Crasmere, the floating city. Circling the shattered peak of Mount Ravaet, the three rings of the city turned in time with the sun, leaving half the population in the permanent shadows. The rings floated one above the other, held up by crystal-powered engines. The dark side was the perfect place for temples to Ixla, the patron god of thieves and shadows, to flourish.
The sunny side of the upper market was bustling and busy, even for a weekend. Vendor’s voices cracked as each strove to shout louder than their neighbors. The crowd was thick with well-dressed women and handsomely-groomed men whose pockets jingled and clinked. Perfume mingled with the scent of fresh baking bread, making Maz’s empty belly grumble. His fingers wriggled; it would be a good morning to be a pickpocket.
But Zal, Maz’s older brother, had a juicer target than pockets in mind for them today. It would be even juicier if they hadn’t been forced to team up with Alcide and her team of beggars and thieves. But Zal had been forced to make the tough call; it was too big a job for the boys alone.
Zal was dressed for the occasion in a suit of deep green brocade. He had been planning this for weeks, and had acquired an outfit that was only a little threadbare and short in the cuffs. He would have looked respectable, if it wasn’t for the scar on his eyebrow and the permanent scowl that had deepened the lines on his face, making him look older than his fourteen years. But that was practically elderly compared to the crowd of children clustered around him, waiting for his command.
Alcide’s gang were tentative allies today, though tomorrow they might be rivals for the best pickpocket grounds. Zal had struck a deal with Alcide—the loot would be divided evenly amongst the children, with a bonus for Zal for coming up with the plan.
Maz was all smiles. Normally Zal made him stand lookout, but this time it was his job to cause a distraction. Zal was finally trusting him, seeing him as grown up. Maz almost couldn’t believe it. Although at nine years old he was a little younger than his fellows from Alcide’s gang, Zal was confident that he could perform his role well.
Zal motioned for everyone to gather around him in the narrow, sheltered alley between a bakery and a watch repair shop. He tugged at his too-short sleeves, a sure sign that he was nervous. Not that anyone but Maz would pick up on it. He knew his brother better than he knew himself. He also knew Zal would never let his nerves get in the way of a job.
“Alright, everyone. Y’all know your jobs, and y’all know the rules. If anyone gets caught, you acted alone, and you don’t know no names,” said Zal in his best commander voice. “Our target is just across the street.” He flung out his arm and grinned.
He pointed at a large building with polished windows and marble steps leading up to the gilded door. Altam’s Curiosities and Wonders, home to a Master Artificer and her seven apprentices. Even from the alleyway across the street the shelves glittered, heavy with trinkets. Any one of them would feed them all for a month.
Maz blanched and clutched his empty stomach like he had been punched. ‘Oh no,’ Maz thought. ’Not Madame Altam’s place! She gave me honey cakes last Procession day.’
“What about robbing that awful jeweler,” Maz suggested. Zal’s eyes flicked to him, and Maz froze.
“Who, the one who tried to call the guards on you just for standing outside?” Zal laughed coldly. “That man has enough protection runes to safeguard the entire block.”
“There’s got to be someone else.”
“We need to rob someone, Maz. Begging for scraps is below a Serphant, no matter how hungry we are. And your Madame Altam has the worst security in the Middle Ring! She’s practically begging to be robbed.”
“We don’t have to beg. She would give us food if we asked. It’s not right. She’s nice,” said Maz, head hung low in resignation.
Zal turned back to Alcide and chuckled. “Nice? Oh, well in that case . . . show’s over, this shop owner is too nice to rob.” Alcide snorted and rolled her eyes and Zal opened his arms wide. “See, Maz. No one cares. If they were really that nice, would they have that pretty shop while we sleep down in the dirt of the lowest ring of the city? No.”
Maz’s brows furrowed as he processed this information. “I guess not. . . . But she does do a lot of charity work.”
“Charity work?” Zal snorted. “More like an excuse to pay less taxes. She doesn’t care, Maz.”
“But it’s not right! Oarae says that kindness—”
“Oh, not that god of yours again. The god of justice doesn’t care for thieves like us. You better forget her.” Zal shook his head in disgust. “Anything else to add?”
Maz shook his head and looked at the scuffed toes of his ragged boots.
