A Magic of Dawn nc-3

by S L Farrell

  She was stunned. She sat back in her seat across from him. Nico dead? No, she hadn’t seen him or talked to him for years, but she could still see him as a young man, just leaving to become an acolyte in the Faith, Matarh clinging to him as he lifted a bag in his hand with the few possessions he had, the carriage driver calling out impatiently. She’d glimpsed him once or twice since then; Matarh had taken her to see his induction as teni, but then he’d been sent to Brezno, and the visits stopped. They’d heard the tales of his rise and sudden fall within the ranks of teni; when Matarh had died, he hadn’t come, even though Rochelle had expected him. She wondered if he would even recognize her. She wondered if he would care; she wondered if he would condemn her for what she’d done and what she’d become.

  “I wasn’t here for him,” she said. “I didn’t know…”

  “Then why are you here? You still haven’t answered me.”

  Outside, she saw houses and other carriages on the road with them, as well as people on horses or walking toward or from the city-leaning out, she could see the gates of the city just ahead. “Stop the carriage,” she said. “I’d like to get out here.”

  Sergei stared for another moment, then he tapped on the roof of the carriage twice; the driver pulled on the reins, calling to the horses and moving them to the side of the road. “Do you kill me now?” Sergei asked. “You’re thinking that you could probably get away with it-easy enough to get lost in the crowds here before the driver raised the alarm.”

  He knows what you’re thinking… And that, Rochelle realized, meant that he probably had anticipated the act and had a plan to counter it. His hand was on the knob of his cane. Still, he was too old and slow to stop her. “Don’t,” Sergei told her. His voice almost sounded amused. “I’m not a threat to you, Rochelle. Not at this moment, anyway-though if you become a threat to Nessantico, then we’ll be meeting again. We’re very much alike, you and I-did you know that? I know you, better than you would believe. The difference is that you’re still young. You have a chance to escape becoming me, or becoming like your matarh: a madwoman haunted by the deaths she’s caused and too enamored of death to give it up. You just have to stop. Stop being the White Stone-because if you don’t, soon you won’t want to stop. You won’t be able to stop. Listen to me-I know what I’m speaking of. You don’t want that, Rochelle. You truly don’t.”

  He was still holding the cane, still watching her. She saw his gaze fasten on her right hand under her tashta, on the hidden knife.

  A quick upward slash. It would come before he could even move, and the blood would be spilling from him even as I leap from the carriage. He’d be dead by my first step…

  She was breathing hard. But there’d be no time to use the stone. The voice might have been her matarh. You’ll be in his eyes, caught there forever at the moment of his death. His eyes will betray you.. .

  The noise of the city was loud in the carriage. “Ambassador?” the driver called down through the closed curtain.

  Stop being the White Stone…

  “Well, Rochelle?” Sergei asked her. “What is it to be?”

  A few breaths later, she descended from the carriage. She looked up at the driver. “The Ambassador says to go on,” she told him. He slapped the reins, and the carriage started forward again, slipping into the stream of traffic heading toward the gate. She watched it until it had passed the half-tumbled stone arches, then she slipped into the crowds herself.

  Niente

  The Tecuhtli march at midday; almost immediately afterward, one of the warriors came panting up to Niente, telling him that Citlali required his presence. His stomach churning with unease, Niente followed the man to where most of the High Warriors were gathered in a wide circle. They parted to let him pass through; in the center, Tecuhtli Citlali was seated, with the High Warrior Tototl, as usual, at his right side. Atl was standing at his left hand, stern and unsmiling as Niente entered the open space.

  The burning in Niente’s stomach increased.

  “Your son tells me disturbing things, Nahual Niente,” Citlali said without preamble. “He says that your path leads to defeat, not victory. He says that he sees another way, and he tells me that we must take it now before it is too late.”

  Split the army in three arms, one of which must go back toward Villembouchure and cross the river. Come to the city from west, north, and south, and come at a fast march, so that you reach the city before the other army can reach it… He had seen that vision himself. He’d seen the warriors push howling into the streets, the city’s defenses too stretched to offer resistance. The city would fall, in a single, bloody day.

