by Myke Cole
“Like the Kipti. Mother says they’re wizards.”
Clodio laughed again. “Stories. I have met three Kipti in all my travels. None of them spoke to me of wizardry. None of them showed any sign of it. People are far more . . . complicated than animals. To convince them is a mighty work indeed, and I’ve found it’s easier simply to be careful about choosing one’s company. For the most part, I choose none at all.”
Heloise had always thought Clodio’s life hard, taking her cues from her parents’ pitying glances and warnings to take care with him. Looking around the ruin, she saw it differently. The fire burned merrily, the grass pallet soft and warm beneath her. Clodio had all the comforts of village life, with none of the limits. He could come and go as he pleased, work as he pleased, love whom he pleased.
“But the Order . . . they’ll . . .” she said.
Clodio’s smiling face went hard. “Wizards are not so easy to kill, Heloise. Brigands tried to take me in the wood outside Porter’s Rock three winters ago. They failed.”
“You killed them?”
“I spoke to the wolves. What they did with the brigands, I did not stay to see.”
“Can you teach me?” The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them, and her stomach turned over at the blasphemy.
Clodio’s face stayed serious. “Not everyone has a talent for wizardry, but I can try. That is a conversation for another day, when you are less tired. It’s time I took you home.”
“I’m not tired,” she said, though her eyelids felt heavy. “Is Twitch really wizarded, then? Did he really speak to you?”
Clodio smiled. “It’s nearly daybreak, Heloise. If I promise to tell you, can we go?”
Heloise nodded.
Clodio grit his teeth again, not moving. Long moments dragged. Heloise drew breath to ask him what he was doing, when Twitch suddenly burst from her pocket, jumping to the ground.
“Madam,” Clodio said, “I present your protector and guardian, my eyes and ears. Master Twitch, the wizard mouse.”
Twitch twirled on his hind legs and, with a high squeak, made a sweeping bow.
Heloise squealed with delight, clapping her hands again. “Oh, Clodio. That is so wonderful!”
Clodio nodded. “He’s a nervous one, our Twitch, and hard for me to understand at times, but he loves you as dearly as I do, and he will never fail to look to your defense.”
The mouse stood stock straight, holding an imaginary spear over its tiny shoulder, and marched back and forth.
“So, that really was how you knew what happened? Twitch told you?”
“Yes. This was why I never feared for your safety. While Twitch is with you, so am I.”
“What else can he do?” Heloise asked. “Can he speak to me, too?”
“Now, now,” Clodio waggled a finger at her. “I have fulfilled my part of the bargain, so you must honor yours. It’s time to go back.”
“I’m not ready,” she said, but there were no tears this time. “Can’t I stay here with you? You can teach me to talk to him.”
“We’ve stayed long enough,” Clodio said. “Any longer and we’ll make even more trouble for the Tinkers. When next we meet we will see if you still want to learn how to talk to animals yourself. I promise.”
Heloise nodded, though the terror made her legs feel weak.
She would go back, she would face whatever consequences her actions with Basina would bring. But it seemed a small thing now, silly and distant. Because she knew she didn’t have to wait to know if she wanted Clodio to teach her wizardry.
She already knew she did.
The servant to his lord, and all the people unto the Order, the Hand of the Emperor,
Working his will. As the rope keeps the raft from breaking apart on rough water,
These chains held the people fast together, and they knew peace.
—Writ. Heb. L. 46
CHAPTER 12: VENGEANCE
Clodio saw her as far as the woods’ edge. “It was risky enough for me to come see you when the sun was down,” he said. “Best not to risk it now.”
“I know the way from here,” Heloise said, her voice trembling. The protective bubble Clodio spun had been broken the moment they stepped out of his camp, but here was the place where she must step outside even its hollowed remains, and she found that she was not ready.
Clodio smiled, showing yellow teeth. He put a narrow hand on her shoulder. “The Tinkers will have questions, but you don’t need to give them answers. Not until you’re ready.”
She nodded, sniffling in spite of herself.
