A Magic of Dawn nc-3

by S L Farrell

  Perhaps it did, in whatever afterlife the woman inhabited. No matter what the truth of the painting’s history might be, Allesandra found that the piece served as a reminder of what Nessantico had been under her rule, and what perhaps it might become again.

  “Does it bother you, Marguerite?” she asked the painting.

  There was no answer.

  She finished her meal and called the domestiques de chambre to take the tray, telling them to bring a new tray with tea and scones for the a’teni. Talbot knocked again on the outer door just as the servants brought in the tea. “Enter,” Allesandra said, and Talbot stepped into view.

  “A’Teni ca’Paim,” he said, bowing more formally this time. He started to step aside to allow ca’Paim to enter the room, but she pushed past him. Only Allesandra saw the roll of Talbot’s eyes

  Soleil ca’Paim was a portly woman in her mid-forties, with dyed dark hair showing white at the roots and a complexion that the emerald green of her robe rendered pasty. She had the harried look of a matron with too many children-and indeed she had birthed ten children in her time-but Allesandra knew it would be a mistake to think of her as soft, ineffectual, or unintelligent; a mistake many had made during her career. Soleil had risen quickly within the ranks of the teni from her beginnings as a lowly e’teni in Brezno, to her current position as the representative of the Faith for Nessantico. There was talk that, should Archigos Karrol’s ill health take him, the Concordance of A’Teni might elect her as Archigos. Certainly Archigos Karrol had shown her favor in giving her charge of Nessantico.

  “Kraljica,” ca’Paim said, inclining her head. The woman was breathing a bit heavily, and Allesandra waved to the chair set across from her.

  “A’Teni, it’s so good to see you. Would you like tea? These scones are still warm from the oven and our new pastry chef, I have to say, is excellent…” Allesandra waved to the servants, standing against the wall, and they scurried forward to serve the tea and hand the a’teni a plate adorned with several scones, drizzled with honey. A’ Teni ca’Paim was not one to turn down food: she ate a scone, then another, while the two of them talked pleasantries, circling around the subject they both knew must be broached.

  Finally, ca’Paim set down the plate, dusted with sticky crumbs. “I received your request this morning, Kraljica,” ca’Paim stated in her flat, somewhat nasal voice. “While we of the Faith readily acknowledge Ambassador ca’Pallo’s long service to Nessantico and the Holdings, that doesn’t alter the fact that neither the Ambassador nor any of the Numetodo believe in Cenzi as we do, and the usage of Concenzia Faith’s facilities would amount to a de facto acceptance of their heretical beliefs.”

  Allesandra set her own plate down. She put a hand on either side of it. “I must remind you, A’Teni, that the Old Temple was rebuilt at least partially with funds given to the Faith by the Holdings.”

  Ca’Paim acknowledged that with an inclination of her head. “And for that the Faith is extremely grateful, Kraljica. We have tried to give back to the Holdings what we can. I’d remind the Kraljica that our light-teni donated their services to the Holdings for five years in thanks. Archigos Karrol, in particular, has been most generous with his attentions to the Holdings, making certain that the Faith is as well-served here as it is in the Coalition. But this…” Her lips pressed together, and Allesandra could see that the woman was concealing a genuine indignation, not something feigned because it was forced upon her. “This is a matter of faith, Kraljica, as you must see. Surely the Grand Hall here in the palais could accommodate the crowds that might wish to pay their respects to the Ambassador.”

  Allesandra ignored the comment. “A’Teni, the Ambassador-and the Numetodo-have also given to the Faith. Your war-teni now use techniques developed by the Numetodo, in particular those created by the Ambassador and Councillor ca’Pallo both. Archigos Ana certainly saw the value of their work.”

  Ca’Paim’s lips pressed together even tighter at the mention of Ana’s name, then she smiled, though with some effort. “One might think you’re deliberately trying to goad me, Kraljica.”

  “One would be correct,” Allesandra said. “You have to admit it worked, Soleil. It always does.”