  “My son is wrong,” Niente said. He could not look at Atl’s face. “I’ve already told the Tecuhtli this.”

  “You have,” Citlali answered. “And I’ve listened to you, and to Atl. I find it rather compelling that a son who has always loved, respected, and obeyed his Taat feels so strongly that he would go against him: not only as a Taat, but as Nahual.”

  “Atl believes what he has seen in the bowl, and he does have Axat’s gift,” Niente answered. “But he doesn’t yet have the skill to interpret what he sees in the mists, nor to see far enough through them. What he doesn’t realize is that one day’s victory may lead to the next day’s defeat.”

  “Hmm…” Citlali’s fingers stroked his chin as if he were petting a cat. “Or an old man could be so weakened by years of using his gift that he’s no longer strong enough to see well, and instead sees only what he wants to see.”

  “Don’t mistake physical weakness for something else, Tecuhtli,” Niente said. “I am still stronger in the ways of the X’in Ka than any of the other nahualli.” Now he did look at Atl, almost in apology. “And that includes my own son.”

  In his visions, Axat had granted him only momentary glimpses of this moment-or perhaps that had been his own fears influencing the direction of his far-sight. Whichever, Axat had never let him see it fully. In the original vision he’d had, back in Tlaxcala, this moment had not been on the paths of the future at all. Yet the twisted snarl of possibilities had led him here, despite his attempts to evade it. It was yet another reminder that the future was malleable and changeable, and that there were other influences than Axat’s at work.

  Mahri and Talis had learned that, to their doom. Perhaps it was now Niente’s own turn to be given the lesson.

  Citlali was smiling, an expression that Niente had never liked in the man’s face, since what amused the Tecuhtli was often unpleasant for others. Tototl was watching also, though the High Warrior’s face was stoic-whatever he was thinking, it was hidden from Niente. “Perhaps we should let Axat decide, then,” the Tecuhtli said. “You should demonstrate your strength for me, if you’re to remain Nahual. And if not…” Citlali shrugged then, broadly, the tattoos on his body moving like painted shadows. “… then perhaps Atl will be the Nahual.”

  Niente saw his son’s eyes widen as he realized the implication of what Citlali had just said. “Tecuhtli, this is not why I came to you.” He glanced toward Niente, shaking his head.

  “Perhaps, but it’s what I’m asking of you. You’ve your spell-staff, and Niente has his. Let us see who is stronger. Let us see who Axat wishes to be Nahual-now, while there’s still time.”

  Atl looked over at Niente desperately again. “I can’t. Taat, this isn’t-”

  “You’ve no choice now,” Citlali answered, and his voice was firm but not unkind. “That’s the way of things: the weak fall to the stronger, as Necalli fell to Zolin, and when Zolin fell, the red eagle came to me.” He touched his skull, where the blood-hued bird was inked. Tototl glanced at it as well. “As one day, I will fall. Or are you telling me that Nahual Niente is correct, and that you’ve not seen correctly?”

  Atl was shaking his head, and Niente saw him caught, snared like a rabbit between truth and his love for Niente. “Taat,” he said, “I ask you, for our love, for the good of all the warriors here, to give up the golden band and your bowl.”
r />   Niente could feel himself standing at a crossroads. Even without the scrying bowl, the air around him seemed to be filled with the emerald mist of Axat, waiting for him to choose. There: he could lay down the bowl, take off the armband, and simply become Niente who had once been a nahualli, letting Atl come into his legacy. Or he could refuse… And down that road there was only mist and confusion and uncertainty. He wasn’t certain he had either the strength or the will to defeat Atl, not when it would almost certainly mean the death of one or the other of them.

  Yet it had come to this. There were no other paths open.

  Axat, why have you given me this burden? Xaria, could you ever forgive me for this, for killing our son?

