Speaking felt like pushing words through a meat grinder, but he managed to rasp out, “Even if she wanted to, she can’t. We were still trying to retrieve it when you pulled us out.”
::You mean—all that for nothing?::
I’m lying, old man. Vargo kept his eyes on Ren. He wanted to scream. To run. To tear the clothes and then the flesh from his body, as if that would rid him of this fever. It was all he could do to hold himself together; selling the lie would be up to Ren.
She gazed steadily at Diomen. “Truly, Pontifex, I understand. I—I wanted to prove to myself that I was not afraid, after what I went through last year. Is that not the path of the Praeteri? We must master ourselves.”
“The Gate of Fear is one of the Great Mysteries,” he said in a forbidding voice. “You are not yet prepared for it.”
Another curtsy. “As I have learned, Pontifex. In the future, I will seek your guidance before I try any such thing.”
Somehow she turned that curtsy into a sidestep that got her past Diomen. Tanaquis said, “Right now, I think the only thing we should be seeking is a physician for Vargo. Renata, hopefully your report on your experiences will be more satisfactory than his tend to be.”
If Diomen had tried to stop them, Vargo would have lost the internal battle not to kill him right there. But instead the Pontifex’s gaze swept across the chamber, toward the numinat Vargo and Tanaquis had crafted. Lines that glittered like aža arced across it, tracing out the shape of a labyrinth.
“Go, then,” he said, his expression unreadable. “I must clear that blasphemous mess away. And then, Sister Renata, you and I will speak again.”
Old Island and Whitesail: Canilun 15
Renata waited until they were well away from the temple entrance and she was sure Diomen wasn’t following before she said, “Tanaquis, please forgive us for lying, but the Pontifex…”
“Was behaving very strangely,” Tanaquis agreed. “But if you were lying—does that mean you got your medallion back?”
Vargo gave a minute nod when Renata looked at him. His feverish gaze was full of questions, but Suncross wasn’t the place to answer them.
“We did,” Renata said. “And—forgive me—we need your help still. Vargo’s the one who retrieved it. When he gives it back to me… I fear the same affliction that struck the whole Traementis register will strike him, too. Can you remove it, as you did for us?”
That brought them both stumbling to a halt. “The fuck?” Vargo rasped, while Tanaquis’s mouth curved into a thoughtful frown.
Renata could almost see the gears spinning in triple time as Tanaquis thought. “Back to my house,” Tanaquis said finally, with a decisive nod. “With a stop at an apothecary for some medicine.”
There was no opportunity for conversation on the skiff ride to Whitesail. Vargo was too busy being sick over the rail, while Renata held on to make sure he didn’t pitch over completely. Between retches, he mentally begged Alsius not to leave him alone, while Alsius perched on his shoulder, telling Vargo he wasn’t going anywhere and not to be silly.
“Do you have your cards?” Tanaquis asked after they’d heaved Vargo over the threshold into her parlour. “Of course you do. Excellent. Draw—hmmm—three, while I see to this matter.” She began tracing a numinat for the tonic she’d purchased on the way back.
The prayers were a calming litany in Ren’s mind. Kiraly, Anoškin, Varadi, Dvornik, Meszaros, Stretsko, Ižranyi: all the Vraszenian ancestors invoked in the wheel that nameless szorsa had laid out. Who had that woman been?
When Tanaquis finished her work, Renata showed her the cards. “For where we stand, The Mask of Ashes—destruction. For our path, The Face of Balance, which is justice and order. And the destination is The Laughing Crow.”
“Isn’t that an ostretta?” Tanaquis said, frowning.
“It’s the card of communication. I imagine the ostretta is named for it.”
“Fascinating. I’ll get to work.”
Vargo had finished swallowing the contents of the tonic bottle. He lurched forward with a mumbled offer of help, but Tanaquis pushed him prone with minimal effort. “This is my third time—fitting, really. I’ll go faster on my own.”
Taking the three cards, Tanaquis disappeared up to her garret. Zlatsa appeared in her place; Renata scribbled a note on the back of some scrap paper Tanaquis had left in the parlour, then gave the maid instructions to take it to Traementis Manor, for Tess’s hand only. Zlatsa mumbled some Vraszenian curses Renata could be presumed not to understand, wrapped herself in a shawl, and went out.
