by D. J. Butler
Montse shook her head. “Do you know any good prayers? Maybe something from St. Robert Rogers?”
“Maybe we can smile as we climb.”
Montse laughed. “For you, that would work. For me, I fear my white teeth will only give them a target to shoot at. Are you ready?”
Miquel grunted assent as his last stroke on the oars drove the boat up the shallows and into the muddy bank of the river. Montse leaped ashore, shrugging out of the coiled line and freeing the grapple to throw it.
The great advantage they had was the strange nature of the Treewall. Montse had never seen it, but the wooden palisade with the natural branches at its height was legendary. She’d never seen the city of Hannah’s husband, and she hadn’t expected those branches to actually have green, living leaves on them.
Still less had she expected the leaves to fall out the very minute she hurled her grapple into the branches.
“Capità!” Miqui was only a moment after her, hurling the steel toward the top of the wall. “You have killed the trees!”
The grapples caught and both smugglers began to climb. The riverbank mud on Montse’s boots made footholds trickier, but this was a climb to be accomplished by arm strength. She dragged herself up cursing, knees and toes banging against the bark of the wall. Green leaves fell about her, striking her in the face and threatening her grip.
Miquel whistled, the cheerful bastard.
Halfway up the wall, the leaf-fall ended and she began shouting. It was a calculated risk. Would she attract Imperial fire? Perhaps, but she hoped that the darkness, and the strange wall of black flame would spoil their shots. But she worried that if she simply vaulted over the top of the palisade wall without warning, she’d end her days impaled on a Cahokian spear.
“Sóc amiga!” she shouted. “Je suis une amie! Ich bin eine Freundin! Abu m enyi! I am a friend!” The words stole her breath and slowed her progress, but when she reached the end of her scant repertoire, she started it again from the beginning.
Miqui joined her as best he could. “Friend! Freund! Amigo!”
Steel Ophidian-style sallet helmets peeped through the branches at the top of the wall. The black fire gleamed dully on the metal, and also on the metal of what Montse took to be musket barrels.
“Friend!” she shouted.
Her rope went suddenly taut. Her feet lost their purchase on the wall and she slipped, catching herself only after sliding down several feet and burning the skin of her hands. Only a lifetime of clinging to ratlines in Gulf storms kept her from losing her grip entirely and falling.
Below her, something with a head like the rhinoceros she had once seen in a private garden in Miami, only covered with fur, leaped upward, climbing the rope.
Stupid. She should have pulled it up behind her.
Hooking one booted toe around the rope to stabilize herself, Montse grabbed the hilt of her saber—
bang!
The shot came from beside her, rather than from above.
The rhino-headed beastman lost his grip and fell back.
Bang! Bang! Further shots came, but these were from the Imperial trenches, rather than Miquel or the defenders.
“Go!” Miquel shouted. “Climb!”
He slid down past her, and she resumed her upward progress. In his hand, she saw the flash of steel as the young sailor pulled a knife. Her rope went taut again and shook as the rhino began again to climb—
and then Miqui cut the line, and the rhino fell.
“Go!” Miquel shouted. “Go!”
Her hands and her guts both torturing her, Montse flung herself up the wall. She heard shouting in Ophidian—of which she only knew a few words—and braced herself to be shot from above, but the attack never came.
More gunfire came from the Imperial trench, but then Montse was into the branches. She released the rope. As blood flowed into her hands again she felt the burning of her abraded skin more intensely.
She stopped on the lower branches and reached out a hand for Miquel.
The boy pulled himself up to within reach, gripped a branch and then took Montse’s arm.
Bang!
Miquel fell. Montse jammed one boot into the crotch of a branch and pulled her sailor up, but he was heavy. She hit the branch behind her, heard a loud crack, and then she and Miqui began to slide.
“Help!” She flung an arm over another branch, trying to wrap her elbow around the wood and stop her motion, but her arm slid along the limb, and she and Miqui rolled toward the edge—
below, she saw the snarling rhino face—
would she even survive the fall?—
and then hands caught her from above. Two men grabbed her by the shoulders of her coat. Two more grabbed Miquel, by one leg and one arm. The crew of four rescuers dragged the two Catalans up and over the top of the palisade, dropping them gently on the wooden walkway on the other side.
