Votive

by Karen Brooks

  ‘Friend!’ scoffed Dante. ‘More than that, I lo – ‘Dante stopped himself. ‘Sì. Very close friends. I would do anything for her.’

  Katina reached for his hand, turning it so the ugly gash was facing her. He felt sick looking at it. ‘That is what I’d hoped you would say. That is why I did what I did. For Tallow. Because of the love you bear for her.’ She lifted her own hand and, wincing, peeled off her riding glove. Slicing through an old jagged wound was a fresh one. It began to bleed again. Thick drops of red splashed onto the ground and were immediately absorbed.

  Dante’s mouth dropped open. ‘You have a fresh Bond? Can you do that, make two Bonds?’

  ‘No. not really. But, you see, I thought –’

  The crunch of leaves nearby startled Katina to her feet. She dropped the glove. Dante clambered upright beside her. Emerging from behind a copse of trees came four Bond Riders. Two were dressed in a similar fashion to Katina, the others in the traditional, long robes, the togati of Serenissian nobiles. Only instead of the usual black, their garments had faded, like everything else Dante laid eyes on, to an ashen hue.

  ‘Damn!’ Katina said through gritted teeth. Dante could tell she wasn’t happy.

  ‘We warned you, Elders. Told you she was not to be trusted,’ cried Santo, triumph on his face. He drew his sword and looked Dante up and down.

  Stefano closed his hand around the hilt of his weapon. ‘And her treachery doesn’t end here.’

  ‘Sì, Santo, Stefano, grazie,’ said one of the older men, pushing Santo’s sword to one side and clasping Stefano’s shoulder briefly as he approached. ‘It seems your stories have a ring of truth after all.’

  Katina dropped to one knee. ‘My Elders, I was on my way to report to you.’

  ‘Were you, indeed?’ said a man with a huge nose and grey eyes. What little hair he had was clinging to his scalp. It too was grey. ‘You have taken your … time.’ He gave a crooked smile that never reached his eyes. His companion’s shoulders shook as if at some private joke. Dante shifted uneasily.

  ‘Sì, Elder Nicolotti. I was but allowing this new Bond Rider to adjust before bringing him to Settlement.’

  ‘And who might this new Bond Rider be, Katina?’ said the other man. He was very tall and, like his peer, reed-thin.

  Behind the Elders, Santo sneered. ‘Tell them who it is, Katina.’

  Dante could feel Katina tense beside him. Despite the wound, his palms became sweaty and his heart skipped a beat.

  ‘Allow me to introduce Dante Macelleria. Dante, this is Elder Nicolotti and Elder Pisano. They are part of the governing body of the Bond Riders, the Council of Elders.’

  Dante bowed awkwardly. The Bond Riders had a Council? He’d always believed that Bond Riders answered to no-one.

  The two men returned his bow with curt nods of their heads. Katina did not bother introducing Santo or Stefano. Dante wondered why Santo’s name seemed familiar.

  ‘I don’t remember requesting that we admit a new Rider to Settlement. Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you not have different orders concerning Signor Macelleria?’

  ‘Sì, Elder Nicolotti.’

  Dante noticed a trickle of moisture running down the side of Katina’s face.

  ‘You mean she was ordered to kill me?’ Dante could stand it no more. Katina had rescued him and he would not see her chastised and humiliated. They were playing games with her, but it was the other two men acting like they’d already won. He thrust his way in front of her. Katina made an exclamation of annoyance and put her hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off.

  ‘No, mi dispiace, Katina, but I’ll have my say.’ He faced the Elders. ‘Katina did follow your orders – well, somebody did.’ He glanced at Santo, who met his gaze with hostility. It became clear just who had been atop the great black horse, who was behind the dragon mask. ‘You see, I was dead. It wasn’t Katina’s fault I was brought back to life. That was Tallow. Tallow, the Estrattore you’re after, she ensured my injuries didn’t kill me. I don’t know how, but she did. Don’t blame Katina. She simply brought me here to serve you.’ He forced his face to remain expressionless; to keep his conflict about what had happened to him from showing.

  The two men locked their eyes onto Dante and he wanted to cower beneath their intensity. He could feel their fury and confusion lash him.

  ‘In future, do not speak until spoken to, ragazzo,’ spat Elder Nicolotti. Then his eyes slid to Katina. ‘Is what this young man says true? Did the Estrattore save him?’

  Katina thrust Dante back into position beside her, squeezing his shoulder in thanks before answering. ‘Ask Santo. He rode Dante down. We all thought he was dead – he should have been. His injuries were grave.’ She paused.

