by Karen Brooks
Tallow tried to stand, but her legs kept buckling beneath her. Pillar gripped her elbow, holding her steady until she found her feet. 'How long have we been here?' she asked.
'About half an hour or so. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't carry you around the quartiere. Attract too much attention. I thought about going to a farmacista or summoning a dottore, but I didn't want to answer any questions.'
'A farmacista? For medicine? Why?' Following the direction of Pillar's gaze, she touched her ears. They felt swollen, strange. Then she remembered. The blood – the agony. They'd been hurt badly. She examined her hands. 'You cleaned the blood away. Thank you.'
'Blood? What blood? The only thing I saw when I got back to the pledge stone was you curled up in a ball, unconscious, and your ears all misshapen. They look burnt. Shocked me to pieces, it did.' He shook his head. 'No good comes of visiting pledge stones. Never did, never will.' He shifted his feet awkwardly. Tallow was trying to recall what had happened. She couldn't keep her fingers away from her ears; they felt alien.
'The whole thing's my fault, you know,' said Pillar miserably. 'I shouldn't have chased after the Bond Rider, but I thought –' Pillar paused. His eyes had a distant look.
'You thought it was your father, didn't you?' finished Tallow.
Pillar took a moment to reply.
'Yes.' He swallowed hard.
'Was it?'
Pillar shrugged. 'I don't know. Couldn't be sure. When they've lived in the Limen a while, they all start to look the same. Could have been anyone.'
Tallow remembered the tall man with the intense blue eyes. He'd turned when Pillar had called. 'Look,' said Pillar, trying to change the subject. 'Let's put what's happened behind us. I really don't want to talk about it. If your ears aren't too painful, how about I find some food. Then we'll catch another traghetto home.'
'My ears don't hurt at all,' I said. 'Do they really look that bad?'
'No,' said Pillar. 'Not bad, just different. You can see something's happened to them. And they're still very red. You stay here. I'll duck into the piazzetta behind us; I'm bound to find something to eat.'
True to his word, Pillar found a vendor selling sweetmeats and returned moments later. Side by side, they sat on the sleepy fondamenta, their legs dangling over the water, and ate their pastries.
They chewed in silence for a while, watching the play of sunlight on the water. 'So, what's this about blood?' asked Pillar finally, wiping his hands on his vest. He lowered his voice even further. 'What happened to you back at the pledge stone?'
Tallow tried to explain. But how could she find the words to express the horror and outrage she'd felt, the hope that she knew her presence offered? Nonetheless, she tried.
When she finished, Pillar just sat, unmoving. Tallow fiddled with her ears, pushing her hair down over them, waiting for Pillar to speak.
'Whose voices do you reckon you were hearing?' he asked finally.
'I don't know for sure,' said Tallow, avoiding a direct answer. She couldn't tell Pillar what she thought to be true.
Pillar took a deep breath. 'They say that the souls of the Bond Riders are trapped in the pledge stones. When men and women make their pledge, give their Bond and release their blood into the stone, part of their soul goes in there too. It waits inside for the Bond to be completed or broken.'
'And then they're set free.'
'Used to be. That's what the Estrattore would do: extract the essence of each Bond Rider and return the portion of their soul that they'd given to them. It used to be that once Bond Riders had fulfilled their pledge, they had a choice. They could either return to their old lives or remain in the Limen – the only mortals that ever could. At least, that's what they say. Nowadays, there's no-one to free them. So they remain trapped.'
That explains the anger, the fear, thought Tallow.
'Why do people still make pledges then? Why do they still become Bond Riders if they can't be freed once their Bond is met?'
'Some have no choice,' said Pillar quietly.
Tallow saw the look of sorrow flash across Pillar's face. 'I know you don't want to discuss it, but that's what happened to your father, wasn't it? He had no choice, did he?' It was all starting to become clear – Quinn's melancholy, her resentment, her fury; Pillar's patience, his grief.
He stared out over the canal. 'That's right,' he admitted finally. 'It seems so long ago now and, in hindsight, so foolish.'
'Will you tell me what happened?' asked Tallow quietly.
Pillar sighed. 'I haven't told anyone before, you know. Not even Katina, although she persisted.' He shook his head. 'Mamma insisted we keep it a secret. Don't know why, really. Guess there's no need for that any more. Not now. I –'
He took a deep breath. 'Basically, the reason my father became a Bond Rider was all because of a ridiculous enterprise. You see, he was always looking to improve our business. Grand dreams he had. People say he was very talented, much more so than I am. No-one could mould a candle like him, no-one could make wax so pure – that is, no-one except you.' He gave Tallow a quick smile. 'Why, even his tallow candles looked like they were fit for the Doge's palazzo.
