by Kat Ross
“I can’t believe you were stupid enough to come back here,” the leader growled. “We’d all but given up on you.”
Nazafareen backed away. She already knew the alley ended behind her in a blank wall. She had been stupid to choose a place with only one exit. The leader leapt nimbly over a puddle and pulled a knife from his belt. The others held vicious nail-studded clubs.
“I’m glad we didn’t find you before,” he said with a grin. “Because the price has gone up. She only wanted the old man last time, but now the Pythia wants you, girl.”
Nazafareen reached for her sword and only then realized it was gone. She must have lost it at the Acropolis. She glowered at him.
“Don’t try to deny it.” He glanced at her missing hand. “She didn’t specify dead or alive though.” He gave an ugly laugh. “A head’s much lighter to carry around, though you don’t look like you weigh much anyway.”
Nazafareen studied them, calculating the odds. Not good. Not at all. The alley was narrow, but not so narrow they’d have to come at her one at a time. She took another step back, into something squelching and foul.
I’ll make them pay dearly for my head at least.
And then she heard a soft grunt of surprise. The leader spun around just in time to catch a staff to the temple. It blurred in tight arcs, just clearing the width of the walls. One of his confederates had already crumpled bonelessly to the ground. The other two brought back their clubs, Nazafareen heard several sharp cracks from the staff, and they too collapsed. It was the girl from the garden.
“Hurry,” she hissed. “There are soldiers two streets away.”
Nazafareen didn’t hesitate. She stepped over the prone bodies and followed. At the entrance to the alley, the girl looked both ways, then waved her forward. They hurried through the deserted streets.
“This way!”
The girl grabbed her arm and yanked her around a corner just as soldiers poured out of a side street.
“Did they see us?” Nazafareen whispered.
“I don’t know, but the Pythia’s ordered the whole city searched, down to pigsties and outhouses. So move it!”
They ran and ran, narrowly dodging the contingents of soldiers, but Nazafareen had a sinking feeling they were closing in. Soon the buildings grew smaller and shabbier. Trash clogged the streets and they passed several establishments with heavily made-up women and a distinctly seedy air.
“In here.”
The girl led her up the steps of an ancient temple. Withered garlands lay on a lichen-coated altar, their petals brown and curled into wisps. Inside, a few stubby candles burned, but they were the only source of illumination. Nazafareen suspected the temple had been grand once. The ceiling soared high above, supported by thick stone pillars. But those too showed signs of age, with large cracks and chips that someone had sloppily plastered over.
She followed the girl to another, larger altar in the center of the chamber. It reeked of cheap wine. The head of a bull stared back at her, but Nazafareen was relieved to find it made of stone rather than brass.
“What is this place?”
“The Temple of Dionysus,” the girl replied.
Nazafareen was about to ask why they had come here when a hissing snake slithered out of the bull’s mouth. She leapt back. Nazafareen had never cared for snakes and this one looked poisonous, with brown diamond markings against copper scales. The girl smiled as it slid into the shadows.
“Don’t mind him. He only bites if you try to pick him up.”
She decided she didn’t like this place, even if the girl meant well.
“Listen—” Nazafareen began, eyes scanning the ground for any sign of movement.
Voices drifted into the temple. A woman’s laughter, followed by breaking crockery. Shouts came from somewhere across the street and were answered by a deep voice that sounded like it was right outside. The girl quickly pressed one of the stones at the base of the altar and a small cavity opened, hardly big enough for a child.
“Get inside,” she ordered.
Nazafareen stared at the dark hole. If the snake came out of the bull’s mouth, that meant it probably lived under there somewhere.
“You’ll be safe, Ashraf. But you must hurry.”
Nazafareen swallowed her fear and dove into the hole. The stone sealed shut. She lay in a cramped, stiflingly hot space. She feared she might suffocate, but then she realized she could hear clearly through the bull, and that air could get in that way too.
“Parthenoi,” a man said gruffly, although there was an edge of respect in his tone.
“Do you intend to ransack the god’s holy shrine?” the girl asked calmly.
“I must,” he said, sounding uncomfortable. “It is the Polemarch’s orders.”
“At least leave an offering so Dionysus doesn’t curse you.”
He grumbled but Nazafareen heard the clink of coins in a bowl.
“Who are you looking for?”
“None of your business.”
“Be about it then. We’ve nothing to hide here.”
The search seemed interminable. Nazafareen kept expecting the cold, slick brush of reptilian scales against her skin. She still felt feverish and their mad dash through the streets had used up the little strength she had left. She’d nearly fallen asleep when the first soldier returned.
“Thank you, parthenoi,” he said, more politely this time. “Tell the god we meant no harm.”
“I have no need. Dionysus sees into men’s hearts. He will know if you are blameless.”
After several long minutes of silence, the panel slid open. Nazafareen took a deep breath of wine-soaked air and crawled out.
“They won’t come back. Not for a while, at least. But we must get you out of the city.”
“Why are you risking yourself for me?”
The girl ignored this question, beckoning her through a door to the yard at the back of the temple where a wagon piled with hay waited, two horses already in their traces. She leapt gracefully into the driver’s seat and placed her staff on the bench.
