A Magic of Dawn

by S L Farrell

  Nico took a step. Another. He crossed the threshold of the place he had been forbidden to enter again as téni, and as he did so, he let his cloak slide from his shoulders to the ground, revealing the green robes of a téni underneath.

  He would take back his title and his rights. He would be téni again, as Cénzi had told him to be.

  The interior of the temple seemed brighter than the dawn outside, the flames of the braziers around the sides of the space sending heat and light shimmering up the fluted walls and gleaming in the polished marble of the floor. He stood ensconced in gold and warm browns, breathing an air spiced and fragrant and achingly familiar. He lifted his head looking up to the dome far above at the end of the long aisle.

  There were people moving there, scurrying under the beauty of the fresco like mice: a group of téni, with the green-trimmed golden robes of A’Téni ca’Paim just behind them, Commandant cu’Ingres at her side and gardai spreading out along the walls to either side. Nico could hear someone behind him—Liana, he thought—beginning a chant, and he held up a hand.

  “Hold!” he said. “There is no danger here for the Faithful. There’s no danger here for me.” With the temple’s fine, legendary acoustics, he could hear his words whispering to the farthest corners.

  “How dare you!” The words sliced harsh and bitter through the temple. A’Téni ca’Paim stepped forward on the raised steps of the quire, standing next to the prow of the High Lectern as if she were about to ascend and give a stern Admonition to the assembled Morellis. “How dare you step into the temple wearing the robes that were taken from you by the Archigos himself? How dare you come into this holy place after you’ve just murdered dozens outside? You are damned in the sight of Cénzi, Nico Morel, and I will have your tongue and your hands for this outrage!”

  “My tongue and hands?” Nico responded. His voice sounded deep and rich after the shrill, breathless outcry of the older woman. “My tongue speaks the words of Cénzi Himself, A’Téni, and my hands hold His affection. They are not yours to have. They will never be yours.” He advanced down the aisle toward her, still talking. He could see the gardai along the walls, armed with bows, and he saw them fit arrows to their strings. He smiled. “I have listened to Him,” Nico said, “and He has told me that the time has come for me to reclaim my place, and that if you, A’Téni, or Archigos Karrol himself, will not see the truth of what I say, then He will cause you to curse your blindness and wail as the soul shredders tear your imperfect souls from your bodies.”

  “You threaten me?” ca’Paim sputtered. “Here in my own temple, in front of Commandant cu’Ingres and my staff? You’re a fool as well as a heretic.”

  “I don’t threaten,” Nico told her, still walking forward. He could hear the creaking of leather bowstrings under tension. His voice was calm. His voice was kind. His voice held a full measure of sympathy and understanding. “I give you a last chance, A’Téni, a chance to see the error of your thinking, to go to your knees and give the sign of Cénzi and ask Him for forgiveness.”

  Nico thought for a moment that she had heard Cénzi in his voice, that she—finally, belatedly—understood. A’Téni ca’Paim said nothing. She stood there, her mouth open, and Nico saw her body trembling as if she were possessed of a fever. Her face lifted for a moment to cu’Brunelli’s dome above her, to the images painted there. Under the heavy, gold-threaded robes, her legs seemed to give way, to bend, and Nico thought that she would go to her knees there.

  But the trembling ceased, and she stood straight again. “No,” she said aloud. “I will not.”

  Nico sighed sadly. “I’m genuinely sorry for that,” he said. He lifted his hands. He began to chant.

  “No!” ca’Paim, and this time it was a shout. “You are forbidden to use the Ilmodo. Stop him!” she said to cu’Ingres, and the Commandant gestured. Bowstrings sang their deathsong, and Nico heard Liana cry out in fear.

  But it was already too late. Nico gestured, full of Cénzi’s power, and the arrows went to fire and ash before they could touch him. A wave—visible in the air—rippled outward from him in a great arc to the front and sides, and what it touched, it destroyed. Pews lifted and were hurled as if by a hurricane wind, slamming against walls and gardai alike. The plaster on the walls cracked, the fire in the braziers guttered and nearly failed.

  And on the quire, the téni attendants, A’Téni ca’Paim, and Commandant cu’Ingres were also tossed and thrown. Nico saw ca’Paim’s body hit first the railing at the back of the quire, breaking it into splinters, then a sickening, dull clunk as her head collided with one of the columns. Her body slumped to the floor; blood smeared all the way down the column.

