by S L Farrell
“Where am I?” Ana asked, and the servants chuckled in unison.
They had the same laugh, also.
“The Archigos said you’d probably be confused when you woke,”
the older woman said. “You’re in your own apartments, across the plaza from the temple.” The daughter went to a chest across the room and pulled underclothing and a green robe from the drawers, placing them gently over the foot of the bed. The older woman fluffed the pillows around her, then went to the balcony doors, pulling back the curtains.
Ana could glimpse the domes of the Archigos’ Temple behind her. “Are you feeling better, O’Teni? Go on, eat the toast before it gets cold, and here, let me pour you some of this wonderful tea; it comes all the way from Quibela in the province of Namarro. The Archigos, he said that Cenzi touched you after your appointment and that’s why you were so exhausted, and we were to let him know when you woke. I’ve already sent Beida to tell him.”
Ana half-listened to the woman’s prattling as she sipped the tea (which was indeed wonderful, flavored with spices that flirted coyly with her tongue) and ate the bread and fruit before her. She learned that the woman was Sunna and the other one, who was indeed her daughter, was Watha, and that Watha was betrothed to a minor sergeant of the Garde Kralji, “but he’s on the Commandant ca’Rudka’s staff, and very visible to the commandant;” that they came from Sesemora and their family name was Hathiga, currently without any prefix of rank though the Archigos had promised them that they would become ce’Hathiga in the Rolls next year; that they’d been in the Archigos’ employ for the last six years and were now attached to Ana’s apartments.
By the time she’d learned all this, she’d eaten her breakfast, performed her morning ablutions, and allowed the servants to help her dress. Beida knocked on the door as she finished. “The Archigos is in the reception room, O’Teni,” she said with a quick pressing of hands to forehead. “He said to come in as soon as you’re ready.”
The reception room was, like the bedroom, lavish and large, with its own balcony and fireplace, set with a desk, leather sofa, and plush matching chairs. The Archigos was standing out on the balcony, so small that for a moment Ana thought he might be a child. Then he turned and she saw the ancient face, the stunted arms, the bowed legs and bent spine. “Good morning to you, O’Teni Ana,” he said. “Please, come out here. . ”
She came to stand alongside him. The morning was cool, a breeze ruffling the folds of the soft, grass-colored robes she wore and bringing them the scent of wood fire from the breakfast hearths of the city. She was looking down to the courtyard of the temple from four stories up- the top floor. Directly across, seemingly nearly at eye level, the golden domes of the temple itself reflected sunlight back to the sky. As she looked, watching the people below scurrying about their business, the wind-horns sounded First Call. Automatically, Ana went to a knee and bowed her head; she felt the Archigos do the same alongside her. She silently mouthed the morning prayers: as the wind-horns continued to call, the strident sound carrying the burden of the city’s prayers skyward to Cenzi and the other gods. As the last notes died, Ana rose again. The Archigos held out his small hand toward her. “If you would. .” She helped him rise, the dwarf groaning as his knee cracked once in protest.
“Old joints,” he said. “I wonder if you could cure them.”
With the words, the events of the evening before came back to Ana: Matarh, the spell of healing, the darkness closing around her. . “My matarh. .”
He smiled up at her, his lips caught in folds. “She is doing quite well, from what I understand. I sent Kenne to your family’s house this morning to inquire after her, knowing you’d ask. He was told that she slept easily last night, that her cough had vanished, and she is conversing with your vatarh and the house servants as if nothing had ever happened. It would appear that a minor miracle has occurred, eh?” One eyebrow raised as he glanced at Ana. “She also doesn’t remember what happened in the temple last night-which is just as well. I would suggest that you don’t remember it, either.”
“Archigos, what I did. .” She wasn’t certain what she wanted to say.
“Is something that will remain between the two of us, because it must,” he answered for her. “Let’s go inside; the air is holding a bit of the old winter this morning.”
