Passion Play

by Beth Bernobich

  He spoke another phrase in old Erythandran. Her fingers turned transparent. Where her blood flowed, threads of light gleamed.

  Therez let her breath trickle out. Magic. Inside her. It was … it was far more wondrous than she could ever have imagined.

  “Try it yourself,” he said. “Look at something tiny—a nail, a stone, a freckle. Good. Now breathe slowly. Find the point between inhale and exhale. When you think you’ve found it, repeat these words.”

  Ei rûf ane gôtter. Komen mir de strôm.

  The words rolled through her mind. Magic echoed against magic, and she sensed the possibilities unraveling from that one phrase. Healing. Fire. Illumination of the soul. If only she had known these words two weeks ago, when she bent over her dying grandmother.

  Suddenly afraid, she plucked back her hand. “You must have studied for years.”

  His mouth tilted in a wry smile. “Hardly. I know a little. I’m going to Duenne to learn more. Maybe you should join me, instead of working as a maid.”

  “I can’t,” she said quickly.

  “Why not?”

  Therez opened her mouth, closed it. “I don’t know.”

  And she didn’t. She no longer lived in her father’s household, where magic was not precisely forbidden, it was merely discouraged, labeled a useless distraction outside of a few practical applications.

  Except it’s hard to break the habit of nearly sixteen years.

  But the scholar was smiling, as though he had expected such an answer. “Maybe you should think about it,” he said. “We have a few more weeks ahead of us. Talk to me before you leave the caravan, and maybe I can find you a place in Duenne that better suits your talents.”

  Therez stared after him as he walked back toward the main campfire, where Ulf was handing out coffee to the next perimeter watch. Magic. He thought she ought to study magic. The idea so distracted her that she didn’t hear what the others were saying until Brenn tugged on her arm. “You’re from Melnek. You must know.”

  “What should I know?”

  “About Károví’s King Leos—the man who traded his heart for magic. I thought all the people from the borderlands knew those stories.”

  Therez shook her head. “They’re just folktales, Brenn. They’re not true history.”

  “History!” Gabi laughed. “I’d rather have stories.”

  They insisted until Therez finally relented and told them the folktales she had learned from her grandmother. How Lir and her consort (sometimes called Toc) had created a lake of fire called the Mantharah and, from it, the rest of this world. How Lir took a handful of fire from the Mantharah and squeezed hard to make a single white jewel, which she gave to the first emperor of Erythandra. How centuries later a traitor sent a thief to steal the jewel so he might take the throne himself. The emperor’s chief mage had used powerful magic to divide the jewel into three pieces, and hid them in three secret places within the palace. But in the latter days of the empire, a prince of Károví named Leos Dzavek had turned thief himself and took all three jewels so he could gain eternal life.

  “The old kings never dared that,” Therez said. “Their priests would not allow it, saying that Toc himself had died and was reborn, and so no ordinary man should refuse what the gods themselves endured. But some claim that King Leos was the chief mage reborn. They say he bargained with Toc to win his life and the jewels as a mark of the god’s favor, so he would never have to die again.”

  “Then the gods took back their favor,” Gabi said softly.

  “Not the gods, but a wolf,” Therez said. “A giant wolf, who led King Leos through the paths of the dead. But this time, there was no bargain. This time, there was no victory. The wolf buried the jewels forever and King Leos returned without them.”

  The crescent moon was sliding behind the trees when Therez finally said good night to her friends. She picked her way between the wagons until she reached Otto’s. A movement in the trees caught her attention. One of the caravan guards? The mysterious scholar?

  Alarik Brandt emerged from the shadows. He held a short club in one hand. His other hand rested on his knife hilt. He paused and glanced at Therez. His teeth bared in a smile.

  He wants to frighten me.

  She smiled back to prove she wasn’t afraid. (Even though she was. Could he sense how her pulse beat faster? Could he see her shiver from all that distance, through the night and shadows?)

  Brandt’s smile widened. He gave her a mock salute and continued on his way.

