A Magic of Twilight nc-1

by S L Farrell

  She paused. Ana could see her matarh’s eyes fluttering under the closed lids, and a smile ghosted across her lips with the memories. “I loved the sound of his voice,” Abini continued, “and the way he always kept his eyes on mine when we talked. He listened, he truly listened to me as Tomas never did. And his touch: it was so soft. So gentle. Being with him was how I had hoped things would be with Tomas.”

  A sigh escaped her. She sat up, her eyes open once more. “What happened then?” Ana asked. “Did Vatarh. .?”

  Abini shook her head. “No, he never found out. It ended because it had to. We were together for a few years, whenever we could manage, but he. . his birth family had prospects for him. We finally had to end it, or rather I had to end it-to give his new wife the chance she deserved. If we had continued, our relationship would have always been a wall between him and his wife, and I knew her also. She was young, and she liked him and I knew she wanted him to love her, and I. . well, I just couldn’t.”

  “He married her?”

  The nod was so slight that Ana wasn’t certain she saw it. “Seeing him. . seeing him around the city, it was hard for both of us, I think. But I hope, I hope he came to love her. I know she loves him, loves him still.”

  “Matarh. .”

  Abini reached across the table and touched Ana’s hand. “You are now in the family of the Faith, Ana, and you must do as the Faith wishes. Whatever happens, it will be Cenzi’s Will. Remember that.”

  Ana felt Abini’s eyes searching hers. “You already have a lover, darling? Is that why you’re upset?”

  “No,” she said, then corrected herself. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s all so confusing.”

  “Tell me. Who is it?”

  “I. . I can’t, Matarh. I’m sorry. I can’t. I wish I could.”

  Abini nodded. “Ana, if you would marry, then you must give your husband a chance. The respect between you may blossom into more, and you have to give it the opportunity. But if it doesn’t. . You might find someone with whom you can share that part, if you’re careful and discreet. People in Nessantico will look the other way, if you don’t force them to stare at it. I know.”

  Her fingers tightened around Ana’s. They said nothing. Finally, Abini released Ana’s hand and sat back once more.

  “I’ve been talking and your soup is sitting there,” she said. “You really should give it a taste before it goes cold.”

  Dhosti ca’Millac

  The packet came the morning of Gostidi: the morning of Estraven’s funeral service, a gloomy day mirrored in the clouds that promised rain. Kenne, who had brought the envelope, glanced at the banked fire in the hearth. “It’s a cold morning, Archigos,” he said.

  “Would you like me to send an e’teni to attend to the fire?”

  “Thank you, Kenne, but no,” Dhosti told him. “A little discomfort I can offer up to Cenzi, eh? If you would, make certain that the staff is ready to go to the Old Temple as soon as I come down. Oh, and Ana should be on her way here. Bring her up as soon as she arrives.”

  Kenne nodded and gave the sign of Cenzi before he left the room, closing the doors behind him. Dhosti looked again at the stiff, creamy paper of the envelope in his hand, at the ornate handwriting that addressed it to him, and the insignia pressed into the red wax of the seal: a trumpet flower. The Kraljica’s flower. The seal was intact-Dhosti made certain of that before he opened the envelope and took out the folded parchment leaves inside. He shivered in his robes as he moved to the windows where the light was slightly better. The letter was signed by Greta ca’Vorl and the tiny, careful handwriting was hers-or an excellent imitation of the example that the Kraljica had given to him. Dhosti made a small, sure pattern with his left hand, closing his eyes and calling out a short spell at the same time. He felt the Ilmodo rise within him and he released it toward the paper. In the lower left corner of the first page, where there had been nothing before, five small trumpet flowers glowed yellow, gradually fading back to invisibility.

  Dhosti began to read slowly, paying attention only to every fifth word.

  Archigos: I write to you as the Kraljica had told me I should if I ever learned that she was dead. The news I must relay is not good. The Hirzg has taken the army, and I believe that he may be intending to threaten Nessantico. He is plotting with ca’Cellibrecca. You are in danger. If I learn more, I will write you again, but I am watched closely in Brezno. Be careful.

  Dhosti sighed. Someone knocked at the door and he folded the papers. “Enter,” he said. The door opened, and Kenne let Ana slip through before closing the doors behind her. She bowed, more deeply than she needed to, and he smiled, though it did nothing to erase the frown she wore. “Good morning, Ana,” he said. “You’re ready?”

  “For U’Teni ca’Cellibrecca’s funeral?” she asked. “Yes.”

  “And for the Kraljiki’s luncheon afterward?”

  Her shoulders lifted and fell. “How should I prepare for that, Archigos?”

  “I don’t know, quite honestly, but I thought we might discuss possibilities.” He shivered again. “It’s terribly cold this morning. Could you start the fire for me, Ana?” He saw her glance at the hearth, then reach for the tools to the side to poke at the coals. “Not with those,” he told her. “With the Ilmodo.”

