Ashwalk Pilgrim (25 page)

Sander smiled, his breath washing over his face as his form twisted with her. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

Mara looked to the steps as the world faded. Ialane screamed and flung her sword. Brother Caspran flung his daggers.
 

The outside world blinked out. The weapons thudded against something solid.

The world reappeared. Instead of a Harvest Festival Sky, she looked upon a set of doors. She placed a palm on the thick wood and slid to her knees.

Her heart pounded. The wood and wrought iron muffled the alps’ screams.
 

Sander threaded his arm beneath Mara’s and hoisted her up. “Welcome to the temple of the Burning Mother, oh ashwalk pilgrim.”

Countless eyes glittered in the firelight of the Mother’s temple, each one brimming with hope and edged by red-rimmed fear. Only a moment ago, Mara had faced the greatest crowd she’d ever seen. In the massive temple, the numbers gathered counted easily twice as many.

The temple itself spanned enough space to swallow a whole neighborhood. Pillars carved in the likeness of women supported a high roof. Olive and emerald ivy leaves dotted with honeysuckle blossoms coiled up their bellies and filled the room with their rich, honeyed scent.
 

The crowd parted and formed a path to the opposite end of the temple. In the back, towering above all others within the house of worship, stood the statue of a woman. The statue clasped her hands beneath her swollen belly and dipped her chin to gaze upon the ground. At her feet burned a white fire tinged by scarlet.

Mara swallowed, tucking her son a little deeper in her arms. “There are so many people.”
 

“Bless the Six, they are all here.” Sander tensed, his foot sliding back. “They have all come to face their doom beneath the king’s shadow, the faithful fools.”

“All of them?” she asked.
 

Her gaze swept over the crowd. A few silent sons stood taller than the rest, their pale masks stark against their black robes. A few others wore the crimson flame of the Burning Mother on their brow. Still others painted glittering gold beneath their eyes, a sign of the stalwart Coin Counter. Priests and acolytes of the Shining Child gazed upon her from within the myriad of tattoos scrawled over their skin, each intricate design a symbol of a sin committed. Those that worshipped the Gentle Lover nodded with respect, ornate nets of gold and silver woven in their oiled hair. There too she recognized men and women clad in the black and grey of the Slippery Sinner.

Mara stepped back and bumped into the temple’s doors. “Why have they come here? Why are they staring, Sander? I—I don’t like this. I’m so tired of not knowing.”

Sander shook his head. He licked his lips, and his gaze slowly settled on her. “Who in all the hells are you?”

“I just want to send my son’s soul to rest. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then let’s take you to the flame.” He gripped her broken wrist.
 

She cried out, falling to her knees.
 

Sander’s eyes shot wide open, and he followed her to the ground. “Fuck, fuck, I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was broken. You’ve really swam through a shark’s jaws tonight, haven’t you? Damn me to every burning layer of every hell there ever was and will be. I did not mean to hurt you. I’m just—I’m new at this priest thing. If I’d been a little more experienced maybe, but…Gods, I’m so sorry, Mara.”

Mara sucked the snot back into her nose and looked at her son. No trace of pink colored his body. His sickly blue tinge had spread over his skin. The filth and blood from her womb dried and cracked in patches on his brow like a leper’s wounds. Even then, not even Upper Sollan, not even Hightable, not even the Mother’s temple could ever hope to match his beauty.

Still, she knew his soul faded. Mara shuddered. She bent over his tiny body and pulled him close, her wounded wrist crooked like a sailor’s hook beneath him. She cried, and the tears splashed against the temple’s marble tile. Her body heaved, the last of her energy drowned by her frustrations.

“Why have they done this to me? I have done nothing.” She clenched her teeth and stared at the smooth stone. “I have done
nothing!
My son is dead, Sander. Oh gods, my beautiful son is dead and I never knew him. I’ve never said the words until now, but he is dead. I—I—I always saw him as alive, but he is dead.
He is dead
.”

A great tide of emotions washed out from her shuddering spine, and she inhaled. Mara tightened her jaw and shook her head. “No, every dream I had, every vision I saw, you lived the life I pictured for you. You may not have breathed in my world, but you have always lived within my heart.”