  The spell passed, vanishing as if it had never been there, and Nico shivered for a moment in the cold and normal exhaustion of spell-casting. The interior of the temple was silent except for the moaning of injured gardai and téni. Cu’Ingres was trying to regain his feet, though from the way he cradled his left arm, it must have been broken. Ca’Paim did not move at all, and Nico knew then that she never would, nor would several of the gardai and téni. His eyesight wavered with tears: such a tragic, but necessary, waste . . . “May the soul shredders be kind to you,” he whispered toward ca’Paim’s body. “I forgive you your blindness.”

  Liana came up to stand alongside him, her arms supporting him as the weariness of using the Ilmodo this strongly trembled his legs, and he could hear the others entering as well. Nico looked at Ancel and pointed to the Commandant. “Take him,” he said, “and bind his wounds. Have the healers among us look at him and the others.” He spat directions to the others. “Liana, make certain that the main doors are barricaded and barred. Tell our people to use whatever they can. You, and you—clear the plaza of our Faithful and get the the war-téni inside. You three—secure the rest of the doors into the temple once everyone’s inside. Everyone else, let’s clean up this place and make it a fit House for Cénzi again . . .”

  He watched as his followers began to move. Then Nico sank to his knees and clasped his hands to his forehead in the sign of Cénzi, and he prayed.

  The first step back had been taken. Now would come the rest of the journey.

  Brie ca’Ostheim

  “RHIANNA, I WANTED TO TALK WITH YOU . . .”

  Rhianna put the quartet of tashtas she was carrying on the bed, smoothing the fabric of wrinkles—she and the domestiques de chambre had been tasked by Paulus with packing Brie’s clothing and essentials for the trip to the army’s encampment, and several trunks were scattered about the room, half-filled. The two other servants—older women who kept the Hïrzgin’s bedchamber and attended to her needs there—continued to work after curtsying once to Brie. They pretended to ignore her presence with the long practice of servants at being invisible when required.

  “What did you want, Hïrzgin?” the young woman asked, brushing her hands on her apron and tucking a strand of her black hair behind an ear. She seemed guileless enough, but Brie had been watching Jan and Rhianna whenever the two were in the same room with her, and there was no doubt in her mind that Rhianna was certainly someone that her husband would bed if the opportunity presented itself. But she was relatively convinced it hadn’t happened yet. There was a skittishness to Rhianna whenever Jan was around, and she always kept herself a careful arm’s length from him. She didn’t act like someone who was already on intimate terms with him. Still, it was familiar, this dance; Brie had seen it too many times before: sometimes with servants, sometimes with one of the court ladies. Yet this time it was different, too. Rhianna didn’t seem as eager as the others to be caught, and that both pleased and worried Brie. She wondered what it was that Rhianna would want from Jan in return for the pleasures of her body, if she prized the gift so highly.

  “I’ve been considering whether I should have you remain with the children here at Stag Fall,” Brie told her. She watched Rhianna’s face carefully. Yes, there was the hint of a frown, even though she tried to disguise it by wiping her brow with
a sleeve.

  “Paulus said that I would be going with the staff to the encampment,” she answered, and Brie smiled at her.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know. But you’re so good with the children, Rhianna. Elissa especially likes you, and the nursemaids will have their hands full.”

  Rhianna’s face was impassive. Carved from stone. The domestiques de chambre kept their heads down, intent on their own tasks: invisible. Brie knew that they had heard this conversation played out in one form or another before as well. “Whatever the Hïrzgin wishes, of course,” Rhianna said, but the response was slow in coming and toneless.

  “Unless, of course,” Brie continued, “the Hïrzg would rather you were with us.”

  Rhianna’s head came up, her eyes widened, and Brie felt the sickness tighten in her stomach. Such a strange look: fear and anticipation all at once, as if she doesn’t know what she wants . . . Brie kept the well-practiced smile on her face.

