3. A DEMON'S EYES
Usually royals never went down to shop or eat in the lower part of the city. That’s why Talis and Mara almost always went there, to escape prying eyes. Especially now that if they were seen together, it would mean trouble for them both. Mara informed Talis that her mother was still furious at him.
Mara ran ahead, as if daring Talis to catch her. She took the traders’ way to Fiskar’s: around the upper shops, down an alleyway stacked with crates, inside a warehouse door, past workers loading crates, until they reached the dark corridor winding down to the lift.
The workers always averted their eyes from Talis and Mara when they used the lift, as if they thought it wasn’t their business to notice a few royal children skulking around in the darkness. Talis and Mara hopped on the lift, and Mara grabbed Talis’s hand as the lift jolted, and they started their descent several hundred feet down, until the way opened up to Shade’s Gate, next to the upper part of Fiskar’s Market.
Today was Hanare, sacred day of the Goddess Nacrea, the eighth day of the week, a day free from study and work. At least for the royals. In Fiskar’s Market, most commoners still toiled, preparing for Magare, first day of the week and market day. But still, children chased chickens lazily through the market stalls, and old men played Chano, staring at the chipped granite pieces as if waiting for a mystery to be revealed. Old women gossiped, casting curious eyes at Talis and Mara as they sat at a flimsy table next to a boiling pot of dumpling soup. The broth smelled of garlic and chives and roasted hare.
Talis handed the cook a copper coin, and he stared at it suspiciously, then grunted and filled a ladle full of cabbage, bits of meat, shimmering dumplings, and piping-hot clear broth. Talis salivated as the man placed Mara’s soup on the table.
“Can I start?” she said, dumping so much chili sauce in her soup it turned red.
“Torture me…”
She slurped the soup and made a face of pure joy.
“Can I have a dumpling?” Talis’s stomach grumbled.
“Yours is coming soon enough. So impatient!”
The cook scowled at Talis, as if contemplating serving him or not. Finally, he slopped the soup into a bowl (skimpy on the dumplings and meat) and plopped it down in front of Talis.
“I’ve got news.” Mara held up her spoon like a professor giving a lecture.
Talis slurped the soup, wincing at how hot it was.
“Mother wants me to marry Baron Delar’s son-”
Talis spewed the soup onto the ground and coughed. Him? Baron Delar’s son was twenty-eight, how could she marry him?
“The soup is hot, you should be more careful.” Mara lifted an eyebrow, smirking at the look of horror that must have been on his face. “Don’t you approve of the engagement?”
“I don’t know…I guess it’s good news. Congratulations?”
“You idiot! Are you kidding me? I’m not marrying that pig-faced, smelly old wart-hog. He wears frilly silk blouses, a man dressed like a pampered child!”
“But all the lands he owns, and the trading routes, titles…”
“I can’t believe you actually think it’s a good idea.” She drew in the stares of the cook and many others nearby.
“Settle down,” he said, softening his voice like he was speaking to a baby. He smiled at her. “I never said it’s a good idea. Eat your soup, will you? You can’t be married until you’re fifteen anyways.“
“It’s two years away! Besides, engaged is as good as being married…it’s like prison. Nobody breaks their engagement-well there was Lady Macela-poor thing, never got married, all on her own. But to that old pig? What are my parents thinking? I hate them.”
“Just tell them you don’t want to marry him.”
“I already did. You know they never listen to me. They claim they know what’s best for me. I’d rather run away than marry him. I simply won’t do it.” She cast a venomous glare at her soup, then sighed and looked up at Talis, raising a finger as if she had an idea.
“Let’s win the Blood Dagger competition. If we win, I’m allowed any wish I choose. That’ll keep me away from that ridiculous man.”
“But Rikar and Nikulo are undefeated…they’re brutal-”
“I don’t care! We can do it, I know we can. Ever since that old witch made me drink all her potions and tea I feel strangely powerful…like I can do anything.”
“We’ve had a string of bad luck, though. We lost two times in a row at the training arena, and then you almost got killed by the boar.” Talis lowered his voice to a whisper. “It’s like the gods are angry with us.”
“There are rites of initiation we could try…a blood oath.”
“A blood oath?” Talis swallowed, not liking whatever was implied by her suggestion. “Would that be with the Temple of Nestria or Nyx?”
Mara glanced towards the vines that covered walls surrounding the Temple of Nyx, the God of War. “I know what we have to do. We must pray to Zagros, who favors the weak and fallen.”
Zagros? Why would they pray to the God of the Underworld? “I’ve not been beyond Nyx…”
“Listen, we know the rites of initiation. We’ve been trained, right? What are you afraid of?”
“The Temple of Zagros is for those bringing the dead…or those who worship dark magic. Why would we go there?”
“I’m not marrying Baron Delar’s son. We’ve prayed to the other gods before previous matches and we still lost. What have we got to lose?”
Talis imagined they’d have quite a bit to lose. “Oh let’s see, I can think of many reasons why it’s a bad idea. Demons. Curses. And just purely the wrong kind of attention!”
“You owe me. It’s not like it’s the first time in history people have performed the rites. We both read the books and were trained by the same priests. Many heroes in the past have done the rites of initiation to ward off death’s touch. We’d be doing it for victory.”
Glancing at the twisted black oaks marking the entrance to the Temple of Nyx, Talis frowned, but gave in anyways, despite feeling this was a terrible idea. Mara caught his eyes, and held out her thumb to touch his. They sealed the vow with this act. Now they could do nothing but follow through until they completed the Rites of Zagros.
After they finished their soup, Talis and Mara stepped hesitantly towards the blackened iron gate of the foul- tempered God of War. Once inside, the air seemed to darken, either obscured by the oaks or frightened by the shadow crows alive in the quavering branches above. Talis forced himself on, and Mara yanked his hand, leading him around the sword-shaped temple, through the onyx gravestones marking fallen war heroes.
The air reeked of sulfur. Mara puffed out her chest, eyes squinting, and faced a wall of tangled and twisted vines. She chanted words of passage to the realm of Zagros: “For there were four winds racing from the four corners of the world, four spirits and four demons, consuming all life in their path. Grant access to your dominion, yet hold your devouring fire till old age.”
With that the choke vines moved, loosening and untwisting, making a narrow path before them. Mara and Talis squeezed their way inside, where the power surged in the air, the power of dark magic, the power of death. The sky collapsed to a whorl of gray and black, tiny scintillating bolts forming an electric mesh in the sky. A barren ledge stood before them, with the Nalgoran Desert stretching across the sky. The wind rushed at their faces as they entered the ledge, the ledge where many chose to plummet to an early death.
Talis stepped gingerly towards the edge, mindful of the lack of railing, wishing he’d never agreed to perform the Rites. “All powerful Zagros, finish the deed, grind all matter to dust, from the remains the seed springs to life.”
He stared out over the vast expanse to the east, the Nalgoran Desert, with nothing but sand and whirling wind for hundreds of miles.
Mara tugged at his hand, pulling him to the left towards a cave set inside the massive granite cliff.