She smiled at her son. A shadow washed over his face. She kissed his brow and lifted her gaze.

A woman stood over her. A crimson veil mostly masked her features. Within her auburn hair piled high upon her head, stones with simmering hearts glimmered with their own light. She wore a necklace of wide, gold discs, the firelight revealing dimples wrought by tiny hammers on the metal.

Her crimson dress billowed around her as if she stood upon a high hill and opened her arms to the wind, yet no hint of a breeze disturbed the temple’s placid air. Mara could not see the woman’s eyes, but she felt them nonetheless. They embraced her. They warmed her.
 
They knew her better than she knew herself.

Not a single word broke the stillness of the temple. Only the crackling fire at the statue’s feet gave life to the quiet.

Mara found it difficult to meet the woman’s gaze. She felt like a little girl again, caught by Olessa trying to sneak a sip of wine or drop of saltwater gin. Her ash-ridden cloak of burlap screamed poverty in a field of luxury, and the sickly green stain her moon maiden collar left behind let the world know how little it valued her.

The veiled woman bent. Her hand slipped from the rolling scarlet waves of her dress. “May I help you? You are a weary ashwalk pilgrim, and you have suffered much for us tonight.”

Mara stared at the woman’s perfect hand. She bit her lip and looked away. “My wrist is broken, and my other arm holds my son. I cannot take your hand, even if I wanted.”

The woman’s hand lingered in Mara’s periphery. A moment later, it disappeared, and the stranger in scarlet straightened. “You are close to knowing your own strength, and you are close to the end of this long night.” Her red silks whirled in a pool around her ankles. “Would you at least walk with me then?”

“Where?” Mara struggled to her feet, shooing Sander’s helpful hands away. Too many helped her that tonight. Too many helped her and paid a price far higher than they deserved.

The woman extended a hand toward the statue and the flame at its feet. “To the end. To the beginning. To the place you seek that has sought you for so, so long.”

Flames so white they burned Mara’s eyes danced at the Mother’s feet. Despite the burn, Mara couldn’t turn away. She
wouldn’t
turn away. She knew them. Somehow, she remembered them.

Mara took a step. Her knee wobbled and began to buckle. Sander gently clasped her shoulders and supported her until her strength returned. He leaned to her ear, his warm breath washing across her neck. “Do not fear them. I will follow you. I will not leave you here at the end, my ashwalk pilgrim.”

Rolling crimson silks swelled around the mysterious woman as she glided down the path. Mara followed, the long, weary night pulling on her steps like lead weights around a swimmer’s ankles.
 

“My name is Cassandra,” the woman said. “I will guide you to the flames.”

“I have been walking a long way tonight. They told me the Mother could save my son’s soul before the alp devoured it. I—I almost didn’t make it, but I had help along the way.”

“The flames can do much.” Cassandra paused and motioned for Mara to lead. “But it is you who will save his soul.”

Mara licked her lips and took the lead. She tried her best to ignore the faces in the crowd, but all eyes bore down on her and followed her every movement.

“Traditionally, the ashwalk pilgrim speaks of her life,” Cassandra said.

Mara rubbed her fingers down the rough threads of her son’s burlap. “Which part?”

“Everything you think might matter.”
 

“I don’t remember much…” the throbbing ache in her broken wrist flared. She paused and glanced to the side, closing her eyes until it passed. “But I do know a man of the Burning Mother brought me to the House of Sin and Silk. His name was Laedon, and he convinced Madame Olessa to raise me despite the cost and burden. I worked very hard for my madame. I never complained. I served my patrons even if I hated myself for doing so.”

The woman nodded as they walked. “Blessed is the mother who toils in fields to feed another, for her soul will never hunger.”

Mara shook her head. “I drank the ebon orchid draught. I swear I did. Still, I was with child. I tried, the Six know I tried. It should have worked. Olessa told me it would. It didn’t, and then I was with a child—a son.”

“Blessed is the mother who overcomes impossible odds, for her every breath is a miracle for all the world to see.”