  “And you always push the knife in as deeply as you can, Allesandra,” the woman answered, and the two of them laughed. Allesandra saw the woman visibly relax, sitting back against the cushions of her chair and taking another scone. “These are quite good,” she said to Allesandra. “Tell your pastry chef that he must send the recipe to my baker.” She took a bite. Swallowed. “Archigos Karrol would tell you the same as I’ve told you.”

  “No doubt. But I haven’t asked him, have I?-not that there would be time to do so, in any event. I’m asking you.”

  “I truly don’t like this, Allesandra, for several reasons. I wish you wouldn’t force the issue. It puts both me and the Faith in an awkward position.”

  It’s your reputation you’re worried about. Not the Faith. Allesandra smiled again at the older woman. “The Old Temple is better suited for the crowds than the Grand Hall here in the palais. You have to admit that; you saw the hall at the Gschnas.”

  “Yes, but the Old Temple is dedicated to Cenzi’s worship, and as a Numetodo, the Ambassador was outspoken in his disbelief in our tenets. He believed there were no gods at all.”

  “Yet-again-he has helped your Faith, and he was also Archigos Ana’s great friend. Whatever you might think of Ana, you can’t say that she wasn’t bound to the Faith’s beliefs. I’m not asking you to give Karl the funeral rites of the Faith-and Varina would rightly howl in protest if I did. I’m asking to use the best venue in the city for the occasion. That’s all. Cover the murals if you wish. Take all the trappings of the Faith out from beneath the Great Dome. The Grand Hall here is large enough, yes, but it’s still under construction-that was fine for the Gschnas, but not for the dignity demanded by this funeral. The funds we could spare went first to the reconstruction of the Old Temple and Cu’Brunelli’s Dome, not to the Kraljica’s Palais.”

  A grimace. “I can’t offer you my staff’s help. Not openly.”

  Allesandra knew then that she had won. She wondered if ca’Paim could hear the satisfaction in her voice. “Talbot can reach out to your aide for procedural details and to decide how many of my own staff we need to assign to ensure everything goes smoothly. We’ll use palais staff and the Garde Kralji for crowd control. And you can tell Archigos Karrol that I bullied you into accepting this by threatening to withhold the final payment on the building funds.”

  “Would you do that?”

  Allesandra brought one shoulder toward her cheek. “Is it necessary?”

  One of ca’Paim’s fingers stroked the golden summit of another scone. The woman sighed. “No. I suppose not, though I still don’t like it.”

  “Good,” Allesandra said. “And you’ll be there, Soleil? Seated next to me?”

  Another sigh. “You’ve become shameless as you’ve aged, Allesandra. Absolutely shameless. I will attend since you insist, but I won’t speak. I cannot.”

  “That’s understood.” Allesandra leaned forward and patted the woman’s hand. “Thank you, Soleil. I’ll tell Varina what you’ve done; she’ll appreciate the gesture.”

  “What about Nico Morel’s followers?” ca’Paim asked. “He’s the one you should be worrying about. You know how deeply that man hates the Numetodo. They are sure to protest, and demonstrations by the Morellis have turned violent before. Have you read the proclamation he and his people posted all over the city yesterday about the Ambassador’s death? They’ll be railing against any display of support for the Ambassador, and there might well be worse trouble with them.”

  This time it was Allesandra who frowned. “Ambassador ca’Rudka showed me the proclamation, and it was vile and disgusting. You’re probably right. Perhaps Commandant cu’Ingres might give Vajiki Morel and his local troublemakers free lodging in the Bastida for a few days, assuming we can find them before the ceremony
. In any case, I’ll make certain the Commandant’s posted sufficient gardai in case there is an issue. And if you would have your teni tailor their Admonitions today and tomorrow against the Morellis…”

  “Fine,” ca’Paim told her. “That much I’m happy to do. But I have to tell you, Kraljica…” ca’Paim frowned sternly. “There are teni here, especially the younger ones but even those high in the Faith, who have an unhealthy amount of sympathy for Nico Morel and his philosophy. Far too many of them than I like.”

