“Rafi shouldn’t have said that, not even to you. Anyway, it’s against the code.”
“Blast the stupid code. Your parents are going to be sent down. Don’t you get it?”
A voice spoke up from the gathering darkness, light and mocking. “Blast the code?”
Naila Roja emerged from the alley, wearing a smile that bordered on a smirk. Iliana was surprised to see her wearing green pants and a white shirt, with her hair pulled back in a clip. A silver clasp held her cloak in place at the throat. Naila was hardly dressed ostentatiously, but neither was there any look of penance about her.
“Spending the night in your parents’ house?” Naila asked. “Or should I say, the house your parents presently occupy? So long as there’s a bed to hide under when the witherers knock at the door, I suppose.” She plucked off a head of garlic from the post. “Unless you think this ridiculous display will scare them away.”
Iliana took the head of garlic from the other woman’s hand and rammed it back in place. “Do you need something, Naila?”
“You’ve already given me plenty.”
Iliana wasn’t sure how much Naila had overheard. Enough to understand that the Diamantes were at risk of being sent down, and then that bit about marrying Carbón, it seemed, but what about Patricia’s comment about the Roja family taking the Diamantes’ position in the Forty? Dammit.
Naila’s expression softened. “Did you know we’re cousins?”
“I have six living cousins,” Iliana said. “You’re not one of them.”
“Not first cousins. Did I say that? No. Third cousins. We share a great-great grandfather. A Roja—bet you didn’t know that, either. Ask your mother her maternal grandmother’s surname, and she’ll confirm.”
Iliana shrugged. “So what? Third cousin doesn’t mean much. Most of the Forty has some sort of connection like that—probably everyone does.”
“Our great-great grandfather. He has hundreds of descendants. I’ve looked into it, and do you know what I found? My family and yours are the only ones still in the Forty. All the rest have either died off or been sent down. From what I can see, more than half of his descendants have fallen all the way to the dumbre. Three, four generations, that’s all it took to wreck them. Sometimes, even faster. My grandfather’s brother dropped from the Forty, to the lower terraces, to starvation in six months.”
“How do you know all of that?”
“How do you not know it?” Naila asked. “Don’t you care?”
Iliana glanced at her sister-in-law, who stood next to the urn containing her husband’s bones. Patricia frowned and rubbed her hands together, looking nervous. Inside the house, Iliana’s mother, nephew, and niece would be trembling in their beds, hoping to survive the horrors of the night. Her sick father was inside, as well, his thoughts perpetually enshrouded in fog. Her own siblings too; tonight, they all seemed vulnerable.
“What do you want, Naila? Why did you come?”
“I came to talk to you.”
“You want to go inside, is that it?”
“No, I want you to return with me to the Quinta. I have some things to show you.”
“It’s late already, and I don’t . . . I was going to spend the night here.”
“What, are you afraid the ghosts are going to get you?” Naila asked.
“They’ll be out tonight,” Iliana said firmly. “Lemures will be at the shutters, and witherers in the alleys.”
“And maybe your lead and garlic and your offering of your brother’s bones will turn them aside. But they won’t be touching me, and if you come with me, they won’t touch you, either.” Naila’s tone turned more conciliatory. “Come on, you have nothing to fear, I promise. And I might have a solution to your problem.”
Iliana wanted to tell her no. Let the lemures drag Naila down to hell, for all she cared. She’d soured on Naila the instant the woman uncovered the boy in Mercado’s garden, and her cutting, almost sneering remarks just now only cemented the impression.
But Iliana was more worried about her family’s financial situation than she’d let on to Rafael’s widow. Mother wasn’t unkind, and she loved her grandchildren. If she had ordered Patricia to return with the children to her family in the Thousand, she must be terrified of their prospects.
Rafael was dead, and Iliana’s family was about to be sent down, as countless others had before them. Many went down. Few ever came back up. Patricia was right about that much.
“Finish up and go inside,” Iliana told Patricia. “Make sure you bar the door, and hang more garlic on the inside, as a final deterrent.”