“Alcide, are your lookouts giving the all clear?” said Zal, smiling like nothing had happened.
Alcide leaned out of the alley, her messy curls swaying, and flashed a hand symbol of three raised fingers. A shadow detached itself from the chimney of the artificer’s shop and signed back. Alcide nodded. “We’re ready.”
Zal straightened his satchel on his shoulder. “Remember, give me a count of sixty to get into place in the shop, then you start your distractions.”
Maz took a deep breath and resisted the urge to bounce on his toes. The excitement of the other children was infectious. He tried to match his brother’s life-or-death glare, but an anticipatory smile kept creeping out. Like a racing dog at the gate, he panted anxiously, waiting for his cue. He may not like that they were targeting Madame Altam’s place, but he would do the job as well as he could. He was a Serphant after all, there was family pride to consider. Images of Oarae’s stern face floated through his mind, her marble bow aimed at the unjust, but he pushed them aside. Maz was a Serphant. He would do the job. He had to.
Zal took one last look at them, drawing out the moment. He raised his hand, painfully slow. Maz quivered, eyes dancing from his brother to the bursting street. Maz could do this. His stomach twisted from both anticipation and suppressed horror at what he was about to do. He felt at the fragile treasures in his pockets: one, two, three, four. Yes, all there. Even Zal didn’t know about them, his secret weapon. Worth a few nights with an empty belly. Wine wasn’t cheap, but eventually he had gotten the secret from a drunk, out-of-work artificer for the god of shadows.
Maz caught his breath. His mind was wandering again. Zal’s eyes were upon him, burning with impatience. He gave a tiny nod to show he was ready, and Zal dropped his hand. Alcide counted under her breath as Zal strolled out of the alley and was lost in the crowd. Maz vibrated with the need to move, but he stayed still, listening to Alcide count.
Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. He shot out of the alley like an arrow, followed by whooping children. They split off into two groups—one headed towards the square, where people were doing their laundry in the large fountain, and the second, which included Maz, headed towards Fruit Seller’s Lane.
The eggs in his pocket clacked, threatening to break against each other as he pushed his way into the crowd. He pulled one out; the dark runes on the egg’s alabaster surface absorbed the light and emitted a tiny shroud of darkness. It cracked pleasingly when hurled under a cart selling bright red apples, and the egg’s contents spilled out like an overturned inkwell, black and viscous. The goo reacted to the sun and bubbled, sending up hissing clouds of stinking smoke. The owner of the cart shrieked and backed away as the cloud of darkness rose to hide his cart from view.
Heads turned at the sound, and Maz fled down the street. A cart of pears overturned to his left; he recognized one of Alcide’s girls as she ducked into an alley. Unaffiliated street urchins scrambled to pick up fruit before it could be trampled.
Shouts rose for the city guard, and Maz’s smile grew. He lobbed another of the shadow eggs at a food cart to add to the chaos, and continued on his way.
Making progress was becoming more difficult as onlookers craned their necks and shoved at each other to see what the commotion was. Maz slowed and did his best to blend with the crowd. The next egg burned to be used, but guards were already arriving, pikes gleaming in the morning sun, the royal crest of Crasmere proud on their breasts. Best not to draw their attention.
He didn’t have to feign curiosity as he looked back over his shoulder, where the egg spells were visible now as light-eating pillars of darkness that towered over the street. Maz’s step lightened. People were definitely distracted. Zal had probably cleared the whole shop out. He winced at the thought. The woman always had a kind word for kids like him. But by now his brother should be halfway to the rendezvous point with the loot. He sighed and turned away from the damage he had caused, and began to mentally plan how to join him.
A gauntleted hand clapped down on his shoulder, just barely preventing Maz from walking face first into a city guard. The eagle and the fishing spear of the royal crest hung inches from his nose, picked out in deep blue and yellow thread. The guard even bore the godmark of Falwin, the god of protection on his forehead. He blanched at the sight of it. A godmark meant powers, and for Falwin, that meant increased stamina and the ability to see footprints of a marked target. He could chase Maz up and down the three rings if he wanted to. A guard was bad enough, but a guard personally chosen to serve by Falwin himself? Maz’s heart fluttered with trepidation.