  “I know,” Allesandra told her. “That infection is among the populace as well, I’m afraid. The man’s influence is is becoming increasingly dangerous. Soleil, I appreciate your cooperation in this. I know it’s not what you want, and I know that it will cause you grief with Brezno, and for that I’m genuinely sorry.”

  Ca’Paim nodded to that and plucked another scone from the plate. “Archigos Karrol and Brezno I can deal with,” she said. “I only hope this turns out to be what you want, Allesandra.”

  Nico Morel

  Nico stared at the young man who had brought the news. “You’re certain of this?” he asked. “Certain?”

  The man-an e’teni of the Concenzia Faith, still wearing his green robes-bowed. “Yes, Absolute Nico. A’Teni ca’Paim announced it to the staff this afternoon.” His gaze kept skittering away, as if he were afraid that Nico’s temper might erupt and leave him a charred husk. Nico took a long breath-the news did burn in his gut, furious and hot. It was an outrage, an insult to Cenzi to have Ambassador ca’Pallo’s funeral at the Old Temple. A Numetodo, resting in that sacred place, being praised there… But he managed a grim smile for the e’teni. “Thank you for coming to tell us,” he said. “And may Cenzi’s Blessing come to you for your efforts.” He gave the man the sign of Cenzi.

  The e’teni smiled quickly at that and bowed his way from the room, closing the crooked wooden door behind him. Nico turned to the window: between the gaps of the warped shutter, he looked down on an Oldtown alley, the central gutter clogged with waste and trash. The house they were using was on a street with two neighboring butcher shops, and the offal and stench from the carcasses was sometimes overpowering.

  It was nearly dusk; the light-teni would soon be setting alight the famous lamps of the Avi A’Parete, the wide boulevard that ringed the old confines of Nessantico. He saw the flash of green as the e-teni emerged from the house and scurried back to his duties at the Old Temple, dashing between two whores walking toward the taverns on the next street. Nico could smell the piss and shit on the streets below: the scent of corruption.

  That odor defined Nessantico to him.

  Strangely, these weren’t the smells he remembered from his time in Nessantico before the Tehuantin. In those childhood memories, Oldtown was warm and comfortable, tasting of spices and the perfume of his matarh and the sweet odor of her sweat when he hugged her on hot summer days. It was the scent of the herbs his Westlander vatarh had used in the brass bowl he’d always carried. That Nessantico was bright and colorful, alive with hope and promise.

  That Nessantico was utterly gone. That Nessantico had died when he’d been snatched away from his matarh.

  “Absolute?” The call came from Ancel ce’Breton, one of the few Morellis he trusted implicitly, and one of the two people in the room with Nico. Ancel was gaunt, with a hollow-looking face patchworked with a scraggled dark beard, his long fingers scratching at his cheap linen bashta with cracked, dark fingernails-even more than Nico, he had the appearance of an ascetic. “What are your thoughts?”

  “I think, Ancel, that this is a slap to Cenzi’s face,” he said without turning from the window. “I think that A’Teni ca’Paim’s soul will be torn and weighed by the soul-shredders and found wanting when she dies-and I hope that day comes soon. I think that once again the Concenzia Faith has shown its weakness and its degeneracy.”

  He felt a gentle hand brush his shoulder: Liana. She pressed against him from behind and he felt the swell of her belly against his spine. “What do you want us to do?” she asked him. “Will you preach against this? Will we act?”

  “I don’t know yet,” he told them. “I have to think, and I have to pray.” He turned away from the window. The anger was still there in the pit of his stomach, like banked coals that would never go out, but he smiled to Ancel and reached out to brush the hair from Liana’s wonderful face. “I will spend the night in meditation, and hopefully Cenzi will come to me with His answer by tomorrow.”

  Ancel nodded. “I’ll let the others know, especially the teni who are with us. They’ll be ready to do whatever you ask of them, Absolute.”

  “Thank you, Ancel. Without you, I don’t know what I’d do.” Nico saw the compliment lend momentary color to the man’s pale face. His eyes widened slightly as he bowed his head and gave Nico the sign of Cenzi.

