by Karen Brooks
Katina stood up and walked over to where Quinn stood, quivering in equal measures of terror and fury. Pillar slowly rose, ready to go to his mother's or Katina's defence, he wasn't sure which. Katina lifted her arm and Quinn flinched. 'Don't touch me!' she cried, her hands flying to cover her neck.
Katina didn't answer. All she did was take the empty mug from Quinn's hand and refill it. Then, she gently pushed the old woman back into the chair and wrapped her bony fingers around the mug's handle. Placing her arms on either side of the chair, she put her face close to Quinn's.
'You would sacrifice all of our lives – yours, your son's, mine and Tallow's – for your faith? Or because you want me gone?' She didn't wait for an answer. 'What if I could guarantee that if you allow me to stay and keep teaching Tallow, not only will no-one ever find out, but I could make you a great deal of money – I mean, a lot. How would you feel about me and the work of an Estrattore if it brought more lire and ducats into this house than you'd ever dreamt of?' Katina slowly took her hands away and stepped back, her eyes never leaving Quinn's face.
For a moment, no-one spoke.
'What're you talking about?' said Quinn finally, eyeing Katina warily. Pillar looked from Tallow to Katina and back again. Tallow held her breath; she didn't dare glance at Pillar. Everything depended on how Katina presented this.
'I mean,' continued Katina, 'I've worked out a way to conceal Tallow's powers such that they will benefit you and Pillar for years to come. What do you say about that?'
'God forgive me,' said Quinn, gulping her drink. She wiped her mouth slowly and then crossed herself. 'Go on.'
'Wait,' said Pillar. He knelt by his mother's side. 'Are you sure, Mamma? Once we start this, there's no going back, no matter how much lire or how many ducats are involved. As you said, this goes against everything we believe in ... God may forgive us, but the Church? And what if we're caught? I mean, like you said, before we just hid Tallow. This is different, no matter how much money –'
Quinn brushed him aside. 'Let's hear what the Bond Rider has to say, Pietro.'
Tallow's eyes widened. It had been years since she'd heard Quinn call Pillar by his proper name. Pillar sat down. The small grin that momentarily appeared was quickly controlled. Tallow looked from Pillar to Quinn in astonishment. Why, Pillar had deliberately taunted his mother with the notion of riches to ensure she at least gave Katina an ear.
'Well,' said Katina, returning to the table. She stood beside Tallow and placed a hand on her shoulder. 'It's like this. As you know, the Estrattore have the ability to extract emotions from anyone or anything. What you may not know is that the process works in two stages. First they "read" the object. They use their empathic abilities to sense the feelings embedded within it and draw them out, extract them. It's from this that Estrattore get their name. Once they have collected what they want, the second stage begins.' She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. Tallow had grasped everything so quickly. The breadth of power she'd demonstrated humbled and even, if she dared admit it, alarmed Katina.
'Tallow is incredibly talented.' Yes. Even the history books don't mention Estrattore who are as sensitive to every nuance as Tallow is. Not only can she capture feelings and magnify them, she can draw upon them and refine them in such a way that they take on their own characteristics, become naturalised. And, when returned, the essence of the object itself is changed.
'You're not making any sense to me,' said Pillar, interrupting her thoughts.
Katina sighed. 'I forgot you're no longer used to having Estrattore around. For us Bond Riders, it's as if time has stood still. We may not know the Estrattore anymore, but our memories of them, of our interactions with them, are as fresh as if they occurred yesterday.' She grinned at Tallow. 'Of course, for me they did.' Neither Pillar nor Quinn shared the joke. Katina refrained from rolling her eyes.
'Sorry. Let me try again. I'll give you an example. Today, when we were in the workshop –' She looked defiantly at Quinn, who pursed her lips and shook her head, her disapproval of what they'd been doing clear. 'It's all right,' said Katina, deliberately misunderstanding the look. 'The workshop is the best place to teach – it's out of the way and relatively private. And anyway, Quinn wanted to ready the shop for opening tomorrow.'
'If you think you're going to perform your dirty little tricks in my shop –' blustered Quinn.
Katina held up her hand. 'Your shop is quite safe from us, I can assure you. As I was saying,' she continued, 'I was teaching Tallow to separate the emotions she'd extracted from a piece of wood.'
'Wood?' It was Pillar's turn to scoff. 'What emotions can a piece of wood possibly have? It's dead!'
'Yes and no,' explained Katina. 'To you and me, it's dead. But to an Estrattore, it's alive with numerous sensations.' She glanced at Tallow. 'Perhaps you can explain?'