“Whoa there, streetling. Enjoying the show?” said the guard. He looked Maz up and down, taking in his long, knotted hair and the shirt that was more patches than fabric. The man’s hand tightened, but his face softened. “Don’t suppose you know anything about this mess, do ya? You streetlings always have the best gossip.”
Maz didn’t see the kindness in the guard’s face. He saw the pike, taller than he was, and its tip sharper than a needle. He saw the cudgel and the handcuffs at the man’s hip.
He saw an endless parade of shouts and curses and dodged blows from the other guards. An entire lifetime’s worth.
Maz panicked.
Before he could think, the third egg was in his hand. The next moment he smashed it into the pretty embroidery of the royal crest. Black smoke blossomed under his palm, and he used the moment to duck out of the stunned guard’s grip. The man shouted something as Maz darted away, but it was lost in the surprised cries from the crowd. People surged away from the guard like a rising tide, bearing Maz up and out of danger.
The eggy goo clung to his hand, and he did his best to wipe the evidence on the coats of those he passed. Their pockets jingled with coin under his touch, but he was so distracted that pickpocketing the panicking crowd never even crossed his mind.
By the time he reached the rendezvous spot, all that remained of his secret weapon were some faint trailing vapours. He attempted to get control of his breathing as he approached the shattered remains of a temple. The white marble columns stuck up like bones from the ground, barely enough to hold the weight of the remaining frescoed roof. Maz didn’t know who the temple belonged to, it was a remnant of a god that was killed in the last war. There were gaps in the walls from pillars falling in, and the sunlight fed a thick carpet of cheerful green weeds on the rubble-strewn floor.
Alcide perched on a pillar that leaned drunkenly on its neighbor, while a pair of golden-haired girls chatted at her feet. Zal held court in the center of the room, laughing at something one of Alcide’s boys had said. His satchel bulged with their loot, and the tension in Maz’s shoulders lessened.
Zal’s eyes flicked to Maz as he entered. He cut off his audience with a gesture and strode over to Maz. The concern in his eyes faded to all-too-familiar annoyance, and he grabbed Maz’s shoulder’s with hard hands and a tight smile.
“Tell me, Mazrael. What was that trick you pulled back there?”
Maz grinned and pulled the last egg from his pocket. “Smoke eggs! I got the recipe from Olmeg, behind Sam’s Pub. Pretty awesome, right? The crowd didn’t know what hit them!”
Zal’s hand tightened, and Maz squirmed in his grip. “And tell me, little brother, do you know what the word ‘subtle’ means? You brought an entire squad of guards down on the shop. There will be questions.”
Maz shook his head. “But we got away! I ran so fast no one even saw me.”
Zal sighed. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You are a disappointment to the Serphant name. You’ll never be a thief at this rate.”
Maz squared his shoulders and ducked out from his brother’s grip. “I am a Serphant! You said to cause a distraction. They were distracted! And it looks like you got plenty from the shop.”
Tension drained from Zal and he ran his hand through his dark, dirty hair. “I need you to use your head, alright? Terat hasn’t come back yet. What if he got caught by a guard? What if you got caught? You could have blown this whole thing for us.”
“Uncle Ratham would protect us.”
The dangerous glint returned to Zal’s eye and he raised a hand, cutting Maz off. “Do not mention that name to me, not today.”
“He’s our uncle, Zal, he—”
“No! He’s the worst kind of thief. If he knew we were doing this, he would take his ‘cut’ and we would be left with nothing, just like last time!”
Maz wrung his hands. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t know he was home when I asked if Eagle had paid you.”
Alcide hopped down from the pillar and coughed. “This is fun and all, but are we going to split the loot now, or what? I want to get home already.” Her gang gathered around her, eyes filled with eagerness and caution.
The glint in Zal’s eyes darkened for just a moment before he gave a friendly smile. His hands went to his pockets, and Alcide’s eyes followed hungrily.
The baubles glinted in the low light of the temple as he piled them onto the soft grass. There were devices for sharpening a sword beyond what a honing stone could do, trinkets for adding a subtle glow to the wearer, and a dozen other things Maz could only guess the purpose of. Runes and power stones adorned their gold and silver surfaces: truly the work of masters. His fingers itched to take one home for himself.