  “I am your servant as you are Cenzi’s,” Ancel said. “I’ll send in one of the others in a turn of the glass with your suppers.”

  Nico inclined his head as the man closed the door behind him. He heard Ancel call out: “Erin, bring the Absolute and Liana their meals, please…” Now that they were alone, Liana rubbed her rounded stomach and finally came closer, pressing her body against his; he wrapped his arms around her body and kissed the top of her head and the glossy, dark-brown curly strands there. Not as dark as Rochelle’s hair, which was as black as midnight, but the same tight curls…

  He shook away the memory. It was no good thinking of his sister Rochelle. She was lost, along with the rest of his past. Nico tightened his embrace on Liana, and could feel the nagging pull of healing ribs from where the Garde Kralji had kicked him two days ago: he’d been preaching to a crowd near Temple Square. They’d shoved him down on the soiled flags and circled around him, their booted feet lashing out as he covered his head and his followers screamed invectives and tried to pull the gardai away from him. “No!” he’d shouted to them. “Don’t worry! Cenzi will protect me!”

  He’d wanted to use the Ilmodo then. He’d wanted to call down a storm of lightning on them, or set them afire, or sweep them away with a howling wind. He could have done any of those, easily. But he dared not-not in public, not with the teni watching. If they saw Nico use the Ilmodo, the magic of the teni, they would have invoked the laws of the Divolonte, the code by which the Concenzia Faith lived. By that code, as a defrocked teni, Nico was subject to the harshest penalties if he used Cenzi’s Gift again: he would have his hands cut off, his tongue ripped from his mouth so that he would never again use the Ilmodo. Only the teni were permitted to call upon the magic of the Second World.

  And because Nico truly believed in the Divolonte, because he was a faithful teni, he obeyed. He had not used the Ilmodo for three years now, though he had been the best of them: the most talented, the strongest with the power. Even Archigos Karrol would have admitted that. Yet Nico took no pride in his prowess: it was Cenzi who had made him that way, Cenzi who had made him the Absolute. Not Nico himself.

  The Faith had cast him out unfairly. They cast him out because they were jealous of him. They cast him out because they were afraid. They cast him out because he spoke the true, pure words of Cenzi and they felt it even as they denied it. They cast him out because they heard the power in his voice, and they saw how easily he gathered followers to him.

  All the a’teni, even Archigos Karrol in Brezno, now allowed the Numetodo to spew their poison. They were not like Archigos Semini, who had set the bodies of Numetodo heretics swinging in their gibbets in Brezno Square. No, the current Archigos and his a’teni might complain about the godlessness and false beliefs of the Numetodo, but they permitted them to mock Cenzi with their own magics. The teni adulterated the Faith’s own magic by using Numetodo techniques themselves. They tolerated members of the Numetodo serving on the Council of Ca’ and whispering into the Kraljica’s ears. They listened to the nonsense the Numetodo spat out, about how all things in the world could be explained without resorting to Vucta or Cenzi or even the Moitidi.
The Numetodo claimed that logic always trumped faith, and

  …

  The

  Faith

  Said

  Nothing.

  The Numetodo infuriated Nico. Neither they nor the people of Nessantico herself saw how the sack of Nessantico by the Tehuantin-themselves heathens and heretics who worshiped false gods-had been Cenzi’s great punishment, a dire warning to them of what must happen when people turned their backs to Him.

  Nico would show them. He would lead them along the correct path. They would hear his voice and heed him.

  That was what Cenzi demanded of him. That was what he would do.

  “Nico, where are you?” Liana was looking up at him with eyes the color of well-steeped tea-that was not like Rochelle either, who had pupils of the palest blue. Nico started, torn from his reverie. “Is He speaking to you?”

  He shook his head down at her. “Not yet,” he told her. “But I know He’s close. I can feel His strength.” He hugged her and leaned down to kiss her mouth, which yielded softly under his pressure. He felt the flicker of her tongue against his and a tightness under his bashta.

  “Then let me comfort you for now,” Liana whispered to him as they broke the embrace. “For a turn of the glass only…”

  He touched her belly. “Should we…?”