Luca ordered them both a drink, the beers overpriced at a quarter apiece, and smiled slyly. “I’m looking for a man who would have fought bravely for the homeland. Someone who still believes in the cause and who might take me back to my beloved.”
He could feel the desire wash over her, Claire clever enough to know he meant to make contact with the Covenant Sons, but fool enough to do anything to aid him. Playing women like his old bosh was not a skill he had employed in a long while, but as Claire set about finding a man meeting his requirements, Luca found himself happy he was not nearly as rusty at it as he expected.
***
Soon as it was dark, Marta made her way to the roof with Isabelle. She considered leaving Caddie and Creature behind, but needed to double her chances with Isabelle’s assistance and did not like leaving the girl unattended. So the three of them climbed the stairs, Marta dispensing with the lock with her open palm before they emerged upon the roof.
Scanning the area, Marta declared it adequate. Only the watchtower she climbed long ago and a few other buildings rose above the fourth story she chose, and so they would be an obvious target—at least from above since no one on the ground would be aware they were there. But Marta was not hunting ground-bound prey.
It was a long shot, but Marta had reacted for too long in taking Carmichael’s mission, so she lit the lantern and set its beam wide to attract as much attention as possible. She then spread the paper in its light to reveal her crude map of Newfield and opened the luz jar. Isabelle crouched beside her, Caddie off to the side and playing with Creature. If all went well, it would not be the glassman that found them there. But if Bernice did attack, Marta felt relatively sure she could end the woman once and for all unless the glassman had just fed. During their previous encounter the plans of her odd Armor eluded her, but now she again felt it close. She swore she could see it at the edge of her vision, but it was a skittish thing, always slinking away whenever she tried to turn fully upon it. She was never quite quick enough, but Marta suspected that if threatened by the glassman tonight, her desperation would provide the impetus to overcome the fleeting thought. It was a gamble, but no less so than when compared to what she would do if it were not the glassman that found them there.
***
Claire provided the introduction to the one-armed Lars. Lars eyed him with obvious distrust, so to demonstrate his worth, Luca bought the man a beer and then a second when Lars downed the first like a dehydrated man reintroduced to water. Their conversation progressed easily enough, especially after Luca threw down for a third beer and mentioned Gatlin. Familiar with the city both before and after the airship devastation, it was easy enough for Luca to fake his sincerity at the horror that had befallen it during the Grand War. Miming the Eastern accent was more challenging, but he believed Lars’ fourth beer in less than half an hour overcame any deficit on his part.
Finally, he could feel Lars swinging to his side, the man eventually tracing a half-circle in the spilled suds. Luca made it a point to furtively glance about as if he feared being watched. The hard part was making sure he was not so furtive that Lars would miss the motion.
“Not to worry,” Lars said in a voice far too loud for Luca’s liking. “No Ticks here.”
Luca sealed the deal by completing the circle. “I need to be quit of this town and quietly. Cheaply wouldn’t be amiss either.”
Lars eyed him again, Luca suddenly sensing he had slipped up somehow. “Don’t look like you fought in the troubles.”
“No, but I’m acting on behalf of someone who did. Someone who would like to avoid the bear-men as much as possible, if you’ll take my meaning.” Remaining vague and refusing to mention that the woman in question had fought as Lars’ enemy suited Luca just fine. Talking around a point was a Dobra specialty, one the Sons inexpertly played at like a child at a new toy.
“We need to go home,” Luca added before humming the first few strains of “The Sun Rises in the East.”
He already knew that the song was one of Lars’ favorites, the man having listened to the bugler’s woeful rendition each night during the siege of Sinton, and Lars soon hummed along with him until Luca finally cut him off.
“And it needs to be soon.”
“Sixty. Up front. For each of you.”
Lars never stood a chance, Luca haggling him down to one hundred all told for all four passengers. He could have fought for lower, but it was not his money he spent, and Luca was quite ready to be quit of Sinton.