Zal crouched over the pile and laid them out in a line. He counted aloud and added a bauble for each of Alcide’s gang, then a pair for him and Maz. He paused, hand hovering over the last few devices. “I did most of the organizing, did I not?” He added an item to his pile. “And my brother caused a mighty distraction, allowing me time to grab all of this.” He added a second item, and gave the last to Alcide’s pile. “I would say that is fair, don’t you?”
The mop-headed girl flushed. “Distraction? You said it yourself, he got the guard called down on us. We’ll all have to lay low for weeks now.”
“Ah, but you’ll be resting at your ease, with full bellies and fresh clothes, after you sell all this. I promise, you won’t be in any danger.”
“No? Then where is Terat? You forgot him, didn’t you? He deserves his share, even if he is late,” said Alcide.
Zal’s face fell in rehearsed disappointment, but he added a device to Alcide’s pile and nodded. Alcide darted over, stuffing the devices in her own pockets. She whistled and her troupe bolted out of the temple.
“I’m sure he just got lost!” Zal shouted at her back.
Maz ignored the street urchin’s departure and watched his brother’s face, shoulders tense. But the moment Alcide’s footsteps faded the older boy burst into a deep belly laugh. He reached into his coat and brought out a handful more trinkets. His hand was friendly as he clapped Maz on the back.
“Come on, let’s take these to Eagle. I want them off our hands as soon as possible. You can come too—I’ll introduce you. It’s about time you got to learn more of the family business.”
“Eagle? Are you sure?” asked Maz.
“You’re old enough, no matter what Uncle Ratham says.”
Excitement and pride swelled in Maz’s breast, and he bounced on his toes. Eagle was the real deal, he fenced for the temple of Ixla itself! He squared his shoulders. When he was a thief, he would only steal from bad people. He wouldn’t be like Zal or Alcide, who took from whoever was in their path. He would be like his grandfather and namesake, who was powerful enough to pick and choose his jobs, to steal from whoever he pleased.
Maz quivered with exuberance, and Zal ruffled his hair in a rare show of affection before turning and walking out of the temple ruins.
Eagle’s shop was in the lower ring of the city, far from the prosperous shop they had just robbed. The trip down the trams had cost them a copper each, and an hour of time, but he was the best fence in the city. Zal would go to no other. Maz secretly suspected that was because Zal didn’t know any other fences, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud.
His belly grumbled, but he shoved the ever-present hunger from his mind. Meeting Eagle—this was serious business. The next step to becoming a thief.
Familiar doubt flickered in his chest at the thought, but he shoved it down. He would show Zal just how good a thief he could be.
The back alley smelled of muck and human waste, but he did his best to impress the filthy passageways into his memory. The twisting path took them deep into the rat’s nest of decaying buildings and boarded up shops known as the Snakeways.
Maz kept one hand on the knife Zal had given him for his birthday last year. The blade was short, the length of his fingers, and the handle was a little splintery, but it was the first knife he had ever owned, and he kept it razor sharp. This was where the real thieves lived, the kind that prayed to Ixla. Maz couldn’t imagine praying to such a two-faced god; he put his faith in Oarae instead, and prayed to her now that they would pass unnoticed.
Even the dim, smelly alleyways did little to quash his anxiety, and his back was tight with tension by the time they reached Eagle’s grime-encrusted door. Zal knocked in a rhythmic pattern and, after a still moment, the door opened a crack. The man glared down at him, blue eyes sharp. Maz could just make out thinning grey hair and a stubbled chin through the crack in the door. Eagle. He frowned down at Zal.
“Zalphrael Serphant. What can I do for you this fine evening?”
Zal jingled his pockets and grinned. Eagle raised an eyebrow, but opened the door for him. Maz attempted to follow, but Eagle held out his hand.
“He’s my brother,” said Zal, not bothering to look back.
Eagle sighed, but opened the door for Maz as well. “Another bloody Serphant. Just what this city needs.”
Zal grinned. “Yes, it is exactly what the city needs. How else am I supposed to rebuild the family empire without a little help from my only brother? Not like Uncle Ratham is having any luck.”
Maz’s eyes widened. Uncle Ratham was trying to rebuild grandfather’s empire? No wonder he was never home. Eagle muttered something unpleasant under his breath, but allowed Maz to dart under his outstretched arm and catch up to Zal.