  She stared at him, almost as cold as the draft that billowed the curtains behind him. He could see her considering a reply, then she turned her head to the side. “I don’t know that I can do that,” she said.

  He nodded, pleased with the honesty. He walked past her to the fire and threw the letter onto the coals. It curled, blackened and smoked before finally igniting. They both watched it. He turned back to Ana.

  “Give me your hands,” he said. She hesitated, drawing back a half step. “I’m not going to hurt you, Ana,” he told her. “I’m not your vatarh.”

  She grimaced, but she held out her hands and he took them in his own wrinkled and small ones, marveling at the smoothness of her skin against his own. You are an old man, and you haven’t much time. . He shoved the thought aside and opened his mind to the Ilmodo, his lips mouthing a hushed sequence of words. He let go of her, his hands shaping the air between them. The Ilmodo rose again, much stronger this time, and he let the energy wrap about her extended hands. When it glowed bright, he took her hands once again, both their hands caught in the bath of Cenzi’s power. He let his attention drift out from himself, down from his hands and into hers. His eyes closed, he gazed outward with the illumination of the Ilmodo. The light reflected from the pool within her soul, and he found himself filled with mild jealousy at what he saw there.

  He released her hands. The light faded. He felt himself dizzy suddenly, and he seated himself on the nearest chair. “So tiring,” he said.

  “The Ilmodo becomes easier to shape as you age, but the demands on the body are worse.” Ana was watching him, but her hands were still held out. She seemed to notice it belatedly, dropping them to her sides.

  “I felt you,” she said. “Like you were looking at me from the inside.”

  “I was,” Dhosti answered. “And I can tell you that Cenzi hasn’t taken His power from you, even if you’ve lost the path to find it. He has indeed blessed you, Ana. And His blessing remains. It is there. Still.”

  She had caught her upper lip in her teeth as he spoke, and he saw moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Archigos-”

  He raised his hand wearily, slumping back against the cushions of the chair. “Say nothing,” he said. “I know. I know you went to see Envoy ci’Vliomani after the Gschnas. I know you were with him when he was arrested, and that you went to see him at the Bastida. You are perhaps lovers. Ca’Rudka has told me.”

  “We’re not lovers,” she said quickly, then dropped her head again.

  “Not. .”

  “Not yet,” he finished for her. “You find yourself drawn to him?”

  She nodded.

  “He’s handsome enough, charming enough, and intelligent enough,�
��

  Dhosti said. “I was impressed by him the few times I met him, and the Numetodo chose well when they sent him to represent them to the Kraljica, even if he never had the chance to plead his case to her. I’m also told that he is betrothed to a woman back on the Isle of Paeti. Did he tell you that?”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I thought perhaps he had left out that bit of information,” the Archigos continued. “Her name is Kaitlin Mallaghan; beyond that I know nothing about her; after all, she doesn’t even have a ranked name, so it’s obvious who would gain the advantage from any marriage between them. But that name might be enough for you, eh? — to mention to Envoy ci’Vliomani when you see him next.” He stopped and pulled a chair alongside around so that it faced him. He patted the cushions.

  “Sit, Ana. You look pale.”

  She obeyed, moving as if he’d struck her. “Do you think. .” She swallowed hard. “. . that the envoy killed the Kraljica?”

  Dhosti shook his head. “No, I don’t, no matter what ca’Cellibrecca says or what Numetodo trinket was found on ci’Recroix’s body. I don’t believe that any more than I believe U’Teni Estraven ca’Cellibrecca was also killed by Numetodo, as A’Teni ca’Cellibrecca is claiming.”

  She took a long breath; he could see that she wanted to believe him. “Then who?”

  Now it was Dhosti who shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know that I find it convenient that ca’Cellibrecca’s daughter would be without a husband just at the time that the Kraljiki takes the throne without a wife. I know that Justi and ca’Cellibrecca have views in common when it comes to the Faith and the Divolonte.” She was looking away, as if lost in her own thoughts. “Ana,” he said sharply, and her head turned back to him. “You’re caught in the middle of this, whether you like it or not, and the choices you make now are going to be important: for you, for the Faith, and for Nessantico. You have to realize this. I need you here with me.”

  “I didn’t want to be part of it.”

  “I know you didn’t, but it was Cenzi’s decision to give you this burden, and you must carry it.”

  “How?” she asked. “How, when even the simplest spells are hard for me?”

  “The gift is still with you, Ana. Regain your faith, and the rest will return.”

  “The Numetodo. . I saw them, Archigos. They can do things with the Ilmodo that we can’t, not with all our belief. They create their spells beforehand, and cast them later with a single word and gesture; none of us can do that. Ka-Envoy ci’Vliomani told me he could show me how, that anyone who can find the Second World could do it. He said using the Ilmodo has nothing to do with faith or with Cenzi at all. I saw them cast spells, Archigos, without calling on Cenzi at all.”