***
Two hours into their ordeal and Marta regretted her decision. Her knees ached from holding the pose over the makeshift map, but she dared not rise from her crouch lest she give up any possible advantage. Isabelle maintained her position on the far side of the paper, her eyes darting. The only sound came from Caddie’s continual click of the bix sticks as she threw them again and again. Even Creature quit his tapping after Caddie’s throws, content instead with sleep. Marta envied the three of her companions, none of them able to give voice to their displeasure. Only she was capable, so she refused to do so as a testament to their ability to swallow suffering.
***
Luca departed the bawdy house thirty dollars the lighter and with the promise of the remainder upon delivery out of Sinton. As he made his exit, he found Claire waiting, the woman hoping him finally free to follow his heart because of her. Sensing her need, Luca assured her he was before kissing her cheek. His lie was a slight betrayal, but he also knew it meant the world to Claire, so he shoved past his guilt to give the girl something sweet to remember.
His mind on this slight betrayal rather than the larger one that awaited him, Luca stepped into the alleys around the bordello. He chose that particular establishment so as to avoid any Cousin clientele, but the roads to it were fraught with potential entanglements. He therefore relied on the back alleys, only realizing too late it was the wrong decision when he came upon the four Cousins. Without a hat to tip low to avoid eye contact, he instead strode towards them hoping his bluster would sufficiently scare them off.
Three bruisers and a smaller one bearing a Listener pin spread out to block Luca’s path. Two of his impediments bore batons, the third wearing a white armband with an open lockblade in hand. Only the smallest held no weapon as he stared Luca down.
“Ix culla, tsor.”
Luca’s lockblade appeared unbidden, it all he could do to keep from extending the blade. Such an action would invite attack, and Luca had no desire to take four lives that night.
They were out hunting him, so there was no need for subterfuge, Luca cutting marrow true with his words. “This is not your fight, so walk away and know I gave you a gift tonight.”
The small one chuckled as the ones with cudgels began to flank him. Luca ignored them, focusing on the one with the lockblade. The man began to spin, the open blade dancing between his fingers in an unfamiliar pattern.
Luca’s blade remained closed as he struck, the hilt’s weight adding extra heft to his fist catching his fellow tshi student square in the jaw mid-flourish. Through his Listener Mind, Luca felt the man’s consciousness instantly snapping off as he immediately advanced upon the closest cudgel-wielder. Dumbstruck by the decimation of their most skilled companion, this adversary revealed himself to be little of one, Luca not even requiring a feint before driving his fist flush into his nose.
Two of their warriors felled without Luca even extending his blade, the third wisely assumed a defensive position. Luca did not hesitate. Snapping his hand holding the lockblade up, he drew his enemy’s eyes to it even as he kicked the man’s knee. For that he received a delightful crunch, Luca making it a point to catch the man in the jaw with his fist before he hit the ground just to see if he still possessed the ability.
The smallest Cousin stared in open disbelief. Luca knew he should kill the Listener since no witnesses were preferable to any, but stayed his hand. The four were still Dobra kin, and adding sin upon sin might just leave him stained, so he caught the ma
n by the collar, his fist reared back. The man probably would not remember his words, but Luca could not resist.
“If anyone asks what school I represent, you tell them Bo.”
Luca treasured the man’s confusion before he relieved him of consciousness.
***
Isabelle clicked twice out the side of her mouth. Marta did not need to turn her head to know the glow behind her came from Graff’s Blessed Breath and not the strange black one. Part of her wanted to rejoice that her trap proved effective, but it had not yet been sprung, and so she readied herself. She knew little of the Render mysteries allowing them to extricate their fourth Breath from their being and send it out into the world, but it showed rudimentary intelligence in the past, so she hoped she had sufficiently whetted its appetite. The map was nothing but a ploy, one with Hammond marked as their ultimate destination. Even if their plan failed, Marta hoped at least the misinformation would frustrate Graff.
But if the plan succeeded, she would render the Render toothless.
