by E G Manetti
»◊«
Handing Estella to George, Lucius prepares to attack the flaming fabric with his formal long sword. Before he can take more than a step toward the pavilion, Katleen’s bright red head explodes from the sheeting fire, followed by Cesare, his hair and clothes alight. Trevelyan tackles Katleen and rolls her against the ground. In a breath, Lucius has his son and is smothering the flames.
»◊«
I am the sum of my ancestors. The flames are spreading around them. The intense heat finds and ignites the sap that has risen in the verdant greens. The green-season breeze blows burning embers and ash into the fleeing Serengeti.
I am the foundation of my family. Rounding a corner, Lilian barely halts her pace before the pathway becomes an inferno as the flames leap from one living wall to another, blocking the path to the exit. Is this the source of Maman’s prophecy? Is Katleen racing to the burning maze with aid?
Honor knows not fear. No aid can reach them within this inferno. Twice more Lilian is forced to alter her path. The air has become so hot it resists the pull of lungs. Lilian forces her pace to slow lest she outstrip her friends. They are only one turn away from the exit and safety. The way is blocked. They are trapped.
Chrys comes to her side. “Which way?”
They can go back or to the right; both will take them deeper into the maze. They cannot go forward through the flame and there is a hedge on their left. Beyond it is the small chamber where she left Caoimhe and Clarice.
Honor acts as duty commands. “Left. We go left.”
Pulling her fire-pistol, Lilian takes aim at the shrubs. The fireburst cuts the hedge and leaves smoldering green that does not ignite. At her actions, her seven companions follow suit. The dense greenery yields, and they pull free the severed branches. After the third round of fireburst, their pistols are spent, and several inches of hardy shrub remain. Bran throws himself against the green barrier but is unable to break the dense and pliant branches.
“Clarice! Caoimhe!” Lilian shouts through the greenery. The air is filled with smoke, and the blaze is approaching quickly.
At Lilian’s shouts, her companions take up the cry. After a moment Lilian calls for silence. Caoimhe and Clarice are returning their call. From the far side of the hedge comes the sound of fireburst as Clarice and Caoimhe work to free them.
»◊«
“Master Cesare saved my life.” At the odd, hollow sound of Katleen’s voice, relief surges through Cesare. He is not permanently deafened. Does his hearing remain dulled, it matters not, he can hear.
From the circle of her mother’s arms, Katleen continues, “When the pavilion collapsed, I was beneath it. Master Cesare threw me aside and covered me with his body.”
Senses returned, Cesare becomes aware he is seated on the ground, his forearms held in his father’s grip. From behind him comes the familiar hum of Master Chin at work. The searing pain across his back is gone. Turning his face, Cesare seeks and finds the serene gaze of his mother. The world takes on form and shape. They are in the center of the courtyard, far from the blazing pavilions, shrine attendants soaking the others to contain the blaze. All together, there appear to be about two score of the original guests.
Seigneur Trevelyan is speaking with Thorvald. “A score dead, thirty-three wounded. The shrines are seeing the others away.”
There were three hundred guests and half that many in servitors, shrine attendants, and guards. Cesare is not certain what occurred, but he suspects that his father’s apprentice had a hand in averting a disaster.
A querulous voice comes from the right. Seigneur Amaranth, her arm in a sling, is resisting her heir’s encouragement to depart. Striking the stone pavement with her cane, she says, “When Monsignor Lucius safely departs, we will go. Not a breath before.”
There is a shattering sound and then a roar as the pavilion completes its collapse.
“The maze burns.” Tabitha’s voice echoes in the silence that follows the collapse of the pavilion.
Struggling against her mother’s embrace, Katleen cries, “Lilian is within!”
Cesare’s father loosens his grip and rises, giving Cesare his hand in aid. His back pulls, but Master Chin has worked his magic and there is naught of pain.
Amaranth pushes forward, sparing a glance for Katleen before fixing on the burning maze. “Remarkably hard to slay, Adelaide’s Thorn.”