He held aside the balcony’s sheer curtains for her. Inside the apartment, Watha had started a small fire in the hearth. She smiled at them, then left the room, closing the doors behind her. “Your servants are all three excellent people,” the Archigos said. “Discreet. Prudent. Close-mouthed about what they see and hear. They will do whatever you ask of them.” His mouth twisted and his gaze wandered to the flames in the hearth. “As long as what you ask doesn’t conflict with my instructions to them, of course,” he added. She could sense the layers of meaning underneath his words. She felt her stomach twist.
“Archigos, what happened to me last night?”
His gaze returned to her and he smiled again. He took a seat on one of the sofas and motioned to her to sit across from him. “What happened was what I expected to happen. You can’t touch Cenzi that closely and not have consequences. You know that.”
“I’ve felt weariness before; all of us did while U’Teni cu’Dosteau was teaching us the chants. But not like that. Never anything so …exhausting.”
“You’d never gone that deep before,” the Archigos answered. “ ‘The greater the Gift, the greater the cost.’ I’ve already said that once to you.
It’s an old cliche, but there is often truth buried in platitudes. The warteni know that weariness; their spells have that same kind of power. You could easily be a war-teni, if that’s what you wanted.”
“My spell. .” She bit her lip for a moment, wondering what to say. “My spell was wrong. It violated the Divolonte. I thwarted Cenzi’s Will.”
“Did you? Do you believe Cenzi is so weak that you could bend His will to your whim? Do you think He couldn’t stop you if He wished?
There’s nothing wrong with what you did. You have a rare skill; it would be thwarting Cenzi’s will for you not to use it.”
Ana’s eyes widened: what the Archigos said was heretical; it went against all the railing of the teni in their Admonitions. “Archigos, the precepts of the Toustour and the Divolonte teach us that the Gift is never to be used that way.” It was what U’Teni cu’Dosteau had taught her, it was what she had always been told.
“Sometimes what the Faith teaches is wrong.”
The statement snapped Ana’s mouth shut. The Archigos smiled, as if the expression he saw on her face amused him. “Oh, I’d deny it if you ever said that I spoke those words, Ana,” he told her. “And I’d never say them in public. Not even the Archigos can spout heresy without consequences; some of the a’teni are waiting for just that opportunity.
A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca especially would love an excuse to wrest the title away from me. Nor can you perform such feats without consequences; that’s why you must be very careful henceforth with what you do.”
The smile vanished, and there was something in his face that made Ana sit back hard against the seat of her chair. “After all,” he continued, “if I told ca’Cellibrecca what you did last night, why, he’d have no choice but to send you to the Bastida. An acolyte made an o’teni by the Archigos. . why, they’d wonder if you hadn’t used your skills to place a charm on me, and if you hadn’t arranged the attempted assassination for your own purposes. And believe me, in the Bastida you would tell them whatever they wanted to hear.” The smile returned then, but utterly failed to comfort her. “You see, O’Teni Ana, we must trust each other not to reveal the secrets we know.”
The Archigos pushed himself forward on the sofa, then let his short legs slip to the ground and stood. He walked over to Ana and put his hand on her knee as she sat, stunned. She could feel the heat of his skin through the cloth of her robe.
It felt the way her vatarh’s hand felt. She shuddered. She clasp
ed her legs tightly together under her robes.
“We are coming on dangerous times,” he said. “The general populace, they don’t realize it yet. The people only see the prosperity and the celebrations for the Kraljica’s fiftieth. They fail to notice the storm clouds gathering on the horizon or hear the grumbling underneath the cheers. Dangerous times. I didn’t realize, until almost too late.”
The Archigos’ hand lifted from her knee. She pulled back quickly; she saw the Archigos’ lips tighten as his hand dropped back to his side.
His ancient lips parted softly and he sighed.
“Ah. So that’s the way it was. I wondered, when I saw how your vatarh was with you. I’m sorry.”
Ana felt the heat of embarrassment on her face. “Archigos. .”
He shook his head. “No. Say nothing. We all have demons in the night that we must struggle with. I have mine, too. I didn’t intend to make you think that I. .” His hand brushed hers, but he shook his head and brought his hand back. He took a breath and stepped away from her. “You’ll have to trust me, Ana, because in the days to come you’ll have to choose sides,” he said. His voice was carefully neutral.