“Gràcies,” Montse said. “Thank you.”
Then her rescuers stepped back and she saw what they were.
Beastkind.
Farther away on the walkway stood men in the silver helmets the Cahokians favored, leaning on spears or holding muskets in the crooks of their arms. But the four who had rescued Montse all had animal features. The one who stood closest and now grinned at her had the head and upper body of a coyote and wore a pair of pistols in holsters hanging from bandoliers over each shoulder.
“Keep your hands away from your weapons,” the coyote said in English.
“I’m a friend,” Montse said.
“I heard you the first time.” The beastman grinned. “My queen will know for sure. Until then, you’re my prisoner.”
Montse didn’t resist as the beastman stripped her of her sword and her pistols, and disarmed Miquel.
“And my friend?” she pressed. “The boy? Do you have healers?”
“We’ll look to his wound,” the coyote said, looking over the wall. He seemed distracted and surprised by the wall of flames. “In due time.”
* * *
Sarah sat at a table in the Hall of Onandagos, beneath the stained-glass images of tall vines. The last time she’d been in this room, she’d been the second of Alzbieta Torias, who had been one of the candidates to be chosen by the city’s goddess as the next king or queen.
This time, she sat at the table and no one objected.
The other former candidates weren’t present. The landowner Voldrich and the poisoner Gazelem Zomas were the two about whose whereabouts she knew nothing. The Lady Alena seemed to have fallen into line, and the two military women were both now working with Sir William.
Confirming and learning such details was the purpose of the meeting. Cahokia had continued to be governed as it had been before, lightly, and by Maltres Korinn (as Vizier now rather than as Regent-Minister of the Serpent Throne, though it wasn’t clear to Sarah that either position was very clearly defined).
It was time for Sarah to exercise a little control. To do that, she needed to get a clearer picture of what the pieces were and how they worked.
Around the table were Maltres Korinn, Alzbieta Torias, William Lee, the Polite Sherem, and Cathy Filmer. In the door stood Yedera the Podebradan. Outside the door were several of Alzbieta’s warriors.
“I don’t want his arrival to surprise anyone.” Sarah pointed at the one unoccupied seat as she started the meeting. “I’ve invited Zadok Tarami.”
Sir William snorted and the Duke of Na’avu looked dubious, but Alzbieta nodded. “It’s a wise move, Beloved. Show his followers that you respect him…and them.”
“Is it so wise, though?” Cathy asked. “Maybe he shouldn’t be invited to all the meetings. Maybe we shouldn’t say anything in front of him that can be used against you, Your Majesty.”
“In what capacity are you here, Mrs. Filmer?” Alzbieta Torias asked. “Sir William leads our combined army. Maltres has been head of the civil government for years, and—forgive me, Maltres, if I give away secrets—is a well-connected Freemason. Sherem is c
onnected with the wizards of Cahokia, in their various groups. I represent the Handmaids of the Virgin. Even Metropolitan Tarami’s presence makes sense to me, representing the priests of the Basilica and those who worship with them. What constituency do you represent?”
Sarah knew by now that Cathy’s perfectly still expression concealed rage.
“She represents me,” Sarah said. “Cathy is here precisely because she is not connected to any of Cahokia’s groups. She is here to be my second soul.”
Cathy smiled faintly and nodded.
“I’m inclined to agree with…Cathy, Your Majesty,” Sir William said.
Maltres inclined forward across the table. “How are you feeling, Sir William?”
Sarah expected a droll quip or a fiery rebuff. Instead, Sir William seemed to shrink into himself. “Your question is reasonable. I apologize for the state in which you saw me on the ramparts the other day, suh. I was not myself.”
“And you are yourself now?”
Sir William fixed the Vizier with a steely green eye. “Yes I am.”
Maltres nodded.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Sarah said. “I need each of you to operate at full power and to be available to me at all times.”
There was a round of general nodding.
“Beloved,” Maltres Korinn said. “Might we begin by articulating the basis on which we are here?”