As if prophecy, Amaranth’s words are greeted by the sudden appearance of racing figures. With the flames at their back, the figures are difficult to distinguish. The one in the lead has Raleigh’s height, the ones behind are likely the other free-traders. More men and women emerge, the last two slender black shadows moving with the lithe grace of his father’s apprentice. His father’s apprentice and her fallen prelate shadow. As the two black shadows exit the flaming bushes, the cheers swell.
Fireburst cuts the night from the edge of the flaming maze and one slender figure falls.
At the sound of fireburst, Raleigh pivots and fires. A man staggers into the light and drops. Jarrod is dead. He is followed by a tall, cadaverous man swinging a rapier.
None of the others fire.
“Demon shit, they are spent,” Trevelyan says.
“Go.” With the word from Thorvald, a dozen militia race toward the maze a hundred paces beyond the reach of fireburst rifles.
With a savage scream, the thwarted Despoiler charges Lilian, who greets him with naught but a thorn. The blazing maze is a brilliant backdrop against which two black figures move in a rapid and deadly dance. The tall Despoiler moves with the force and speed of a storm. His blade flashes like lightning and strikes empty ground. The shadow flowing like water rises behind him and then slips away. The blade rises and then falls, dropping uselessly from the dead man’s hands. The Despoiler collapses in the manner of a puppet whose strings are cut.
»◊«
Chrys races to Lilian, Rebecca on his heels, then Clarice and Douglas. When he reaches her, Lilian is crouched over the dying woman. Jarrod’s blast dissolved most of Flavia’s back.
“Your blessing, Adelaide’s Thorn. I beg you. Am I redeemed?” Flavia reaches toward the black mask that covers Lilian’s face.
The faceless figure slices her left palm. Gathering the seeping blood on her blade, she passes it across Flavia’s cheeks, mingling her blood with Flavia’s. “The hounds are sounding.”
Joy spreads across Flavia’s face. In another breath, the fallen prelate is gone.
As Lilian rises from the dead woman, she pulls free the black mask. The medics move forward but are sent back by Stefan’s snarl as he raises Flavia in his arms. “Adelaide’s Thorn? Where?”
Clipping the mask to her belt, Lilian replies, “Carry her to the alcove. Inform the attendants that at the next sunset, Adelaide’s hounds claim a new pack mate.”
“Pack mate?” Chrys asks.
“Flavia is redeemed. She will join Adelaide’s hounds and spend eternity as an instrument of vengeance and retribution.”
»◊«
William and Horatio watch as the small cadre of filthy maze combatants enter the courtyard and seek out their masters. Their clothes and hair singed, all have mild burns except Lilian, whose mask protected her from flying embers.
Reaching their lieges, the four apprentices kneel on knee and offer their weapons on outstretched palms. None take the submissive, calf-sitting posture of the supplicant. Their backs are straight, their heads unbowed. They offer their victory to their lieges, not their humility to their owners. A free man, Douglas does not kneel but offers his weapon to Aristides with a bow.
Lucius accepts Lilian’s empty pistol and tucks it in his belt. Taking up her thorn, he commands, “Rise, Wraith. Secure Adelaide’s Thorn. It is not mine to command.”
“Clever,” Horatio murmurs. “Lucius has acknowledged her right to bear her thorn as the Will of the Shades. None will question her now.”
Rising, Lilian returns the blade to its sheath. There is a brief exchange Willia
m cannot hear and Lilian turns away, collecting her battle companions.
This sojourn in Crevasse City is proving far different than expected. To his father, William says, “The Five Warriors own an ill sense of humor. I must be more careful in my longings.”
At his father’s inquiring glance, William returns a crooked smile. “A sevenday gone I wished for the opportunity to view Mistress Lilian employing her thorn in battle.”
14. Villai
ns and Heroes
As with all others, when a prelate passes to the Five Warriors and Adelaide, the remains are reduced to four ounces of fine powder. The end-of-life ritual is the same as for warriors, the final powder given to a shrine’s sacred pool. For those of Adelaide’s sect, the alcoves’ lack sufficient area to display the sacred pool. It resides beneath the altar and is revealed when required. ~ excerpt from The Foundations of Order, a scholarly treatise.