The back room of Eagle’s shop was filled floor to ceiling with shelves containing boxes labeled with clear writing. Maz wove between them, wishing he could read the tags on the items. Goblets and silverware and runed devices made tempting targets for his itchy fingers, but he didn’t dare anger the best fence in the city.
Zal ignored the stolen goods on the shelves and turned a corner into Eagle’s office, which was just as clean and tidy as his storage room. A plain wooden desk stood at the far wall with nothing but a quill and ink pot upon its polished surface. More shelves flanked the desk, holding lock boxes and sturdy chests.
Maz followed as Zal threw himself into one of the wooden chairs that faced the desk and began digging the trinkets out of his pockets. Eagle shuffled behind the desk and Maz eased himself into the second seat beside his brother.
Eagle eyed Maz. “Bit young, ain’t he?”
Maz smiled the way Zal did when he was trying to be charming. “Gotta learn sometime.”
Eagle’s gaze flicked from the glistening pile to Zal, who stared back without flinching. “Hm. So you say. What’s your uncle think about all this?”
Zal turned away. “Uncle Rathan won’t let us join him until we reach sixteen.”
“Join—I’m talking family, boy. Your brother is what, eight?”
Maz held up his hand. “Nine, sir. And the name is Maz. Mazrael Serphant.”
“Named after your grandfather, are ya? I used to fence for him, you know. Mazrael Serphant, King of Thieves. A great man.” Maz grinned, and Eagle pulled the pile of trinkets over to his side of the desk and began to examine them one by one. “It was a sad day in Crasmere when the guards caught him. They got your mother too, that day, didn’t they? Tore his whole empire down. Hasn’t been one like him since. That uncle of yours means to change that though, doesn’t he?”
Zal crossed his arms. “We didn’t come for story time, Eagle,” he said slowly.
“Hold your tongue, little one, I’m getting to it.” Eagle sorted the trinkets into three piles. “Five silver each for these two, three silver for the middle stack, and you can keep this last one. I don’t have a use for toys.”
Zal surged up from his chair, face red. “Five silver for a Brand of Emna? A thief will pay ten times that!”
Eagle gave an unfriendly smile and picked up the brand, and gave the silver wheel on its side a flick. The carved runes on the box’s side sputtered to life, emitting a golden glow, far brighter than the light of a candle. He flicked the wheel again and set it down on the desk. “Correction, little snake. They will pay me ten times that. You aren’t your uncle yet.”
Zal’s fists clenched and unclenched, but he sat down without a word. Maz released a breath and leaned back in his chair. Disaster averted. The last thing he wanted was another hungry night if Zal flubbed this deal. He eyed his brother. That temper of his was getting harder to control.
Eagle pulled open a drawer and pulled a key on a golden chain off his neck. He chuckled without humour as Zal’s eyes tracked him as he unlocked the top drawer of his desk. He pulled out a handful of coins and counted them out one by one, laying each down with deliberate thunks onto the desk.
“And there we are. Nineteen silver coins. A pretty good haul for a pair of miniature thieves.”
Zal scowled, but held his tongue as he shook Eagle’s hand, then took the coins. Maz picked up the toy and clicked the lever. A fountain of tiny red sparks flew into the air, and he tucked it into his pocket with a grin. He felt like a real thief now.
The walk back home was quiet. Well, as quiet as a city like Crasmere could get. The late afternoon sun shone over crowds of craftswomen and househusbands, but the brothers did not walk among them. Despite Zal’s earlier bravado about them all being safe, they stuck to the shadows of the alleyways. The extra length it added to their journey was well worth it.
It felt like there were more guards out than normal, despite being far from the upper ring of the city. Maz was sure he was imagining things, but still, he kept close to his brother’s back.
Zal walked with all his usual swagger. He strutted like the shadows were a cloak tied at his neck, like the homeless sleeping in the alleys were his faithful subjects. Maz, on the other hand, felt like knives were pointed at his back. The excitement of the theft and from visiting Eagle were long gone, and he just wanted to be home.