  * * *

  THE CARAVAN MADE its first stop in Hammenz, where two passengers disembarked, and the crew unloaded barrels of salted fish. A few days later, they turned off the main highway for a smaller road that cut southwest through the hills. More stops punctuated their journey, just as Brenn predicted, and their progress slowed. One in Venner to deliver crates of sea salt. Another two days later to pick up leather and hides. Several families disembarked in Kassel, and the tumbler troupe, along with Lena and Gabi, left the caravan in Strahlsende. Soon the only passengers who remained were Therez and the scholar, both of them bound for Duenne.

  Nearly a month after leaving Melnek, Alarik Brandt called for an overnight stay in the trade town of Mundlau. Therez stayed close to the wagons, not liking this loud rough town. She could hear the crew excitedly discussing how they would spend their brief hours of leave. Brandt would dock anyone who caused trouble, but apparently there were many ways to define trouble, and many more ways to evade punishment. Even Brenn and Volker talked about the brandy they would drink, and the women they would bed.

  By late morning, a sullen, subdued crew returned to work, loading crates and bundles that had arrived earlier from the local merchants. As Therez waited to reclaim her seat, she saw Brandt approaching from the agent’s offices, across the square. To her surprise, he was heading directly toward her.

  “Wagons are filling up,” he said without preamble. “I’ll need two more denier from you, if you want to keep your seat.”

  Therez started. “But I already paid for my passage.”

  “So you did, but goods come first.” He plucked a knife from his belt and ran its edge underneath one ragged fingernail. When Therez said nothing, he looked up with narrowed eyes. “I need an answer, girl. Pay up, or stay behind. Which is it?”

  Her first inclination was to tell him no. But they had passed fewer caravans on the road than she expected, and she disliked the idea of waiting here, in this ugly town, until another happened by. Swiftly she calculated what money she had left and what she expected to need. If she paid Brandt, that would leave her thirteen gold denier, plus the silver and copper, and her jewelry. It would be enough, she decided.

  “Two deniers?” she said reluctantly.

  “Two. And give them now. I’ve work to do.”

  Two more coins left her pouch for Brandt’s weathered palm.

  After Mundlau, the caravan passed into a long stretch of wilderness blanketed with pine forests. There would be no more stops until they reached the Gallenz Valley, Brenn told Therez. There they would meet up with the main highway running between Duenne and the port city of Tiralien. The caravan would also make a longer halt, for supplies and other goods, before the final stretch to Duenne.

  “Five weeks to Gallenz. Three more to the city herself,” Brenn said.

  Therez was thinking of Duenne, and how she might find employment, as she took inventory of her belongings that night. The task had become part of her routine, and her fingers deftly sorted through socks and shirts and linens, as she mulled over her future. Then her hands paused, and a chill went through her.

  My money. My jewelry. They’re gone.

  With shaking hands, she searched the pack again. She took out every item and shook them one by one, searching for even a single coin or bracelet. Nothing. The money in her boots and the small bag she kept underneath her shirt were still safe, but the main portion was gone, and so was her jewelry.

  She stuffed her belongings back into her
pack and hurried back to the camp. She spotted Alarik Brandt, leaning against a wagon wheel as he supervised a crew digging the fire pits. He had his knife out and was whittling a new tent stake. Therez pushed through to stand in front of him. “Someone robbed me,” she said in a low voice. “They took my money and— They took all of it.”

  Brandt frowned as he sliced a long flake of bark from the new stake. “My men don’t steal.”

  “I didn’t say that—”

  “You did. Girl, I’m not your nursemaid. If you lost your money, that’s too bad.”

  Therez trembled, from anger and a cold abiding panic, but she turned away, knowing it would do no good to argue with the man. It’s not the end, she told herself. I paid for meals. I won’t starve. I’ll just have to find work faster once I get to Duenne.

  “One thing more.” Brandt raised his voice, causing a few of the men to pause in their work. “I’m needing a bit more money. Goods and profit and all that.”

