by Cate Glass
Such a simple question to tie my mind in knots. “I’ve never considered magic at all natural.”
“And yet, you and your friends are most certainly born of nature, are you not?”
“Certain, though the Philosophic Confraternity would argue it.”
It was a curious question. Teo himself gave no hint of how I might reconcile a young woman’s observations of natural phenomena with his own claims about an imprisoned Enemy who could cause the earth to fracture and shudder.
Dumond met us at the top of the climb. “A welcome surprise, knight of the isles,” he said when Teo joined us. “Romy insisted you’d come back. The swordmaster never believed it.”
Dumond relieved Teo of the saddle packs and led us through the warren of broken walls. I’d never thought of Teo as a knight—but somehow it fit. A knight in an armor of ink.
“And you, wise maker of portals, did you think I would renege on my swearing?” said Teo.
“Duty can oft interfere with intent,” said Dumond.
“Indeed so. And yet sometimes one informs the other, so that both can be satisfied.” Teo brushed his fingers on a carved doorpost, then a broken gargoyle, and then fallen lintels, foundation stones, and standing hearths, moving quickly from one to the other as if reading lines on a page.
Dumond halted me with a hand on my arm and spoke under his breath. “Have you told him what’s going on here?”
“Yes,” I said aloud. “Though he’s come with me for a somewhat singular purpose that has naught to do with our scheme.”
Out here in the daylight world, as we pursued a venture to protect the balance of power in Cantagna and the future of a very real young woman, the menace of an imprisoned monster using a disgraced courtesan to escape retreated into the realms of improbable legend. Surely someone else in the history of the world had possessed talent like mine, and surely our very existence in a prosperous city of a fortunate land like the Costa Drago proved that this Enemy of Teo’s had never gotten free. The dreams were real, and I believed Teo spoke truth … but he had admitted he didn’t know how the danger might play out.
Dumond deposited my saddle packs inside the keep.
I pulled out a kerchief, dampened it from our water cask, and swiped the road dust from my face. “How’s Neri?”
“Hungry. Though we’ve slipped him a bite or two, he’s ready to eat his breeks. The arm pains him.”
“I promised we’d pull him out this morning.”
“This place is fascinating. And sorrowful,” said Teo, rejoining us inside the keep. He spun as he took in the high roof and broken interior of the ruin. “Such a mingling of ancient and new. Romy spoke of its history. I think I would have known something of it even without her telling. Good Dumond, do you find your magics flow stronger here?”
Dumond’s brushy brows lifted. “When I tested our escape route, the effort did seem a deal less than expected.”
“Yes, now you mention it,” I said, recalling the convulsive energy when I became Nis. “You’re saying it has something to do with Perdition’s Brink?”
Teo folded his arms and paused as if searching for words. “At some time, someone or some happening infused this piece of the earth with the influence of”—he glanced at us from under his long lashes—“the ancients. Power, energy, or whatever you might call it that’s neither good nor ill, but simply … influence. Anyone, whether with the gifts you carry or not, might find something similar in sites they name holy. Or haunted. Or frightening. It is a sympathetic influence, thus could enhance natural power whether for good or ill. Is that meaningful?”
Dumond and I mumbled an affirmation in unison.
“Some people say such things about changes of the season or certain times of day,” I added, “that the winter solstice or sunset hour are luckier or closer to the divine.”
“Not luck so much,” said Teo, with a smile. Which left a gap in the flimsy explanation that I could not fill.
Dumond blew a sharp exhale and shook his head. “Certain, you’ve tickled my imaginings.”
“I’m guessing the ancients and their influence are a part of your elusive story,” I said, as I unpacked the stores I’d brought. Shirts to a canvas bag. Apples, honey, bread, and pilchard crock to our supply chest.