'One day, my father heard about an amazing wax being produced in Vyzantia, one that had very few impurities and could be used on its own or flaked and added to others. Taken from the palm trees of that country, it had a beautiful sheen. It was cheap to extract and the wax burnt slowly as well. Being the type of man he was, he couldn't resist trying it. It was going to revolutionise candlemaking, give the ordinary citizens and the rich something special. So, he entered into a colleganza – you know, a partnership – with a couple of the wealthier merchants and a nobile, Paolo Maggiore.'
'From Casa di Maggiore?' I asked. I knew he was one of the nobiles who had a house on Nobiles Rise, near the Doge's palazzo.
'The very same. We were so proud to have a connection – we humble candlemakers with this grand nobile. Maggiore put a good deal of money into the expedition and even loaned my father extra, so his share would be the greater. They were both convinced of the eventual success of the journey.
'When the ship was attacked by pirates and sank off the coast off Kyprus, everything was lost. Maggiore called in the debt. The merchants were able to write off their losses; for papa, it wasn't so easy. It was either sacrifice the business, or find some other way. Without discussing it with my mother, he Bonded himself to Maggiore – sold his soul so his debt would be extinguished and our little candlemaking business would survive. So his wife and son would have something to call their own.'
'But how did he do it? I mean, Bonding is against the law. How did he get away with it?'
Pillar choked back a laugh. 'Soldi, Tallow. It was soldi – money. It doesn't just buy and sell products, but a person's soul too. Everything is for sale.' He shook his head and stared at the canal, wading through memories.
Tallow waited.
'Maggiore bribed whoever it took so Papa could reach the pledge stone. You don't need an Estrattore to make a pledge, only to release the Bond afterwards. For Papa, it was easy. Slice open a vein and make his bold promise, worded carefully by Maggiore to ensure Papa kept it. In seconds, his fate was sealed.'
'And yours too,' added Tallow quietly. She resisted the urge to put her arm around him. Why, his story wasn't dissimilar to Antonio and Lizzetta's. What if Antonio was forced to become a Bond Rider, or Lizzetta? Self-righteousness surged through Tallow, causing her spine to straighten and her shoulders to square. Any doubts she might have had about helping them were quickly quenched by Pillar's tale. Fancy being made to pay a debt with not only your life, but with your family's as well. How sad that she'd never known Pillar's father; never been able to help them.
'How long has he been gone?' she asked.
'Since I was nine years old. I remember him, though. I remember the laughter that used to ring in the house, the visitors, and the candles burning brightly. They were different times.'
Tallow wanted to
ask if Quinn was different then, too, but she already knew the answer.
'Do you think he'll ever come back?'
'As a child, I spent every spare minute by the Pledge Stone of Casa di Maggiore – yes, Tallow. That's the stone that holds his pledge; that's why I knew where it was. I wasted so many days just wandering around the woods, calling for him. But I know now that he will never come back, not until an Estrattore releases him – him and everyone else. There was a time when I thought that would never happen. The Estrattore were gone, banished. Dead. But now ...'
Pillar's eyes rested upon Tallow. Through her glasses, Tallow studied his expression. There was an earnestness about Pillar that Tallow had never seen before; that, and desperation.
Tallow shivered, and it wasn't just because a cold breeze swept along the water, shattering the smooth surface into a crazed green and white jigsaw. This chill came from within: a presentiment, a warning. Soft, seductive voices wove their words into Tallow's mind.
Like the morning winds that blew off the mountains, clearing the dense fogs over the canals and exposing their glittering emerald waters, it all became clear to Tallow. The reason Pillar and Quinn had kept her under their roof all those years had nothing to do with pity or fear or even a desire to train a cheap apprentice. They had kept her for another, more selfish reason.
Pillar and Quinn wanted Santo back, and they would do whatever it took to get him.
Tallow battled the emotions constricting her chest. This new knowledge coloured, tainted, everything she had ever known. Pillar wanted her to release Santo from the pledge stone. That was why he'd risked everything – his life, his mother's – to hide and raise her; that was why he'd allowed Katina to train her. She was sick to the stomach. She'd never really believed that Quinn cared about her; but there were times when she'd thought that Pillar did. There'd been times when she was so close to him. They'd had a sense of togetherness and shared purpose – but even that had been a lie.
Tallow jumped to her feet, her eyes blazing. She threw what remained of her sweetmeat into the canal and watched surprise begin to register on Pillar's face.
'Tallow, what is it?' His query seemed genuine.
For a moment, the look of shock on Pillar's face gave her pause, but then her emotions brimmed over and the words tumbled from her. 'You... you used me!' Tallow cried. 'I thought you really cared, but I don't mean a thing to you. I'm like a broach or a sieve in the workshop. I'm just a tool to you!'
