The guards trailed too. With each twist and turn the brothers gained a little bit of a lead, even with Maz’s increasing clumsiness. Zal eventually allowed them to slow, listening for sounds of pursuit.

Finally, they were alone. Maz hunched over, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. Zal breathed heavily as well, but his fury overcame any exhaustion. The older boy paced, fists clenched.

“Terat! The coward. We had an agreement. I swear, if Alcide had any part of this, I’ll make her regret double-crossing us.”

Maz straightened. “We should probably ask her before we make her our enemy. She and her gang are useful.”

“Sure, when they aren’t betraying us. Come on. I want to find that little brat,” said Zal with a sneer.

Zal started up, steps brisk once again. His brother crossed the dank alleyways at a swift pace, and circled back to the area where they had last seen Terat. There he slowed, and motioned for Maz to be quiet once more.

Zal hunted, and Maz followed. Maz always followed, though the intense rage darkening his brother’s brow made him increasingly nervous. He had been on the receiving end of that rage, and hoped that Terat was long gone.

But Terat had not fled. He waited in the square, pacing and fidgeting.

“You! Traitor!” shouted Zal as he hurtled into the square. Terat took one look at Zal, and bolted. Zal dodged around the remaining guard and pursued Terat down a narrow alley on the other side of the square. Maz followed as quickly as he could, and the guard cursed as he zipped around him. The guard tried to follow the children down the gap, but his breastplate was too wide, and sparks flew as he lodged himself in between the two buildings.

They exited the gap and raced down the alleyway behind a pub. Terat led them through the fallen remains of a warehouse and back into the alleys. Terat was fast, but Zal was faster. He cut the boy off, herding him into a box alley, where a tall fence cut off escape. Terat’s eyes went wide with fear and he tried to turn and run, but Zal was too fast. He wheezed as Zal’s fist struck him in the gut and, when he bent over, Zal struck him on the back with an elbow.

“You think you can give me up to the guards, you worthless gutter rat?” He punctuated his words with a kick to the shin, and Terat fell to the ground, sobbing in fear. “You think you can take on a Serphant and not be bitten?” hissed Zal. Terat cowered, hands covering his head.

“Zal, stop, that’s enough!” shouted Maz from the alleyway.

The older boy didn’t listen, and kicked Terat in the ribs. Somewhere above them a window slammed shut. If there were still guards nearby, Maz hoped they were deaf.

Maz took a few hesitant steps into the alley as Terat spit up a mouthful of blood. The smaller boy tried to bolt, but Zal dragged him by his ankle and flipped him onto his back. He threw himself on Terat and struck him in the face, breaking the boy’s nose.

“Zal! That’s enough!” said Maz, catching his brother’s arm as he wound up for another strike. Zal turned to him, eyes incoherent with rage, and snarled wordlessly. His brother raised his other hand, and Maz flinched, but didn’t let go. Not this time.

The blow caught Maz in the upper arm, and he lost his grip on Zal. Maz stumbled backwards into a broken crate as Zal spat at him, and turned back to the semi-conscious boy under him.

Before he could stop himself, Maz had pried a plank off of the crate. He rushed at his brother and struck him firmly in the head with the splintering plank. The sound of wood-on-skull echoed through the empty street, and Zal went down.

Terat wasted no time and pulled himself out from under Zal, movements woozy. Maz stared at his back as the boy stumbled away, wondering if he should follow.

But Zal didn’t give him a chance. He stirred and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. The plank was heavy in his hands, but Maz didn’t drop it. He watched warily as his brother clambered to his feet. He turned to Maz with a confused look, looking to the plank, then to the blood on his fingers as he probed the back of his head.

“You hit me,” said Zal.

“I had to. You were going to kill him!”

“You hit me!”

“Zal—”

“No. Brothers don’t hit brothers. We stick together, one team.” Zal’s fists balled and he took a step forward.

Maz hefted his plank. “It wasn’t right!”

“Who are you to decide? I’ll show you what’s right and wrong!” Zal darted forward and snagged the plank from Maz’s hands before he could react. His other fist took Maz on the temple and Maz stumbled into the brick wall, trying to pick himself up to run.

But Zal was on him in an instant and struck him in the back with the plank. “It was right, the right of thieves. He broke the deal, he ratted. I had to keep him in line.”

“I‘m a thief, not a thug like you!” shouted Maz as he pushed himself up from the ground.

Zal hesitated, and Maz took the moment to put distance between them.

“Don’t want to be like me? Maz, you are a Serphant. Or do you think you are too good for us, little brother?”

Maz raised his fists. “Oarae take you, I won’t be a thief if it means beating people half to death.”

Zal sneered and pounced.

The brothers tumbled onto the dirty cobble of the street, Zal’s fists flailing. Maz tried to shove his brother off, but he was too heavy. He struck a blow to distract Zal, knuckles cracking off his cheekbone. Maz flinched at the pain. How does Zal manage it? Images of past beatings flashed through his mind and he bared his teeth as he caught his brother in the stomach with his heel. Maz used the brief respite to skitter backwards out of his reach. He dug a hand into his pocket, where the last shadow egg was miraculously unbroken. He hefted it and flung it at Zal’s head.

The egg cracked, goo splattering onto the dirty collar of his shirt. The shadows billowed up and Zal clawed at his face, trying to get it off. Maz bolted down the alley and headed back towards their house in the vain hope that his uncle would protect him.

