“I thought the sun would be brighter,” she said. “I don’t even need my veil.”
“You will very soon.” He nodded toward the sky. “That’s the moon, the god of the night.”
“A god? Like Elohim?”
“Not really, but my father set up an idol for the moon and the sun and several of the constellations. People want to worship all sorts of objects, so he gives them temples, places to pray. It’s easier to control the masses if you assimilate their superstitions into an approved, national religion.”
Mara shook her head. “I . . . I didn’t understand much of that.”
Mardon laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m just making a political speech.” He picked up the burning stick and traced a line around where Mara stood. “Fire is the key to getting home. If we get separated, come to this site and take a brand from the flames. Then stand in the middle of this circle and wave it over your head as fast as you can.”
Mara waved her hand from side to side. “Like this?”
“No.” Mardon swung his arm in a wide circle. “Like this. The fire will energize the portal and take you home.”
Mara pointed at the fire. “How do you know the logs will stay lit?”
“I have a servant who comes and tends the fire to make sure it never goes out.”
Mara stared at the circle around her feet. An odd feeling seeped into her mind, a long lost sensation of grief and pain, like a mournful voice crying out in her heart. She stepped over the line, and the feeling quickly melted away.
She looked back at the circle, her vision now returning to normal. This portal was invisible, not like the column of light down below. If not for the line on the dirt, how could she recognize a portal if she needed to?
Mardon reached for her hand. “Let’s go to the tower. The king will be rising for the morning blessing soon.”
Mara took his hand and strode beside him, passing between a pair of tall boulders that seemed to act as a gateway to the portal area. As the two gifts clinked in her pocket, she felt more important than she ever dreamed she could. She, Mara, an underborn laborer, was being taken to an audience with a king. “He lives in the tower?” she asked.
“He will live in the shrine when the tower is finished, but until then he goes there at sunrise and blesses the people from the top of the tower.”
Mardon stepped up the pace, forcing Mara to jog to stay at his side. They followed a path through a stand of trees that ended at the edge of an enormous flat field. Mardon stopped and pointed at the slowly brightening scene. About a stone’s throw away, a few huts lined a street that widened as it led to a huge cluster of buildings. In the center of the buildings, a gigantic tower loomed. Mara took two steps back, her mouth dropping open. Its base was so wide, just walking around it might take all day.
As they closed in on the city, details in the tower grew clear. It rose layer upon layer, seemingly without end, each layer slightly narrower than the one below it. Dozens of people scurried along its external staircases, some hustling up with armloads of timber and straw and others scrambling down empty-handed. One person slipped and fell to the next level, but no one else seemed to notice. They just kept crawling, like a thousand ants moving sand grain by grain to the top of the hill.
“They are busier than usual,” Mardon said. “That means my father will be here soon.”
Mardon strode ahead, and Mara followed, glancing frequently at the edge of the sky as it grew brighter and brighter. She pulled out her coif and tied it on, tucking her hair underneath and grinning as the endless sky began to reveal its lovely blue canvas. The chill of dawn didn’t bother her a bit. Her own excitement pumped warmth to her fingers and toes.
As the top of the sun peeked over the horizon, Mardon approached the city gate and nodded at the gatekeeper, a bearded young man, taller and fatter than Mardon. The guard turned a wooden dial at the gate’s latch, and Mara counted its quiet clicks. The gatekeeper stared at her while he worked, so she stayed close to Mardon’s side. Finally, the latch clanked, and the iron-barred fence swung out with a terrible whine.