Free Ashwalk Pilgrim by AB Bradley Page A

courage gathering strength. “They’re celebrating. It is a happy time. It is celebration. I will save my son’s soul and be back home long before dawn.”
    Her sandals crunched over the shore’s smooth rocks as she stepped away from the waves lapping at her ankles. She glanced over her shoulder, peering through the great ships moored to the docks. Beyond their bobbing hulls, the empty sea stretched to the titan at the bay’s mouth. To the side, the Floatwaif glittered with the lights fastened around the small boats.
    She imagined Gia gazing at the shoreline, praying to the Six that Mara landed upon the rocks unharmed.  
    “It was close, Gia,” Mara said, “that bastard Kard killed Tolstes. He would have killed me, too, but a silent son saved me. He used magic, Gia. Maybe it isn’t really leaving the world. Maybe if you really do believe in the Six, they can still grant you the power.”
    Her gaze lingered on the stretch of water where the strong boy’s body fell. Whispering a quick prayer for the eunuch, Mara turned from the world she knew and faced the strange one before her. She darted from the docks, carefully avoiding clusters of sailors downing shots or crying out toasts that boasted of their exploits.  
    Mara stepped out of the shadows and onto the first stony avenue of Lower Sollan. Scents of fried shrimp seasoned with paprika tickled her nose, the inviting aroma drifting from a noisy tavern a few steps from where she stood. Her belly rumbled and gurgled like an old bog, and for the first time that night, she felt the empty, ravenous pit within her stomach.
    Swallowing, she peered into the city rising before her, graceful towers thrusting against the sparkling sky, ropes intertwined between them hanging glowing lanterns from their lines. The ground sloped upward, revealing Upper Sollan in the distance, and beyond it on a raised plateau, the tall wall of Hightable where the Mother’s temple waited.
    A fish merchant leaned against his stall and stared into a cup of wine. A wooden pipe hung from his swollen lip as he mumbled quietly to himself.  
    “Sir?” Mara took a shaky step toward the man. “Can you tell me the quickest way to Hightable? I’m heading for the Mother’s temple, but I’m afraid I don’t know the way.”
    “ Hm? ” The man’s lips tightened around his pipe. His eyes drifted from his wine and focused on Mara. “Brave girl to head so high when Good King Sol’s got his blades out for—”
    His bleary gaze looked Mara up and down. He stiffened with a sneer. “Ashwalk pilgrim, are you? Out of my face with that dead thing in your arms. I’ll not have any demon alp or king’s blades in my room tonight.”
    “Just point, and I’ll leave. I just—”
    “Out!” He threw his cup at Mara, and a burgundy trail of wine lashed out like a striking serpent. The wine splashed against her filthy cloak as the cup careened over her shoulder and smashed against a wall.  
    The man thrust his shoulders back and hooked his thumbs into his belt. She caught the glint of steel tucked behind the strap of leather.
    Her eyes widened, and she spun from the merchant.  
    The long knives of the docks. They really do exist.
    She bolted headlong into the city and nearly crashed into a roving band of sailors. They recoiled when they saw her. One spit and another cursed. The third sneered and licked his lips in a way that said, you might be fun.
    Mara twisted from them, her fingers tightening on her babe. Their gazes latched onto her back like insects hungry for her blood.
    “You see that?” one hissed. “That was a moon maiden’s collar on her neck.”
    “Aye, and one whose womb’s been poisoned. The serpents are right. The pleasure houses are a curse for any who have a taste for their sweet sin. You won’t be seeing me out on the Floatwaif any time soon, no sir.”
    Mara frowned. She did not look back or stop and tell them how harmless the pleasure barge really was. No one spoke much of the