  Knowing they were waiting for him, Santo grunted agreement.

  ‘But when I went to check, to make sure, I saw he wasn’t. He not only had a pulse, his wounds were starting to heal. I knew then that Tallow must have done something, given him something.’

  ‘But you could have acted then, Katina Maggiore. At that point, you could have followed orders.’

  Dante held his breath.

  ‘I could have, but there were too many … witnesses.’ Dante could hear the lie and wondered if the others could too … What is Katina not telling? ‘So, instead, I brought him to us. I … persuaded him to pledge.’

  Persuaded? That wasn’t how it happened. He was unconscious. Indignation rose. Despite the Elders’ warning, Dante opened his mouth to protest. Katina gripped his wrist and squeezed it tightly. He shut his mouth.

  ‘Why?’ asked Elder Pisano. ‘Why did you bring him here, make him one of us? This is not acceptable. It interferes – ‘

  Before he could continue, two more figures materialised out of the nether surroundings.

  Katina gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘No,’ she moaned.

  ‘Alessandro, Debora.’ Stefano acknowledged the two new arrivals as they came to stand beside him. Santo ignored them. The Elders didn’t move, did not greet them either.

  Dante tried to read the faces of the newcomers. Younger than Katina but older than Santo or Stefano, they both looked confused, angry and frightened. Whether their fear was for themselves or Katina it was hard to tell, but their eyes never left her face.

  ‘Why did you bring him here?’ Elder Nicolotti stepped closer.

  Katina released Dante’s wrist, but not before applying a little more pressure. ‘Because of what happened on the bridge, I knew that Tallow would never again trust Bond Riders. Our chance of convincing her to … work for us had passed. She would not come to us willingly. All the good work I did back in Serenissima was undone.’ She shot a look of poison at Santo.

  ‘This young man is the person Tallow trusts above all others. She risked her life for him – in more ways than one. I knew that if we want to bring Tallow into the Limen as you ordered, and get her to aid us in our … recovery, then we need this man. We need Dante. He’s our only hope. The only way to bring him into the Limen was to Bond him. So I did.’

  Dante wondered at her hesitation. Was she concealing information from him or the Elders? He couldn’t tell.

  It didn’t seem to bother the Elders, her apparent dissembling. They looked at each other before studying Dante with renewed interest. He felt their eyes probing him and he wanted to fling his clothes off and wash every inch of his flesh. Oh, how Zia Gaia would laugh at the irony of that. Then, realisation hit him. It took his breath away.

  What had been done to him was worse than death. The dead left behind their old lives and loved ones and, according to the padres, ascended to another realm. Bond Riders could never leave this world: not even when their impious contracts were filled. Once, when the Estrattore were accepted, it was different, they met their obligations and were freed. Now, those who pledged just lurked in the shadows, watching, longing for their old lives and the people who filled them, forever severed from them, forever different. He could never go back – not to the way it was – not to who
he had been. His soul had been ripped from him and was forever imprisoned in a pledge stone.

  He would never be able to see his family again.

  Pushing his misery to the back of his mind, he tried to fathom the undercurrents in the conversation before him. The Elders were whispering with each other, their voices rising and falling, casting looks in their direction. Alessandro and Debora were almost smiling. Only Santo and the man Stefano looked unhappy with what Katina had said. No, not unhappy. Disgusted.

  ‘Bene, Katina Maggiore,’ said Elder Nicolotti. ‘For now, we will accept your story and allow you to return to Settlement. Elder Dandolo and the rest of the Council will want to hear your version of events and see how it tallies with … others.’ He cast a look in Santo and Stefano’s direction. ‘In the meantime, Alessandro and Debora will take care of our latest addition: begin his training. If he is to help us as you claim, he needs to be ready. Already, his horse awaits him.’

  Dante swallowed hard. A horse. His horse. By God. One just tried to kill him and now there’s one waiting for him to ride. What did that mean, anyway? How did it know he was coming? Unless it was just a Bond Riders’ expression. He had so much to learn.

  Dante became aware that Santo had sheathed his sword, his shoulders slumped. Stefano simply stared at him, his countenance inscrutable. Elder Pisano stepped forward and held out his hand. Katina took it in her own and was about to kiss the top of his fingers when, faster than a seahawk swooping on a fish, he clutched hers. Before she could pull it from his grasp, he overturned it.

  The deep, weeping gash blazed. All eyes were drawn to it. Disbelief disfigured everyone’s faces. Dante didn’t understand what he was witnessing.