“Dig a hole,” she said, gesturing to the hay.
Nazafareen crawled into the wagon bed, too tired to do anything but follow this forceful creature’s commands. With a lurch, the wagon started off. She tore the hay apart with her hand and burrowed down to the very bottom, pulling it over her head. They rocked along, moving from dirt to paving stones that bumped at each junction in the slabs. The straw scratched and tickled, but Nazafareen decided it was still better than her last hiding place. When they reached the city walls, the girl bantered easily with the guards at the gate. They seemed to know her.
“Open up for the parthenoi!”
The wagon rumbled through the gate and picked up speed, jouncing along country roads. The gentle rocking lulled her into an uneasy slumber. At last, it drew to a halt. Nazafareen opened her eyes.
“You can come out now, Ashraf,” the girl called.
She exited the hay wagon the same way she’d gotten in, by burrowing through the straw. When Nazafareen slid down, she brought a scattering of stalks with her. They clung to her clothes and hair like burrs.
“Come on, I’ll take you to Kallisto,” the girl said, smiling at her appearance.
Nazafareen sighed and brushed herself off. “Thanks for all you’ve done. But I have a few questions. Where are we? And how did you know where to find me before?” She thought for a moment. “And how do you even know my name?”
“I’ll answer the third question first, which also answers the second,” the girl replied as they walked toward a large, ramshackle farmhouse. “Herodotus told his wife about a brave girl named Ashraf who saved his life. It’s the main reason she trusted you to deliver the message. He also mentioned you’d been sleeping rough in an alley by the docks. It took me a while, but I finally found you. Just in time, it seems.”
“But won’t the Polemarch’s soldiers come straight here?”
Charis smiled. “No one knows of their marriage
. The note was unsigned. Kallisto is not a fool.”
They followed a path through vineyards, where women in headscarves plucked purple and green grapes and tossed them into wicker baskets. They all looked young and strapping.
“As for the first, Kallisto will explain everything.”
She nodded as the front door of the house opened and an older woman emerged. Grey braids coiled on top of her head and she leaned on a pine cone-topped staff just like the girl’s. She studied Nazafareen with cool, dark eyes. Nazafareen felt a chill. They weren’t unfriendly, but they weren’t friendly either. And unlike the girl’s, her staff had real power; Nazafareen could feel it. Kallisto stood aside without a word and they entered a large, sunny kitchen. Something good-smelling bubbled over a hearth in the corner. Several loaves of fresh bread cooled on the tiled counter.
“Leave us, Charis,” Kallisto said.
The girl ducked her head and strode off, slipping behind a curtain that led to the other rooms.
“Sit.”
Kallisto pointed to one of the chairs arrayed before a long trestle table.
Suddenly, Nazafareen was tired of doing what these women told her to do. She crossed her arms. It was a petty act of defiance, but all she could muster at the moment.
“I prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
Kallisto sat down and folded her hands on the table.
“I gave your message to Herodotus,” Nazafareen said. “He looked happy to get it. Well, sad too.”
Kallisto inclined her head. “Thank you. Now, I will ask you a question, and I wish a truthful answer.”
“How do you know I won’t just lie?”
“Because you will hold my staff as you speak. It is a talisman that compels honesty.”
“No.”
Kallisto smiled sweetly. “Then I’m afraid we’ll have to kill you.”
“What?”
Nazafareen followed her gaze out the window. The sturdy farm girls she’d seen were no longer toiling in the fields. They’d gathered in a line outside the house with grim faces and staffs in their hands.
“Those are the Maenads. The parthenoi. They serve the god, and they serve me. Oh, and they’re impervious to fire. So child, will you answer?”
Nazafareen sighed. These women clearly meant business. And what did she have to hide anymore? She scowled.
“Very well.”
She took the staff. It was made of some smooth, pale wood, with carved vines coiling around the shaft. She felt tempted to simply unravel the magic inside, but she’d managed not to break her griffin cuff and she had a feeling Kallisto might be displeased at losing her talisman, so Nazafareen kept a tight rein on herself.
“Ask away.”
Kallisto’s face grew tense.
“Are you Avas Vatra?”
This was not the question she’d expected.
“A what?”
“Are you a child of fire? A daēva?”
“Me?” Nazafareen laughed. “No. I’m human like you. Though I won’t deny I seem to have a strange ability to nullify other magic.”
“Ah.” Kallisto sat back, a satisfied expression on her face. “So you are a Breaker. I’ve heard of those. A very rare talent. Very rare indeed.”
“Can I put this down now?”
Kallisto waved a hand in assent and Nazafareen gingerly returned it to its place propped against the table.
“Now that that’s settled, would you like a bowl of stew?”
Nazafareen’s stomach rumbled. It still felt delicate, but she knew food would do her good.
“Yes, please.”
Kallisto ladled out two bowls of vegetable stew and cut thick slices of bread. She set out a bowl of creamy butter and cups of watered wine. They ate in silence. When Nazafareen casually glanced out the window, she saw the young women had returned to their labors.
“I was truthful with you,” she said. “Now it’s your turn. I want to know what’s going on. Who are you? And why are you helping me?”