The Breath edged ever closer, but she dared not turn and spring the trap. That duty fell to Isabelle, who launched forward with her luz jar. The woman was swift, and Marta suspected she could have given Oleander a challenge in their private game of catching Breaths. But as Marta wheeled to witness the catch, she realized that the Breath they sought was not a mindless thing like those that naturally flowed along the ley.
The amethyst Breath dodged Isabelle’s lunge, jagging Marta’s direction. She was ready, the bulk of the luz jar in her left hand with its lid in her right, Marta scooped it up. Already tasting victory, the flavor turned to ash as she twisted the lid into place and her broken finger betrayed her, Marta fumbling the lid long enough for Graff’s Breath to escape.
Still inches away, it wavered as she grabbed the fallen lid. Soon as she did, it shot off. Marta trailed on after it, summoning her rabbit legs out of pure stubbornness. The frightened Breath was far too swift, but she still bounded after it, the Breath lengthening the gap and aiming for the open sky. Marta prepared one futile leap she knew would be of no use and was rewarded when the Breath paused.
It hovered there in the night sky, straining like a bee caught in a hurricane. Marta did not hesitate as she sprang. The luz jar in her left hand caught the thing, and now ready for her faltering right hand’s weakness, she slapped the lid on with a Shaper’s gauntlet, twisting it into place even as she fell back down.
The landing was harder than she had intended, but Marta did not care as the air left her lungs. Constrained by the glass, Graff’s Render Breath could not return to him with their location. He could be next door and it would not matter one iota: with it gone, he was no longer touched by Sol and would be incapable of his deadly ability to draw.
He remained powerless so long as she held his power in her hands.
Marta grinned despite herself, her usually impassive visage all the crueler for it. Having long lost any belief in Sol, she still almost found herself uttering his praise at her good fortune. But all the joy fled when she turned to see Isabelle huddled over the prone Caddie. Her recent victory deserting her, Marta hurried over to shove Isabelle aside.
“Caddie… Caddie!”
Creature screeched along with her. The luz jar forgotten on the roof beside her, Marta gingerly stroked the girl’s face. The child’s blue eyes shot open, only to flutter back shut, but Marta let out a breath she did not know she held. Rubbing Caddie’s hand for lack of anything better to do, Marta was surprised when Isabelle grabbed her shoulder.
The mute woman gestured wildly, but Marta could not make sense of her motions. Isabelle repeated the gesture twice more before her arms fell to her side. Marta paid her no mind, her attention on Caddie rather than the irate woman or forgotten luz jar with its prize inside.
***
Luca arrived at the boarding house room only to find it empty. Knocking on the one next door, he received no reply and considered bursting through when Isabelle appeared with Marta cradling Caddie behind her. Marta seemed weary, but oddly pleased despite Isabelle’s unease, and it was not until they retreated from the hallway that Luca learned why.
Staring at the Blessed Breath angrily buzzing in the luz jar, Luca let out a Dobra curse. But his grin reflected hers, the two of them savoring the moment until Isabelle ruined it by shoving him.
“What’s got her so riled?”
Luca concentrated another moment before rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t quite understand. She says the girl was breathing, was sucking air when you caught his Breath. She… she says it wasn’t natural.”
Marta looked from Luca to Isabelle to the Render’s trapped Breath. “Tell me one thing that’s been natural since day one. Soon as we’re clear of here, we bury this, preferably at the bottom of a lake.”
Luca shook his head. “Keep it. In the right hands, it’s worth more than gold.”
“The only person this is worth something to is Graff.”
“Exactly. Who knows what a man will do when you hold his Breath hostage.”
***
Lars snuck them out of Sinton the next morning as dawn still yawned. The four humans hidden in a cart beneath dresses and other sundries, Creature rode on the wagon beside their smuggler. Lars argued the bird would just draw attention and should be disposed of, but one look at Caddie and Marta declared the bird’s safe delivery would be a requisite for the rest of his payment. They rode in stifling silence, the creak of the trundling wagon’s wheels the only distinct noise. They halted a long while at what Marta believed was the east gate, the pause long enough that she suspected their discovery. But then the wagon finally lurched forward, and Marta breathed a sigh of relief as Sinton slowly disappeared unseen behind them.
