Gods & Thieves

2. Heir and Criminal

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They haven't caught me. Yet.

The cool air blows into my face and musses my hair as I run. In the shadows of the predawn hour, the alley is nothing but a straight, black line. Panting, I skirt giant columns supporting a stone arcade of the temple on my left, and duck into the bushes of a small garden, pausing to catch my breath. Distant voices of lazy guards reach me through the branches, then die out like the hushed wind. Nobody has noticed me so far, but it doesn't mean I'm safe. I need to get out of here.

Once everything is silent again, I take a deep breath, then quietly cross the garden, and start running down another narrow alley, toward the southern side of the shaman city.

My bloodline used to be royalty, or so the family story goes. Centuries ago, when magic thrived all across the globe and shamans hadn't yet taken the crown of Cabracan, massacring everyone who tried to stand against them and then concealing our lands from the rest of the world to empower their rule over those who had still been leftalive, my ancestors were the kings and queens who resided here, in the main temple as it was called a palace back then. And now I'm skulking around like a thief.

Well, I am a thief. Putting my gloved hand into the inner pocket of my coat, I check if the bottle there is intact. The bottle is full, yet it feels weirdly light. They say aura is the blood of spirits, the quintessence of the underworld, which shamans channel and use as fuel for their powers. As much as I hate magic, I'm also fascinated that something so deadly and dangerous is so beautiful: aura looks like a night bottled up, like weightless ink absorbing all light in its vicinity--except ink doesn't burn your skin. Aura does. Only shamans can tame spirits and touch aura without being hurt, only shamans can control magic without amulets and charms.

They teach us we're all equal, special, worthy, but it's a lie; we're not. Some are born wealthy, some smart, and some--powerful. Our current shamanic empress has been ruling Cabracan for two hundred and twenty-four years. Does it sound like equality? What is so special about her, except for aura coursing through her veins that makes her unstoppable and practically immortal? Why can't I be immortal, then?

Because I wasn't born that way. Because we're not equal.

A lanky figure of another guard appears from around the corner, and I'm swift to press my back against the nearest wall. A shiver slithers down my spine as the cold stone kisses the back of my head, but my heart drums hot under my ribs, panic sharpening my senses. Now I curse myself for running that fast, for being so eager to get out...If the guard hears my heavy breathing--

Humming to herself, though, the guard strolls past without noticing me. I sigh in relief. Apparently, they've all grown careless here, arrogant to the very idea someone might be audacious enough to even try to steal from Empress Ixchel.

Once the alley is clear, I pull the collar of my jacket up to obscure my face, and keep moving through the dark, slower now, avoiding the lanterns hanging from the balconies and spilling their glow over the elaborate reliefs carved into the ancient walls.

When I told my parents I was going to make them royalty again, they laughed, regarding my words as fantasies of a five-year-old boy I was then. Parents never take you seriously when you're a child, do they? They read you inspiring stories before bed, promise incredible things, and tell you tales about how the world can be better, yet when it comes to reality...Leave things the way there are, Elisey. It's fine as it is, manageable. And what if you only make it worse?

Worse? Why does nobody believe they can change the world in reality? With a few alchemic manipulations, my siblings and I have figured how to alter aura, how to use it to deprive shamans of their power instead of granting it.