Sevenday 143, Day 7
Lilian staggers up the steps behind Maman and Katleen, flanked by one of Sinead’s Shrine guards and followed by the female Grim Twin. Although it is well past dark of night, Seigneur Trevelyan remains at the alcove with Seigneur Thorvald, sorting out the aftermath of battle. Now that Seigneur Trevelyan is aware she knows the Grim Twins are his operatives, he has introduced her to what turns out to be a wedlocked couple, Joyce and Rodolfo. As odd as it is to have a name for the woman, Lilian is relieved to have one she knows in Flavia’s place.
Before entering the alcove transport, Lilian insisted on a cloth to cover the interior, her garb far filthier than the black reveals. After a brief tussle of wills, Maman had an acolyte procure a cloth. As weary as she is, Lilian could not help but be glad for the delay that allowed her to witness milord ushering his family into a transport and safety. Climbing into alcove transport, she was careful not to betray the level of her discomfort with expression or sound. She wants naught but a bath and her bed, both of which will be periods away if she is sent to the alcove healers.
Stopping at her chamber long enough to collect the worn rose-pink robe, Lilian turns for the back of the house and the bathing chambers. Joyce is diligent in her duty, ensuring the chamber is secure as Lilian sets the water flowing into the tub. Accepting Lilian’s wish for privacy, Joyce retreats to the corridor.
A common design a half century gone, the two square tubs are separated by a tile half wall topped with carved shutters that can be opened or closed depending upon the intimacy of the guests. Since the ruin, the shutters have been closed and only one tub is maintained. With the arrival of the green season, the chamber is open to the soft night air that enters through the insect barriers that cover the windows.
The soothing scent of the last of the expensive citrusy oil from the Fortuna trip wafts from the rising water while she perches on the tub lip and pulls off her boots. Her ruined garb follows. The nape ties are last. A long lock of red hair falls away with the leather strips, evidence of a stray ember that she is fortunate did not set her head ablaze. Halting the water flow, she swings her legs over the side, anticipating the pleasure of warm, citrus-laced water against strained and sore limbs. A sharp cry erupts when the contact ignites every abrasion and burn acquired in the maze.
The door bursts open and Joyce flies in, pistol at the ready.
“Naught,” Lilian gasps from the tub. “It is naught.”
Finding nothing amiss, Joyce holsters the pistol and strides to the tub. “Why the cry?”
“The burns and abrasions sting. It was unexpected.”
“Do you wish assistance?” The spy scans Lilian’s nude form, dark with dirt and blood and marked with burns.
Weary, sore, Lilian shakes her head. “I dare not scrub. I must soak to get clean. It will be awhile.”
Joyce drags a stool from the vanity and places it in the open doorway. “I will leave you in peace, but the door remains open. If you fall into slumber, you could drown.”
I am the sum of my ancestors. She did not lie to Joyce; it was the shock of dozens of wounds being assaulted by the water that brought forth her cry. Although the shock has passed, the discomfort has not.
I am the foundation of my family. Closing her eyes and sliding in to her chin, Lilian recites the Warriors’ Litany thrice before her abused flesh acclimates to the water. After washing her singed locks, she sponges her limbs, glad to find the soil loosened by the long soak. Pulling the drain, she rises to sit on the ledge, swinging her legs to rest on the floor. The once-plush towel is rough from long use. She can but press it to her flesh and allow it to absorb the moisture. When she is done, blood spots the surface, but most of the abrasions have ceased to seep. Those that still do she covers with healer squares. Not as effective as Master Chin’s sealant, they will suffice.
Less certain about treating burns, Lilian dabs ointment on them, only applying healer squares where the flesh is broken. As she slides into the robe, Joyce enters and gathers her abandoned garb. When they reach her chamber, Joyce once again confirms it is secure. At the sound of entry chimes, she says, “That will be the relief guards. Need you aught?”
