Ashwalk Pilgrim (4 page)

The muscles in Gia’s throat tensed. Her friend opened her eyes and glared at Mara. “Your child? Why does she want it? For another servant?”

“Not a servant for her, but one to sell to a noble house. Was I right to agree? I carry this guilt, and it makes me feel like my heart has swallowed rocks.”

“There are worse ways to live than as a servant of a highborn fool. You may only know the barge, but the pleasures of nobility are far beyond anything you’ve ever seen and probably even imagined.”

“Then it is the only way.” Mara cupped her round belly. “My child will never have a life with me.”

“Remember what I told you? Don’t regret. Look to your dreams, and you will achieve them. Once this child of yours is born and Olessa takes it from your arms, if you wish to see it again, then dream it. Breathe it. Live it, and it will come true for you.”

“I don’t know if I could ever leave the barge,” she said, grimacing as the child kicked her stomach. “It’s frightening beyond our house. Olessa says the children carry knives at the docks. They will slit your throat for a promise of a better life.”

A grin notched up Gia’s cheek. “I think Madame Olessa doesn’t want to lose one of her most profitable assets. The world is dangerous; she is right about that. Look at the titan that guards Sollan’s bay, Mara. When the First Sun shone, they walked this world. They owned it. They punished the creatures on it. Yet the Six saw their corruption and took pity on the lesser beings. The Six struck the titans down and raised the Second Sun…”

Gia hesitated. No one spoke of those that walked beneath the Second Sun. To speak their name invited ill fortune. To think of them welcomed a curse with open arms.

“The alp,” Mara whispered. She glanced around like a girl discovering how to steal. “The demons of the Second Sun. Pale patrons of death. Tamers of the glittering dragons.”

Gia’s gaze darted around them, searching for a specter that might leap from the water and latch around their throats. “The alp,” she echoed. “And when they waged their war against the Six and sought to raise the titans, even they were toppled and the Third Sun raised for the thrones of men. Who says something won’t come and topple us next? There are dark things out there and there always will be, but there are also things of such wonder they will steal the breath from your lips in the best of ways.”

“I wish you were cooking with me tonight.”

“Me too. I’d rather steal fried shrimp from platters than handle raw ones in my room until the sun rises.”

Mara laughed, and the motion caused the child to press against her bladder. “I have to relieve myself. Again. Sometimes I wonder if I’m growing a mermaid in my belly.”

“Or merman,” Gia quipped. “It could be a boy.”

“You’re right. I hope for both, truth be told. Twins would make my night.”

“And you really don’t know who the father is?”

Mara shook her head. “The way Olessa works us, it could be any number of men. You and I both know that many of our patrons don’t reveal their true identities to our madame. I’ve heard rumors from my patrons that Good King Sol does not look kindly on the pleasure barges, so to avoid his disfavor, they use false names and dress in rags when they may have riches.”

“Good King Sol?” Gia spat into the sea. “He can run into a cooking fire after an oil bath for all I care. He’s some spoiled brat who took his father’s throne and now looks to take the thrones of the Six for himself. He thinks he’s holier than all of us, but mark my words, Mara. I bet that man’s stepped foot in the House of Sin and Silk, looking for a maiden’s touch.”

“But you can’t deny the rumors. Even Olessa talks about the king’s cult of the Serpent Sun and its spread not just in Sollan, but throughout all Eloia’s great cities. If Olessa’s talking about them, then I know she fears them. You think he’ll come for us, come for the barge? Are we even safe here anymore?”

Gia swept her arm toward the last of the paper lanterns floating toward the titan. Beyond the towering skeleton, the night sky was a dome of twinkling silver jewels and bobbing gold points of light.
 

“Those lanterns are not for the Serpent Sun,” Gia said. “They are for the Burning Mother. Each one of those lights is a prayer for
her
, not that snake born of fire the king and his cult worships. Sol can’t crush the Six. He’s a young, foolish king of one country amongst many others. He cannot hope to conquer an entire world and its faithful, no matter how hard he tries.”

“I hope you’re right, Gia.” Mara stared at the floating lanterns. Her gaze drifted to the titan, its body illuminated by the flickering orbs.