“We are the government of the kingdom,” Cathy said.
“Yes,” Maltres agreed. “Let us be clear about it. Sarah is the Beloved of Wisdom, First Handmaid of the goddess of Cahokia. Everyone in the city knows that.”
“That is not what everyone in the city knows.” Zadok Tarami spoke from the door. With a subtle show of her teeth, Yedera let him in.
“You weren’t in the city,” Alzbieta Torias said. “You didn’t feel it.”
Zadok Tarami took the empty seat. “By your account, you weren’t, either. You were in a place I do not believe to exist, a magical land called Unfallen Eden, in which Adam’s tragic decision was never made, and all the children of the primeval demon serpent Lilith worship her in happiness, surrounded by buzzing bees and purring lions.”
Alzbieta shook her head. “Say rather that essential portion of Eden that was not affected by Adam’s choice, where the goddess has always remained and will always remain, undiminished by the necessary echoes of her in this mortal world.”
“Priests.” Sir William leaned toward Cathy. Sarah barely heard him. “Shoot me now.”
“What I have been told by my congregants,” Tarami shot back, “was that at the rising of the sun on the solstice they felt a powerful feeling of love and wellbeing directed toward Sarah Elytharias.”
“There you have it,” Maltres said.
“I believe God has chosen her,” Tarami said. “I believe He chose her in answer to my prayers and the prayers of the thousands of others who have begged for relief from the Pacification. I am honored to be included in this council, and I will do my best to help Sarah achieve God’s purpose for her.”
“And if I believe I am meant to become queen?” Sarah asked him.
“One can be chosen by God and fail. Our Lord himself chose Judas Iscariot.” He looked at her with unblinking eyes. “My fellows and I will be happy to instruct you and advise you. Traditionally, the Metropolitan of Cahokia has crowned the land’s kings.”
Meaning Tarami thought he had a veto right.
“That is only the public coronation,” Alzbieta said. “The second coronation takes place within the Temple of the Sun and is necessary for a person to truly take the throne.”
“Last I heard, you and your sisters didn’t even know of what the so-called second coronation consisted.” Tarami’s smile was warm and benevolent. “As much as we may hope for the blessed revelation of such a thing, for now, the coronation within the Basilica is all there is.”
“Thank you for these competing views,” Sarah said, cutting Alzbieta off. “This is precisely why I invited you all into this council. If you all agreed, your advice would not be useful to me.”
Tarami smiled.
“Here is the situation as I see it,” Sarah said. “Those who were with me know that the goddess chose me as Her Beloved.”
“Amen,” Alzbieta, Maltres, and Sherem said together.
She continued. “I am therefore titular head of an order of priestesses I scarcely understand. Also, all the Firstborn in the city at that time felt…something. That feeling is the basis on which I govern. I may have rivals, either among former claimants to the throne or from quarters as yet unseen. One thing I intend to do is consolidate my power by quickly accomplishing my coronation.”
“There may be other reasons my Beloved would wish to take the Serpent Throne,” Alzbieta said.
“Mmm,” Tarami murmured. “Didn’t John tell us that ‘Jesus answered him, I spake openly to the world’?”
Sarah ignored the tension between her priestess and her priest. “I want to hear about the state of the city. I need you to teach me about Cahokia. And I want to hear about the claimants under the presentation. But there’s something more urgent than that.”
“The food supply is secure,” Maltres said. “We harvested every grain, seed, melon, squash, fruit, and legume we could find in the bounty the goddess sent us.”
Zadok Tarami opened his mouth; Sir William fairly leaped over the table to jab a finger at him. “Don’t say it, suh. We all know what you think, and we’ll take it as said. Do not waste my queen’s time.”
Tarami smiled and sank back into his chair. “Forgive me. I’m an old man and a debater of many years’ experience. It’s hard for a leopard to change his spots.”
“I, too, am resisting old spots,” Sir William told him. “Only I believe my spots are considerably more violent than yours.”
“What happened this morning?” Maltres looked about the table at all the participants as he asked, but his gaze came to rest on Sarah.