“Fair enough.” Kallisto began clearing their plates. “The Maenads are an old cult. One of the oldest. For a thousand years, we’ve kept watch.”
“For what?”
“For the return of the Vatras.”
“The fire daēvas, you mean? Herodotus told me a little about them.”
“He knows more than any man living, but there are still many things that remain unclear. I fear he discovered something the Pythia wished to keep secret and that’s why he was arrested.”
“He told me he’d just found a scroll,” Nazafareen exclaimed, sitting up straight in her chair. “He came to say goodbye right before the Archon Basileus arrived at the library.”
Kallisto turned sharply. “What else did he tell you?”
“Not much, really.” She tried to remember. “Just that it was written by an alchemist, Nabu somebody or other, and it surprised him. He said…. He said it contradicted other accounts, about the gates, or maybe the shadowlands. But he didn’t say how.” Nazafareen leaned forward. “We have to get him out of there. And my friend, Javid, too.”
Kallisto raised an eyebrow. “The Persian? He has been accused of supplying the spell dust to Herodotus.”
“That’s a lie!”
“Calm yourself, child, I know.”
Kallisto dried the dishes and stacked them neatly on the counter. Nazafareen watched her movements, brisk and efficient.
“So what are you going to do?”
“The Archon Eponymous—he is the chief magistrate—has ordered them to be tried together before the Ecclesia two weeks hence.”
“The Assembly?” Nazafareen brightened. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps. The Assembly is divided. Many agree with the Pythia. But they stand a fair chance, at least.” Kallisto sat down. “The Polemarch and the Archon Basileus are entirely her creatures. But the Archon Eponymous has maintained his distance from the Temple of Delphi. Still, he tends to blow with the wind. And he’s guided first by self-interest.”
“Then we must help Herodotus make a strong case. I know who set him up. Two scholars. I call them the Stork and the Weasel.”
Kallisto gave a grim smile. “Kadmos and Serpedon. They have plotted against Herodotus for years. I’m certain it was they who helped the Pythia arrange for Herodotus’s murder at the hands of street toughs. A murder you stopped.”
Nazafareen felt swept up in deep currents she barely understood. “Why did the Pythia want him dead?”
“She suspected—correctly—that he was hiding information from her. The Pythia has an interest in the Vatras too, though I’m not yet sure why. And she has an interest in you. The gods saw fit to bring you and my husband together. A chance meeting. For what purpose? Was it only to save his life, or something more?” Kallisto shook her head. “There are many things I still cannot see. But I will not have a Breaker running loose. You may be a part of this in some way.”
Running loose? Nazafareen’s jaw tightened.
“I’m a free woman. I will help you, but I will not be your prisoner. And Javid must be part of any bargain we strike.”
They stared at each other.
Kallisto inclined her head with a small smile. “They say Breakers have a temper. I suppose I oughtn’t test yours. All right. I invite you to stay with us for now. But your friend is being held in the Polemarch’s dungeons. They are impregnable. There is no way to reach him before the trial.” She paused. “You say my husband discovered a scroll. Did he mention anything about the talismans?”
Nazafareen thought back. “I don’t think so. Talismans like your staff, you mean?”
“A thousand times more powerful, child. The three talismans that defeated the Vatras a thousand years ago.”
“What were they?” Nazafareen found herself intensely curious. “Let me guess. Magic rings!”
Kallisto chuckled. “Not what. Who.”
“You mean they’re people?”
“Daēvas. One from each of t
he clans. Valkirin, Danai, Marakai. Air, earth, water. They squabble with each other, but once they were allies.”
“But wouldn’t the talismans be dead by now?”
“Perhaps. But Herodotus believes the talent may have passed on through the generations. He took the job at the library to further his research. Then the new Pythia came and demanded he hand everything over to her.” She sighed. “He was never good at keeping his mouth shut. Too enthusiastic.”
Nazafareen thought about all this. It was a lot to absorb and she suddenly felt very tired.
“I still don’t understand,” she said, yawning openly now. “Why do you think the Avas Vatras will come back?”
Kallisto gave her a tight smile. “Because, child, they already have.”
38
Names
Thena had her speech all prepared. She’d delivered it many times now and knew each word by heart. She kept her expression kind, her voice soft. The other would come later.
Thena always liked to give them a fair chance.
“You can’t escape,” she said. “You will never get the collar off. Ever. The harder you fight, the worse it will be and I’ll still break you in the end. But your life doesn’t have to be unpleasant. There are rewards for good behavior. If you do what you’re told, you will be treated like a favored pet.” She flashed her dimples. “Now. Tell me your name.”
The witch hung against the wall, his arms above his head. “What’s yours?”
She pursed her lips in annoyance. “My name is Mistress.”
“That’s not a name.”
Thena took a deep breath.
“If you resist, you will experience agony like you never imagined. I can sustain it for hours. Days.”
She waited for the usual fear reaction through the bracelet but none came. That was odd. They all pretended defiance at first, but they couldn’t conceal how they really felt from her. But then this witch was strange in other ways. When he’d been collared, she felt a thread of power snap. And while his left arm seemed damaged when she met him, now it was unblemished.