The Six destroyed the titans under the First Sun when the world was young and burning with greed and magic. Any gods powerful enough to slay such creatures would surely squash a king if he became a threat. They even buried the demons of the Second Sun, the alp who tamed the forces of magic and the dragons of old.

Yet, Mara heard the rumors about the Six just like everyone else. Whispers of the priests and their dying magic filtered through the Floatwaif. Without power in their blood, no number of prayers would keep men faithful to the Six when the blades of King Sol’s armies demanded otherwise.

A strong boy rushed around the corner. Mara didn’t pay much attention to Madame Olessa’s eunuchs, but she recalled that one. His short hair glittered like gold, and his round, blue eyes gazed at the world like he was still a child despite his imposing height and brick body of rippling muscles.

“Tolstes,” Mara said. “Do you need something?

 
“Gia, Mara, I thought I might find you here. Madame Olessa is searching for you. The first boats are arriving.”

Gia held out an arm for Mara. “Then I guess we should be off. I’m sure she has a line of patrons already forming for me.”

Tolstes nodded, hurriedly motioning around the corner. “You will have a long night swimming in silk while Mara swims in shrimp grease and picks bits of shark stew from her pretty hair. The Mother has brought us a plentiful harvest, and patrons wish to kiss the moon.”

Mara took Gia’s arm and nodded at Tolstes. “May she bring a year of healthy babies to add to the bounty.”

Gia and Mara shared a smile. They followed Tolstes around the barge, the sound of laughter, drums, and clinking wine growing louder with each step.

Mara tightened the bun of her hair. All around her, smoke from cooking grease filled the clattering, chaotic kitchen in the pleasure barge’s belly. Oyster shells lay in broken mounds at Mara’s feet. Strong boys entered the kitchen in pairs, bringing baskets of squirming shrimp caught fresh from the Sapphire Sea. Moon maidens past their prime hacked away at coral shark fins and cut thin slices of soft fin bass for heavy silver trays.
 

She took a deep breath, savoring the garlic and dill dulling the reek of grilled onions. Mara wiped her arm over her sweaty brow and sunk a wooden spoon into a thick brew of shark fin soup. She grunted as she slowly stirred the thick, gurgling broth, careful not to let the hot stew bubble and pop grease onto her cheeks.

Faratta eyed Mara from across the kitchen. The old woman was one of Olessa’s first moon maidens, but age had pulled her out of active service and buried her in the bowels of the pleasure barge where she cooked for patron, maiden, and strong boy alike. Time had stolen her once smooth, porcelain features and replaced them with deep wrinkles and weary rings beneath her eyes. Constant exposure to grease and oil gave the woman’s puckering lips and wide cheeks a bright sheen. Some of the meaner maidens called Faratta the Buttered Puffer. No matter how brave they were, none would ever dare say it to her face.

The cook strode across the kitchen, muscling past strong boys and kitchen aides. She came to Mara’s pot and leaned over the column of twisting steam rising from the stew. Her nostrils expanded, the trails of grey rushing into her nose.

“More garlic,” she said in a low and crackling voice, “and a pinch of thyme. Don’t let the bottom burn, or it’ll ruin the whole batch, you hear me?”

Mara nodded eagerly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She glanced at the piles of shells around Mara’s feet and puckered her lips in a gesture Mara thought might be approval. “You work well. Most of the younger girls who come to me fuck up the food so badly, I wouldn’t feed it to a pig.”

“Thank you, Faratta.” Mara gripped the spoon tighter and stirred. “You wouldn’t need more help in the kitchen after this, would you?”

“What’s that? What do you mean?”

“If you needed it…after the, ah, after Harvest Festival…”

Faratta’s cheeks swelled with the snort she tried desperately to hold back. The woman waved dismissively and turned from Mara, heading back to the table of half-sliced soft fin bass. “Someone sounds like they’ve gotten tired of taking patrons’ orders and wants to hear this old hag bark at them instead.”

The other kitchen girls giggled. A few of the nearby strong boys grinned.

Faratta glanced over her shoulder and winked. “We’ll see. Night’s still young, Mara, and there’s plenty of time yet to fuck up a batch of soup or two. You keep working as you are, and maybe I pull a few strings with Olessa and get you down in this dump with me.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Mara stirred more eagerly than ever, her smile shining on her face.
 

