With a push, Oren sent Ren stumbling into the street.
“Come closer,” Suten said. “Do not be shy, my boy.”
“I’m not shy,” Ren said. “I only want to know why I’m here.”
“You are here to observe the Devouring. Come,” said the man in the mask. “Let us bear witness.”
The Ray urged him forward with a nudge from his staff. Ren refused. Why must I witness the Devouring? He’d never heard of the Ray inviting a ransom to do such a thing. A ransom only met the First Ray of the Sun when he was released from the Priory. If Suten was about to set him free, why not bid him farewell and send him on his way?
“Do as he commands.” Oren shoved Ren forward, interrupting his thoughts, threatening him with an ugly grimace and a shake of his scabbard.
“I’m going as fast as my feet can march,” said Ren. Not wanting to anger the man, he held up both hands, signaling his compliance. He was too weak to resist, to weak to even walk, but he forced himself to do it anyway.
So this is Solus, he thought. The city of light. He had lived most of his life in Solus without ever having seen the city. Now he was outside of the Priory, so he turned slowly in a circle, taking in the sights for the first time: The temples stacked upon temples. The ruins stacked upon ruins—every surface etched in gold and worn by the ages.
Suten turned his golden mask to Ren and beckoned. “Do you know why the Soleri wore masks?” Suten asked. The light reflecting off his disguise was almost blinding.
“To gaze upon the Soleri is to gaze upon the sun itself, and no man can survive that light,” Ren said, repeating what the priors had taught him.
“Yes, centuries ago, before they sealed themselves behind the Shroud Wall, the Soleri walked the streets of Solus in their masks of gold. These golden visages shielded the people from the light of the Soleri, from their fire. I wear this mask to remind us of our past each year as we celebrate the Devouring,” Suten said. “Do you understand the solemn rite, boy?”
Ren shrugged. He understood it, but had never actually witnessed the eclipse.
“You’ll learn all you need to know today,” Suten said as he led them through the crowded streets, guards at his side. “These are the great temples of Horu and Sen,” Suten said as they walked. “And this is the house of Re, first of the emperors,” he pointed to a structure so ancient it lay half-buried in the stones and sand. Its rooftop was packed with men in golden caftans, its edges guarded by soldiers.
“In the distance, you might catch sight of the Protector’s Tower, the high Citadel of Solus,” said Suten.
Ren looked, but he didn’t see the tower, and the Prior Master nudged him forward before he could steal another glance.
Everywhere they went, the streets were overflowing, the houses and temples empty. Everyone was gathering in the streets for the culmination of the Devouring, for the eclipse.
“This is the Golden Hall,” Suten announced as they approached a grand structure with four massive domes. The curved stone walls of the domes—the height of fifteen or twenty grown men—towered above their heads, and the great circle of the sun, carved into the gleaming golden doors, reflected the light of the real sun into their eyes. It’s like looking into the eyes of Mithra Himself.
“I suppose the view must be impressive,” Suten said. “But it has been many years since I’ve felt impressed by much of anything.”
Ren didn’t know whether he should be impressed. Everything in Solus was new to him—everything except the sun. He’d seen enough of that. The strong sun reminded Ren of his time in the lightwell, and its heat made his red and peeling skin throb. He stumbled and Oren struck him with his elbow, sending him faltering. Ren growled at the man and reached instinctively for the knife he did not have.
“Come this way,” said Suten, shaking his masked head at Oren as he led them to a door and unlocked it with a small click, revealing a dark passage.
“Where are we going?” Ren asked.
“To the lip of the fourth dome. Come,” Suten said.
The walls inside were patterned with gold and electrum, the doors edged with silver and carved with curling runes. They climbed a long flight of stairs, ducking their heads, circling the very rim of one of the four great domes of the Golden Hall. Suten led them out onto a balcony and back into the light. On the wall behind them, there was a great circle of bronze with white and gold marks spaced evenly around its perimeter.
Drums mixed with the roar of the crowd below, hundreds of thousands gathered in the plaza, more people than Ren had seen in his lifetime.
Below, in a city square festooned with yellow banners, a ring of gold knitted in the center of each one, the people cheered the appearance of the Ray. Dressed in the colors of every kingdom—the somber black of Harkana, the silvery green of Feren, the vivid indigo of Rachis, the azure of the Wyrre, the buttery yellow of Solus—they sang songs to Mithra-Sol and the emperor, awaiting the moment when the sun would dim and their god would rain His blessings down upon them once more. As He had since time immemorial.
“Each year,” Suten said, “I stand here to witness the Devouring. Since before you were born. Since your father was your age.”
The sun had nearly reached its highest point in the midday sky. “Do not look directly at it,” Suten warned. “It will blind you, but you don’t need me to tell you that.” The reflection of the light off the colossal city wall was nearly blinding. Everyone shaded their eyes, and Ren did the same. He’d spent his childhood yearning for sunlight, but the Sun’s Justice had cured him of that desire.
A hush fell over the crowd below, the people looking through the cracks between their fingers. Some used clever viewing devices. The songs died down; the crowd held its breath.
The moment had arrived.
“Look now,” Suten said. The Ray turned his back to the crowd, meeting the gaze of a white-robed woman who stood on the wall. They both glanced to the Protector’s ebony tower, where two figures stood at the rail, then upward to the spot where the emperor observed the Devouring from behind a veil—unseen, secret.
The crowd fell silent.
Time ticked past. The sun shone brightly. A crow cawed, the shadows drifted, but the light in the square was as strong as before. A murmur started in the crowd, an undercurrent, hushed at first, disbelieving, then more urgent, a rising voice, a hum of concern, then mounting fear, cresting, a wave that built and built until the people below were pushing at one another, shouting, fear turning to terror in their voices as the noise rose to the balcony where the First Ray of the Sun waited, standing still, his face masked in gold, expressionless.
The sun did not bow to the emperor, did not dim.
No Devouring. No eclipse.
The masses roared their fear and disapproval.