  With Mavel cu’Kella, with the servants Maria and Greta, with the other women she’d known about, the decision would have been easy. Had Rhianna been like one of them, Brie would have her remain here, then dismiss her on her return. When lovers became too close to Jan, too bound up with him, they became a danger to Brie as well. With Rhianna, it wasn’t clear yet what was going to happen. Perhaps that’s better. If I sent her away, then Jan would just find someone else: someone I might not know about for too long. At least with Rhianna, I know who to watch, and I can always end it. She’s just one of the unranked, after all . . .

  Brie nodded, as if to herself. “I’ll talk with the Hïrzg,” she told Rhianna. “I’ll ask him what he thinks.”

  The girl nodded. “I’ll . . .” She cut off whatever it was she might have said. “I should finish the packing in the meantime,” she said.

  “Yes,” Brie told her. “I’ll leave you to that.”

  She wouldn’t talk to Jan. She would allow the girl to come along as Paulus had wished. And she would watch.

  She would watch very carefully.

  Allesandra ca’Vörl

  A ’OFFIZIER PIERRE CI’SANTIAGO was obviously uncomfortable with the news he brought to Allesandra. Under curls of raven-black hair matted and unruly from the pressure of his uniform cap, now twisting in his hands, ci’Santiago’s gaze kept sliding away from Allesandra’s face like feet on slick ice. A glance toward the windows, then off to the painting of Kraljica Marguerite in its place over the mantel. Ci’Santiago seemed to shudder momentarily at the sight of Marguerite, perhaps remembering the madness of Kraljiki Audric years ago. “The Commandant has been captured by the Morellis.” Back to her, his eyes widening, then away again. “We’re not certain of his condition, but the body of A’Téni ca’Paim as well as those of several other téni and gardai were delivered to us.” Back, and this time moving down to his own feet. “The war-téni who had failed to ride with the Garde Civile force you sent to Villembouchure were there. All of them, when it was thought that they had fled the city rather than serve. Neither Commandant cu’Ingres nor A’Téni ca’Paim could have foreseen that.”

  “No? Is that what you think, A’Offizier?” Allesandra asked. Her stomach burned as if she had swallowed a hot coal. “Isn’t anticipating the movements of the enemies of the state the Commandant’s job? Isn’t anticipating the movements of the enemies of the Faith the task of A’Téni ca’Paim?”

  Ci’Santiago swallowed hard. “Well, yes, I suppose it is, my Kraljica, but . . .”

  He stopped, as if uncertain what to say next, and she waved aside whatever objection he was concocting. She wished that Sergei were here—the man might be twisted and dangerous, but there wasn’t a better tactician in either of the Gardes. And if not Sergei, then Commandant ca’Talin, who was directing the action at Villembouchure. The attack on the Old Temple begged for leadership of the Garde Civile, leadership she suspected she wasn’t going to see from ci’Santiago.

  “So A’Téni ca’Paim, my good friend and the leader of the Faith here, is dead,” she said before ci’Santiago could comment again. “And Nico Morel and his riffraff hold the Old Temple. What do you intend to do about that, A’Offizier, now that it would seem that you are in charge of the Garde Kralji?”

  Ci’Santiago shook his head. “Kraljica, retaking the Old Temple would be costly in lives and perhaps in damage to the structure itself. With the war-téni and other téni Nico Morel has at his disposal, a frontal attack is nearly impossible. I have people contacting the architect cu’Brunelli for his architectural drawings of the temple, so that we can perhaps plan an attack from an unexpected quarter, but it may well be that the téni Morel has with him know the hidden ways of the Old Temple—especially the ancient sections of it—as well or better than cu’Brunelli, who after all was concerned mostly with the dome and the main temple area. We’re also looking for old maps or texts in the Grande Libreria as well. I’ve surrounded the Old Temple and the attached complex with my people. The Morellis have trapped themselves. They can’t escape and we will also keep out his people and food supplies, though the kitchens of the Old Temple complex were undoubtedly full.”

  “So you’re telling me that he’s won, that the best we can do is lay siege to the Old Temple and hope to starve out the Morellis. One day maybe months from now. You’re telling me that, a quarter turn’s walk from the palais, we no longer control one of the most important buildings in the city?”