Home. The basement of their uncle’s house. Better than living on the streets, but still damp and full of spiders. The upper floors weren’t much better, but Uncle Ratham liked the privacy the little house gave, tucked away on a back alley as it was, far from the markets and entrances to the upper rings of the city.
They were only a few streets away from home when Zal’s hand slapped him in the chest, jarring him out of his reverie. Zal pushed Maz back into the alley and dropped into a crouch. There in the street was a contingent of guards. And with them was a small boy with messy blonde hair.
Terat. The boy who had never made it back to the rendezvous. Zal motioned for Maz to wait there, and crept forward. But Maz couldn’t help but follow, stepping carefully to stay silent.
“. . .Around here, I swear.”
A guard with a coarse black mustache cuffed him on the back of the head. “‘Around here’ isn’t good enough, streetling. Lead us to the ringleader’s house, or you’re going straight to the stocks, hear me?”
Terat hunched his shoulders and turned in a circle. Maz and Zal ducked back, but too slowly. Terat pointed. “There!” As the guards turned in their direction. Zal hauled Maz to his feet and took his hand.
They bolted.
They vaulted over prone forms on the ground and skirted around broken crates as the guards crashed into the alley behind them. Maz did his best to keep up with his brother’s longer legs, but soon his lungs were burning. He kept moving, but it wasn’t enough. He stumbled, and only Zal’s hand kept him from falling.
The guards were close behind them, but they didn’t know this part of the city like Maz and Zal did. Zal led them away from the house, deeper into the maze of mouldering buildings and twisting alleyways. He ducked in and out of abandoned houses, the shouts of the squatters trailing behind them.
The guards trailed too. With each twist and turn the brothers gained a little bit of a lead, even with Maz’s increasing clumsiness. Zal eventually allowed them to slow, listening for sounds of pursuit.
Finally, they were alone. Maz hunched over, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. Zal breathed heavily as well, but his fury overcame any exhaustion. The older boy paced, fists clenched.
“Terat! The coward. We had an agreement. I swear, if Alcide had any part of this, I’ll make her regret double-crossing us.”
Maz straightened. “We should probably ask her before we make her our enemy. She and her gang are useful.”
“Sure, when they aren’t betraying us. Come on. I want to find that little brat,” said Zal with a sneer.
Zal started up, steps brisk once again. His brother crossed the dank alleyways at a swift pace, and circled back to the area where they had last seen Terat. There he slowed, and motioned for Maz to be quiet once more.
Zal hunted, and Maz followed. Maz always followed, though the intense rage darkening his brother’s brow made him increasingly nervous. He had been on the receiving end of that rage, and hoped that Terat was long gone.
But Terat had not fled. He waited in the square, pacing and fidgeting.
“You! Traitor!” shouted Zal as he hurtled into the square. Terat took one look at Zal, and bolted. Zal dodged around the remaining guard and pursued Terat down a narrow alley on the other side of the square. Maz followed as quickly as he could, and the guard cursed as he zipped around him. The guard tried to follow the children down the gap, but his breastplate was too wide, and sparks flew as he lodged himself in between the two buildings.
They exited the gap and raced down the alleyway behind a pub. Terat led them through the fallen remains of a warehouse and back into the alleys. Terat was fast, but Zal was faster. He cut the boy off, herding him into a box alley, where a tall fence cut off escape. Terat’s eyes went wide with fear and he tried to turn and run, but Zal was too fast. He wheezed as Zal’s fist struck him in the gut and, when he bent over, Zal struck him on the back with an elbow.
“You think you can give me up to the guards, you worthless gutter rat?” He punctuated his words with a kick to the shin, and Terat fell to the ground, sobbing in fear. “You think you can take on a Serphant and not be bitten?” hissed Zal. Terat cowered, hands covering his head.
“Zal, stop, that’s enough!” shouted Maz from the alleyway.
The older boy didn’t listen, and kicked Terat in the ribs. Somewhere above them a window slammed shut. If there were still guards nearby, Maz hoped they were deaf.
Maz took a few hesitant steps into the alley as Terat spit up a mouthful of blood. The smaller boy tried to bolt, but Zal dragged him by his ankle and flipped him onto his back. He threw himself on Terat and struck him in the face, breaking the boy’s nose.
