The Skeleton King (The Silk & Steel Saga) (45 page)

58

Mara

Mara trudged through the mud, a
wicker basket riding on her back. Brown clouds boiled overhead, sealing the Pit
like a cauldron’s lid. She glanced up anyway, longing for a glimpse of blue.
Every spring she stood in line, desperate for a chit to work the farms, but her
face always betrayed her. Youth and beauty chained her to the Pit. She worked
on her feet during the day and on her back at night, a miserable existence, but
she never stopped longing for a glimpse of sky, for a taste of freedom.

At least she no longer worked in
the mines. After the rebellion, her uncle had gotten her work at the dung heap,
but still her beauty betrayed her.

“Come and see me tonight.” A guard
leered at her, making a poking gesture with his right hand. “Ask for Harit in
the barracks of the First Fist.”

She ducked her head and hurried on.
“Cursed be the Dark Lord and all those who serve him.” It was only a whisper
but the words eased her burning heart.

A hard frost covered the ground but
her weight was enough to break the crust. Cold mud oozed between her bare toes,
another blight of the Pit. Pulling her cloak close, she trudged through the
muck. Mara reached the gates and a familiar guard waved her through. The dung
heap was a landmark of the Pit, a brown mountain leaning against the western
wall. Shoveled from the stables above, the dung formed a massive brown cone, a
scree slope of waste. Old men in tattered rags scurried like beetles across the
steep slope, gleaning the dung from the dross. Horse dung was precious in the
Pit, the only source of fuel. Strange how the waste from above became the
treasure of those below.

A horn blast sounded from above.

Someone screamed a warning.

A brown avalanche fell from the
clouds, tumbling down the sheer rock wall. Workers scrambled to avoid the rush.
Mara stopped and stared, unable to look away. An old man stumbled and fell,
buried beneath the brown slush. Mara closed her eyes, such a terrible way to
die.

A guard poked her with his spear
butt. “No time to gawk. Those who work, eat.”

Mara lurched forward, following mud-churned
footprints. A brown mist clung to the air, the pungent scent of fresh manure.
The tumble of waste slowly settled, adding a fresh layer of dung to the
mountain. Workers scurried up the slope, hoping to find treasure buried among
the dross.

Oblivious to the drama, a dozen old
women knelt on the frozen ground, kneading straw into dung. Their hands beat a
steady rhythm, forming the mixture into flat patties suitable for cook-fires.
Stacks of patties dried in the weak winter sun, worth a small fortune to the
overseers. Mara eased the empty basket from her shoulders and bent toward the
nearest stack.

A toothless old crone scurried to
her side, her back bent, her hands stained brown to her elbows. “Mara let me
help.” Thessala touched her hand, the old woman making a deft exchange. Mara risked
a quick peek. A small comb carved of bone, only a few teeth missing, nestled in
her hand.

Thessala flashed a snaggletoothed
smile. “It’s good, isn’t it? Found it yesterday. Some soldier probably carved
it for his sweetheart, lost among the stable’s dross.”

Mara slipped the comb into her
pocket. “It should fetch a good price, an extra ration at least.” She tucked
her blond hair behind her ears and reached for another patty.

The old woman worked beside her,
helping to fill the basket. “You’re a good girl, Mara. With your face, you’ll
get a good price.”

Her face, a blessing and a
curse,
but Mara just nodded, knowing the crone meant no harm. Forty patties
filled her basket, a seller’s allotment. Mara knelt, slipping her arms through
the straps. Bending forward, she slowly rose, taking the full weight on her
shoulders, just another beast of burden. She waved to Thessala and trudged
toward the gate.

Mud squished between her toes, cold
and slippery. One step at a time, she made her rounds, delivering the patties.
Two tokens bought a single patty, enough to heat a pot of stew. A few women
haggled for a better deal but the price was never hers to set.