“You’re going with her?”
“I’ll be back in the morning. And then we’ll figure things out. Try not to worry.”
Scowling, Patricia reached for a handful of garlic and nearly stumbled over the brass urn containing Rafael’s bones.
“Careful you don’t kick that off the porch,” Naila said with a wicked smile. “It’s going to rain tonight, and your husband’s bones will wash down the storm drains and end up back in that tank of filth they found him in.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“That was cruel and unnecessary,” Iliana said as she followed Naila up the alley toward the stone staircase. “Patricia is grieving, and now she’s terrified for her children. Did you have to make a joke of her husband’s bones?”
“She’s soft. Weak in the mind.”
“Not everyone can be as hard as you.”
“Which is why they get sent down,” Naila said. “And that’s what’s going to happen to your family when the money runs out.”
“I don’t even know how much of that is true,” Iliana said. “I’m sure the situation is not as dire as it sounded. Anyway, I’ll figure something out.”
“Going to conjure silver from thin air? Or maybe you’ll help yourself to Carbón’s funds. A lot of coin must pass through your fingers. Maybe he won’t notice if a gold quinta or two goes missing.”
Iliana thought about her idle boast to Rafael the night before he was killed, about how many quintas she’d spent on this thing or that, and a sour feeling curdled in her belly.
They started up the stairs that crawled the side of the cliff in a series of switchbacks. It was darker than when Iliana had come down with the porters, and the footing was treacherous. She took hold of the rope bracketed to the wall.
“I’d never steal from my master.”
“Of course not,” Naila said. “For one, you’re not subtle enough to pull it off—although I’ll give you credit for your foray into the lower terraces. Sounds like you gave the slip to a cabalist or two.”
“I’m beginning to think that you’re one of them,” Iliana said. “You seem to know so much.”
“And when you were caught stealing, it would be you tossed over the cliff next. I know you think Carbón is soft and tender, but every man and woman in the Quinta is ruthless enough, as you saw at Mercado’s party. Did you see that boy? Clawing at the air, absolute terror on his face. No, I wouldn’t risk it, if I were you.”
“I won’t be thieving, I promise you that.”
“Then maybe you think you’ll marry him.”
“No, that’s ridiculous.”
“Good,” Naila said. “That wouldn’t work, either. Believe me.”
The woman stopped near the top of the stairs, and Iliana almost tripped over her in the dark.
“Careful, you fool,” Naila whispered. Urgency had entered her voice. “Listen!”
“I don’t hear anything,” Iliana whispered back. “Only a few barking dogs.”
“Exactly. Listen to them. Show me you’re smarter than that dumb girl who married your brother.”
Iliana listened more attentively. It was the sort of nighttime racket that dogs carried on every evening, and no more notable than the sound of the wind or the creaking of tree limbs. Iliana wouldn’t have even noticed if Naila hadn’t called it to her attention.
The barking dogs were below them, stretching in a chain to
ward the west. Most were distant enough that they were probably the mangy beasts from the lower terraces, although a couple of them sounded higher up. Maybe dogs living by the lower wall. A high yipping, followed by a deep, bellowing bark.
A set of dogs seemed to get in a barking match, and then the noise passed higher, as if someone else’s beasts felt obliged to join the argument. More barking, this time from closer, probably the higher stretches of the Thousand.
“It’s moving faster than I thought,” Naila said. There was a touch of what?—worry?—in her voice.
“Do the dogs know something?”
“They smell it coming. They hear it. Hurry! We’ll reach Torre’s before it arrives.”
Iliana would have mocked Naila’s fears, given the woman’s earlier boasting, but she was too worried by the barking—now growing closer, and increasingly frantic as it spread into the Forty—and by the change in the other woman’s attitude.
There are lemures coming. Witherers. And I’m outdoors instead of behind lead and garlic.
