“All ambitious men, then?”
The Dobra nodded slightly. “Ambitious in their own way, yes.”
Valentine upturned her hands as if that explained it all. “I still am not privy to exactly what it is you wish to know.”
The question felt risky as Marta sounded it out. “How do we know we don’t carry that black Breath within us now?”
“We could cut you open and find out firsthand,” Clement interjected, chortling at his own joke. “Or you could ask nicely.”
Marta cast another look to Luca. Realizing this, she hated herself for depending upon him again. “Do we, then?”
“Depends if I still can operate them.” Setting down his glass, Clement unclasped a case on the table. “I suspected there was a reason he sent for these. Makes the trapped Breath glow like a nodus in the night.”
Clement produced an odd pair of spectacles. Each individual optic overlaid the eye entirely with a metal fitting attached with the requisite esoteric coiled wires expected of the Tinker trade. Placing the device over his eyes, he set a spark box to the gadget before turning his goggling gaze towards Isabelle.
“Red, yellow, and blue,” he announced as he fiddled with the device’s dials. “All in the proper places. Now to our liar who pretends he’s not Blessed.”
Luca flinched as the man observed him, Clement nodding to himself. “Four this time, a Listener I’d hazard, his Blessed blue at war with the red in his Mind. Never a happy combination, that, but I’m more interested in whatever those items are you carry.” He turned to observe Isabelle. “And she around her neck.”
Clement gasped as he turned his gaze to her, Marta glad when Luca’s lockblade appeared in his hand. She wanted to be immune to the possibility of possession, but there was darkness within her, bred right down to her Cildra core. Her hope held that all ambition had been beaten out of her during the war, but Marta knew some hateful kernel remained, waiting for Clement to give it name. When he did, she would not lift a hand as Luca wisely executed her.
“I’m stained?”
“Of that I can’t hazard to say. No black Breath. At least none as I can see.” Marta’s sigh of relief caught as Clement still stared at her like a specimen on the dissection table. “I understand you are a Shaper. Would you be so kind as to demonstrate your Armor?”
It was an odd request made by an odd little man, and Marta found it odious. “I decline.”
“I’m afraid I must insist. I will not allow Hendrix to appear here if you do not demonstrate your Shaper abilities at once.”
She somehow suspected there was nothing he could do to stop her if she did demonstrate her full Shaper ability, but Marta summoned her cold torch to her hand. Clement watched it a long time before he nodded heartily.
“She is what she says—a Shaper—albeit one with five Breaths—three in the Body and two in the usual spots.”
“Fascinating,” Valentine intoned.
Marta found his declaration far less benign. “Have you ever heard of someone with five Breaths before?”
“Many more than five, but only occurring in glassmen.”
There it was, the man giving voice to the worst monsters on all of Ayr. She thought it telling he suspected her one of them.
“It is generally understood they store their stolen Breaths within their Body and Mind, allowing their unnatural mental abilities and strength; however, none have ever demonstrated a Shaper’s talents before, hence our slapdash exam, or the abilities of a Weaver or Render to influence Breath, for that matter. It’s been theorized, but unfortunately never verified, that glassmen give up their Breath in the Soul when they become glassmen. It’s the Soul that makes us human, so it makes sense on a theoretical level they would be devoid this Breath. Still, I would love to observe a glassman myself and see if this in fact is the case.”
Luca snorted. “I assure you, you would not.”
Marta hardly listened as she pondered. It suddenly made sense why the monstrous glassman could track her. She had called Marta one of their own, probably sensing Marta’s extra Breath. Marta felt no sense of kinship to the abomination, but another idea horrified her as she contemplated what else the monster had said:
“The girl. Caddie. How many does she have?”
As Clement turned towards her daughter with his terrible glasses, Marta did not think as to how this strange weed had found its way into her mental garden, but rather why it had taken her so long to truly see it.
“Seven,” he gasped. “Seven Sol-forsaken Breaths! Three Soul, three Mind, and I can’t even speculate as to what that means!”