Dirty faces peered from mud huts
and thatched hovels, everything brown and dreary, a misery that leached into
her soul. Nothing ever changed in the Pit…except for him, the man with the mismatched
eyes, the one who’d dared to start a rebellion. She’d helped him in the mine,
and helped herself to revenge. Her fist tightened, remembering the feel of the
dagger, the sweet nectar of justice, but the rebellion was short-lived. She
didn’t even know his name…but she’d never forget his face, or the way he’d made
her feel, like a woman with choices instead of chattel. At least she no longer
served in the mine, gaining a dung sellers’ basket by the grace of her great
uncle, but she never forgot that brief taste of rebellion. A shame the gods
didn’t favor the uprising. Six men condemned to death, the soldiers hung them
from the standing stones, a lesson for others. She’d kept vigil in the crowd,
needing to witness their fates. The man with the mismatched eyes remained stoic
in his pain, but the others began to talk, especially Clovis, calling the people to rebellion. His
words kindled a fire in her heart. She’d sought out the council of elders,
adding her voice to the others, begging them to rise up. But old men are slow
to action, debating while brave men died.

A shadow fell across her face. The
standing stones stood empty, the rotting bodies finally put to rest, but the
call of rebellion still roiled in her heart. She leaned against the stone,
wondering if the gods ever listened.

Something hard struck the back of
her head.

She whirled to find the culprit…but
no one was there.

Suspicious, she waited.

A stone clattered against the
standing stones.

Astonished, Mara stared skyward.
Another pebble fell from the sky. Piercing the thick brown clouds, it bounced
and skittered, landing in the mud.
A stone from the sky.
And then she
saw another. She stared open-mouthed.

The
sky rained stones.

People emerged from their huts to
stare. A hail of pebbles clattered into the Pit, a brief storm and then it was
over.

Dark wings glided down from the
clouds. Mara’s breath caught at the rare sight. A single raven soared in a
circle and then came to land at her feet. It dropped a pebble and then glared
up at her, as if expecting something. “
Caw!”
Feathers ruffled, it stared
at her with smoke-colored eyes.
“Caw! Caw!”
Dark wings stretched wide
and the raven took flight, beating for the sky.

 
“Fly free, little brother.” She made the words
a prayer. Mara watched till the clouds swallowed the dark bird and then she
knelt to claim the pebble. Just a small gray stone till she noticed the symbol
etched on one side. Her fingers traced the carving. She couldn’t read but every
slave knew the symbol for rebellion. Her heartbeat quickened. She turned it
over and saw three scores on the other side, a message from the gods.

Elated, she rushed to the nearest
knot of people. “Do you see it?”

Three of them held pebbles. They
all bore the same markings.

Mara smiled, “It’s a message from
the gods!” Rumors started this way, but she didn’t care. She found herself
running, suddenly fleet of foot, all the way to the large hut that served the
council of elders. A small crowd had already gathered, a murmur of voices in
the muddy lane. Shrugging the basket from her shoulders, she wormed her way to
the front. A single guard blocked the doorway, a big man with a Taal’s sloped forehead. He looked intimidating but Mara
knew him from childhood. “Braith, let me in!”

He shook his head and stamped his
foot. “No one passes.”

Standing on tiptoes, she whispered
in his ear. “Uncle Elswin asked for me.”

Braith grinned a lack-wit’s smile.
“Okay, just you.”

She slipped through the doorway,
always surprised by the sudden warmth. A dung fire glowed in the center of a
large circular room, the smoke rising to the peaked roof. The elders took their
ease around the circular hearth, leaning on pillows, sipping cups of cha served
by a handful of women. Thirteen elders ruled the slums, all of them men, their
hair respectable shades of silver, gray, or white.

Mara clung to the shadows, slipping
along the wall till she reached her great uncle, the only one she dared
approach. She crept forward to kneel by his side.
“Honored Uncle,” she kept her voice to a hushed whisper, her head bent
in respect, “I have something you should see.”

He turned towards her, a rounded face framed by a wealth of silver
hair. A necklace of polished red beads hung from his shoulders, the symbol of
his council seat. “Mara, child, you should be working.” He reached out to
caress her cheek with a six-fingered hand. “You’ve a pleasing face but you
disturb the council chambers all too often.”

“But Honored Uncle, you must see this.” She pressed the pebble into his
hand. “Stones are falling from the sky. It’s a sign from the gods.”

“What?” Surprise flitted across his face. “You bring me a pebble?”