By the Elders, what a fool. Iliana had spent half the afternoon scouring the markets of the Thousand. Piles of tomatoes, potatoes, and carrots had sat untouched on blankets and tables. Apples and achotillos, unweighed, unpurchased. The men selling fish, the women with their baskets filled with dried beans and white corn, ignored. People only wanted onions, garlic, and leeks. The smellier the better.
She’d spent six escudos on garlic already bid up to spectacular prices, then gone back up to the Quinta to secure her master’s house before hauling the rest of the garlic and some unused lead coins down to protect her parents’ house.
And where was she now? Outdoors. In the darkness. And the barking dogs were roaring their alarm and fear from every house and yard.
Naila stopped at the head of an alley and sniffed, then grabbed Iliana’s wrist and dragged her in the opposite direction. It was the wrong way.
“Stop!” Iliana hissed. “There’s no way out of this alley.”
She’d grown up on this terrace, and knew every bit of it. So had Naila, who should know that there was only a manor, a few servant buildings, and the rocky outcrop that served as the natural boundary between the Forty and the Quinta in this direction.
“I never thought they’d make it up this far,” Naila said. “Not tonight, not until later in the week. The wanderers must be higher in the heavens than he thought. Or more closely aligned.”
Iliana had no idea what she was talking about, but she wasn’t going to follow this woman down a dead end. They’d be stuck pounding on the door of a house, begging to be let in.
Better to hurry back to her parents’ house. No, too late for that; the barking dogs were already going off closer at hand. Two dogs ahead of her, a dog back the way they’d come. Run back up the alley, then, and climb as fast as she could to the Quinta. She could be at her master’s house in five minutes, and he’d have guards posted at the gates, no matter what.
One of the dogs, maybe a hundred yards away, gave a strangled yelp and fell silent. Another dog stopped barking abruptly. A third dog, this one in front—oh, God, no—yelped in a panicked frenzy.
Without warning, Naila turned on Iliana, threw her arms around her, and dragged her back against the rock wall lining the alley. Naila groped at Iliana’s arm, yanked back the sleeve of her shapeless, penance-week gown, and pressed her right wrist into Iliana’s hand.
Naila was wearing a bracelet of some kind, smooth and leathery, yet almost rubbery in texture at the same time, like a bat wing. The bracelet felt warm, then almost hot against Iliana’s palm. Her hand tingled, and warmth spread up her arm.
“Be quiet,” Naila said. “Be still. And don’t break contact.”
The warmth from Naila’s bracelet spread down Iliana’s torso and climbed to her face until her scalp itched and her hair seemed to stand on end. The stars above suddenly glittered like thousands of burning jewels, and she could almost see the individual beams of light falling onto the earth. The darkness faded, replaced by layers of shadow, which had earlier seemed a uniform shade of black.
Naila’s breathing roared in her ear, so loud suddenly she could scarcely stand it, and Iliana craned her neck to get away. That brought her a better view of the alley. The air was gray with ambient light, some shadows deeper than others, with only a whisper of gaslight coming from their left providing any real illumination.
Her flesh crawled, and a scent prickled her nostrils. The tang of coal dust, followed by rot. She’d smelled that a week ago, in Carbón’s mines. Her heart was thumping so hard now that she could hear it.
A shadow moved. It slithered along the ground, first snake-like, then like flowing tar oil that sank into the ground only to bubble back to the surface a few yards away. Something that looked like the smoky trail of an extinguished candle leaked from the shadow and dissipated in the air. And all the while, the shadow was coming toward them.
A second shadow, a third. Then a fourth. All oozing, all leaking that strange smoke-like substance.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Whatever strange device Naila pressed into her palm was making her hallucinate. The warmth, the changing light, the smells, and this horrible shadow, all her imagination. Like too much black apple, or a bad batch of hash.
Yet her thoughts were perfectly clear, and she knew that the doubt was only her mind’s terror, looking for some way to escape what was confronting her. Witherers. And the first one was almost upon them.
It flowed from the ground and up the wall in front of Iliana, who remained motionless, holding her breath, begging her heart to stop that noisy, come-find-me pounding, louder in her ears than one of de Armas’s war drums.