Despite being the center of attention, Caddie focused only on her sticks. Yet Marta sensed some agitation there as Clement removed his goggles, intense excitement flashing across his features.
“Caddie, come here.” The girl ignored Marta, gathering up all her sticks and tossing them again. Marta called again, but Caddie still willfully refused her.
Only when Ed entered the room with her father in tow did the child look up.
The intervening years agreed with Orthoel Hendrix, his face unlined and pale. Paying them all no mind, his pale blue eyes, which reminded Marta so much of his daughter’s, turned to his child.
“I see you began the examination without me.”
He spoke in that same clipped, clockwork way Marta remembered. Hendrix had always seemed somewhat detached, but Marta could not hide her sneer when instead of rushing to Caddie, he appraised the adults with his gaze. When it came to her, he paused, something bordering on recognition there.
“We met many years ago at a gathering in Vrendenburg,” she offered, making no mention of her proposal to assassinate him then or her order to do so now. Before her stood the destroyer of the East, and though she had known this moment would come for weeks, his indifferent gaze still got her hackles up.
“You also killed my sister.”
“Odd. I do not recollect killing anyone.” His rebuff carried no more emotion than ordering a meal as Hendrix stepped to the crouched Caddie and gathered her hair in his hand. Running the dark strands through his fingers, his eyes brightened. “This discoloration is an unexpected concomitant. Interesting.”
“We dyed it,” Marta answered, watching his face sour when she did. “But she’s made many improvements along the way. When I first found her, she was locked up in the fugue, but now can walk and talk all on her own. Go on, Caddie, say hello to your father.”
Caddie returned to her bix sticks, and Marta felt a surprising sting of shame. “I assure you, she’s come a long way. It was an emet that did it, an engel. It touched her, and from then on, she was better. Led us straight through a cavern she had no business knowing too.”
Hendrix looked to Valentine, the woman reflecting. “There are those in the Usid tradition that take their ill to emets to cure, and more myths involving engels saving humans than I can properly count. Still, it would be the first case of battle fugue being cured I am aware of.”
“What has she said?” Hendrix inquired.
“Mother,” Marta replied, somewhat abashed. “She called me mother.”
She was about to tell him the other words, but he sucked air through his teeth several times. Marta recalled this as his approximation of a laugh.
“Nonsense, then. The idiot mutterings of an invalid.”
Color flushed Marta’s cheeks, but Clement spoke before she could find her tongue. “She carries seven Breaths within her.”
“Interesting. An additional Breath was part and parcel of the process, but the notion of attracting more… it is not outside the realm of possibility.”
“And the five I carry?” Marta challenged.
Hendrix wheeled upon his former teacher, hand outstretched and demanding the goggles. Marta saw hunger in his eyes before covering them with the Tinker contraption. Adjusting the goggle’s nobs as if he invented them, Hendrix looked her up and down a long while.
“Interesting indeed. When in long enough contact with a magnet,
iron will take on magnetic properties. I would hazard the same principle applies here as well, although it will require more study. In cases of iron, the magnetized metal loses those annexed properties when removed from the magnetic presence. I will offer you two hundred in cash if you will return to us in a week to see if your additional Breath remains.”
“A week?”
“Two hundred,” Ed scoffed.
“Ed will handle the particulars and your initial payment, of course.”
Without another word, Hendrix turned away. Marta did not know what exactly she expected in her impending dismissal, but it was not that. For weeks, she slogged through misery, caring for Caddie the whole way while planning the man’s murder, and still the ignorant fool possessed no clue nor care how close he came to death.
Aware her heart would break upon departing Caddie for the last time, Marta hunkered. A wound always hurt, but it was best inflicted quickly since the agony of anticipation always eclipsed the blow itself. She hoped Caddie would show her some sign of their shared affection, but the girl continued gathering her sticks.
“Goodbye, Caddie. I treasured our time and hope you will think on me as I will think on you.”