They all knew what he meant. They all knew he was asking her. In the early morning, before dawn, the abundance of plants that had sprouted in the thoroughfares and plazas of Cahokia had entirely wilted. By midday, when they’d come together for this conference, the plants had begun to rot where they stood.
“The foliage and buds of a new crop of fruits and nuts fell from the Treewall,” Sir William said.
Sarah nodded. “I would have guessed as much. I will tell you what I know, and what I guess.
“I was awakened before dawn with a feeling of intense pain. It was if all the blood in my veins had been sucked out in one moment, and I was instantly parched to dust. I sneaked out and climbed the wall—”
“You shouldn’t get ahead of your bodyguard like that,” Maltres said sternly.
Sarah laughed. “Iron Andy Calhoun is the best man between New Orleans and Philadelphia, and he couldn’t keep me penned. You’re welcome to try, Maltres Korinn, but you’re going to have to get up really early in the morning.”
Maltres and Alzbieta both looked embarrassed. They shouldn’t feel that way; Sarah had used an oculos obscuro incantation, and there was nothing they could have done to stop her.
“You were on the wall,” Sir William said. “Chikaak told me he smelled you, and I doubted him.”
Sarah didn’t love to hear that she had been smelled, but she let it pass. “A mighty spell has been cast in the Imperial camp.”
Zadok turned his head sharply. “Walters?”
“No. Robert Hooke, I think. I recognize his…visual stink, so to speak.” How much could she really tell them about the spell that forced her to kill Thalanes, that nearly killed Sarah and her brother Nathaniel both, the vortex of groping hands in a sea of amber death? “I think I know the enchantment he has worked. We’re trapped inside a spell of his, a spell that kills.”
“The whole city is trapped?” Tarami asked.
Sarah nodded.
Sherem sighed. “I…fear I may know the spell of which you speak.”
Sarah
hadn’t expected help, but she was happy to accept it. “Will it…kill people?”
The Polite was slow to answer. “Maybe. Perhaps eventually? Perhaps it will close in and become more potent? Perhaps if the Sorcerer can channel additional power into it?”
“That’s a lot of perhapses,” Sir William growled. “If a subaltern offered me that many maybes, I’d break him down to a corporal, if not worse.”
“This is gramarye.” Sherem shrugged. “Not bricklaying. Perhaps the spell will do nothing. Perhaps we will merely starve to death when the supplies run out.”
“At least the goddess has given us more time.” Sarah shot a warning look at Tarami, and he said nothing. “Maltres, I’ll need to know how much.”
“There are many variables,” he said. “I’ll give you my best estimate.”
“I am grateful for the fruits and nuts,” Bill murmured. “But I would have been more grateful for behemoth.”
Alzbieta Torias laughed. “To fight our battle for us, you mean?”
Bill frowned. “No, to eat. Behemoth means many cattle.”
“Behemoth is a monster.” Tarami glared at both Bill and Alzbieta.
“And yet that is not what I remember from Harmonszoon,” Bill muttered. “The behemoth is beeves, I would swear to it.”
“How are we doing on getting messengers out?” Sarah asked Maltres.
Maltres Korinn frowned. “Poorly. My men are being intercepted by the Imperials.”
“Is that just bad luck?” Sarah frowned.
“Maybe,” Korinn said. “Or maybe it’s because the Imperial web is strong and thrown wide. And I am hesitant to send men out the Mississippi Gate. It seems certain death. We’ll continue to try.”
“I think for now I can forego a detailed description of city functionaries,” Sarah said. “And I reckon we’ve all heard enough for today on the differences between the Temple Handmaids and the Basilica gang.”
“We do more than operate the Basilica,” Zadok Tarami said. “We run multiple charitable organizations and two schools.”
“And we curate a large library,” Alzbieta said.
Sarah nodded. “Understood. And I urgently want to know more about the arcane resources we may have at our disposal. But most urgently, I want to make sure we have something resembling an army coming together.” She looked at Sir William and was gratified to see that he didn’t flinch. “Joleta Zorales and Valia Sharelas. Are they with us? I think I could stand a rebellion of poets, but I want the cannons pointing away from me.”