“Zal! That’s enough!” said Maz, catching his brother’s arm as he wound up for another strike. Zal turned to him, eyes incoherent with rage, and snarled wordlessly. His brother raised his other hand, and Maz flinched, but didn’t let go. Not this time.
The blow caught Maz in the upper arm, and he lost his grip on Zal. Maz stumbled backwards into a broken crate as Zal spat at him, and turned back to the semi-conscious boy under him.
Before he could stop himself, Maz had pried a plank off of the crate. He rushed at his brother and struck him firmly in the head with the splintering plank. The sound of wood-on-skull echoed through the empty street, and Zal went down.
Terat wasted no time and pulled himself out from under Zal, movements woozy. Maz stared at his back as the boy stumbled away, wondering if he should follow.
But Zal didn’t give him a chance. He stirred and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. The plank was heavy in his hands, but Maz didn’t drop it. He watched warily as his brother clambered to his feet. He turned to Maz with a confused look, looking to the plank, then to the blood on his fingers as he probed the back of his head.
“You hit me,” said Zal.
“I had to. You were going to kill him!”
“You hit me!”
“Zal—”
“No. Brothers don’t hit brothers. We stick together, one team.” Zal’s fists balled and he took a step forward.
Maz hefted his plank. “It wasn’t right!”
“Who are you to decide? I’ll show you what’s right and wrong!” Zal darted forward and snagged the plank from Maz’s hands before he could react. His other fist took Maz on the temple and Maz stumbled into the brick wall, trying to pick himself up to run.
But Zal was on him in an instant and struck him in the back with the plank. “It was right, the right of thieves. He broke the deal, he ratted. I had to keep him in line.”
“I‘m a thief, not a thug like you!” shouted Maz as he pushed himself up from the ground.
Zal hesitated, and Maz took the moment to put distance between them.
“Don’t want to be like me? Maz, you are a Serphant. Or do you think you are too good for us, little brother?”
Maz raised his fists. “Oarae take you, I won’t be a thief if it means beating people half to death.”
Zal sneered and pounced.
The brothers tumbled onto the dirty cobble of the street, Zal’s fists flailing. Maz tried to shove his brother off, but he was too heavy. He struck a blow to distract Zal, knuckles cracking off his cheekbone. Maz flinched at the pain. How does Zal manage it? Images of past beatings flashed through his mind and he bared his teeth as he caught his brother in the stomach with his heel. Maz used the brief respite to skitter backwards out of his reach. He dug a hand into his pocket, where the last shadow egg was miraculously unbroken. He hefted it and flung it at Zal’s head.
The egg cracked, goo splattering onto the dirty collar of his shirt. The shadows billowed up and Zal clawed at his face, trying to get it off. Maz bolted down the alley and headed back towards their house in the vain hope that his uncle would protect him.
But it wasn’t enough. Zal followed him, half-blind and bellowing. The blow to his head barely slowed him, and Maz was still tired from the flight from the guards. Zal dove onto him and brought Maz to the ground. He got Maz onto his back and rained strike after strike to his head and shoulders. Blood filled Maz’s vision, and he heard a sharp crunch as his nose broke.
The eggy shadows dripped onto him, mocking his failure. The gifts of Ixla had brought him nothing but trouble. He needed something else. Images of the temple of Oarae drifted through his battered mind as more and more blood obscured his vision. Fear surged through him. He was dead. Zal was killing him.
“Oarae . . . help . . . me . . .” Maz choked out with his last breath as his vision faded to black.
Consciousness faded into darkness. But there was something else there. Golden light tickled the back of his mind, warm and soothing. The touch on his soul was foreign and uncomfortable, like standing too close to a bonfire. But Maz reached out for it anyway, wanting the comfort it promised. Power surged into him. The magic forced air into his struggling lungs, and gold filled his vision, replacing the blackness.
Strength returned to his limbs, and he raised his arms. An unseen force pushed Zal off of him and into the garbage-piled in the alleyway. Maz rolled onto his belly, head throbbing both with pain and the unfamiliar burn of the golden power surging through his body. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but all he could see was the golden light.
The sound of footsteps, light and graceful, padded towards him. Maz jerked as hands stroked his face, warm and soothing. His broken nose righted itself with a frightening crunch and he whimpered in confusion as the swelling from his black eyes faded. The pain receded, and he sighed in relief as he sat up.