Mara glanced into the crowd. A line of silent sons stood above the rest. They each wore a mask with a different emotion and looked the same as any other in their order, but she knew those men. Somehow, she recognized them. One saved her from Kard and showed her a path into Upper Sollan. The rest fell with him in the Blooming Ring to save her from Brother Caspran and his flying dagger.

 
Their pale masks bowed in respect. Mara reached for them, but they swiftly retreated into the crowd. She turned away, continuing her unsteady pace toward the flames.

“I had my son just a sunset. I dreamt a bright future for him, but he never took a breath. I gave birth. I bled on the barge’s deck. I cried. I held his body in my arms. They feared him when they saw him. Then, they feared me. They thought my son and I cursed. I saw it in their eyes. It hurt more than any beating.”

Cassandra nodded. “Blessed is the mother who stands against injustice, for she will rise above eternity.”

“They told me that demons would eat my son’s soul.” She looked to her son’s body and swallowed her angry sob. “They said he would suffer if I did not take him to the Ever-Burning Flame before sunrise. They wrapped us both in burlap stained by ash. They would not help. They would not risk. I—I thought they loved me. I thought someone loved me. I thought if one of them did, they did not love enough. I was bitter at first, I think. But now, I understand their fear. I hope—think they loved me in the end.”

A man muscled out of the crowd and stood like an eager boy at the edge of the path. His blond hair was cut short and trimmed to perfection, and his round, blue eyes carried an innocence that melted hearts. The last time Mara saw him, a sailor’s dagger stuck in his throat. In the Mother’s temple, no scar marred his neck.

Mara faced the man with a smile of recognition. “Tolstes? I saw you float. Kard killed you. Did he not? Did I leave you?”

Olessa’s strong boy smiled. He took a deep bow and melted into the crowd.

Cassandra paused beside Mara and waited, hands clasped at her waist. “What happened next?”

“A man called Tolstes took me from my home, but he could never follow me into Sollan because he was murdered by a glimmer fiend. A silent son brought my boat ashore, and I ran through revelers. I found a boy with a missing a finger. He said he could help. He promised he would.”

“And did he?”

Mara gave up her search for Tolstes with a sigh and continued down the path. “I gave the boy my brass collar. He said he could buy us meals with it. I learned later, he stole it to feed himself. I wish I could see him. I wish I could hold him. I wish I could whisper in his ear everything would be okay. I was angry he lied, but I am glad he had a meal. I would give him a thousand brass collars if I could.”

“Blessed is the mother who freely gives, for the world will gift her an undying love.”

Mara looked into the crowd. A small boy darted into view and lingered on the path’s edge. He looked up at Mara and smiled, the little arrow of his nose wrinkling with his cracked-tooth grin.
 

She smiled and reached for him. He reached for her with a hand that sported all five fingers. His small arm couldn’t quite reach her, so he pulled away. Tag bowed and slipped into the crowd, disappearing within the robes of the faithful.

“And what happened next on your pilgrimage?” the priestess asked.

“A kindly warrior showed me the way.” Mara grinned despite her pain and weariness. “Most saw him as a beggar, but really he was a mighty warrior. He loved the Six. He served them well. He served his king well too, even though the king’s son tossed him aside. He was a good man. I wish more people saw that in him.”

“Blessed is the mother with vision, for she will see the good in every soul.”

A polished glimmer distracted Mara’s eye. She caught a man standing amongst the faithful. He towered above the others and brandished a breastplate polished as a fresh coin. Their eyes met.

“Galladus? You look so young and healthy!”

He flashed his perfect teeth and bowed, quickly fading into the throng. By then, Mara had almost reached the flame at the statue’s feet, and only a few remained on either side.

Two women filtered from the crowd and stood beside the fire. One she recognized as her madame looking young and vibrant and overflowing with joy. The other was Gia, unharmed and cleaned and polished like a bride who wore the garments of one of the Mother’s priestesses. A red flame marked her brow. Tears glimmered with Gia’s pride as joy spread her smile.

“They are all here,” Mara said. “Everyone is here.”

Sander gently squeezed her elbow. “I am glad to know you, Mara.”

She turned to him. “Why? I think I might be the unluckiest woman in Urum tonight.”

The priest of the Slippery Sinner smirked and backed away.
 
The man stood still in the empty path, the great doors framing his body.