But it wasn’t enough. Zal followed him, half-blind and bellowing. The blow to his head barely slowed him, and Maz was still tired from the flight from the guards. Zal dove onto him and brought Maz to the ground. He got Maz onto his back and rained strike after strike to his head and shoulders. Blood filled Maz’s vision, and he heard a sharp crunch as his nose broke.

The eggy shadows dripped onto him, mocking his failure. The gifts of Ixla had brought him nothing but trouble. He needed something else. Images of the temple of Oarae drifted through his battered mind as more and more blood obscured his vision. Fear surged through him. He was dead. Zal was killing him.

“Oarae . . . help . . . me . . .” Maz choked out with his last breath as his vision faded to black.

Consciousness faded into darkness. But there was something else there. Golden light tickled the back of his mind, warm and soothing. The touch on his soul was foreign and uncomfortable, like standing too close to a bonfire. But Maz reached out for it anyway, wanting the comfort it promised. Power surged into him. The magic forced air into his struggling lungs, and gold filled his vision, replacing the blackness.

Strength returned to his limbs, and he raised his arms. An unseen force pushed Zal off of him and into the garbage-piled in the alleyway. Maz rolled onto his belly, head throbbing both with pain and the unfamiliar burn of the golden power surging through his body. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but all he could see was the golden light.

The sound of footsteps, light and graceful, padded towards him. Maz jerked as hands stroked his face, warm and soothing. His broken nose righted itself with a frightening crunch and he whimpered in confusion as the swelling from his black eyes faded. The pain receded, and he sighed in relief as he sat up.

In front of him stood a woman with short brown hair and a plain, friendly face. The golden glow came from her, a gentle warm light that banished the fears from his mind. She wore a simple linen wrap and a quiver of arrows strapped to her back.

Maz stared up at her. A god, a real one, here in front of him. Oarae. The God of Truth and Justice.

She looked at him with pity, and touched his forehead with a gentle hand. Her mind flooded into his—not thoughts, exactly, but images and intentions. Maz flinched and tried to pull away, but the images were relentless. Temples, all across the land. Her symbol, a bow letting fly a piercingly sharp arrow. The overwhelming determination to do the right thing, even if it meant pain and heartache. The compulsive desire to protect, to find out the truth, to think before acting.

And an invitation to be her follower. The question pulsed in his mind. Say yes, and be taken away from this place. Say no, and return to a life of crime with his violent brother and absent uncle.

The question tore Maz in two. Thieving was all he knew. It was in his blood. But he knew he couldn’t continue like this, stealing from people he liked and living as Zal’s punching bag.

He wanted more. Maz’s head bowed, and his soul answered.

The god smiled, and her thumb rubbed his forehead. Pain seared into his skull, brief but potent. But it faded quickly, and he knew he had been marked to be her follower, like the guard from the market.

And not just any follower. The god’s hand withdrew, and Maz’s hand flew to his forehead. He would need a mirror to confirm, but everyone knew what a godmark looked like. On his forehead was a glimmering mark of gold, glowing softly. The bow and arrow of Oarae. He had been Chosen. He would have powers, the ability to tell truth from lie, to be able to compel a confession. Things normal people couldn’t do.

The god nodded to confirm and stood. Maz followed, head bowed. What do you say to a god?

Oarae stood a moment, looking at the trembling form of Zal, who lay prone in the garbage, the whites of his eyes bright in the shadows. She shook her head, then returned her attention to Maz. She pointed towards the temple district, and made a shooing motion. Of course—Maz had been Chosen, and must go to her temple.

The god smiled and ruffled his hair, then faded away.

Maz and Zal stared at each other across the empty space where the god had been.

Zal climbed to his feet, holding his ribs as he limped over to Maz. His face was pale with pain and confusion.

“You’re a godlicking Arrow! I should never have let you go anywhere near that temple.”

Maz stared back at his brother, still touching his forehead.

Zal limped as he began to pace, face contorted with emotion. “You’ve been Chosen, Maz. She Chose you. I can’t believe it. You are going to leave me here in the dirt.”

“Zal, no. I can stay, I don’t have to go to the temple.”

“You don’t get to tell her no, she’s a damn god! What kind of Serphant goes and gets himself Chosen by the god of justice?”

Tears began to leak down Maz’s face. “Zal, please. I didn’t mean to get Chosen.”

“Didn’t mean to? Gods above, do you know what I would give to be Chosen? And you just have it happen to you? How much I’ve prayed . . .” Zal clenched his fists, and the anger faded from his face, replaced with resignation. “Just go.”

The tears came harder and a sob choked Maz’s throat. “I won’t turn you in, not ever. I swear it on Oarae.” His godmark pulsed. Promise accepted.

Zal hesitated a moment before the anger welled back up on his face. “I can’t stand to look at you. Go, get out of here.” He aimed a kick at Maz, who dodged with reflexes well-honed by experience.

“GO!” Zal screamed, fists raised.

Maz ran. He ran all the way to the temple, thoughts tumbling over in his head. Truth. His uncle. Justice. His brother. Chosen to serve; what did that even mean? He glanced over his shoulder as the doors of the temple whispered shut behind him. Zal was nowhere in sight. There was only Oarae for him now.

He slumped against the yellow stones of the temple wall. Someone kneeled in front of him, but he didn’t hear their words. She called out, and more followers of Oarae hurried into the antechamber. They were well-fed and wore clean grey robes and fine leather sandals. None bore godmarks; they had chosen Oarae for themselves. They looked so utterly unlike his brother that chaotic laughter bubbled up from his twisting stomach. Maz let them lead him away deeper into the temple, shock settling in as surely as the temple walls were closing in around him.

There was only Oarae for him now.

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