  Therez stopped. “I can’t pay anything more. I—” She bit her lips on her next words. She didn’t want to mention she still had money. If he knew, he would take it. “I can’t pay you,” she said again.

  “Can’t have that either.”

  His voice had gone flat, making the skin on her neck prickle. She turned around to see him watching her with a steady, unblinking gaze. The knife lay in his palm, its blade glinting in the red light of sunset.

  “What do you mean?” she whispered.

  “Credit,” he said, closing his fingers over the hilt. “I’m thinking you have a rich family back in Melnek. They’ll pay the bill for a runaway.”

  It took all her effort to keep her voice steady. “I’m not a runaway.”

  “Then why did Petr Zhalina send his lackey after you?”

  Therez blinked, but his expression didn’t change.

  “Do you have anything else to say, girl?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  She kept her face under control as she walked back to the campfire. The cook offered her a mug of coffee. She accepted it without thinking and carried it to the fire, where she crouched, her bag shoved between her feet.

  I have to get away.

  But how? The caravan had left Mundlau nearly a week ago. Between here and there lay only wilderness, and the nights had turned raw. She would surely starve or freeze. If she did nothing, however, Brandt would send her back to Melnek, where her father would starve and freeze her soul.

  Therez drained the mug. She returned the mug to the cook’s boy and demanded bread and cheese. “Stew’s ready inside of an hour,” he told her.

  “I can’t wait that long.”

  The boy hesitated. Something in Therez’s expression must have decided him, because he looked around furtively. Ulf was occupied. The other two boys were away, fetching water. The boy quickly hacked off some bread and a thick square of cheese. “Don’t tell anyone,” he muttered.

  Therez nodded. She packed away the bread and cheese, then slung the bag onto her shoulders. Go now, she thought. Everyone is too busy to notice one girl. If I walk fast, I can make at least a mile before nightfall.

  She had just passed the sentries, when one called out to her. Therez walked faster. She heard footsteps hurrying after her. Panicking, she broke into a run, but her pursuer overtook her and grabbed her braid.

  Therez hit the ground with a thump. Her vision sparkled. When she could see again, she saw Alarik Brandt standing over her. His face was flushed, and his eyes were bright with anger. “You silly bitch. I told you to stay.”

  “You have no right—”

  He slapped her across the face and hauled her to her feet. “Rope,” he called out. “Tie this bitch to her wagon. And search her for money. She was thieving from us.”

  He shoved Therez into the arms of the closest man. Therez kicked, but the man twisted her arms behind her back and wrestled her to the ground. “That’s better, sweetheart. Now for the money.” He called over one of the horse boys. “Look in her bag,” he told the boy.

  The boy tossed out her belongings piece by piece. “Nothing here.”

  “Then we look a bit closer.” The man thrust his hand underneath her shirt and discovered Therez’s bag of silver coins. “Huh. Alarik was right.”

  “That’s mine,” Therez said.

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “Home.”

  “Thought your parents died. Thought you had to work for your bread.” He spat on the ground. “Let’s make sure we’ve got everything,” he said to the boy.

  They pulled her boots off, which uncovered the knife and the rest of her coins. Still not satisfied, the man pulled up her skirts while the boy felt around for more contraband. At the urging of their audience, he felt underneath Therez’s shirt again, grinning at her fury. She ought to have fainted from the humiliation, except she was too angry.

  “Nothing else, I guess,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

  Brandt returned in time to observe the end of their search. He took the knife and money and counted through the silver and copper denier. “Good enough,” he said. “I’ll keep these to pay for my trouble.”

  “Thief,” Therez said.

  Bending down, Brandt smacked her face twice. “You are the fucking damned thief,” he said, each word like another slap against her face. “You stole from my passengers, you little whore. I plan to report you in the next town.”

  He spoke loud enough for everyone in camp to hear. Before Therez could argue back, he gave her another, harder smack that made her head ring. “Tie her to the wagon,” he said to the crew. “If she behaves, she gets supper and a blanket.”