“In the trials that I suspect are on us, those with strength and influence must take their stand. I hope you can choose wisely.” Then the smile came again, and all the reserve was gone from his voice. “As I chose you. Ana, I have been asleep. Since. . I don’t know when, but for years now. While I’ve been sleeping, those who don’t think of Conce-
nzia as I do have risen, slow step by slow step, until I find they are all around me. A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca, yes, but he has several allies among the a’teni. A few months ago, I think I awoke again. . ”
He took a breath. Ana remained silent, sitting motionless, not knowing what to say or how to react. She felt lost, as if she’d wandered away from everything familiar to her in the world. The Archigos went to the hearth and held his hands out, warming them. Without a word, Beida came in with an overcloak and helped the Archigos put
it on; Ana realized she must have been watching and listening the whole time. Shrugging the cloak around his shoulders, the Archigos turned and smiled back at Ana. “You should rest and finish recovering, O’Teni,” he said. “I’ll send someone to fetch you just before Second Call; you’ll walk in the procession today with the rest of my staff. After the blessing at Old Temple, you and I will go to see the Kraljica. She sent word that she would like to meet you. Beida, if you’ll be so kind as to show me out. .”
With that, he left. As the door closed behind him, Ana touched the hand the Archigos had touched. Her own fingers felt cold on her skin.
Karl ci’Vliomani
The last notes of First Call drifted away. Karl watched ca’Rudka lift his head and rise from his bended knee, his clasped hands dropping from his forehead. “No prayer at all, Envoy ci’Vliomani?”
ca’Rudka asked. Karl thought the man’s smile seemed more a mocking leer, and the gleaming metallic nose was impossible to ignore. “I thought the Numetodo were still believers in something, even if they’ve abandoned the Concenzia Faith.”
“We do believe, Commandant,” Karl answered. “We believe in logic, in proofs that we can see and touch and feel. We believe that if the gods do exist, then the way to understand them is through the abilities they’ve given us: reason and logic. What better way to worship them than to use all the qualities we have?”
“ ‘ . . if the gods do exist.’ ” Ca’Rudka inclined his head, looking upward as if tasting the words on his tongue. “I have no doubt as to Cenzi’s existence, Envoy ci’Vliomani, nor do I need anything but my faith to understand Him.” The commandant smiled at Karl. “But we’re not here to discuss theology, are we?”
The response to Karl’s request to meet with the Kraljica had come not long after the Lighting of the Avi: not from the Kraljica herself, but from her aide Renard cu’Bellona. The Kraljica would regrettably be unable to meet with Envoy ci’Vliomani, but Commandant ca’Rudka would be available to address his concerns. It was, honestly, more than Karl had expected. He’d arrived at the Grande Palais before First Call, as the note had requested, and been ushered into one of the lower reception rooms in the East Wing, where tea and breakfast had been laid out on a small table with two servants standing patiently behind it, and where Commandant ca’Rudka entered a few marks of the glass later, just as the wind-horns announced First Call.
Ca’Rudka went to the table. One of the several attendants hovering around the edges of the room poured the commandant’s tea, stirring a bit of honey into the fragrant brew. He took one of the pastries and bit into it, seeming to savor the taste with closed eyes before taking a sip of the tea. “Something for you, Envoy? The pastry chef the Kraljica retains is truly excellent. You really must have one of the tarts. Here. .”
He pointed to the tarts, and another attendant quickly placed one on a plate.
Ca’Rudka passed Karl the small plate with the inlaid Kraljica’s crest obscured by the pastry. “We’ll eat on the patio,” ca’Rudka told the servants. “Bring the envoy his tea, give us an assortment of the pastries, and leave us.”
As the servants scurried about the table, ca’Rudka escorted Karl from the room out to a raised stone patio that emptied into the palace’s formal gardens. Several workers moved through the grounds, trimming the bushes and pruning the flowers. “Take a seat, please, Envoy,”
ca’Rudka said, gesturing to two chairs facing the garden with a small, cloisonne-topped table placed between them. Karl sat; the commandant took the other chair; the servants came in with tea and pastries, and vanished again. “I enjoy watching the gardens this time of day,” ca’Rudka said.
