealed door. The woman smiled with one hand behind her back. With the other, she hooked her finger on a necklace and pulled it from her bosom. A brass key swung on the chain, glimmering in the hearth’s firelight.
“It requires a key to open. Sollan is so dangerous these days, even here. As a widow, I have to ensure my own safety, lost as I am to my own devices.”
“I have nothing to give you,” Mara said. “A boy took my brass collar in Lower Sollan. I have nothing else but burlap.”
Vibiana laughed, dropping the necklace from her finger. “A moon maiden’s collar? That wouldn’t buy a decent bottle of wine. Don’t be so insulting, Mara. I want you. A single woman like myself needs a good servant. I’ll keep you safe, and you get a life free of that floating barge of trash and whores.”
“You want me to be a—your slave?”
“Doesn’t it so
und glamorous? I’ll dress you in clean robes every day. You will never get on your knees or back for another patron. You will sleep with a full belly, and once I trust you enough, I may even allow you to leave our home to walk the streets of Upper Sollan. We might even visit the temples in Hightable if you’re a good girl. The king will certainly destroy them soon, and I’m sure you’ll want to see them before he does.”
Mara eyed Vibiana’s still-hidden hand. “What are you holding behind your back?”
Vibiana rolled her eyes and revealed her hand, flashing a long, sharp knife in her grip. “Let’s not make this a messy affair. You have nowhere else to go. Give me the child, and I’ll dispose of it. Forget this ashwalk. It is a doomed quest. The king does not want you to complete it. If he doesn’t wish it, you will never make it. This is his city. His eyes are always upon it.”
Mara stiffened. “Let me out. I will not be your slave. If the Six protect me—”
“Hah!” the woman’s cheeks reddened as she laughed. “The Six wouldn’t spit on a whore if they wouldn’t help my husband, a loyal acolyte to the Coin Counter. Their power fades from Urum, even as the king’s rises. It’s no secret magic fizzles on the fingers of the Six’s priests. The serpents say it will be sooner than later before the last one casts their spell, and then, the Six are nothing and the Serpent Sun is everything.”
“Let me go!”
The woman’s lips puckered into an angry point. “So you won’t stay with me? You won’t even consider it?”
“I will not be your slave if it means giving up my child. I will finish this ashwalk, and no king with his greedy eyes on heaven will keep me from the Mother’s temple.” Mara lifted her chin. “Neither will a lonely widow with sweet tea and salted pork!”
Vibiana brandished the knife and charged. Mara gasped, sprinting to the other side of the table as the woman wildly slashed at the air.
Mara stood at the head of the table next to the crackling hearth. Vibiana stood at the opposite end, eyes glittering with a dark and determined anger. “Fine then, whore. I’ll drive a knife through you and drag your body to the king myself. I offered you everything. Remember that as you lay dying. I offered you everything!”
I never should have tried to remove my burlap, Mara thought.
Vibiana darted around the table. Mara twisted around for the door leading into the rest of the woman’s home, but like the exit, a lock secured it. Cursing, she spun and lurched toward the hearth.
The woman’s strong grip clenched Mara’s burlap. She yanked the robe, spinning Mara so her back turned to the hot flames.
Vibiana held the shiny knife before her. She twisted her wrist, and the blade glimmered in the light. “This is the end of your journey, Mara.”
The woman thrust the knife at Mara’s chest. She grit her teeth. At the last possible moment, Mara twisted to the side.
Horror ignited in Vibiana’s eyes. Her momentum carried her stumbling forward, the knife slashing through empty air, and she toppled headfirst into the yawning hearth.
Embers and ash belched from the flames. Vibiana shrieked. Mara winced. The fine oils in Vibiana’s hair ignited as sparks coated her in a cloud of ash.
Mara watched in horror as Vibiana yanked herself from the flames. Her knife clattered to the ground. Her hair was a single, twisting flame. She writhed, eyes burnt closed, skin blistering, clawing blindly toward Mara.
“I’ll kill you!” she wailed. “You cursed bitch. I’ll kill you!”
The necklace fell out of the woman’s dress and dangled loosely from the chain. Mara lanced out quick as a bolt of lightning and snapped the key from its chord. Vibiana lashed out, her sharpened nails missing Mara’s hand by a hair. The woman stumbled into an apron and ripped it from the counter. She buried her head in the thick cloth, wailing and sobbing with the pain of her burn.
Waiting any longer would doom Mara to the soldiers she had no doubt raced toward the shrieking cries coming from the apartment. She sprinted for the door and unlocked the bolt. She glanced over her shoulder and watched Vibiana sob, the remnants of her hair curled and smoking wisps, her scalp a scarlet mess of burns and blisters.
Mara wanted nothing more than to run to her, to comfort her and call for help even though the widow tried to kill her. No one deserved that pain. No one deserved that suffering.
She turned away and rested her head against the door, inhaling the air rife with the reek of burnt hair and skin. Her eyes watered as she choked down her sob.