“Aye, that’s so. I could—”
“Not sure what your elusive story is, my friend, but ’tis a grace to share your company again.” Placidio stood in the doorway from the outer courtyard. As at his first meeting with Teo, Placidio made a modest bow. I had seen him show such genuine respect to only one other person—the grand duc of Riccia-by-the-sea.
“It’s a fine pleasure to greet you again, swordmaster.” Unlike at their previous meeting, Teo returned the respectful gesture. My mouth fell open in astonishment … quickly subsumed by annoyance.
This unspoken understanding between them grated on me, knowing that Placidio would not explain and certain that asking Teo would put him in that squeeze between oathswearing and his inability to lie about information he had not offered.
“Teo invited himself along,” I snapped. “You’ll find his generous gift of pilchards in our larder.”
“Ahh, so tempting.” Placidio rolled his eyes in pleasure. He relished the salty little fish. “But our captives await.”
“Might there be a few moments before you proceed?” said Teo. “Romy asked me to tell about the mark on your luck charms and on me. I would share what I can.”
One might have thought time itself stopped.
“Certain,” I said, and Dumond and Placidio quickly agreed.
We sat on our bags and chests of supplies, passed Teo a mug of salt-and-ginger tea, and he began.
“As I’ve told Romy, I have lived these past few months in the embrace of my family. My faulty memory has been repaired for the most part, but as a result, I now have constraints I did not have then. While my duties and my preparation must remain private, it seems only right to speak a little of history after your generosity of those days, sharing your own secrets and your friendship, and allowing me to contribute to your adventure.”
“Allowing was not so much the case as begging, as I recall,” said Dumond.
“Coercing would be a good description,” said Placidio.
Teo laughed, his demeanor not so grim as it had seemed. “You’ve all heard a variant of the Creation story—how Father Atladu and Mother Gione gave birth to the world in all the rich and wondrous variety of sea and land. How they treasured all their flying, creeping, running, and upright creatures, sentient and non-sentient. And how the most beautiful of all their creatures was Dragonis, a sexless being who could take varied shapes, but preferred a winged form of shimmering fire. These stories say that the heart of Dragonis grew sour because he had no match among the other creatures, no worthy companions, no worthy opponents. She wanted to be worshipped and brought gifts as was her due. He—for Dragonis was male and female, both and neither—lurked in the mountains and tried to create his own companions. Unsatisfied, Dragonis mated with human men and women, seducing and seeding them with strange gifts to set them above the others of their kind. Thus came the Creation Wars that fractured the world and forced the gods into the Night Eternal.”
“Myths,” said Dumond. “Every village, city, tribe, or clan has them.”
“’Tis true. But the story told in my homeland, the story that shapes my life—and yours, it is fair to say—parallels this grand tale of jealous gods and uncompromising war. It tells of two clans whose extraordinary talents and long lives appeared to ancient peoples as godlike. Mages we would name them—beings of extraordinary magic. They were of two kinds. Mages of the waves took their power from water. Mages of the flame took their power from the fire spawned in the earth’s heart. Together they nurtured the peoples who rapidly spread across the world, teaching them to tend the earth and tame its waters, and to shape clay and metal with fire. It was a grand harmony.”
As he paused for a swallow of tea, my mind snapped to the
duc of Riccia’s statue, and its depiction of Atladu running in peace with Dragonis and the other—the missing image I had named Leviathan. Fire and water. I yet firmly believed that recovery of that statue was at least a part of Teo’s mysterious duties.
He set the flask aside. “One of the most skilled of all mages, a mage of the fire, was named Macheon. Macheon worked tirelessly to protect humans from the devastation of volcanoes and earthquakes. The lands that later became the Costa Drago were a particular problem because of how close the fires were to the surface. The circumstance left the soil rich and fertile, but the people lived in constant danger. When Mount Cazzotto became restless, belching rock and ash, threatening several fledgling cities, Macheon persuaded other mages of the fire to join their power to contain it. Now called the Dragoni, they joined in a circle around that mountain to create a great spellworking intended to suppress its fury.