Leaving Ren alone with Vargo, whose eyes were now bright with stimulants as well as fever.
“Well, that plan went wrong at just about every stage.” His voice sounded thin, as though he was fighting off a nervous laugh. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the bronze medallion and set it on the table next to him with an ominous thunk. “Care to tell me what the fuck I blundered into?”
“You weren’t supposed to,” Ren said in a tired whisper, sinking down onto the floor next to him. Afternoon sunlight blazed through the windows; the whole morning had come and gone while they were in the dream. “That medallion… it used to belong to House Traementis. Letilia stole it when she left; it was among the jewels I took from her when Tess and I fled Ganllech. It’s—well—cursed.”
Alsius scuttled down Vargo’s arm and was circling the medallion warily, rising and falling in sharp movements as though a fingerbreadth of extra height would give him better perspective. ::It makes no sense. I don’t recognize this sigil at all. And… am I counting the number of sides correctly? Eleven?::
“There’s a lot more that doesn’t make sense. When I held it, I saw…” Vargo’s hand hovered over the medallion, then withdrew. “You were going to take this curse on? Again?”
“Compared to letting it stay in the dream, or risking someone else being struck by it? Yes.” She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. It wouldn’t help the chill inside, and it would only make Vargo wonder. When I held it, I saw… As Ren had seen, on the Night of Bells. Insights into the people around her, granted by the power of the medallion.
Before Vargo could say the obvious, she added, “I have no intention of keeping it. But destroying it will take some doing, and in the meanwhile, my own custody is the safest place for it.”
::It’s only bronze,:: Alsius said. ::Melting it shouldn’t be difficult. Unless you’re implying that whoever made it also imbued it for resilience?”
Vargo scowled at the medallion, with its odd, twisted triangles, joining up in ways that defied the normal logic of geometry. “What the hell is this thing? I feel as if it’s operating like a Praeteri numinat, but it has a sigil. And why make something with eleven sides? Eleven’s meaningless. Eleven is—”
She arrived there the same instant he did. “Beyond Illi.”
Illius Praeteri.
Ren swallowed down a sick feeling. “I don’t know how it was made, or where it came from. But that—that’s a piece of Kaius Rex’s chain of office.”
The creaks of Tanaquis’s footsteps above were the only sounds in the parlour. Carefully, Vargo scooped up Alsius and moved him away from the medallion.
“I didn’t know when I lost it,” Ren added, helplessly. “I thought it was an ordinary pendant. When I found out…”
“You started trying to get it back.” Vargo dug around in his pockets until he found a handkerchief, then used it to mop the sweat from his face.
She didn’t want to pile even more on him, and she didn’t want to betray Grey’s trust, either. But given their encounter with Diomen, their involvement with the Praeteri, and what Vargo had told her that day at the Charterhouse, there was one thing he had to know. “Ghiscolo has one as well. Or rather, I fear he has two now, Quinat and Sessat. What he did to you—he used a medallion to do it.”
“I think this is the part where I say I’m going to be ill.” Vargo meticulously folded his sweat-damp cloth. “But I’ve expelled
everything there is to expel.”
::Ghiscolo has one of these? Two?:: Alsius’s mental voice was even more unsteady than Vargo’s. ::Do you know how he came by it?::
Ren knew how to read the signs of lying on a human. She hadn’t the faintest idea how to tell if Alsius already knew about this and was pretending otherwise. If he’d been his father’s heir, in line to inherit the leadership of House Acrenix…
Then a tiny whisper of thought slipped out of him, as small and lost as a child’s voice. ::Is this why my brother killed me?::
Vargo cradled Peabody to his chest, the other hand coming up to shield him as though that could protect Alsius from the realization. ::We don’t know—::
::Quinat. Power. It makes sense. Nothing else ever did.::
Footsteps on the stairs warned of Tanaquis’s return. Vargo’s eyes flicked to the medallion sitting between them.
“It’s my responsibility,” Ren said softly. “I’ll welcome your help in dealing with it, though.”