  Elder Pisano twisted her wrist and, with a small cry, Katina fell to her knees. Dante went to help her, to free her from this man’s vice-like grip, but Elder Nicolotti pushed him aside. Santo drew his sword again, a look of victory on his face. Behind them, Debora and Alessandro crumpled with both despair and alarm.

  ‘By the gods, Katina Maggiore, what have you done?’ Elder Pisano’s voice was like a clarion. Dante began to tremble. He didn’t understand what was happening.

  Katina whimpered. Her face turned ashen.

  Elder Nicolotti stared at the mark and then, before Dante could react, grasped his hand and pulled it towards Katina’s. The slashes were like twin mouths grinning crookedly, making a mockery of the fury, the revulsion of the others.

  ‘You are an abomination!’ Elder Pisano threw Katina’s hand away. She nursed it at her side. ‘You dare to do this? To deliberately flout our rules in this manner? It’s one thing to defy orders, it is quite another to break the law! To interfere so deliberately with everyone’s future.’ He released Dante’s hand slowly. Dante rubbed his wrist.

  Katina, refusing to reply, dropped her head to her chest. Elder Pisano glared at her for one long moment. ‘Get her out of my sight. Now. The rest of the Council will hear about this.’ He spun on his heels and strode away, his togati flaring behind him.

  ‘This changes everything.’ The disgust in Elder Nicolotti’s voice was tangible. ‘Santo, take her into custody.’

  ‘With pleasure, Signor,’ said Santo, and hauled Katina to her feet. She tripped, but he grabbed her shirt so she remained upright. It tightened around her neck like a lariat, the blood from the shirt staining her chin. She was diminished, had become a rag doll in Santo’s hands.

  With a growl, Alessandro stepped forward, but Debora threw up her arm, striking him across his chest, freezing him in his tracks.

  ‘You will answer to us and to the Council for all your crimes, Katina Maggiore,’ said Elder Nicolotti. ‘But I doubt you’ll be forgiven this one. Get her out of here! Stefano, a word.’ He indicated that Stefano should follow him, and strode into the mist, disappearing in seconds. Casting one last look in Dante’s direction, Stefano trailed after him. Santo began dragging Katina away.

  ‘You harm one hair on her body, Santo, and you’ll have us to answer to!’ shouted Alessandro, pushing Debora’s arm out of the way.

  ‘I don’t need to hurt her!’ called Santo, as he faded into the haze. ‘She does that very well on her own.’ His laughter echoed between the trees. Dante winced.

  What just happened?

  ‘Please,’ he said to the two remaining Bond Riders, trying to fill the silence. ‘What was that about? What did Katina do that was so wrong?’ He cupped his hand by his side.

  Alessandro glanced at him and then, as if the sight of Dante caused him pain, went to tend Katina’s mount. Debora stepped forward and took Dante’s hand in her own, once more turning it over so the mark of the Bond showed.

  ‘My name is Debora.’ She nodded towards the man on the horse. ‘That’s Alessandro. We’re Katina’s partners.’

  She ran her thumb gently over the jagged surface of the gash. Dante drew his breath in. The area was tender. Debora wiped her finger on her breeches and shook her head in wonder. ‘Katina has done what no Bond Rider must do.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘She has made an Obbligare Doppio.’

  ‘A double bind?’

  ‘Sì.’

  Dante’s heart began to thump painfully and a chill crept through his body. It left no part of him untouched. He was seized by a violent shudder.

  ‘Why is that so … wrong?’

  Debora placed her other hand over his, covering the mark. ‘Because it pledges Katina to not just her original Bond, but yours as well.’

  Dante shook his head and shrugged. ‘So? I don’t understand.’

  Debora choked back a laugh. ‘So?’ She threw an arm up in the air. ‘Oh, our new companion has so much to learn!’ Tears began to travel down her cheeks. She wiped them away brusquely. ‘Forgive our distress, our anger. This is not your fault, amico mio. Katina knew what she was doing; what the consequences of this would be. She planned this.’ She glanced at Alessandro.

  He led Birrichino over, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I didn’t anticipate anything of the kind. If I had, I never would have left her –’

  ‘This isn’t your fault either, caro mio,’ said Debora.

  Dante waited patiently, but could stand it no more. ‘Please, explain what she’s done. Why she’s in so much trouble.’