“The mages of the waters warned Macheon that pouring so much magic into the earth in a small region could cause a terrible backlash. But Macheon replied that they surely cared only for themselves and not his beloved people. His fury at their judgment incited his believers to take vengeance on all who spoke against him—especially those mages who took power from waters.”
“Your family,” I said. Those of the water. So much made sense.
“Aye. My people who survived the slaughter withdrew to their home far out to sea to attend their own studies of hurricanes, tidal waves, and floods. In the very next season came the great destruction. Mount Cazzotto indeed stayed quiet, as Macheon intended, but instead a whole chain of volcanoes erupted, shattering the southern reaches of the Costa Drago into a thousand islands, showering fiery ash over half the world, burying or drowning tens of thousands, including every one of Macheon’s fellow Dragoni. Much of my own people’s land was inundated, and nine of every ten died. Macheon blamed the sea mages for the disaster, because of the scalding rain and the walls of searing mud that had raced down mountainsides and through cities faster than people could outrun it. The conflagration darkened the skies for a generation.”
Nothing in my experience reached the scale of such devastation. To imagine the scene at the coliseum after the earthquake a thousand times over … and with fire and ash and landslides of molten rock and boiling mud added to the horror of mangled bodies, the trapped living, and evil skies … wrung my soul.
Teo continued, solemn. “Frenzied with hatred and guilt, Macheon swore to rebuild his power. He drew on the power of the destruction he had wrought and attempted to create loyal companions—a new army—by separating human spirits from the limitations of their physical bodies. Even the earlier slaughter did not match this one.”
“Demons,” I said. “Macheon created fragments of human souls. Bound to obedience. Hungering for the warmth of life.”
Teo signaled agreement as the story flowed from him. “So came the Second War. Lacking physical sensations and power of their own, the demons had no magic to help their maker work spells. Even so, the remnants of my family were the only ones left with the power to face Macheon. They defeated the Enemy in all its manifestations, but were not strong enough to destroy them. Instead, they built a prison, locked Macheon away, and offered the world their own future to maintain it…”
“… with the power of earth, sea, and magic,” said Dumond. “The mark on my luck charm. The symbol of your family.”
Teo acknowledged it.
Macheon the Dragoni … the imprisoned Enemy … Dragonis.
“Thank you for sharing the story,” said Dumond.
Placidio stood in the doorway, listening, but did not speak. I wondered if he knew the story already. I still had questions.
“You told me that time and the workings of nature conspired to weaken the protections around the Enemy’s prison,” I said, “and that your people do not increase as they once did. When you lay dying back in the spring, I shared your dream of a graceful city falling to ruin from cracks of molten fire. Is that what you’re working to remedy? And Domenika—”
“We work to recover all we have lost. Please, I cannot say more. I just needed all of you to know I won’t be much help with other tasks. Indeed, I am not permitted—” He scrunched his features as if his bare feet had just encountered broken glass. “My family—my mentors—insist I not engage in … local matters. Please believe that I would not change the choices I made when I was here before. And it’s not to say that these matters you address are unimportant, but only that my duties require … other choices.”
No mistaking the weight of responsibility that had replaced Teo’s confusion.
“Your safety cannot be risked,” said Placidio.
“So I am told.” His pale complexion flushed like summer sunrise. “I am here to keep watch for the moves of the Enemy, prevent them if I can. Nothing else.”
“Stay close, then,” I said. “We must do what we can to protect the independence of our city and its steward and his daughter, and then get these two young people home.”
The fear that had faded in glaring daylight wafted into the shady keep like smoky fingers, ready to shred my resolve. I could not allow that. We had bought this time, believing the Confraternity’s hunt might be moderated by the prospect of catching us at the ransom exchange. But seeing the harassment at the gates … the praetorians’ violence … I didn’t like to think how matters might get worse.