Sending Joyce from the chamber, Lilian tosses aside the robe, crawls into the bed, and tucks the thorn beneath her pillow. When the sun wakes her five periods later, sleep will not return. Although it is her habitual bell to race, she feels not the need after the prior night’s effort. Flexing her feet, she realizes that she recovered from her exhibition match with Caoimhe in time to engage in true battle. At the rumbling in her belly, she pushes from the bed. Although it is cool for it, she selects racing shorts and a sleeveless tunic to avoid chafing the stinging abrasions and burns. At the bottom of the stairs, Seigneur Trevelyan is in converse with Mrs. Zdenka and a shrine guard. Turning at the sound of her footfalls, his eyes narrow and he scowls. “Why did you not voice your injuries? If it were not for Joyce, I would have had no knowledge of this.”
Touched by the spymaster’s concern, she replies, “The injuries do not endanger me. Until I went to bathe, I had no notion there were so many.”
“Master Chin has but found his bed,” the seigneur replies. “Could I rouse him, I would not. Attend me. We will to the alcove. You will submit to the healers while Apollo and I learn all that occurred with you last night.”
For all his concern, Seigneur’s arrival at this early bell is as much to interrogate her as to determine her well-being. Acceding to his will, Lilian comforts herself with the knowledge that Apollo will provide an excellent morning meal.
»◊«
Trevelyan rubs sore and tired eyes. It approaches midday and he has yet to sleep. Even if he could seek his bed, he is not certain he could slumber. The near disaster of the night gone will haunt him for seasons. The potential damage to the Order of the Twelve Systems if Jarrod succeeded is naught to the horror of finding Helena and her daughters endangered. That Helena’s shrine guards pulled her to safety at the first fireburst is little comfort. That Lilian triumphed in yet another battle is a relief but does not change that his heart froze waiting for her to emerge from the fiery maze. That fear is naught compared to his terror when he realized that Katleen was trapped within the burning pavilion. After a decade of loneliness, he has once again claimed a family only to nearly lose them as he once before lost all he loved.
Universe scatter it. Dwelling on what might have been will not serve. Somehow, Despoilers infiltrated his security measures. He takes no comfort in Apollo’s and Lilian’s words of the morning, that Matahorn spies approved Jarrod and that Inversion security measures were designed by the shrines and governors. It is his duty to protect the cartel and his loved ones.
Rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness, he turns again to the reviewer where the text and images blur before his tired eyes. It matters not, he has all but memorized the contents. After two periods with Lilian and Apollo, he has spent the remainder of the morning in headquarters seeking some evidence to corroborate what they know: Captain Jarrod was in truth Sadico. Everything he finds proves only what they thought they kn
ew, that Captain Jarrod Mehta served honorably in the Seventh System Militia during the period of the pirate actions. Tapping out commands, Trevelyan orders a genetic examination of Sadico’s body and a genealogy search.
A few more taps and Deidre is tasked to lead a forensic analysis of the archives. He cares not the cost. Somewhere, somehow, the records were falsified by an expert so skilled he or she fooled Trevelyan’s operatives. Sebastian and Damocles are at the core of this deception, and he will find whom they employed.
A sound from his slate alerts him to the bell. Monsignor will be waiting. Lucius must know all Trevelyan has learned and failed to learn if they are to manage the media and the Margovians.
»◊«
As the pleasant late-day sun warm his balcony, Horatio is certain he can discern the scent of smoldering shrubs on the breeze. From the way Lucius’ nostrils are flaring, Horatio is not the only one. The information that Lucius was arriving with his spymaster and Aristides, as well as both Jonathan’s and Adelaide’s Lord Prelates, sent a tingle up Horatio’s spine. As soon as the servitors finish distributing the light fare and drinks, he will have answers to his suspicions.
Last eve, when Horatio approached Gilead with the warning that Lucius’ sons were engaged in a deception, the prelate evidenced only mild curiosity. The information that Lilian had taken up her thorn sent Gilead hastening to his guard captain and then Apollo. Nor did it escape William or him that the companions who raced into the maze were the same from the festival brawl. All have been confirmed as combatants at the battle of Serengeti. Horatio has every expectation that his curiosity about that event is about to be satisfied.
As soon as the last servitor departs, Lucius says, “Horatio, I must protest you drawing your enemies into my city. Can you not deal with them in your own city?”
Horatio cannot help but be amused by the attack. Lucius has always been devious. This approach is extreme even for him. Ignoring the choking sound from William, Horatio replies, “My enemies?”