“There, girl,” Clodio said, “all is well. Do not forget what I told you. Love is good, and those who love are good. You have done nothing wrong.”
“And you promise you’ll teach me?” She searched his face, hoping for some hint of the smile she’d seen in the night.
“I promise we will discuss it. You’re sure you can go on your own from here?”
She smiled, still sad, still frightened, but strengthened by the mouse in her pocket. “I think so.”
“Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ve a commission in the north that will have me away for a fortnight, but I’m hopeful to find cobalt there, and then I can return and fleece your father for all he’s worth. By then, the Order should have moved on and this will all be done with.”
Heloise laughed and Clodio laughed with her, some of the exhaustion dropping away from him. “You’re a good girl, Heloise,” he said. “I only hope someday this wicked world can come to deserve you.”
And with that he had turned and was walking back into the woods, his long legs carrying him into the maze of trunks until the shadows swallowed him.
Heloise walked to the line of shadows that marked the forest’s edge. Beyond the wave’s edge of gloom, the overgrown grass grew in long tufts, thick with dandelion despite the lateness of the season. The last of the moonlight washed over it, so bright it shone.
Her house reared up in the distance. She could see no one about, heard no sound but the wind sighing in the trees.
She tried to take a step forward, could not bring herself to do it.
Heloise wasn’t sure when she’d put her hand into her pocket, but she felt Twitch’s tiny pink tongue licking at her finger, his sharp teeth gently grazing the surface. She gave him a scratch. He felt so warm, an ember in her hand. The heat gave her strength.
“I’m not alone,” she said. “You’re with me, aren’t you, Twitch?”
As if in answer, the mouse rolled himself into a ball that filled her palm.
“Forward together,” she said, and stepped into the light.
The heat vanished. Twitch scampered to the opposite side of the wide pocket, and all the sound that had been missing suddenly came rushing into this new, moonlit world.
The sight of her house nearly brought her to tears again. A fire had burned nearly constantly in the hearth for as long as Heloise had lived, and in its absence birds had already begun nesting in the chimney, digging out tufts of the thatch. Squirrels chased one another over the flagstones that led to the door. It was shocking how quickly the world had moved to reclaim her home. It looked as if she’d been away two years, not two days.
She shook her head. It didn’t matter. It was just a pile of wood, wattle, daub, and thatch. If her father and mother weren’t there, she didn’t want to be either. The thought made her heartsick for her father. She looked up at the silver of the moon, starting to give way to the dawn. Surely if she went to Sigir’s first, the Maior would let her see her papa? Just for a moment. Just long enough to embrace him and feel that he was alive. Then she would face the Tinkers. She needed to see her father. For strength.
She lifted her skirts and hurried on, angling away from her house, away from the Tinkers’ workshop, toward the Maior’s house instead. She couldn’t bear to face any of the Tinkers now, least of all Basina. The very thought made her stomach clench.
She ran faster to chase the thought
from her mind, focusing her eyes on Sigir’s tinned gables, growing closer through the trees. It was still so early that there was no one about to see her, and she ran faster still, hope blossoming in her breast. Maybe Sigir would let her stay with her father for just one night. He could go and tell the Tinkers that she was well and safe, and that they need not search for her, and maybe it would be best for all if she just stayed in his cellar with her father and . . .
The sentry horn sounded, low and long. It was Harald Brewer’s voice that carried faintly on the wind, calling out the warning. “’Ware riders! Cloaks and flails! Cloaks and flails!”
Heloise stopped so quickly that her heels dug up the ground, nearly sending her tumbling. She glanced back in the direction of the Tinkers’ workshop. She had run far from it, and the way back led her past the sentry tower and directly into the path of the riders. It was a shorter run to Sigir’s house by far. Sick terror churned in her belly, making her arms and legs feel leaden, slow.
Heloise ran into the trees, angling straight for Sigir’s front door. The branches pressed against her, as if they wanted to hold her back, deliver her up to the Order. She pushed through them, bursting out of the wood and racing the rest of the way to the split rail fence along the flagstone path to Sigir’s door.