She struggled to contain her excitement. “I bring you a message! All
the stones bear the same symbol!”

He fingered the pebble, a flash of annoyance on his face. “You bother
me with nonsense.”

“No!” She fought to keep her voice a whisper. “A rain of stones fell
from the sky, all bearing the same message! It’s a message from the gods! They
mean for us to follow the words of the prophet, to rise up and claim our
freedom.”

“Quiet!” His voice hissed. “Talk of treason will get us all hung from
the Stones.” He dropped the pebble as if it had stung him. “Forget this
nonsense. It took a fist full of favors to get you a dung sellers’ basket. Now
get back to work before you lose your place.”

She shook her head, baffled by his disbelief. “But I saw you in the
crowds. You heard the prophet. Everyone knows Clovis had the third-eye. And now stones fall
from the sky, giving proof to his words!”

He pounced, grabbing her arm, pulling her close, the smell of rancid
milk on his breath. “You little fool.” His face twisted to an ugly sneer. “
Dung
falls from the sky! Do you name that a miracle?” His long fingernails bit into
her flesh. “Now be gone, or you’ll find yourself chained in the brothels,
nothing more than a broodmare for soldiers.”

Horror pierced her heart, wakening her deepest fear. Snatching up the
pebble, she scuttled backwards, fleeing the cruelty of his gaze. Desperate to
be gone, she fled to the doorway, but the entrance was clogged with people, a
barefoot mob chanting for answers.
“Lead
us! Free us!”

Braith struggled to open a space, his towering bulk pressed against the
mob. “No one passes.” He waved his arms like clubs, forcing the crowd from the
doorway.
 

Spying an opening, Mara ducked beneath his arms. Clutching the pebble, she
joined the crowd, just another dirty face in a sea of brown. The crowd’s chant beat
against her, waking the anger in her soul.
“Lead us! Free us!”
The
chant rolled through the people like a rumble of thunder.

Movement at the council doorway. A space cleared and her uncle emerged,
his hair glinting silver in the sunlight, his necklace of red stones adding
authority to his broad shoulders. He raised his hands for silence, six fingers
spread wide on each hand, proving to the people that he was one of them.

An expectant hush settled over the crowd.
 

Mara shuffled to the left, anxious to see, but not to be seen.

“Be calm, my friends,” her uncle wore a paternal smile. “Return to your
work. All is well.”

“But the stones!” A tall man near the front dared to argue. “Surely
it’s a sign from the gods!”

A murmur rose from the crowd.

Her uncle raised his hands for quiet. “Think, my friends. Everything
that comes from above does so by the will of our overlords.” The crowd began to
protest, but her uncle shouted above the murmur. “Hear me! The stones are a
test devised by the priests! A way of sorting the rebellious from the
loyal.”
 

Mara gaped, knowing it was a bold-faced lie. “
Ravens
brought the
stones.” It was only a whisper, but others repeated her words, an undercurrent
of hope threading through the crowd.

Other councilmen emerged to stand behind her uncle, a show of
authority. “Do not be deceived by the stones! Return to work and all will be
well.”

A dark-haired woman raised her voice in protest. “But what of the words
of the prophet? Clovis
had the sight! And now the gods have given us a sign!”

Anger flashed across her uncle’s face. “Clovis
died
on the Stones and the gods
did
nothing
. Don’t be misled by false prophets.” He glared at the crowd
like an angry father disciplining a wayward child. “You have a duty to
yourselves and your families. Life in the Pit is simple. You work and you eat.
You work and you stay warm. You work and you live.” He waved his arms in
dismissal. “Be gone from here. Forget the stones and return to work before the
soldiers come to claim the rebellious.”

Mara stared at her uncle with fresh eyes. For the first time she
noticed all the councilmen wore boots.
Boots!
Cold mud oozed
between her toes, a reminder of her station in life. She realized the overlords
set the councilmen apart from the people. Coddled by luxury, the council would
never heed the gods’ call. Mara stared at the pebble, flipping it from one side
to the other,
rebellion in three.
But three what? And then she understood. Three
nights till the dark of the moon, the perfect time for an uprising. The meaning
burned with certainty in her heart, proving the truth of the message.