The thing materialized, changing from shadow, to smoke, to something black and inky and shape-shifting. A face, long and cruel like a wolf’s. Then eyes—all eyes, everywhere. Finally, a man, but with a mouth three times too large, and a forked tongue that snaked over fang-like teeth.
Iliana could no longer hold her breath. It roared out, then drew in again in a raggedy gasp.
The witherer sniffed. The smell of coal and swamp gas filled the air.
Naila, still holding Iliana in her grasp, had kept her breathing slow and steady. Iliana tried to emulate her.
The witherer leaned closer. Sniffed again. Multiple arms—if the shadowy, eel-like appendages could be called arms—twisted out as if to grasp the two women. Its mouth opened wider, then wider still, and Iliana stared into it. Not one forked-like tongue, but a whole nest of them. Slimy black oil dripped from its teeth. And down its gullet, a blackness darker than anything she’d seen in the mines. The smell of coal, overpowering.
And then the creature faded. Bled into the wall. Disappeared into shadow, then slithered away across the cobblestones, still leaking smoke, still smelling of coal dust and tar. It vanished, leaving the two women alone. The other witherers had disappeared, as well.
“Why—” Iliana began, then had to gulp for air. “Why didn’t it—”
“Wither us? Use your mind, cousin. You do have one, don’t you? Why didn’t it wither us?”
Naila released her grasp and pulled her bracelet away. The warmth lingered in Iliana’s hand and arm, but her eyesight began to fade at once, until all she could see was shadow. The coal smell lasted a moment longer, then it too was gone. Her ears seemed stuffed with cotton.
“You are a cabalist,” Iliana said, her voice still low.
“Why didn’t the witherer harm us?” Naila pressed.
“Don’t try to deny it. You’re a cabalist.”
“When did I deny it? I am drawn to the path of the Luminoso, yes. A cabalist, if you want to call me that. Answer my question.”
“You’ve got an artifact. Whatever that bracelet is. It heightened my senses when I touched it. And it hid us from the witherer somehow. Or turned it away at the last moment, told it we weren’t its prey.”
“Close enough.”
“And that’s why you’re not afraid, even though the
whole city knew that witherers and lemures would be out.”
Naila laughed. “Didn’t you hear my heart? It was pounding almost as hard as yours. I was terrified. No one can stand face-to-face with a witherer of the underworld and sense the moment of his own death without terror.”
“Come on,” Iliana said. “Let’s get out of here before another one comes.”
“The moment has almost passed.” Naila was looking at the sky. “I wish I could see better from here. There are wanderers in the sky. But which quadrant? I need a geometer.”
“And that has something to do with all of this?”
“Shh. Help me look.”
Iliana looked into the sky, but everything had turned dim now that she was not in contact with Naila’s bracelet. There were stars, but they seemed faint, dying embers from the brilliant glow of a few moments ago.
“Let me touch the artifact.”
Naila jerked her wrist away. “No. It is mine.”
“Then how am I supposed to find a wanderer?”
“By shutting your mouth and opening your eyes.”
They stared in silence for a few minutes. The wind was picking up, and it carried a bite from the upper plateau. A harbinger of the turning seasons, although the last few years had been strange, with cold summers and warm winters. Iliana pulled her cloak tight, then loosened it a minute later when a warm gust from below drove the cold away.
Naila cursed. “Nothing. But the dogs have stopped their infernal barking, so I imagine the witherers are falling back into the Rift.”
“Unless they came from the plateau,” Iliana said, remembering the boy in the mines.
“What? Why would you say that?” Her tone was sharp.
“Never mind. They must have come from the Rift. Are we still going up, or was the whole purpose of bringing me out here to show me how you can hide from witherers?”
“What is wrong with you, cousin? I just showed you a miracle of the Second Plenty.”
“Your bracelet is from the Second?”
Wandering Star (The Quintana Trilogy Book 1) Page 16