  ‘Mi dispiace, Dante.’ Debora sighed and dropped his hand. ‘You know we’re here because of our Bonds, sì?’ Dante nodded. ‘We make a promise that is sealed with our blood and places our souls in the pledge stones. I don’t know when it started, or why. As long as I have lived, so it has been – and I have lived for a very long time.’

  Dante studied her face. She looked no older than his Zia Dulmia.

  ‘How old are you?’

  Debora gave a crooked smile. ‘In Serenissian years? Over three hundred and fifty. I am not sure exactly. In here it doesn’t matter, especially now we can no longer return.’

  ‘Because there are no Estrattore?’

  ‘Esattamente. It used to be that once our pledges were fulfilled, the Estrattore would release our souls. If we chose, we could return to Serenissima and, if time had been kind, pick up what remained of our lives or, if not, start a new one. It depended on how long we’d been Bonded. How long we’d been gone. Now there are no Estrattore, we no longer have a choice. Even so, many of us still try to fulfil our pledges.’ She glanced in the direction Katina had been taken. ‘It’s what drives us; it’s what gives this place –’ she threw her arms out wide ‘– meaning.’

  Her eyes flickered to Alessandro and her cheeks coloured. Dante sensed she was omitting something. ‘Each of us is responsible for our own Bond.’ She paused. ‘But, once an Obbligare Doppio is made, no other Rider can fulfil theirs until this new one is completed. The Bond you and Katina have made now takes precedence over every other Bond, over every other Rider’s need. That’s the nature of the Obbligare Doppio – it’s against the Bond Riders’ code; it breaks every rule because it makes us subservient to something none of us pledged. It means our lives
, such as they are, grind to a halt for your Bond – yours and Katina’s. No other Bond works that way; they are personal, private. We choose to act on them or not. Except this one. This affects us all. We are beholden to you. Our freedom to choose has been taken away.’ She began to cry again.

  ‘I still can’t believe Katina did this,’ said Alessandro, putting a comforting arm around Debora’s shoulders.

  ‘No,’ wept Debora. ‘You can’t believe that she kept her intention from us.’

  Alessandro held Debora tightly. ‘How could she be so damn selfish, so bloody stupid? Now we have to wait for …’ He pressed his lips together.

  Debora tried to pull out of his embrace, but he wouldn’t let her.

  ‘For what?’ Dante urged.

  Over the top of Debora’s head, Alessandro raised his dark eyes to Dante’s. ‘For either of you to succeed and fulfil your Bond or die trying.’

  TARLO MALEOVELLI. THE NAME, like the mellow light coming in from the series of arched windows, took me unawares. I tried it out in my mind, rolled it around in my thoughts, tasted it and didn’t find it nearly as objectionable as I thought. Tarlo. It suited my new look and life; it was a sobriquet that announced my sex to the world, as well my different purpose – whatever that might be. Tarlo. So close to Tallow and yet, I thought, my hands brushing against the silken fabric of my gown, aware of my décolletage and the earrings dangling from my lobes and the cool pearls against my neck, so immeasurably distant.

  I took a few more steps into the room and stopped. Giaconda had taken my arm again and the downward pressure she applied forced me into an awkward curtsy. As I rose, I could see three figures climbing to their feet. I felt momentarily bereft as Giaconda abandoned me in the middle of the huge room.

  Four enormous windows drenched the room in the pastel hues of the afternoon. The floor beneath my feet gleamed brightly. Elaborate rugs were scattered at intervals, their colours fading yet still managing to offer a loud contrast to the geometrical patterns of the wood. I managed to briefly glimpse the ceiling that soared above me. A silent cacophony of cherubs and angels sang in greeting, floating amid a maelstrom of pallid clouds. The cream walls were covered in metal sconces in which sat huge pillar candles at various stages of melting. Tapestries, as discoloured as those in the corridor, hung scrappily between doorways along with leather shields bearing faded coats of arms. The overall impression was one of indifferent luxury such as I had never encountered. I’d often wondered what lay behind the windows of the nobiles’ houses; what the interior would be like. I’d never imagined it to be so vast, so lush, so colourful and yet, so used. The room whispered to me of antique wealth and manners, of business that was, as yet, beyond my ken. It was breathtaking in its richness and decadent as well. So many empty chairs, so many tables that did nothing but display beautiful objects. The painted faces looking down their aristocratic noses from the walls made me feel self-conscious. I didn’t belong here. But then, I didn’t really belong anywhere, not even in Pillar and Quinn’s dark little house either. Within seconds, I had drunk my fill of the room and yet remained thirsty. I had so many questions.