Catching her breath, she recalled with a stab of guilt how patient Pillar had been, how sympathetic when she received her first scorches and burns from the boiling wax, and how proud he'd been when Tallow produced her first candle. She remembered the times Pillar had snuck up to her room to tend to her after Quinn had given her a beating. But why hadn't he ever stopped his mother? He was strong enough; he'd stood up for Katina the other night without a second thought ... why not her?
Never her. Was it because, as Tallow now suspected, he wanted her beaten into submission so she'd be obedient to their every whim? So she would one day go to the pledge stone and risk her life to release Santo?
Tallow's life had always been a masquerade, she knew that: the boy who was really a girl; the candlemaker's apprentice who was really an Estrattore. But it was an even greater façade than she'd ever realised. She'd been kept browbeaten and hungry, trained to be useful, tolerated under their roof until she could serve her real purpose. That was why Pillar had been so attentive to Katina. He'd needed Katina, another Bond Rider, to help him find Santo. And, once he was found, he needed Tallow to free him.
Rage built inside Tallow. The whispers grew to a crescendo.
'No. Tallow! You have it all wrong.' said Pillar, slowly getting up. 'Calm down and let me explain.' He reached for her, but seeing the expression on her face, his hand fell to his side. 'Why are you looking at me like that?'
All at once, voices exploded in Tallow's head.
Instead of answering Pillar, she turned and, with her hands clutching her head, ran.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The boy and the dog
BLINDLY, I RAN. I DARTED down rami and across campi. I had no idea where I was going, just that I wanted to rid myself of the pain that flared every time I thought of Pillar and remembered what happened at the pledge stone; Katina gone, the voices pleading and demanding, the despair, and what rescuing me had meant to Pillar. I wanted it all to stop.
I dodged and wove between the crowds in the piazzetta, between market stalls and businesses. I dashed over a bridge and into another section of the quartiere. Everywhere I ran the overpowering smell of render accompanied me. Its familiarity added to my anguish. It was a cruel reminder of what I was, what I had been, and, now Katina had left, the purpose I could no longer escape.
Finally, I came to a stop. Bending over, my hands clutching my knees, I took deep, ragged breaths. The torment in my head was finally gone. The voices were now nothing more than a wretched memory.
My breathing slowly returned to normal and I took off my hat and wiped my forehead. Sweat ran down my face. My glasses momentarily fogged and I had the illusion of standing in the midst of a dream. Everything was coated with a fine opaque film. Nothing was clear – you could pretend that one thing was really another. If only life could be like that too, I selfishly thought, which led me to think about what I'd just done.
Bolted like that, fled from the one man who had never done anything to hurt me. Recalling the thoughts that had filled my head, I couldn't understand where they'd come from. Time and distance made them seem hasty, stupid even. So what if Pillar wanted me to release his father – was that so wrong? I, who yearned for family more than anything else, should understand. And yet, in a few seconds, I'd tarnished everything Pillar had ever done for me.
Pillar would be worried about me. He wouldn't understand what had prompted me to flee; I wasn't sure I did either. But I knew with certainty he would be looking for me. I'd have to find him and apologise.
When I'd regained my composure, I tidied myself up and took in my surroundings. This entire quartiere was as foreign to me as another country.
I was standing in a sunlit area near one of the many entries into a rather large campo. There was the usual brick well, around which stood a number of women with buckets, chatting while they waited their turn to take their fill, and children playing games on the cobblestones.
The smell told me I was still in the Chandlers Quartiere, and the number of soap shops in the campo confirmed this. Above the campo rose the steeple of their local basilica. I remembered seeing it as I waited for Pillar while he bought the sweetmeats. I had a landmark.
Straightening my shoulders, I started to cross the square. I would find the church the steeple belonged to and return to the canal and, hopefully, somewhere along the way, find Pillar as well. Moving closer to the well, thirst overcame me. I put on my best smile.
'Buon giorno,' I said cheerily to the women, executing a small bow. 'I was wondering if I might please have a drink.'
The women stopped talking and, as one, turned to look at me. Even the children paused in their games. My face became hot again.
'Well, well. We have a stranger in our midst! And what can we do for you other than quench that thirst, polite young sir?' asked one of the younger women. She wore a white low-cut blouse and a pretty blue skirt. Her knitted shawl had slipped from one shoulder, taking the shirt with it. She bent towards me, revealing more of her generous bosom. I gulped. The women tittered.
'Do not tease him, Guilia,' said a red-haired lady with big green eyes. 'Look at the way his tongue lolls. Look how hot his cheeks are, how dry his mouth!'
They laughed.