The horn sounded again. “Throne be praised! The Emperor’s Own are come to us!” Harald called. He would only be shouting that if the Order could hear him. That meant the riders were entering the village now. They must have been coming at a gallop.
Heloise let her momentum carry her into the thick goldenwood door of the Maior’s home, striking it with her shoulder hard enough to rattle her teeth and make the brass fittings tremble. She pounded her fist on the door, fighting the urge to cry out, careful not to make a noise that might alert the coming riders to the presence of a girl of sixteen winters here. “Papa, Papa, please. Open the door!” She whispered to herself. “Please!”
She stepped back, waited. Nothing. No one was coming. She knocked again, as loudly as she dared. Silence.
The horn again. Harald didn’t call this time, which meant he had sounded the horn and immediately gone to the ladder, was coming down from the tower. The riders were in the village.
She could wait no longer. They would likely ride straight here, address the Maior as was customary. She had to be gone by then. Heloise turned and ran for the Tinkers’ workshop.
She could feel Twitch bouncing in her pocket, put a hand inside to steady him. Her breath was coming harder now. She was whispering in spite of herself, couldn’t stop. Over and over. “Sacred Throne, protect me. Emperor, hear my prayer.”
Hoofbeats. The Pilgrims. She was gasping so loudly that it was hard to tell if they were coming closer or moving farther away. Best to keep running. The track to the workshop rolled out before her. She could make it.
Shouts. The hoofbeats sounding louder. A jingle of spurs, of iron chain.
There was a loud stomp and suddenly a wall of black rose up before her. Heloise dug in her heels, still ran into it, her forehead banging against something soft and warm and firm. She reeled back, the smell of leather and horsehair filling her nose.
“Heloise Factor.” Heloise followed the voice up the back of a tall, black horse. The same blazing eyes, the same tucked chin. The faintest hint of a yellowed splotch, a bruise nearly healed. Brother Tone grinned fiercely. “The Emperor’s will is always done. Sooner or later.”
Stupidstupidstupidstupid. She cursed herself over and over. She had to try to see her father. If only she had done as she was supposed to and gone back to the Tinkers straight away.
Heloise turned to run, saw more horses all around her, their legs a shifting forest she could not hope to escape. Gray cloaks swirled on their riders’ backs. The flails were down now, heads dangling from their iron chains just above the earth. If there had been ten Pilgrims in the village when Tone had threatened Basina, there were ten times that number now. It looked to Heloise as if every Pilgrim she’d seen on the road to Hammersdown was here.
A slash of red emerged from the whirling gray. The Sojourner, his flail alone still hanging over his shoulder. Eyes widening as he recognized her. “The Throne’s providence,” he whispered.
“Indeed, Holy Father,” Tone agreed. “If the child is here, the father can’t be far. That Tinker was hiding something, I know. The Maior, too, I will put them both to the question. They will tell us where they are.”
“You have much to learn,” the Sojourner smiled. “There is no need to question anyone. Make the girl scream loud enough, and the parents will come.”
Tone looked up at the Sojourner, frowning. “Holy Father?”
“What does the Writ tell us, Brother Tone?” the Sojourner asked. “The Emperor is more pleased by one hare snared than the scent of two.”
“Yes, Holy Father,” Tone jerked his flail into the air, sending the head swinging toward her. The sudden motion made Heloise’s guts turn to water, and she did scream, a tight shriek of “No!” loud and piercing. Oh, please, Papa. Don’t hear me. Please don’t come.
It was Sigir’s voice that shouted answer. “Heloise!” the Maior called, racing toward her from the sentry tower. He must have stood the watch himself that night, wasn’t home to hear her when she banged on his door. “Heloise!”
Behind him came most of the village men, Sald and Poch, Harald and Danad, others. Many of the women, too. She could see Chunsia and Basina, but not Barnard and the Tinker boys. Perhaps they were still out looking for her. There were more villagers than had frightened the Pilgrims before the Knitting. But this time, the Order numbered as many as the villagers, all in their saddles, flails at the ready. They circled warily, keeping Heloise boxed in, more than enough of them to watch her and the gathering crowd at the same time.