Her babe kicked. Mara grimaced, leaning over the hot pot. Despite the child’s constant twisting and turning, despite the pressure on her bladder that made her body cry for relief after what seemed like every breath, despite her swollen, aching ankles and sore back, Mara was happier than she had been since she could remember.

Maybe Faratta could also convince Olessa to let Mara keep her child. Faratta could find some use for the boy or girl in the bowels of the barge, and then Mara would have everything she ever wanted. She could live out her days in Olessa’s world while the wider one with its evil, selfish people, petty kings, and false religions passed her by.

Mara cooked and cooked. As soon as she finished one plate, a strong boy would heap the fresh ingredients of the next before her. On her fourth round of stew, Faratta returned. The woman dabbed the sweat on Mara’s brow and brushed a moist lock of Mara’s hair behind her ear.
 

“You’ve been doing well, Mara. If you don’t get some fresh air, this grease smoke will have you croaking like a frog just like me.”

Mara grinned, politely swallowing her chuckle. “I can go on. I’m not tired.”

“Hah!” Faratta swept her hand toward the pile of oyster shells beside Mara. “How about this? Bundle up those shells and dump them in the rear. Coral sharks love greasy oyster bits. They’ll go wild, you’ll get some fresh air, and my kitchen’ll be a little cleaner. We all win, and that’s the best kind of winning.”

Mara lifted the spoon from the stew and tapped it against the pot’s rim, shaking clumps of cream and shark from the utensil. The air in the kitchen thickened as her gaze swept over the room. The pungent aromas filled her lungs with grease and oil. A quick trip for a few breaths of sea air sounded intoxicating by comparison.
 

“If you wish it, I will do it,” Mara said.

“That’s the spirit.” Faratta took the spoon and began stirring the pot. “Now get before I change my mind.”

Mara scurried over to the shells. She used a broom and pan to sweep them into a reed basket. Wiping bits of shell from her palms against her apron, she grabbed the rough container and slipped through the kitchen door. It swung closed behind her, and the din and smoke of the kitchen vanished. With the basket resting on her belly, she waddled up the short flight of stairs to the barge’s aft deck.
 

The festivities at the House of Sin and Silk took place on the long, wide decks at the prow or in the luxurious pleasure rooms within. Not a single patron, maiden, or strong boy lingered on the quiet aft deck, its simple wooden floorboards sheltered by a flapping canvas canopy.
 

A few potted aloe plants and other succulents dotted the deck. They loved the sun and sea and required little care, so of course Olessa thought them perfect for the barge. In the offhand chance someone burned themselves on a brazier, or more commonly, burned their skin from candle wax dripped onto their back, Olessa would cut the leaf and use its juices to soothe the burn.

Mara dropped her basket by one of the plants at the edge of the deck. She looked into the Sapphire Sea’s waters and stared at her reflection staring back with its wide, youthful eyes and shiny cheeks rounded with a mother’s glow.

The image brought a smile to her face, but she did not forget her chore. If she wanted Faratta to convince Olessa of her worth in the kitchen, she couldn’t idle like a foolish girl in the aft while the rest of the barge was hard at work.

She knelt to the basket and gripped the rim. The rough and awkward container wobbled in her hand. Her bloated belly made tipping the shells toward the water even more difficult, so she planted her feet to give her extra leverage. She placed her other hand beneath the basket and angled it over the edge.
 

The oyster shells shifted, clattering toward the basket’s lip in a shifting pile of bone grey and tarnished brown. The shells gathered near the edge. A little more, and they would tumble into the waves.

With a grunt, she tipped the basket. The shells piled higher, but they refused to fall. It was as if they knew their doom waited patiently beneath the waves.

Mara frowned and dug her nails into the bottom of the basket. She shuffled her feet closer to the ledge.
 

“Get in there, you stupid shells!” Mara lifted the basket—just a little higher.

Both shells and reed container splashed into the sea. Mara’s burdened belly tipped her forward. Her heart fluttered. Her arms swung in wild circles. She toppled over, and the dark, glassy Sapphire Sea swallowed her whole.

She spun and splashed through a torrent of foam and rubbery bubbles sliding up her arms and cheeks. The sea’s sour brine stung her lips and burned her throat. She reached for the deck, but in her panic, she hit her knuckles against the wood, and a jolt of pain lanced through her hand.