Hunched and awaiting Caddie’s response, Marta remained long enough for her knees to grumble. As she began to rise, the girl’s hand shot out, the bright blue eyes turned fully upon her. Marta’s budding smile withered with the girl’s words:
“Black. Black, black, and black.”
Caddie’s volume increased until a wail. Marta had seen the girl serene even as Underhill held a knife to her throat and, for a moment, did not know what to do.
Hendrix slapped his hand over Caddie’s mouth. His daughter continued her muffled recitation, her eyes, the same shade as his, boring into Marta.
=Black.
Her odd Armor formed unbidden around her as Marta took the single step, one massive hand snatching Hendrix by his shirt and hauling him up and away from his child.
“Release me—”
“The goggles.” Marta ordered. “Now.”
Eyes hidden behind Clement’s apparatus, Marta could still almost hear the clicking of his clockwork mind.
“A man can see to his daughter however he sees fit.” Marta snuck a glance to see Ed holding a pistol. It aimed down for now, but she suspected that would soon change. “No reason to make a scene when your payment’s in the next room.”
“We’ll go soon as I see them goggles. I’d hate to have gone to all this trouble to deliver Caddie to our ambitious enemy all along.”
Ed’s gaze narrowed as he parsed her words, but Valentine stepped forward. “Reasonable requests all around. What’s best for the child is foremost on all our minds, and I’m sure, once reacquainted with the earth, Mr. Hendrix would be more than happy to oblige your request.”
Marta could recognize the sense to the woman’s words, but it was all she could do to set Hendrix down. She still made sure she remained between him and Caddie as he slowly removed the goggles, his gaze blithely indifferent. When they met years before, a passion rode him like a fever, but now all emotion seemed seeped out of him, leaving only the machine underneath.
She held out her hand for the goggles, realizing only then the Armor encasing her hands would never do for such a delicate device. They were more suited for cracking boulders, claws tipping each giant finger with no reason for existence except to rend flesh.
=Kill.
Marta heard Caddie’s command clear as a kirk’s Solday bell, and judging from the look on his face, so did her father.
Hendrix suddenly spun the goggles by their strap, flinging them as Isabelle did her sling. Marta reached to catch them on reflex and released the man. Soon as she did Hendrix lunged for Caddie and sealed his fate.
The Armor around her moved almost of its own volition, Marta only realizing its intent once the deed was done. She did not begrudge her ethereal extension the decision, only wishing she could have been a more conscious instigator as she caught the man. Her other gauntlet wreathing his head, Marta closed her fist and felt all his brilliance flow between her fingers.
Anger vented and vengeance executed, Marta dropped the detestable body and took stock of the room. Ed wheeled away, his pistol alternating between her and Luca.
“Waer’s servants, all of you! Home Guard agents all along. Played loyal, but proved assassin. Traitor again and again!”
His last words stung the most, but Marta disregarded him as she watched Hendrix’s corpse. His three natural Breaths had already departed his body, their luminance barely visible in the lit room. She paid those no mind, waiting for the black Breath. Each time it appeared before it had burrowed out the mouth, and so she wondered if it would exit the wound she kindly provided it in Hendrix’s throat.
The abomination came as if summoned by her thought, engorging the remains of Hendrix’s esophagus and emerging covered in red. The gore could not eclipse the dark core, however, the Breath hovering there and filling the room with dread.
“Traitor!” Ed punctuated his curse with the pistol blast.
Marta recoiled as the ball embedded into her exposed Breath and the pain engulfed her. But the odd Armor again swallowed the projectile’s momentum, Marta ignoring her injury and Ed’s retreat as she approached the black Breath. With any luck, she could rend it as easily as she had its host.
“No!” Valentine cried with enough force to bring Marta back to herself. “Do not touch it with anger or ambition or greed in your heart! It is through these sins Waer worms her way in. But we faithful will protect.”
Valentine caught Clement’s hand before offering her other to Luca. The Dobra considered, finally snapping shut his lockblade and snatching hers in his. His other he offered to Isabelle, but she refused. Pain traced across his face before extending it in turn to Clement.