Tanaquis entered before they could say more. “I’m all ready, except for one thing. Vargo, would you take off your shirt?”
“Not without an explanation or a drink,” he said with a ghost of his usual dryness.
“The numinat on your chest that you showed me last year,” Tanaquis said. “Renata told me it binds you to some kind of spirit. I need to study it to see if the effects of the medallion could bleed through to the spirit—and if so, whether it needs to be included in the cleansing.”
Vargo didn’t look in Renata’s direction, but she heard Alsius sputtering. ::You told Tanaquis about me?::
::In fairness,:: Vargo thought back at him, ::I was Ren’s enemy at the time.:: Out loud, he said, “I suspect it would be better to cleanse us both.”
“Yes, but without a body—”
Sighing, Vargo extended his hand, Peabody balancing atop his palm. “His body is right here.”
Tanaquis blinked. “Your spirit… is a spider.”
“Something like that, yes. Can we get this done so I can go collapse in my own bed?”
She pursed her lips, then nodded. “But when you’re feeling better, I have several questions I would very much like answered.”
Don’t we all, Ren thought, and followed them up the stairs.
Whitesail, Upper Bank: Canilun 15
With two previous rounds under her belt, Tanaquis went through the process even faster than Renata expected. The only variation was that she had Vargo place the medallion to serve as the focus, then had Renata remove it when everything was done.
For an instant before she picked it up, she wondered, What if no one did? At this moment, thanks to Tanaquis’s work, nobody had a connection to the medallion. Could they simply get rid of it somehow?
Except that even moving it would mean someone touching it—she had no reason to think gloves or tongs would provide spiritual protection—and if it stayed on the floor of Tanaquis’s workroom, it might end up in the hands of the maid, or a burglar, or it would default to Tanaquis’s ownership by virtue of being in her house. Renata didn’t understand the nature of the medallions enough to risk it.
Still, her hand trembled as she reclaimed it.
“May I see that?” Tanaquis asked as Renata’s fingers closed around the bronze. “Only to see—I won’t touch.”
The Rook’s caution twinged inside her. But with the medallion affecting her awareness, she knew that all Tanaquis wanted was to understand the harmony of the cosmic system. This was an unusual piece of it; of course she wanted to study it.
Tanaquis absently wiped chalk dust off onto her surcoat as she peered at the medallion, leaning from side to side to study the simple etching in the light. “Fascinating,” she murmured, as Renata had known she would. “Are you aware of what this is?”
She could lie; Vargo, sitting on the floor with Alsius cradled in one hand, wouldn’t call her on it. But the Rook hadn’t succeeded yet in destroying any medallions. He might be right that he needed to start with Illi-zero, or that it would require the whole set… but it might also be that destruction required a greater understanding of numinatria than either of them had. “It’s a piece from Kaius Rex’s chain of office.”
Tanaquis straightened abruptly. “That’s a piece of Nadežran lore not many Seterins would know. Yes, you’re right—see, there are marks on the sides, where it used to be joined to other pieces. I’ve read a great deal about his chain—or at least everything I believe has been written about it. But I meant the sigil in the center.”
“I’m no inscriptor, and I never studied Enthaxn beyond what was required by my tutors,” Renata said, in lieu of saying all she couldn’t: that if Vargo and Alsius didn’t recognize the sigil, she was hardly likely to; that if the Rook knew, he hadn’t shared that knowledge.
Tanaquis dismissed her explanation. “That wouldn’t have helped. This predates ancient Enthaxis and was anathema to its people. The faithful of the Ilumve were assiduous in destroying any records pertaining to it, casting that knowledge into the darkness to rot.” At Renata’s puzzled frown, she added, “Ilumve is the Enthaxn name for the Lumen.”
::Ridiculous,:: Alsius muttered uneasily. ::She can’t possibly mean that’s—::
“Primordial.” Vargo’s voice caught on the word, and Renata didn’t think it was due to any illness.
The Primordials: the nameless, demonic forces subdued by the gods, exiled to outside the bounds of reality. Their influence still bled through into the world, usually in small ways… but every so often, their power broke forth in stronger form.