  They bound her wrists and tied her securely to an axle. Therez slumped against the wheel. Tears leaked from her eyes, stinging the cuts on her face. Her head still ached from Brandt’s slaps and her lips bled freely.

  My father will lock me away. Tie me up with silk and ribbons. Lecture me with whispers. Then he’ll barter me off in marriage.

  But not to Galt, who had to know of Therez’s defection. Or maybe Galt wouldn’t care. He might like a reason to punish her as well. He might even like her better this way. He might use the knowledge like a bit and chain to keep her tamed. The thought made her dizzy.

  “Hey. Hey, Ilse.”

  Brenn crouched beside her, Volker stood a few steps behind. Brenn had a pan of stew in one hand. A thick fragrant steam rose from the stew, which had thick chunks of bread floating in it.

  “I brought you supper,” Brenn said. “Alarik said it was all right. Ilse, please look at me. It’s not my fault.”

  He motioned for Volker to fetch the water. When Volker returned, Brenn held the water skin to Therez’s mouth while she drank.

  “Alarik’s cussing like a storm cloud,” he said indifferently.

  “What’d you expect?” Volker said. “Course, sometimes that means he’s in a good mood.”

  “Sometimes.” Brenn wet a corner of his shirt and wiped the tears and blood from Therez’s face. “You should eat,” he said. “At least, while it’s hot. Makes it taste better.”

  She shuddered. “I have to get away.”

  “You can’t,” Brenn said gently.

  “I have to. Didn’t you hear? He wants to sell me back to my father.”

  “Ilse, hush. Listen to me. You have to play along with him. It’s easier that way—”

  “No!” She was breathing hard now. “I won’t go back. He can’t make me.”

  “He can,” Brenn cut in. He glanced toward the campfire, a dozen feet away. “Ilse, he likes his money, and he doesn’t like girls talking back. He won’t let you get away, not now.”

  “So does my father. That’s why I left. I couldn’t—”

  “Couldn’t what?” asked Volker.

  Therez shivered, sick at the thought of home. Brenn stroked her hair, murmuring comfort. Volker lay on his stomach, staring at them. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe we could help.”

  Therez stared, hope rising within her. “You could
?”

  Brenn’s fingers twitched back from her hair. “Are you mad? Alarik would kill us. He knows how you’ve been looking at her, Volker.”

  “He won’t know,” Volker insisted. “Not if we just get her a knife. She could wait until dark and cut the ropes. He won’t ever guess. At least we could if she—”

  He broke off. A look passed between the brothers, and Therez’s mouth went dry. “If I do what?”

  Volker dropped his gaze. “It’s like Brenn said,” he said slowly. “Alarik won’t like it if we help you. He’s got a temper. I was thinking we could make a trade. Something for you. Something for me and Brenn.”

  With a faint shock, Therez realized what he meant. A trade. That kind of trade. “You want a lot.”

  Volker looked up, his expression calculating. “So do you.”

  Therez looked from one brother to the other. Volker’s eyes were bright with anticipation. Brenn was flushed with embarrassment, but she could see the change in his face, too.

  “No,” she whispered. “I won’t do it.”

  Volker shrugged and got to his feet. Brenn hesitated a moment, then he stood, too, and turned away. Therez hardly cared. It was too much, what they asked.

  She tugged at the ropes, but the crew had tied the knots securely. She bit and chewed at the ropes. No good. Therez blew out a breath in frustration. If only she could beg someone’s mercy, but the crew would not dare to confront Brandt or Niko, and all the passengers had left the caravan a week or longer before.

  All except the scholar. Her heart lifted momentarily with hope when she remembered him, remembered how he had treated her kindly and spoke of finding her a place in Duenne. Surely he could stand against the caravan master—

  No, she thought bitterly. He is one man, with just a few small magics. He could not stand against several dozen.

  There was no one who could help. Except Brenn and Volker. And they wanted a fair trade.