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.
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 something 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.
“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.”