Lars promised to deliver them to a fellow Covenant Son several miles outside the city, who would in turn provide a route via the Juniper Gap though the mountains to the city of Chisana. From there, they could follow the highway next to the Naupin ley up to Hammond and then on to Ceilminster, but Marta did not have any intention of sticking to this planned route. To do so would spend far too much time traveling surrounded by Covenant Sons, and each moment with them would increase the chance of someone uncovering her brand. So she had every intention of striking off on their own as soon as Lars released them.
If her clenched fists were any indication, Caddie did not care for their means of transport. The moans she made were slight, but Marta could not take any chances and so caught both of Caddie’s hands in her own and soothed her with whispers. Tracing her thumb over Caddie’s woven ring, Marta refused to release the girl’s hands, even after the hours passed and Sinton was long gone. It was her duty to keep the girl safe, she thought, an obligation she would fulfill even if it meant her life.
In fact, keeping Caddie alive at all costs was exactly why Marta must value her own life: she could not keep her daughter safe if she wound up dead.
Marta shook her head at the thought. True, she cared for the girl, but the kid was no kin to her despite Caddie calling Marta mother. Yet the thought of Caddie as her daughter nestled so naturally inside her head that Marta feared she might have what Cildra Whisperers called “a weed.” To them the Mind was a garden filled with blossoming ideas. Without outside influence, the mental garden would either flourish or falter based upon the seeds sown by good breeding and upbringing. But through a Whisperer’s influence, weeds might be planted, outside thoughts inserted to choke out the natural thoughts. Believing themselves influencers and never the influenced, the Cildra therefore taught their progeny how to both recognize and remove these weeds. Finding those intrusive thoughts required sufficient time and silence though. With neither currently at her disposal, Marta pushed the thought from her head.
***
It was early afternoon when the wagon finally stopped, Lars pulling back the false bottom and bathing them in fresh air. Marta heard voices all around, several dozen by the sound of it, and peeked her head outside their canvas cover to take stock.
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The swarm of tents were small and meant for only a few men each, save for the huge marquee tent at the edge of the encampment. Its canvass shown an undyed white, but hundreds of garish bright ribbons and scarves adorned it, and Marta nearly spat when she recognized the Weaver revival. Always seeking Sol in nature instead of the stuffy Render kirks, Weavers frequently held traveling services for the smaller communities that dotted the East. Ready to be rid of the zealots, she paid Lars the remainder of what was owed.
“Don’t know his name, the man who will get you through the next leg,” he told her, “but the circle will lead you to him true.”
Marta nodded with no intentions on trying the circle trick ever again. Just standing among the Weaver adherents and Covenant sympathizers was dangerous enough, and she pulled her slouch hat lower. She was still looking over the landscape around them for a proper escape route when she heard the worst two words in any language.
“Marta? Marta Childress?”
Her identity utterly exposed and end certain, she wanted to run, to flee as quickly as her rabbit legs would allow. Instead, she turned towards the familiar voice to see her former tutor, Evan Mitchell.
Chapter 10
Iulius 28, 559 (Eight Years Ago)
Luca rolled his eyes at his bix sticks. They were inconclusive yet again, but that was because they were simply colored sticks falling in haphazard patterns. This knowledge did not preclude Luca from throwing them each morning, however. Back home, Luca disdained them as an ignorant diversion only useful in relieving gaji of their lucre. But separated from his Ikus kin by half a continent, Luca took to throwing them each morning. As with every throw those last two weeks, Luca inquired if he would be allowed to take the final test for his white armband, and as with every throw those last two weeks, the sticks remained inconclusive.
He earned his blue band his next session, properly using only the stances demonstrated under the school’s roof. In so doing he lost an equal number of matches as he won, but the accrual of wins and losses did not matter to Laszlo in the least, only Luca’s adherence to their teaching. And so Luca obediently took his licks and earned his blue band.
The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2) Page 10
