Page 15 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
Sixteen years and one day ago, he said goodnight to his parents for the last time. He had long since forgotten what his mother’s hair smelled like when she would lean over and shower him with kisses. As he drifted off to sleep, Therat wished he had written down every tiny detail about his mother and father.
eight
Ready To Fall
For the past sevendays, Therat could do little but think of the mysterious shadow-cloaked woman in the Market. Seven days marveling over the strands of gold that seemed to catch on fire in the depths of her black hair. Recalling the bright blue tattoos on the back of her hands and forearms, the shapes too small for him to make out. The beauty of her face despite the scars. But most of all, the far-away look of emptiness inher muddy brown eyes that once blazed like the sun. Seven days of reliving the anger when he saw the harm done, fighting to understand feelings that did not belong in his black and decaying heart.
Therat sat on his heels in the shadows again, perched atop a flat rooftop taller than most buildings in the Market square. This marked his fourth night waiting to glimpse the woman again, swathing himself in darkness as the hours passed by and night gave rise to day. He gave up trying to understand his actions partway through the night before. Each time he did, an uncomfortable sensation like someone squeezing his heart overcame Therat, gripping harder until he felt he would shatter. Wrenching his thoughts away from the woman proved impossible. His body would rather die than give up seeking the strange creature.
Mireithrenhe named her, the Maiden of Shadows.
Death from a broken heart. A fitting way to go, Therat figured—a beautiful irony after all the pain he caused. Maybe the woman came as a scion of Death Herself, sent to hurry him along to the end. The jagged white scar across his heart ached at the thought.
Therat stood, a hushed groan escaping his parched throat as he stretched heavy limbs. Muted pinks painted the eastern horizon, stars retreating from the once deep blue night sky. He doubted the woman would show again; perhaps she had seen him the night before and ran from him instead of someone else.
Could the shadows around her have been a hallucination, a willful conjuration of his mind to assuage his grief? They had looked so real,feltso real. Tendrils of her Shadow-weave pulled at him, drawing Therat in like spider silk.
“Who are you, Mireithren? Not myliraes, this I know,” Therat muttered as the first rays of sun peeked over the far dunes.
Even as he spoke the words, disappointment colored his thoughts. Try all he might, Therat could not ignore the part of him yearning to mean something to someone other than his brother. He climbed down the tall ladder leading to the rooftop and tried to push thoughts of Mireithren away.
The chill of night clung to the man dressed in thin cottons, hurrying his feet along the cool sand back to the red clay homes of the Weavers District. There were few on the streets this early, but he kept to the tree line, ready to disappear from notice if need be.
Soon enough, Therat arrived at the front steps of House Anatnará’s ancestral home. A bright blue-painted wooden door trimmed with white raindrops and crescent moons stood ready to welcome him in. He paused and traced tattooed fingers over the trim, remembering when he helped his parents refresh their family’s door that had stood for generations. Once, he thought he would do the same with his child.
Choking back his grief, Therat pushed the door open. The smoky aroma of burning wood and sandalwood incense welcomed him home. His sorrow melted in an instant.
His twin, Adon, stood in front of the hearth on the far long wall, warming his tattooed hands close to the flames. Black curls longer than Therat’s, half knotted into a simple bun at the back of his head while the rest brushed the tops of his shoulders. The older twin stood as tall as Therat but lacked all of the toned muscle. Despite their differences in physical size, the twins were unmistakable, sharing their mother’s gray eyes.
“It smells nice in here this morning,” Therat said as he closed the door with a softthud. “Up early today?” He crossed to a set of chairs near the fire, sitting as the warmth breathed new life into his cold limbs. The frigid nights of the winter Solstice came fast.
“Ha, not as early as you, it seems,” Adon said with a playful grin, turning to face his twin. He had a broad and kind face, oneyou could trust as soon as it broke into a smile—which happened often. Therat lost track of how many countless hours he had spent basking in its glow, seeing the reflection of his father in the young man.
“Here, eat,” demanded Adon as he shoved a plate of steaming pastries toward Therat. “You know, those muscles might eat you instead if you don’t feed them.”
Therat smiled, an easy thing to do around his brother. Though the pastry was simple—a creamy goat cheese with herbs—Therat devoured two, hungrier than he realized.
“Did you make these?” he managed to ask between mouthfuls.
Adon shook his head before replying.
“Papa, he could not sleep.” Therat looked up from his plate, aware of Adon studying him intently. “Did you sleep,darhír?”
“Mmm, you know,” Therat grunted in reply. He forced the remaining bite of pastry down his throat. It tasted sour going down.
“Therat…” Adon said, placing a gentle hand on his brother’s arm, muscles quivering under his touch. “Is it happening again?”
Therat nodded before replying in a whisper. “I keep remembering the way she smelled, how her hands felt tracing down my back. Her face, the one she used to make when she’d scrunch her nose and call us her rascally boys. And then I wake, and it is over. I lose her all over again.” Therat didn’t want to talk about the other dream he kept having, the one where the woman with blue tattoos led him to the silver moon.
Adon’s smile dropped at the mention of their mother, a pained look crossing before settling into heavy sorrow.
“It’s not only that,” Therat continued, trying to ignore the shadowy whispers thrumming with excitement in his mind. “I… I saw something strange a while back. I suppose I’ve been trying to see it again. Find out if my mind played a trick on me.”
The brothers sat in silence for many long minutes. Therat watched the fire dancing and leaping across split logs and thin branches. Adon seldom offered empty words of comfort. The elder twin lived a calm life, even-tempered despite his quick smile. His presence alone anchored Therat to reality, brought the man back from the unrelenting compulsions and pain with nothing more than a touch.
In the growing quiet, Therat’s attention returned to the strange woman from the week before. He tried with no success to recall any details about the blue tattoos on her hands, wondering how to identify his Mireithren.
He did not care much for the elite Named Houses and religious of Av Madhira, bitter toward any who thought they lived in the light of the gods. Where Therat despised the Makhian cult, it drew Adon in, the man fiercely devoted to the Golden Goddess Myrniar and her favored Madhiri. Over the long years of youth, Adon had grown close with Lady Ninann, born to one of the Sunmaiden’s Houses and destined to be a blood-bound priestess.
