Baktash ran barefoot, brushing aside tree branches and leaves, trampling the grass. His clothes were cut from passing through the jungle, and the soles of his feet throbbed with pain. But nothing could stop him.
Father had chosen him.
He reached the tower–the tall, black, octagonal structure with round floating platforms surrounding its topside. Its entrance was halfway up its side. In theory, he knew how to climb this tower, like everyone else in the Empirion, but in practice? He would find out in the next few minutes.
He took off his sandals and glanced at the smooth, shiny side of the tower, spotting the handholds cleverly hidden within the play of light and shadow on the subtly designed surface. He shook out his hands and grabbed the nearest handhold with a short leap. It was sharper than it looked . He ignored the pain and pulled himself up the walls, one handhold at a time, until the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the sea, and darkness prevailed.
The jungle beneath his legs rustled. It was awake and thirsty for blood. The wind picked up in intensity. He clung tightly to the tower, hanging on for dear life. The sharpness of the handholds broke his skin. He gritted his teeth and prayed to his god—the one who created all, the one who chose him. Those few minutes felt like hours until the wind finally slowed. He sighed in relief and climbed the rest of the way. He placed his hands on the polished floor of the entrance and pulled himself up. Crawling away from the edge, he rested on his back, staring up at the roof and the strange, shiny lines inside it that grew lighter as time passed. A few minutes later, the face of a man appeared upside-down in his field of vision.
"Who are you? And what in the eight Hells are you doing here?!" the man said. The curse he used was not common in Mindspire; it was from lands far away.
"I need to see An-aoshak," Baktash replied, rolling onto his stomach and standing up. He wiped the blood from his hands with his dirty cream shirt and looked at the man. He was slim and tall, with a long, pointy nose. An infinity symbol was carved into the skin of his forehead; he was a Statebinder.
"You know she is not your servant, right?" The man raised an eyebrow.
"It is a matter of urgency," Baktash said.
"First, you need to tell me your matter. Then I," the Statebinder emphasized his role in this conversation, "will decide if it is worth An-aoshak's time or not." He had an air of arrogance to him.
Baktash took off his headscarf, parted his thick, curly hair, and showed its roots to the man. "Can you see?"
"Mmm…yeah, I'm not blind. But are you sure it's not something else?" The Statebinder didn't appear particularly amazed or surprised.
"I'm eighteen. And these roots are snow white. What else could it be? Old age?" Baktash replied, gathering his hair back into a bun with his scarf.
The Statebinder tightened his lips and looked him over from head to toe. "Alright, kid. Now that you insist, you can come in, but behave and don't stare at anything. You are to be in the presence of not only the An-aoshak but the Azures too...of course, if you are who you claim to be. Otherwise, well...let's not talk about that."
Baktash nodded, feeling proud that he will be part of a greater plan. He followed the Statebinder into the narrow, dark tunnels of the tower. The ceiling was just an inch above his head, brushing against his hair. The floor was so polished that he slipped several times, forcing him to lean against the equally smooth walls for balance. The Statebinder, however, seemed to walk effortlessly on the stones. Maybe the shoes' he wore provided better traction than Baktash's bare feet. They turned left and right repeatedly, passing through corridors, crossways, and halls, moving up and down until they reached a massive archway that opened into a space bathed in light.
Baktash entered the hall after the Statebinder. The structure before his eyes struck him dumb. The ceiling of the hall was as high as the tallest trees in the jungle. With rows of columns holding it up on their shoulders like monstrous soldiers.The walls were covered with small mirrors that reflected the glow of the massive chandeliers, illuminating every corner of the hall. The floor gleamed with white and blue marble, stretching toward a massive pond on one side and a curving staircase on the other. And all around the hall stood statues of naked humans in various colours, holding trays of food and fruit.
This must have been the diamond hall of the Azure's palace.
The Statebinder squeezed Baktash' shoulder. "Didn't I say no staring, huh?" he said, prodding him forward. "Go and stand next to the pond and wait for me. Don't move and don't stare."
The boy glanced down at his dirty, dusty feet, then at the gleaming surface of the hall, and tiptoed toward the pond.
"For Azure's sake! I said don't stare. I did not say walk like an idiot. Father help us if you are the one," the Statebinder said and walked away.
The boy felt stupid and embarrassed. He put his heels down on the cold floor and took his next steps like a normal person. He walked between rows of square columns, captivated by the carvings on them—intricate illustrations of Azure's descent, stories he had heard from his mentors.
Near the pond were more human statues with jars and trays. They were in all shapes–men, women, old, young–and seemed to be waiting for something or someone. Their eyes were moving! But they couldn't be human! They were too still and unreal.
No staring. He remembered the Statebinder's warning and averted his eyes from the statues, focusing instead on the pool. The water was so clear he could see the uneven, rough bottom and the paintings on it—a man holding a child's hand and a woman on the other side waving at them. He knelt next to the pond and saw his own reflection: a dark-skinned boy with a stained white headscarf, ragged clothes, and a necklace of teeth.
The boy in the pond didn't look as frightened as the one he'd seen in the mirror this morning. Yes, his world was about to change, just like it had for all those chosen before him. But all those before him had failed, and he would not. He would make the An-aoshak proud and bring the Father back home. Despite how hard this mission sounded, he was sure he could do it. He poked the surface of the water with his finger breaking his reflection.
Someone cleared their throat loudly behind him. He jumped to his feet and turned toward the voice. It was the Statebinder, and beside him stood a girl with skin as dark as night and long, braided hair adorned with golden rings that touched the ground.
"I heard Father chose you," the girl said. Her voice was musical and soft. Maybe a bit too soft, making it sound eerie.
"Yes, An-aoshak," Baktash said, kneeling and parting his hair once more to show the proof of his words.
"You know what that means, don't you?" the girl said after a few long minutes.
"Yes, An-aoshak," He replied, not daring to raise his head.
"Are you ready to be the hand of Father and the mouth that speaks of Father?"
"Yes, An-aoshak."
"Are you ready to walk where he wants you to walk and do what he orders?"
"Yes, An-aoshak."
"Rise then," she said.
The boy did as An-aoshak ordered and stood up. Her head barely reached his stomach. She had the round, youthful face of a young girl, but her ice-blue eyes, the deep frown between her thin eyebrows, and her posture all exuded wisdom and power.
"The fate of the world is in your hands now. Do not fail Father like those before you did," she said.
"I will not, An-aoshak."
"We shall see," she said, spinning on her heels. "Come with me. It's time for you to prepare and meet the Azure royalty."