Sigir reached them and tried to push through regardless. “Heloise!” he called to her. “It’s all right, girl!”
Tone wheeled his horse, pushing Sigir back with one iron-shod boot. “You lied to me.” He sounded genuinely hurt. “You lied to the Emperor’s Own.”
“I am Maior here!” Sigir shouted, as if that made a difference now.
“It’s as if you lied to the Emperor Himself,” Tone said. “You said she had run with her father. Where is he?”
“Heloise!” Another voice, choked with tears, winded with running. Even through the panting she recognized it. Her father, her father running to save her.
“Get away from her, you damned cowards!” Samson shouted. His hair was wild and his clothes filthy, and even from here Heloise could smell the stink of shit on him. The privy. That’s why he didn’t answer the door. He was hiding in the privy.
“Give me my daughter!” Samson shook his fist, light flashing from a long, broad-bladed knife. He swung it as he came, reaching for Tone. But her father was a pikeman, trained to the long spear. The blade was clumsy in his hands, and Tone touched his spurs to his horse to move out of his way, tapping him on the back with his flail butt as he went. Samson stumbled to his knees, wrapping his arms around Heloise. She buried her face in his neck, ignoring the stink, feeling the throb of his pulse and knowing that he was alive. “Papa,” she whispered. “You came.”
Samson squeezed her tightly before leaning back, running his fingers over his face. “You’re all right? They didn’t hurt you?”
She nodded so quickly her chin touched her chest. “They didn’t hurt me, Papa.”
“Oh, Samson,” Sigir sighed. “You great fool. You’ve killed us all.”
Brother Tone reined his horse around again, closing the circle of Pilgrims up. “Samson Factor,” he said. “The Emperor provides.”
Samson stood, tucking Heloise behind him. He held the knife out in front of him. It looked tiny and useless surrounded by the forest of ready flails.
Tone smiled. “I thought I was going to have to put at least one person to the question to find where you’d gone. And here you are in the common. I can’t believe you didn’t flee this place when you
had the chance.”
Tone moved his horse toward them, reined back at a thrust from Samson. “Come on, you bastards,” her father whispered. “Come on.”
Brother Tone leaned forward in his saddle and pointed at her father. “I told you I’d come back for you. Did you think me a liar?”
“Enough,” the Sojourner said. “Kill him and let’s be done.”
Brother Tone stiffened. “The Maior too, your eminence. He lied to us. This is his village, and it is for him to ensure his people keep to the Emperor’s Writ.”
“Here I am. You cowardly bastard,” Sigir pushed against one of the Pilgrim’s horses, trying to force his way into the circle. “Come down off that mare and leave your flail. We’ll see who the Emperor favors.”
Tone laughed. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To brawl with one of the Emperor’s Own, drag us down into the mud with you. The Emperor chooses who He will, and births us into the stations that fit our souls. Mine is to bring His word to you benighted savages, to ensure you don’t open the gates of hell and condemn us all. Yours is to lord over those who scratch in the dirt and make sure you keep us in food, clothing, and implements of war.”
“Enough!” the Sojourner shouted at Tone. “The Maior too. Have it done.” He turned his horse away. “I ride on. Attend me when you are through.”
Her father and the Maior. After all this, they meant to spare her. They would kill her father and Sigir and leave her alone.
Before she knew what she was doing, Heloise bent, picked up a rock, and threw it. Her aim was good, honed by years of skipping stones off the pond. The rock sailed through air suddenly gone thick, seeming to move slowly, all eyes turning to follow its path. It smacked into the side of the Sojourner’s head, knocking his hood askew. His horse shied and he yanked on the reins, angrily pulling the animal around, fumbling at the scarlet cloth suddenly drawn across his face.
“Coward!” Heloise shouted. “You tell your man to kill people and then you can’t even bear to stand around and watch it.”