In front of him stood a woman with short brown hair and a plain, friendly face. The golden glow came from her, a gentle warm light that banished the fears from his mind. She wore a simple linen wrap and a quiver of arrows strapped to her back.
Maz stared up at her. A god, a real one, here in front of him. Oarae. The God of Truth and Justice.
She looked at him with pity, and touched his forehead with a gentle hand. Her mind flooded into his—not thoughts, exactly, but images and intentions. Maz flinched and tried to pull away, but the images were relentless. Temples, all across the land. Her symbol, a bow letting fly a piercingly sharp arrow. The overwhelming determination to do the right thing, even if it meant pain and heartache. The compulsive desire to protect, to find out the truth, to think before acting.
And an invitation to be her follower. The question pulsed in his mind. Say yes, and be taken away from this place. Say no, and return to a life of crime with his violent brother and absent uncle.
The question tore Maz in two. Thieving was all he knew. It was in his blood. But he knew he couldn’t continue like this, stealing from people he liked and living as Zal’s punching bag.
He wanted more. Maz’s head bowed, and his soul answered.
The god smiled, and her thumb rubbed his forehead. Pain seared into his skull, brief but potent. But it faded quickly, and he knew he had been marked to be her follower, like the guard from the market.
And not just any follower. The god’s hand withdrew, and Maz’s hand flew to his forehead. He would need a mirror to confirm, but everyone knew what a godmark looked like. On his forehead was a glimmering mark of gold, glowing softly. The bow and arrow of Oarae. He had been Chosen. He would have powers, the ability to tell truth from lie, to be able to compel a confession. Things normal people couldn’t do.
The god nodded to confirm and stood. Maz followed, head bowed. What do you say to a god?
Oarae stood a moment, looking at the trembling form of Zal, who lay prone in the garbage, the whites of his eyes bright in the shadows. She shook her head, then returned her attention to Maz. She pointed towards the temple district, and made a shooing motion. Of course—Maz had been Chosen, and must go to her temple.
The god smiled and ruffled his hair, then faded away.
Maz and Zal stared at each other across the empty space where the god had been.
Zal climbed to his feet, holding his ribs as he limped over to Maz. His face was pale with pain and confusion.
“You’re a godlicking Arrow! I should never have let you go anywhere near that temple.”
Maz stared back at his brother, still touching his forehead.
Zal limped as he began to pace, face contorted with emotion. “You’ve been Chosen, Maz. She Chose you. I can’t believe it. You are going to leave me here in the dirt.”
“Zal, no. I can stay, I don’t have to go to the temple.”
“You don’t get to tell her no, she’s a damn god! What kind of Serphant goes and gets himself Chosen by the god of justice?”
Tears began to leak down Maz’s face. “Zal, please. I didn’t mean to get Chosen.”
“Didn’t mean to? Gods above, do you know what I would give to be Chosen? And you just have it happen to you? How much I’ve prayed . . .” Zal clenched his fists, and the anger faded from his face, replaced with resignation. “Just go.”
The tears came harder and a sob choked Maz’s throat. “I won’t turn you in, not ever. I swear it on Oarae.” His godmark pulsed. Promise accepted.
Zal hesitated a moment before the anger welled back up on his face. “I can’t stand to look at you. Go, get out of here.” He aimed a kick at Maz, who dodged with reflexes well-honed by experience.
“GO!” Zal screamed, fists raised.
Maz ran. He ran all the way to the temple, thoughts tumbling over in his head. Truth. His uncle. Justice. His brother. Chosen to serve; what did that even mean? He glanced over his shoulder as the doors of the temple whispered shut behind him. Zal was nowhere in sight. There was only Oarae for him now.
He slumped against the yellow stones of the temple wall. Someone kneeled in front of him, but he didn’t hear their words. She called out, and more followers of Oarae hurried into the antechamber. They were well-fed and wore clean grey robes and fine leather sandals. None bore godmarks; they had chosen Oarae for themselves. They looked so utterly unlike his brother that chaotic laughter bubbled up from his twisting stomach. Maz let them lead him away deeper into the temple, shock settling in as surely as the temple walls were closing in around him.
There was only Oarae for him now.
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