Tallow had been both dreading and longing for this moment. Dreading it, because she was afraid she wouldn't be able to do justice to what she was learning: the intricacies, the delicacy of the process. Longing, because she wanted to give voice to what she was experiencing. Katina's instructions last night had been clear. She had to demystify the power of an Estrattore for Pillar and Quinn – put it in rational, clear terms that wouldn't alarm them. If she wanted to continue her training and remain safe in Serenissima until such time as she was ready to search for the remaining Estrattore, she must convince them the practice wouldn't bring the wrath of God upon them or, more importantly, be detected by soldiers or priests.
Aware they were waiting for her to speak, Tallow nonetheless took her time. She moved to stand by the fire, gathering her thoughts, then turned to face the others. Firelight and shadows danced across her spectacles.
'I'll try to explain. It– it's hard, though.' She glanced at Quinn who was sipping her drink, her face turned to the wall. 'As Katina said, Estrattore extract and distil the essence of objects and the emotions of people, breaking them into their various parts.' She looked at Katina, who nodded encouragement. 'It's like what an alchemist does with chemicals, really. I've only been practising on things at the moment –'
'Well, that's a relief!' said Quinn.
Tallow faltered but, with a look, Katina urged her to continue. 'Th– the wood that Katina gave me today came from the prow of an old gondola. Katina taught me to touch the objects and then – this is difficult to describe – I open myself to them, sort of let them inside me and, because of w– w– what I am, I can tell its history and every thought or feeling of anyone connected with it.'
It was only three days ago that Pillar had left and Katina had lifted the teapot off the table and placed it in Tallow's hand. 'Training starts now,' she'd said. 'Feel this and describe to me what you sense.'
Somewhat surprised, Tallow had done what she was told. She took the teapot in her hands and ran her fingers over the porcelain along the chipped spout.
'It's smooth – except for here.' Her fingers rested on the damage. 'There's a piece missing.'
Katina had burst out laughing. 'Not like that. Feel it. Open your heart and tell me what you feel. I know you've done it before, Tallow. You must have, to have survived this place. And anyway, Pillar's face is living proof. So do it again now. Do it for me.'
And she had.
With a deep breath, she'd rested her eyes on the teapot and, for the first time, really looked at it. The crazy glaze with the faded red, blue and ochre pattern expanded in her vision. She'd slowly felt herself sinking into the varnish, through the artwork on the exterior and into the very pores of the ceramic. Each fragment of sand took on a life of its own; like a colony of sponges, each had absorbed aspects of the life around it, holding it within like a buried treasure that she now proceeded to unearth.
As a dew-kissed flower shyly opens to the sun, so her mind had unfolded to the teapot. Not only had she felt the thoughts and emotions of all those who had touched the teapot, but images had accompanied the sensations. She'd seen and felt Quinn, her face bowed over the spout, her fingers splay
ed around the base as she spent long, miserable nights waiting for her husband to return. Slowly, the image had segued into an anxious Pillar, making a brew that would help sober his mother. And behind those strong images, others had battled to be seen, to be felt: a proud ceramicist, lifting his cooled creation from a quiet kiln; a greedy shopkeeper, rubbing it to keep the shine and wondering how many lire he could charge now that his careless nephew had chipped the spout. But soon, the images had been swallowed by another: once again, a lonely Pillar had emerged, swilling the tea while thoughts of love and a different sort of life teased him.
'Well?' Katina's question had broken her thoughts. 'What do you feel?'
Putting the teapot down with more care than before, Tallow had tried to find the words, but, somehow, she didn't feel right sharing what she'd sensed. No, more than sensed. Borne witness to. It didn't seem ... honorable.
She had shaken her head and shrugged. 'Just stuff.'
'Just stuff,' repeated Katina. She'd regarded Tallow carefully, her hands on her hips. 'You're not going to tell me, are you?'
Tallow shook her head.
Katina sighed. 'But you did feel something, didn't you?'
Tallow had raised her chin. 'Oh, yes. I felt something all right. It was as if it were alive.'
Katina had reached out and ruffled her hair. 'All right, then. Let's go and find things that aren't quite so personal for you to practise on. Maybe then you'll tell me what you sense. Until you do, I can't teach you how to extract or distil.'
After that, they'd gone down to the workshop and it had been easier. There'd still been some very personal memories locked in the things she was given but, as the hours passed, it had become easier to share. Katina was a good listener and Tallow wanted to learn. Fresh waxes, bits of wick, a broach, some render, even an apple core discarded on the fondamenta and the wooden heel of an old shoe Katina picked up from the calle that ran behind the house – Katina had made her read them all. The piece from the gondola had come two days later.
'What did you feel when you touched the wood from the gondola?' asked Pillar quietly. He was curious. Hearing Tallow speak was like being given insight into the type of place that Serenissima once had been, into what, if Katina had her way, it could be again. Was that what he wanted? His fingers tightened around the cross under his shirt. God forgive him, he wasn't sure.