16
ONE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING
PERDITION’S BRINK
AFTERNOON
I pointed Teo to the water cask and the courtyard doorway. “This is good water from the spring down the stair on the far side of that courtyard. Make free of it and anything else here. Our rations are a bit limited, but you’re welcome to share. For now, we must move our plan forward. We’re running short of time.”
“Aye,” said Dumond. “We’ve an angry bride, a stubborn bridegroom, and a very hungry partner to see to. Without Romy, it’s been a stretch to ensure our prisoners are not in true distress—and keep watch for unwelcome visitors at the same time.”
“So Donato still won’t talk.”
“To be clear,” said Placidio. “It’s going to take at least a lightning strike to rouse him. I’ve never seen such a disciplined demeanor. Yet he does nothing with it. He doesn’t try to fight me; twice I’ve left him a clear opening.”
Dumond joined in. “Nothing moves him. Swordmaster warned Neri he’d get hauled out for a beating did he not tell us who’ll pay for him, and told Dono that neither of them would eat till Neri spoke. I went down after. Gave them each a couple of plums and told him we didn’t really want either of them dead. All I got was more Confraternity codswallop. The threats had Dono shaking, though. He’s hungry, thirsty, and scared to his boots.”
“It’s about us,” I said. “He was so confident at first, because he thought he knew what this snatch was about. But by last night, he was questioning his assumptions. Maybe he’s come to believe we really are planning to sell him off.”
Placidio looked skeptical. “I’m not sure he thinks at all. He neither pleads, argues, reasons, or attempts escape. His shackle is no stronger than Livia’s first one but remains unbroken. And last night the wind laid an opportunity in his lap. It blew the ladder into a tangle halfway down the wall. If he’d had a long branch, he might’ve hooked it down. Neri tried to persuade Donato to give him a boost … see if he could reach it … but the fool wouldn’t even try. He said it would jeopardize the ransom bargain.”
Something in Placidio’s story pricked at a memory … moonlight rising … something important …
“Is there a ransom bargain, Romy?” Dumond rummaged in the bag of apples I’d brought and quickly devoured two.
The thread of memory slipped away before I could find what was at its end.
“The ransom message was delivered anonymously,” I said, annoyed with myself. “As of this morning there were no replies.”
I told them about the sniffers, wardens, and praetorians plaguing the ci
ty, and my query about the contract witnesses.
“Between all that and having a somewhat terrifying talk about dreams with our friend here—which he will tell you about at some time—I gave some thought to our next steps. I think it’s time Nis tells Livia about her friend’s murder. Perhaps the shock will get her thinking more carefully about this marriage.”
“You’re not revealing the Chimera?” said ever-cautious Dumond.
“No. I’d not trust her so far as that as yet. I’m not sure I ever will. She’s far more confident of her own judgment than I am. As for Donato, I’ve a notion about him. He was startled when I yelled at him that his holy Confraternity was gelding young men, and when Placidio spoke of Confraternity secrets, he started shaking. Back at the beginning, Mantegna said that on the same day he was to be married, Donato would receive the red philosophist’s robe and be elevated to a prestigious position in the Confraternity. Donato himself told us that his future was to become a defender of truth. But I don’t think he meant defending it as a praetorian—he’s clearly unsuited—or with some scholarly pursuit. Defender of Truth is the motto on nullifier badges. I think our groom is going to create sniffers.”
“That would perhaps explain the fellow’s concern about testing,” said Dumond. “Many in the Confraternity might think such an awkward person unsuitable for so important and secret a task.”
“Then again, perhaps that sort of elevation requires a particular test of loyalty and commitment to their principles—however grotesque those might be,” mused Placidio. “Perhaps we’ll be fortunate and have occasion to kill the little worm.”
“I think Donato needs a shock, too,” I said. “The Confraternity and the city have inextricably linked the Cavalieri Teschio with magic. So let’s use that connection to give the Confraternity boy a scare.”
“Show him some magic…” said Dumond, thoughtful, deliberate. “I like that.”
