Thornton
Thornton was one of the last souls to leave the ship, and he couldn’t stop staring at the perfectly smooth, blue-hued marble structure in the distance. It was pyramid-shaped, with a grand entrance facing south made up of four towering granite columns, spirals of gold snaking up them. The columns supported a white marble slab that served no purpose save one: opulence. The polished quality of the whole structure reminded him of the eyes of a Khyth: cloudy and nebulous, as if the stone itself were alive.
Gesturing toward it, he asked Endar, “Is that where we’re going?”
The big half-eye was the last to disembark. “It is,” he answered.
“So that’s where the Keeper . . . lives?”
Endar’s chuckle was just loud enough for Thornton to hear. “That’s the Temple of the Shaper, if that’s what you’re asking. Just like the one in Annoch. Only this one has no Anvil.”
Thornton considered this. “Then why have a temple?” he asked.
Endar’s footsteps come to a halt behind him. Turning around, Thornton saw the half-eye looking down his nose at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“I’ll advise you not to repeat that question. But to satisfy your curiosity, I’ll answer it here.” He was scratching the salt-and-pepper scruff on his chin that had grown in the last few days. “It serves as the throne room for Sh’thanna, High Keeper of Ellenos, and as a constant reminder to all Athrani that we owe everything we are, and everything we have, to the Shaper of Ages. We wouldn’t be who we are without Her Gift. Even a half-eye like me.”
Thornton hung his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it.”
Endar waved it off. “Nonsense,” he said. “No harm done. You’re not one of us, so you couldn’t have known.”
Thornton flinched at Endar’s words. They stung, even though Thornton was sure Endar hadn’t meant them to. Not one of us. Never had that been more obvious than now. Even the eyes looking back at him in his reflection in the water seemed strange.
He looked around for Kethras and Yasha, suddenly feeling the need to be surrounded by something—anything—familiar. Fortunately for him, the two of them stood out like mud on a wedding dress: a tall, slender Kienari and a gray-robed Khyth, afloat in a sea of Athrani. They couldn’t lose him if they tried.
Yasha had her hood pulled tightly over her face and was following closely behind Kethras, looking like a child chasing after a walking tree. Her long red hair peeked out and stood sharply against the ashen skin that marked her as a Khyth of the Breaking—something she had spent most of her life despising. But now there was nothing she could do to reverse the stigma that came with the power in the form of her charred and ravaged exterior.
Thornton could see the Ellenians sharing whispers with each other, no doubt about the outsiders who had inexplicably made their way into the heart of the First City. He weaved his way through the men of the legion to catch up with them as, all around him, Athrani life buzzed about frantically.
The cobblestone road they were traveling on ran north–south, from the dock from which they’d come to the grand entrance of the Temple of the Shaper, and Thornton’s eyes followed it down. Rows and rows of shops were set up in the open air along the road, and it looked like a bazaar had made its home around the temple. Cloths of every color that Thornton could think of lined the tops of the shops, and they seemed to do so in an organized fashion: purple meant fresh fruit; red meant weapons; black was armor; gold seemed to signify spices or perfumes; orange, books and scrolls. He couldn’t determine the purpose of the blue since it appeared to be attractive women just standing around. There were a handful of other colors, too, whose purpose he couldn’t discern, but there weren’t nearly as many of them compared to the vast number of roadside shops in the market. He turned his head from left to right to take in the whole scene and realized that the heart of the city was much, much bigger than he’d imagined.
The citizens of Ellenos were almost entirely Athrani, but they were as diverse as Thornton remembered the citizens of Annoch being: Some dressed in fine clothes or robes; others, in little more than rags. Some had long white hair; others had short, dark hair. Most were tall; others were smaller. A few were fat; most were modestly built. And the different-colored eyes he saw were almost as varied. Behind the normal eye color that every human had was a second color that was the hallmark of the Athrani people, signifying their link with the Otherworld and their status as Shapers. The colors differed from person to person, and Thornton couldn’t tell if they even stayed the same within a family. Though they make for some vibrant backgrounds, he thought.