  “Niente?” Citlali said. “Atl awaits your answer, as do I.”

  In the mists, his son standing in his way, barring the entrance to the path…

  Strangely, there were no tears, even though the sorrow seemed to press on his shoulders as if he bore the Teocalli Axat itself there. His spine bowed under the weight. He could barely lift his head, and his voice was as faint as the voice of the stars.

  There is no certainty that you can succeed now, even if you sacrifice Atl. The path has grown faint and difficult to find. It could all be wasted…

  “I am Nahual,” Niente said. “I see the way.” He looked at his son, wondering if Atl could see the bleak despair in his face. “I’m sorry, Atl.”

  Atl looked away, as if there might be an answer written in the clouds above them.

  “Then tonight, under Axat’s gaze, the two of you will settle this, so that I can make my decision as Tecuhtli,” Citlali declared. He rose from his nest of cushions. Tototl and the other High Warriors snapped to attention. “Go, and prepare yourselves,” Citlali told them.

  “Taat, I don’t want this.”

  “Then you should have considered what going to Tecuhtli Citlali a second time would mean,” Niente told Atl. “Didn’t you see that in the scrying bowl?” It was difficult to keep the concern and irritation from his voice.

  The sun was setting in the west behind the army, sending golden shafts of light down on the encampment. The warmth was a mockery. Niente sat cross-legged in front of his tent, his spell-staff laid across his lap. The warriors pretended to ignore the two; the other nahualli had vanished; he’d seen none of them since the sun had started to fall. They would be waiting to see how this ended, and where it might leave them.

  The moon would rise soon. Axat’s Eye.

  “I’m not mistaken about what I saw, Taat,” Atl insisted. “The signs and portents were terrible for the path you’ve set us on. I saw the banner of the red eagle trampled on the ground. I saw hundreds of dead warriors. I saw you, Taat; I saw you dead as well.” He was shaking his head, his nostrils flaring with emotion. “I saw it. There was no mistake. What Axat showed me couldn’t have been victory.”

  “And down your path?” Niente asked.

  “That way has become clouded,” he admitted, “and it has become more uncertain each day we move forward. But the first time, I saw it clearly: with the army split, with speed, we reached the great city before an army coming from the east could help them. I saw our banners above their towers.”

  Niente nodded. Yes, he does see true… “And afterward,” he asked his son. “What did you see beyond that? What did you see when that eastern army came to Nessantico?”

  Atl shook his head. “The mists were confusing there. I saw many possibilities, and many shadows. But I’m certain at least some of them would lead to victory as well.”

  They do, some of them, though nearly all are still grim and deadly for us. Yet the path I saw… Niente sighed. “Atl, my son, my beloved…” He took a long breath. “You have seen truly.”

  Atl took a step back, his hand slicing air. “You admit that? Then you’ll give up the band of the Nahual and the bowl? We can go to Tecuhtli Citlali and tell him that we’ve reached agreement?”

  “No,” Niente answered. “Not yet, anyway. You see correctly but you don’t see far enough. No, listen to me and be silent-this is something I will say only to you and I’ll deny having said it if you repeat it. You’re right, Atl. The path I’ve put us on will probably not lead to victory in Nessantico.”

  Atl blinked, stunned. His mouth hung open like a fish gasping for air. “I… I don’t understand. How… If that’s true, why… why would you give the Tecuhtli this advice?”

  “Because Axat has let me see further. Atl, if we were to take Nessantico, then the full fury of the Easterners will fall on us. It won’t be enough for them to crush us here-they will pursue us back to our homes in the west, and they won’t rest until Tlaxcala lies as tumbled stones in Lake Ixtapatl, a mirror of Nessantico. There is no peace in that future, there is only death and more death, ruin and more ruin. A temporary victory is no victory at all, Atl.”

  “So you would have us defeated-because in the mists you believe you see more war?” Atl scowled. “That makes no sense. I know Axat’s visions, Taat, and I know that the further you go from now, the more paths there are and it becomes less clear where they lead. How do you know that you have seen correctly? There must be other ways. This dire future of yours can’t be the only outcome.”