“All because I did not want my burlap,” she said, shoving the key into the lock and twisting.
Mara kicked the door, and cool air rushed into the room. She stepped out and closed the door behind her, hanging the key over the knob. She turned and slipped into the lane, Vibiana’s sobs ringing in her head like the remnants of a nightmare. The heavy march of boots echoing around the labyrinthine avenues grew louder and louder.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Eyes Beneath the Stairs
Just beyond the clusters of apartments, Mara heard the harried shouts of Sollan’s soldiers as they swarmed around the packed homes. She searched the shadows, the corners, the lonely nooks and tranquil alleys for any place to flee, to hide until the storm of honed steel passed.
A sharp turn led her to a narrow lane devoid of any soldiers. Without a second thought, she darted into it, speeding past curtained windows and elegant façades. Vibiana’s wails pierced the night sky, adding to the soldiers’ shouts and heavy footfalls echoing on the city’s stones.
“Quick men, search the area!” a booming voice echoed.
“Oh gods. Six, save me!” Mara spun around a corner. Maybe ahead she could find a quiet place where they would not spot her.
Shadows of a patrol bobbed against the walls, distorting and growing in length as they neared the corner. Mara cursed, twisting the opposite direction. A jolt of panic raced through her veins when she saw yet another patrol’s dark shadows bouncing against the wall from just around the bend.
“This way, don’t let the sorceress escape!” a soldier roared.
Precious few seconds remained before they had her trapped. Her panicked gaze darted around the lane, looking for any place that might keep her and her child hidden from their eyes.
A marble stairwell protruded from the second floor of an apartment and angled sharply to the road. A single low arch supported the stairs, each side lined by reed baskets and pots of aloe plants and fiery poppies.
Without another breath of hesitation, she dove between two tall baskets. Her knees hit the stones, a few loose rocks digging into her skin. She grimaced at the piercing pain lancing up her leg and steadied the baskets with one hand while she gripped her son in the other.
Mara hunched. She scooted within the small arch, her back angled awkwardly against the slanted stairwell. She twisted her legs from under her and pressed herself into the lowest portion of the stairs while tucking her son tightly in her lap.
No sooner had the wobbling baskets she dove through stilled than a line of ten soldiers marched into view. Mara glanced over her shoulder and spotted the second patrol rounding the opposite corner, a line of gleaming breastplates and deadly swords.
The lead soldier of each line held a long pole of bobbing lanterns. They nodded to one another and brought their lines to a halt just where Mara could see both men through the thick leaves of an aloe.
“Hail, Kogamon. Have you see her?” one asked. He wore a long beard curled by oils and braided at his chin.
The other man called Kogamon shook his head. He gripped his lantern pole with a hand covered in a patchwork of tiny scars. “The sorceress? No. Vibiana? Yes. It was a horror like no other, Jost.”
Jost grimaced and clutched the braid of his beard. “How bad was it?”
“She’ll be wearing a mask the rest of her days, however long those are. I’ve no doubt the poor woman will take her own life now that she’s been so disfigured by the witch’s sorcery. Damn that demon and her magic. Vibiana is a good woman.”
Kogamon leaned to Jost, eyes darting up the alley. “Her husband Decimus was a good man. His loyalty to the Coin Counter was misplaced, but he did not deserve his fate. Now she shares a similar one.”
Mara clenched her jaw. She rested her back against the angled wall of the stairwell and stared into the sloping ceiling.
It wasn’t my fault, she mouthed to the Six, please, forgive me. And forgive Vibiana for what she’s done.
Mara noticed the conversation had grown strangely quiet. Part curious, part terrified, she looked down from the ceiling and leaned forward so the world beyond the plants and baskets appeared once again.
Both captains had turned the same direction, and so had their lines. The men faced down the lane opposite where Mara looked. They stood stiff as boards. She recognized the fear in their eyes. She had seen it glimmer in the eyes of the men guarding the entrance to Upper Sollan. Soft as a flower petal carried on the wind, Mara turned and peered down the lane where their sweaty gazes had locked.
Two figures calmly approached the patrols. One she recognized as Sister Ialane Donra. Her mask scowled at the men. Her pale cloak billowed around her. Her swords hung loosely at her side, and her serpent’s eyes of jeweled blood glittered just beneath her chin.
A man, or at least Mara thought it might be a man, accompanied Ialane. He walked with the calm rhythm of a practiced acrobat. Ivory leathers wrapped around him from his fingers to his toes, concealing his body. He wore a loose wrap over his shoulders that coiled like a snake up his face and hid his features deep within a masked hood hemmed by gold embroidery. Mara could see no weapons on the man, but a tickling splinter of dread in her belly told her they were there.
Ialane and her companion came to the first line of soldiers. The men split and let them pass. They strolled to the base of the stairs and disappeared from Mara’s sight. She twisted to the two captains, but the priestess and her companion did not appear.