The sounds of merchants pitching their wares filled the air, even at dusk. Thornton saw a few of the Athrani shopkeepers come outside, and, waving their hands around as he’d seen a few Shapers do, they seemed to make fire out of thin air. And, from what he understood of Athrani Shaping, that was actually what they were doing. He quickened his pace over to Yasha, who was staring at the throngs of shops and people, and took her arm.
She was walking behind Kethras, who seemed to be navigating the masses of Athrani fairly well. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I never knew what I was missing, living in the cold blackness of Khala Val’ur.”
“I know what you mean,” Thornton answered. “I always thought of Lusk as a big city when I was growing up. And then I saw Annoch.” He paused. “This place puts them both to shame.”
Just as he was finishing his sentence, he heard Yasha cry out and felt her arm tear away from his. Turning around, he saw her tumbling to the ground. A tall, green-robed Athrani was scowling at her.
“Watch where you’re going, Khyth.” The Athrani spat out the last word with a scowl as he towered over her. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.”
Thornton moved to shield her with his body, and he heard a low growl come from Kethras’s direction, followed by the unmistakable sound of steel sliding across leather as the Kienari freed his dagger.
“Apologize to the lady,” Kethras warned, “or you’ll see just how easily Athrani blood can be spilled.” He was holding his knife with the hilt facing up, postured to slash the blade across the Ellenian’s face. His elbows were out; knees slightly bent. Thornton guessed that few people living had ever seen a Kienari in such a stance.
The Athrani began to move his hands in an incantation to the Shaper of Ages, and Thornton felt the air around them spark with power; but Endar would not have it.
“Stop!” the great half-eye bellowed, stepping in front of Kethras. “Stop this at once. They’re with me.” He gestured for them to lower their weapons. Looking back and forth at them, he said, “No more blood needs to be shed. Too much of it still covers the ground in Kienar.”
The green-robed Athrani made a face as if he were sucking on a lemon, and began to back away. “Strange bedfellows you find yourself with these days, half-eye. If consorting with the Khyth is the price of our victory at the Tree, I wonder if it was worth the effort.”
Thornton watched the Athrani fade into the crowd as Endar placed his hand on the hilt of Kethras’s still-readied dagger. Lowering it, he spoke in quiet tones. “I’m sorry for the actions and words of my countrymen,” the half-eye said, offering a hand to Yasha, who was still on the ground. “The Athrani are not known for their open-mindedness.” Pointing to his one eye that spoke of his mixed heritage, he added, “Trust me.”
Yasha got up and dusted herself off. “It’s fine,” she said. “I didn’t expect this to be easy.” She pulled off her hood, shaking out her wild red hair as it tumbled down. “And I guess there’s no point in trying to hide anymore.”
“There never was,” Endar said with a smile. “Now, come. We’ve nearly arrived.”
Shaken from the encounter but thankful that their destination was close, Thornton continued the walk to the temple behind the legion.
***
Kethras moved with an air of suspicion as he followed the Athrani Legion toward the entrance of the temple. His big black eyes looked sunken and hollow against his black fur, but Thornton knew they were taking in everything, even things he himself couldn’t see. He was glancing back and forth among the merchants in the market, the way a predator scans for prey. It made Thornton nervous.
Suddenly, Kethras narrowed his eyes and turned to look at Thornton and Yasha. “Quickly,” he said to them. “Inside.”
Thornton looked around, thinking another Athrani was looking for trouble. “Why? What’s wrong?” His mild annoyance came out in his voice, as he was quietly hoping to take in the sights of the city for just a bit longer.
“It is difficult to explain,” Kethras said, “but I don’t want to take any chances. Stay close.”
Thornton didn’t hesitate. He felt his palms start to sweat as he followed the tall Kienari toward the temple. He trusted Kethras’s instincts, but he knew it himself too: something was off; he could feel it. And from the corner of his eye, thought he could see it—what looked to be the faint figure of a woman. But when he turned to see what it was, the figure disappeared from sight.
Almost as if it had never been there at all.
Grabbing tighter the arm of his sister, Thornton found himself moving into a second Temple of the Shaper, a towering construct that existed more or less for the glory of the being he knew simply as his childhood friend Miera. It was open to all, but represented someone who was now cut off from the rest of the world.
The irony was not lost on him.