  “No. There are worse… And there may be better, yes, but the way to them is dark to me. What I have seen is the most likely outcome.”

  “So you say. I say it’s your own despair that is coloring the visions. You’ve told me yourself, Taat-you’ve said that the far-seer’s mood can shape Axat’s vision. This is what’s happened to you.”

  “I’ve seen what happens if we fall here, Atl. If we fall, then I’ve seen West and East eventually reconcile. I’ve seen ships going back and forth between our lands with goods. I’ve seen a generation of peace.”

  “Peace forever?” Atl scoffed. “There’s no such thing, Taat. Never has been, never will. How do you know that this lovely future of yours doesn’t just lead to an even greater war and even more death for the Tehuantin? You don’t-I see it in your face. You could be sacrificing all our warriors and nahualli here for nothing. Don’t you see that?”

  Niente wanted to shake his head. He wanted to rage and deny what Atl had said. Back in Tlaxcala the vision had been so clear, so certain, so definite. But now… He hadn’t seen it so clearly since they’d left their own land, and what he saw now was wrapped in doubt and uncertainty, with only tantalizing, mocking glimpses of the future he’d seen. Now, he found he wasn’t so certain.

  Can you do this? Are you willing to kill Atl for a possibility?

  Only the tip of the sun was visible over the trees on the horizon. The sky in the east was already purple, with the evening star that was the gate to the afterlife already visible. The eye of Axat would be peering over the rim of the world soon.

  “Go, and prepare yourself,” he told Atl. “There isn’t much time.”

  All the hope in Atl’s face collapsed. He clamped his lips together and nodded, then turned on the balls of his toes and strode away. Niente watched him go. When he could no longer see Atl, he reached into his pouch and pulled out his scrying bowl.

  He knew that the lesser nahualli would be watching. “Bring me clean water,” he called out loudly into the evening. “Quickly!”

  Varina ca’Pallo

  Shewasn’t certain why she did this. She only knew that she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t. “I know Nico deserves death for what he’s done,” she told Allesandra. She glanced quickly at Erik ca’Vikej, seated in a chair just behind the Kraljica; she didn’t like the man’s presence, but Allesandra had made no move to ask him to leave. Varina was seated herself, with an untouched plate of pastries and a steaming cup on the table next to her. “But I’m asking that you spare him. I ask it for our friendship, Allesandra.”

  Allesandra was pacing, not looking at Varina. She passed in front of the fireplace, glancing up at the portrait of Kraljica Marguerite that was placed there, then going to the balcony. Varina could see the vista outside. The
dome of the Old Temple rose above the intervening buildings on the Isle a’Kralji, and she could see the streaks of soot from the fires still marring the gilded curves. It would be months, perhaps a year or more, before the Old Temple could be restored and the damage to it repaired. But the memories… Those could never be erased.

  “I don’t understand,” Allesandra said. “Morel has condemned himself. He knew the consequences of his actions and he went ahead with them. There were hands upon hands of people killed, Varina. We lost A’Teni ca’Paim, and Commandant cu’Ingres has been gravely injured. You were nearly killed yourself.”

  “And so were the Kraljica and I,” ca’Vikej interjected. When Allesandra turned-with what Varina thought was an odd glare-he shrugged. “It’s only the truth,” he said.

  “In any case, there’s not only my judgment involved, but that of the Faith,” Allesandra continued. Her gaze stayed on ca’Vikej for several moment before returning to her contemplation of the scene outside the balcony. “They will insist on his hands and tongue for using the Ilmodo, and his life for A’Teni ca’Paim. The citizens of Nessantico will also insist on his life for the lives of our own that he’s killed.”

  “Many of those same citizens supported him when he talked about the Faith, when he said that the Faith should be less about accumulating wealth to itself and more about helping its people, when he said that the teni should pay more attention to the Toustour and less to their purses.”