All the while they walked, Clement finally claiming Luca’s hand to form a triangle around the prone Caddie. Marta supposed them mad, but as Valentine spoke in increasing intensity, the black Breath quavered.
“You have no hold upon us, and you will find no fertile ground here. You will only find hearts steady as stone, which you will be dashed upon until dead. Mankind is Sol’s chain, linked together against you, and you will find no weakness here. We each carry Sol’s light within us, and with it, we will drive you back into the darkness between the stars that bore you. Begone you whisper, you echo, you insignificance. Begone!”
The thing shot away like a cannon-shot at a spark box’s touch, leaving the six alone. Her Armor bristling around her, still brimming with power, Marta wanted to take the world and tear it in two. Only allies remained in the room, and she rued she had no enemy on which to release her rage. She was an instrument of destruction frustrated without an objective, a musket ball fired into the air never to tear flesh, but instead to die by inches of clinging inertia as it fell to earth. Unable to vent her pique, Marta contained clarity enough to drop the Armor guiding her actions and ideas.
As she did, she looked to the corpse of Hendrix and realized she had done exactly as Carmichael instructed.
Chapter 32
Septembris 4, 566 (One Year Ago)
If capable of rational thought, Luca would have praised Petro for refusing to unbar the door for a clearly incensed individual, but instead cursed his bietala. Summoning every Acwealt and Dobra swear he knew, Luca then invented several more on the spot. Marko soon joined Petro’s as they pleaded for peace, but only when Simza’s voice issued from inside did Luca pause. Falling as silent as Isabelle beside him, he did his damnedest to quell his boiling blood.
“Will you be civil?” Luca was sure the whole wolari could hear Simza’s question in unnatural silence. It made no matter: secrets of any kind were rarer than true love.
“I’ll treat you with the same civility you’ve treated me,” he shot back.
The door finally cracked open, the two bieta waiting with lockblades at the ready. Neither blade was open yet, but Luca paid them no mind as he
stepped up with Isabelle behind him. The men immediately clumped together, blocking him.
“Leave your tshi and woman outside,” Petro hissed.
Luca did not know what to make of that, the idea of him drawing his weapon upon a fellow tribesman as foreign a concept as either Petro or Marko defeating him. He was still blinking and uncomprehending when Simza’s spoke.
“No need for Luca to disarm. He is my right hand, after all. Isabelle will remain outside, however.” Before Luca could object, she went on. “Igaj she may be, but this is Ikus business.”
Luca looked to his companion, Isabelle’s smirk irritating him further. “Get some food if you want. This may take a while.”
The wall of bietas parted, Luca stepping between them to find Simza already waddling away down the entryway towards the parlor. He followed, his subordinates trailing. The upstairs flared with light, and even in his distracted state, Luca noted the rustle of feet above him, surely consisting of the Hammat contingent that paid the bride price.
In the parlor, Simza slumped into a settee as she nodded to Marko. He poured two glasses of wine while Petro lurked behind Luca. The matriarch gestured to a chair, but Luca waved both the seat and wine away.
“You sent me away.” The coldness in his voice surprised even him. “I was your right hand, day and night, for eight years, yet you cut me off to marry Jaelle away to some Hammat.”
“You still are my right hand, and Gideon is not just some Hammat. His father is a rabe, sits on the Polis council, an honor Gideon will one day share. As will his wife, Jaelle, binding them forever with the Ikus Cousins in Gatlin. It’s clearly what’s best for Jaelle,” Simza concluded, spearing him with her eyes. “And isn’t that what you have always wanted, Luca?”
Her question stunk of bait, and Luca fought to keep his mouth shut. With a hint of a smile, Simza went on. “She will not bear the burden of matriarch. Instead, will go on to lead a long life in the lap of luxury. And when my days are done, your sister will take over my mantel, and you serve at her side. No longer grubbers, the Dolphus family will lead what was once the wolari for generations to come.”
The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2) Page 31