Tallow gave him a small smile, grateful for the support. 'As I touched it, I knew the gondolier that had steered it through the canals of Serenissima. I was aware of his joy in the water, his love of singing and his knowledge of the canals.' As Tallow spoke, she forgot where she was and who she was speaking to and began to relive the memories held in the wood.
'Then, as I probed deeper, I sensed the disease that ate at his bones, the pain of his last years as he got in and out of the boat.' She winced in memory. 'Beyond the gondolier, I could feel every single passenger that had ever sailed on board. The emotions of lovers, the calculations of businessmen, even the joy or indifference of children.' Tallow became excited now. 'I even found someone full of guilt for a crime he was about to commit – a murder, and he was sure he wouldn't be caught. There were so many histories, so many lives – too many to remember.'
That wasn't true; but Tallow didn't want to admit that she could remember every last person, every last emotion.
She paused and took a deep breath. What she had said didn't do the experience justice, but for the moment it would suffice. How do you describe a love that makes your breath hurt and your heart ache with longing? How do you describe desire that makes your loins burn with white-hot heat and your throat grow tight? How do you describe despair that makes you want to destroy and break ... even yourself? Tallow couldn't, but she knew she could reproduce it, every last impression, every single sensation, if she had to. Everything she had experienced over the last few days had opened an entirely new world to her. She felt like an explorer in uncharted territory. It thrilled and awed her, but also instilled within her an awareness of the depth and breadth of human emotions. Understanding what they all meant and how to use them would take time, she respected that, but she also yearned to find out more, to feel and grow within herself.
A slight noise brought her back to the present. They were waiting for her to continue. 'Beyond the people, there was more. There was the tree that the gondola was carved from. But it was one of many in a mighty forest that grew close to the Limen. It had been touched by things that no living creature should have to endure. Its roots had struggled to survive in an environment that seeks only to nullify and render barren.' She looked around the room; she even had Quinn's attention. 'It wasn't a dead piece of wood, Pillar. It was alive in a way I never could have imagined, with a past, a present.' And I know if I wanted it to have one, a future as well.
No-one said anything. Pillar tried to absorb what Tallow had just told him. It terrified and exhilarated him all at once. His little Tallow, his apprentice, an Estrattore. So much talent. So much power. No wonder, over three hundred years ago, that the Patriarch of the Church had been afraid.
Quinn's voice broke the silence. 'Well, I don't give a God's damn about any of this. I don't care about no tree, no gondola or a bit of bloody wood. Call it alchemy if you want. I know what it really is and I want to know how it can make me rich.'
Katina laughed. It was a bitter sound. 'We're getting to that. As Tallow was explaining, what she felt in the wood she was also recreating – not everything, just aspects of it. Don't ask me how; that's what Estrattore do. What they have to do, what they are born to do. To withhold that from them, that's unnatural. But once they reach adolescence, their ability has to be contained, controlled, and that takes time and training. Tallow has been given neither – and not through any fault of yours.'
Quinn huffed.
'But that is why Tallow was broadcasting her talent everywhere and that is why you were being placed in danger. Unable to distil specific objects or people, she aimlessly collected and distributed emotions – some, it appears, even being redistributed into the wax she moulded.'
Pillar looked over at Tallow. 'So that's what was wrong with your candles ... that's why they made us feel so strange. You'd distilled what you'd extracted from other things, from us, into the wax.'
'I didn't do it deliberately,' said Tallow quickly. 'I didn't mean to. But I know that's what must have happened. I'm so sorry,' she finished quietly.
'Fancy that.' Pillar shook his head. 'We wondered, me and Mamma, but we didn't know what was happening.'
'Wish we'd known,' grumbled Quinn. 'Cost us a fortune in wasted materials – in wasted years of training you to be a candlemaker.'
'Ah, perhaps not.' As one, Pillar and Quinn turned to Katina. 'This is where I think I can help you,' she said. 'None of your time in apprenticing Tallow or teaching her the art of candlemaking need be wasted.'
'What do you mean?' asked Pillar hopefully.
'I believe, that with a little bit more training and refining – and with your help, Pillar – we can teach Tallow to distil what she extracts into the candles –'
'No,' protested Quinn. 'Absolutely not! That was the problem in the first place! Francesca's milk soured, Giovanni complained about a sore throat – and that's when Tallow didn't mean to do it! What's going to happen when he's doing it all the time? We're certain to be caught. Do you want us all killed?'
'Listen to me.' Katina raised her voice, demanding attention. 'I'm not talking about the willy-nilly way Tallow was doing it before. I'm talking about skill – about careful selection and measured distillation of what Tallow extracts. Something needs to be done or she will be detected by soldiers, or worse, the others that seek her. Then all your threats will be meaningless, Quinn, and what you predict will come true. You'll be tried and convicted for not only hiding an Estrattore, but for treason as well. It will be a very public and painful death for all of us unless we do something about her talents and we do it now.'