Like when the entire Ižranyi clan died, leaving the city of Fiavla an empty, haunted ruin.
Oblivious to their reactions, Tanaquis kept talking, in her usual lecturing tone. “The eleven-sided figure gives it away. Eleven is the number of the Primordials, though whether that’s literal or simply a way of saying ‘beyond the gods we know’ is a matter of some debate. There used to be sets of artifacts like these, channeling the power of a particular Primordial through the ten numina. The sigil marks this one as from a set dedicated to A’ash. They do have names, you know, even if they’re mostly forgotten. A’ash is the Primordial of desire.”
The medallion fell from Ren’s hand.
Tanaquis glanced down at it, then up at Ren. Renata. I have to be Renata.
She clung to that thought like a rope. “It explains the curse,” Tanaquis said, more slowly now, as if realizing that not everyone saw this as an exciting tidbit of history and mysticism. “A Primordial’s power inevitably overwhelms anyone who draws upon it; artifacts of this sort were meant to limit that risk. Inasmuch as an uncontrollable, elemental force can be limited, that is. But even the artifacts carry their own risks. Lose one, and you’ll eventually be destroyed by the same power you called on.”
Warp and Weft. The question Ren had to ask herself. Was she ready for the consequences of joining herself to a Primordial artifact? She’d chosen without understanding… and now it was too late to take that decision back.
She could rid herself of it. Ask Tanaquis to remove the poison of the Primordial’s influence a second time.
She wanted to, so badly that it felt like an unvoiced scream. This was the power she’d felt during the Night of Hells, the storm raging outside the Charterhouse. Not some twisted, Mask aspect of Ažerais. A Primordial. The thought of picking the medallion up off the floor again—tainting herself with the kind of power that had destroyed the Ižranyi, in Fiavla and throughout Vraszan—sinking herself into that mire, knowing what it was—
But her fears from before still stood. Who would have the medallion, if not Ren?
Her cards had promised there might be a chance to purge Nadežra of this poison at last. She had to trust that.
“—nata? Ren.” Vargo’s hand on her shoulder startled her. He must have called her several times before resorting to hissing her real name. Tanaquis’s expression was twisted into a familiar frown—the one she wore after someone made her realize a social miss
tep.
“I’m…” She touched his hand in thanks, but couldn’t find it in herself to lie. She wasn’t all right. She focused on Tanaquis instead, trying to contain her shaking. “If the records were destroyed, then how do you know about this?”
Tanaquis looked offended that someone would question her research. “The Lumen’s light hasn’t burned all writings on this topic. The Pontifex has an impressive collection.”
“The Pontifex?” That burst from Renata and Vargo both.
The force of their reaction rocked Tanaquis back on her heels. “Yes, naturally. I assumed you at least knew, Vargo—you seemed familiar with eisar.”
His fingers dug into Renata’s shoulder, bruisingly hard. “What do you mean?”
“Eisar,” she repeated, as if it were obvious. “That’s why they affect the base emotions—desire, obsession, rage, and so forth. Because they’re emanations of the Primordials. And what are Primordials, if not those emotions unchecked?”
Vargo’s hand fell away, and Ren clapped her own to her mouth. Every time I’ve been in a Praeteri numinat…
She’d never seen Tanaquis look so disappointed. “I was afraid you would react like that. Honestly, people act as though the world will tear apart if you so much as say the word ‘Primordial.’ I’m not proposing to make their worship legal; that’s far too dangerous. Only to understand what they are. They’re a part of the cosmos, even if the gods have bound them beyond the Lumen. Yes, the raw power of a Primordial can be destructive—but that’s why this research with the eisar is so promising! They bring just a tiny fragment of a Primordial’s power through into the world, just as a focus brings a tiny bit of the Lumen’s raw light. The Praeteri have been working with them for years with no ill effects.”
No ill effects… except those Nadežra suffered. Ren felt even more sick.
Vargo echoed her thoughts. “No ill—” His shoulders jerked as though he was stopping himself from grabbing Tanaquis. “You have no idea what the other members have been using these foci for, do you?”
The Liar's Knot Page 56