  Ci’Santiago heard the heavy sarcasm in her voice. His gaze flittered away again. “To some degree, that’s an accurate assessment, Kraljica,” he said. “Unless you can commit some of the chevarittai and the Garde Civile to this, the Garde Kralji doesn’t have the resources to deal with this large and this powerful an insurrection.” He finally looked at her face again, and this time his gaze was hard and unblinking. “I’m simply being honest, Kraljica. I wish it were otherwise.”

  She sighed. “I know. What does Morel want? Have we received demands from him yet?”

  “His demands were pinned to A’Téni ca’Paim’s robes,” he answered, almost apologetically. He reached into a side pocket of his uniform jacket and handed a folded piece of parchment to Allesandra. She unfolded the stiff paper; the writing there was clear and bold, in a fine, small hand.

  To Archigos Karrol, Kraljica Allesandra, and Hïrzg Jan—Cénzi will wait no longer for the Faith to come to its senses and return to His teachings. He has demanded that I be His Voice and His Hand, and I am but His humble and obedient servant. Up until this moment, I had obeyed the unfair and misguided restrictions that the Archigos and the Faith placed upon me. I had not used the Ilmodo, I had not worn the robes I had earned, I had not represented myself as a téni or even as a member of the Concénzia Faith. But Cénzi has ordered me to throw off the chains you would place around me and serve Him as He wishes.

  I have obeyed.

  Know that A’Téni ca’Paim’s death was her own fault for having attempted to defy Cénzi’s will; neither I nor any of my people intended her death. It was Cénzi who called her back to His arms. Commandant cu’Ingres has been injured, but my people are caring for him and we will do no further harm to him, nor to any of the other prisoners in our charge. If some of these captives die of the injuries they’ve already sustained, we will return the bodies so that their families can grieve and bury them; those who are healthy and those we are still caring for will, unfortunately, need to remain here for the time being, as I’m sure you can understand.

  All of you must be curious as to what I hope to gain by this. I personally hope to gain nothing; I leave it to Cénzi to tell me what He wants of me. What He has said is this:

  1) Those who have participated in today’s acts will not be prosecuted or punished for their actions, which were necessary because the Faith turned blind eyes and deaf ears to the pleas of those who saw the Faith falling away from the true teachings of the Toustour and the Divolonté. We weep for the death and injury that has been caused, and we wish it did not have to be so. But when those in authority no lo
nger obey the tenets they have pledged to uphold, they must be cast down. If that requires violence, then Cénzi will bless those who do His bidding.

  2) The seat of the Faith must return to Nessantico where it properly belongs.

  3) Archigos Karrol must step down; a Concord A’Téni will convene immediately to elect a new Archigos for the Faith.

  4) No heretical views will be tolerated within the Holdings nor the Coalition. Those preaching such views will meet the justice of the Faith. All secular cooperation with groups such as the Numetodo will immediately cease. Those heretics who recant their ways and accept Cénzi will be forgiven; those who do not will quickly meet Him.

  5) The Concénzia Faith does not concern itself with secular affairs except where such conflict with the tenets of the Faith. Thus, the Faith does not care that Kraljica Allesandra remains on the Sun Throne or that Hïrzg Jan bears the crown of Firenzcia. However, both Kraljica Allesandra and Hïrzg Jan must acknowledge the supremacy of the Faith in all matters that impinge on the Toustour and the Divolonté, or the Faith will cease to cooperate with them. No téni will be allowed to assist them in any way: the war-téni will not fight with their armies; the light-téni will not illuminate their streets; the utilino will not patrol with the Garde Kralji nor the Garde Brezno; the lower téni will not toil in the industries of the state.

  These five demands are not open to negotiation. They reflect Cénzi’s Divine Will and will not—can not—be abrogated. If any of these demands are not met, then the wrath of Cénzi will fall upon you as it has A’Téni ca’Paim.

  We await your replies.

  The document was signed with a bold flourish: Nico Morel.

  Allesandra folded the paper again, staring at it in her hand, resisting the temptation to crumple the document and toss it into the fire in the hearth. “Well, the young man is certainly arrogant enough,” she commented. Ci’Santiago said nothing. “I’ll have Talbot make a copy of this for Hïrzg Jan and Archigos Karrol and send it by fast-rider to them. They might be amused. They’ll undoubtedly be terrifically entertained by the fact that Morel could take over the Old Temple and we seem to be unable to root him out.”