“They’re quite beautiful, I would agree, Commandant.”
“Indeed. But what I enjoy seeing are the gardeners at their work.
You see, Envoy, all the order and loveliness you see there in front of you has a cost. Did you know that the Kraljica employs over a hundred workers for the palais grounds alone, just here on the Isle? If you take into account all the rest of the property she owns, her chateaux and houses throughout the Holdings, then there are a thousand and more.
They maintain the beauty you and I see, and to do that, they must ruthlessly rid the garden of anything that is rotting or diseased, or that threatens the setting.”
Karl allowed himself a small smile, glancing at the commandant, who was looking not at the garden but at Karl. The commandant’s eyes flicked over the stone-shell necklace around his neck, then back up to his face. “So you see yourself as a simple grounds worker, Commandant?” Karl asked him. “And we Numetodo are weeds threatening the flower of Nessantico? I suppose you believe that A’Teni ca’ Cellibrecca is but the Gardener of Brezno.”
Ca’Rudka chuckled; Karl found the sound to be sinister. “I knew my crude analogy wouldn’t escape you, Envoy. Yes, in fact, I do sometimes think of myself as in charge of the garden that is this city, as the Kraljica is in charge of the much greater garden that is the Holdings, as the a’teni and the Archigos are responsible for the flowering of the faithful.
As to the Numetodo. .” Ca’Rudka set his tea down on the stand; the cup chattered on the plate. “You’re the Envoy. You’re the one sent here to speak to the Kraljica on their behalf.”
“Commandant, the attack on the Archigos yesterday was not part of some Numetodo plot. It was the act of a single madman, who unfortunately does seem to have had Numetodo connections but whom I’ve never personally met. My credentials from the government of the Isle of Paeti. .”
Ca’Rudka waved him silent. “Your credentials are in order. I know; I checked them myself, months ago. If they weren’t, we wouldn’t be talking; well, at least not in this manner.” He rose from his chair and Karl stood with him. “Come, Envoy, let’s walk while we discuss this.”
He led Karl from the patio into the gardens. As they strolled the graveled walkways, the commandant pointed out some of the blooms
and arrangements. The commandant s
eemed to have a wide knowledge of horticulture, certainly more than Karl, who could name only the most common of the flowers here in Nessantico. The conversation, to Karl’s frustration, never seemed to come back to the Numetodo and the attempted assassination of the Archigos, but he forced himself to patience. Ca’Rudka, Karl had learned in his few months here, was-like the Kraljica herself-a person who did things in his own time. Like a handsome but dangerous beast of prey, he had to be watched carefully. They’d been walking for some time when ca’Rudka stopped. He crouched down near the path’s manicured edge. He pointed to a small plant there, its saw-toothed and purplish leaves just overhanging the edge of the walkway. “Weed or flower?” he asked Karl.
“I don’t know, Commandant.”
“It’s difficult to tell, isn’t it? Right now there’s no sign of a bloom, yet it could burst into triumphant color a week from now, or spread out to infest the entire area.” The commandant plunged his fingers into the soft earth around the plant, pulling it out of the ground with its roots intact. “You, my man!” he called to the nearest of the garden workers, who came running over at the summons. “Take this and put it in a small pot for me.” The man took the plant in cupped hands and hurried off.
“Dhaspi ce’Coeni has been executed,” ca’Rudka said without preamble as he wiped dirt from his hands. His dark eyes seemed to probe Karl’s face.
He forced himself to show nothing. “That’s as I expected, Commandant. Nessantico is well known throughout the Holdings for its. .”
He allowed himself the slightest of hesitations. “. . quick justice,” he finished.
Muscles pulled at the corners of ca’Rudka’s mouth. “It was justice, Envoy,” he answered. “And more. For attacking the Archigos, ce’Coeni’s life was forfeit, even if he’d tried to use a sword or arrow. But worse, his weapon was the Ilmodo, which is Cenzi’s Gift alone and which is forbidden by both Holdings law and the Concenzia Divolonte to anyone but the teni.”