  “And you wondered how Cenzi could allow that, didn’t you? And afterward, what happened?”

  She ducked her head again. She gave the sign of Cenzi, an involuntary motion. “Since then, I haven’t been able to use the Ilmodo. Not as I once did.”

  He reached over to her; she didn’t flinch this time as he touched her cheek, her neck. “Look at me, Ana,” he said, his fingers under her chin as if she were a child, and her head slowly lifted. “I’ve seen this before, with other teni who came into contact with the Numetodo and also found their belief shaken. This is nothing new, and it’s nothing permanent. Now you know what happens when faith falters. It’s a test that Cenzi has set to you. Cenzi has done this so you see His power, and so you return to Him even stronger than before. That’s all that’s required of you: you must truly believe in Him.”

  “But the Numetodo don’t believe in Cenzi at all, and what I saw. . None of them had any teni-training. .”

  “Trickery and misdirection,” he told her. “I know. I was once in a circus, and I saw ‘magic’ there, too.” He closed his eyes and spoke a harsh, sibilant word, lifting his fisted hand at the same time. He opened his eyes and his fist; there, dangling from his fingers, was a fine silver chain from which hung a shell of stone.

  Ana gasped, her hand at the collar of her robes as if searching for something hidden underneath. “Trickery,” Dhosti told her again. “And hands that have been trained to deceive. I took your necklace, yes, but not with magic and not with the Ilmodo. It’s amazing how you never really lose the skill. You shouldn’t believe your eyes so much, Ana, but your soul.” He held out the chain to her, letting the chain pour into her palm over the shell. “That’s not a symbol that a teni should wear. Let me give you a better one.”

  He reached around his own neck and removed the broken-globe pendant he wore, cast in gold and set with jewels. He offered it to her.

  “Keep the shell the Envoy gave you,” he told her. “Let it remind you of what you saw with the Numetodo. But wear this instead, close to your heart.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “I insist.”

  She closed her hand around the stone shell, then placed the chain in the pocket of her robe. She took the pendant with Cenzi’s symbol from Dhosti and placed it around her neck. The globe gleamed on

  green cloth in the valley between her breasts.

  Dhosti smiled. “Now, that looks far better on you than on me,” he said. He sighed. “Now, let’s talk about your luncheon with the Kraljiki.

  There’s something you should tell him-it will be a gift from you to him. We don’t have much time. . ”

  Orlandi ca’Cellibrecca

  “Those who would bring down the Concenzia Faith are utterly without bounds and without remorse, and they would bring down Nessantico herself,” Orlandi thundered from the High Lectern of the Old Temple: Estraven’s temple. The teni who had served U’Teni Estraven were there, solemn in their green robes in the front rows, and the ca’-and-cu’ who had come to the service were arrayed in their finery behind them. Francesca sat with the family to Orlandi’s left, all of them in white mourning, Francesca’s face covered with a heavy veil so that her features were hidden. The Archigos was there as well, seated with his whore in the balcony to the right. Orlandi glared up at the dwarf, his thick, graying eyebrows lowered.

  Orlandi gestured again at the casket before the altar where Estraven ca’Cellibrecca lay, the coffin closed because of the deteriorated condition of the body. “Look there,” Orlandi railed. His voice was in fine form this morning, blessed by Cenzi in this significant moment, roaring low like deep thunder throughout the temple. “The enemies of the state and of the Faith have struck down another of our finest, the husband of my own daughter, someone who may have one day worn the robes of the Archigos.”

  There hadn’t been a chance of that, Orlandi knew. Estraven had been a competent follower, but that was all. Still, Orlandi saw ca’Millac’s lips purse at the comment, and that was pleasure enough. Orlandi gathered himself, drawing in a long breath. Help me with this, Cenzi. Help me to make them understand Your will. “It should be obvious to anyone with true faith that we have tolerated those who mock Cenzi long enough.

  It should be obvious to anyone with true faith that the only course we have is to destroy them before they destroy us. The Divolonte says it:

  ‘When threatened, protect yourself and do not fear to use the sword, for Cenzi alone will judge those who are sent to Him.’ Well, we know who struck down Estraven. We know, yet they go unpunished. I say that it is time for such tolerance to end. I say that it is time that we follow the Divolonte that is derived from Cenzi’s law. I say it is time for the Faith to show its full strength and its full fury. I say we find those who scorn us and we strike!”

  With the last word, he lifted his hand high and brought it down again hard, striking the lectern with his fist. The sound of the blow echoed through the Old Temple, and he heard the susurration of assent roll through the audience. It took all his will to resist looking up at the Archigos with a smile of triumph. Now he leaned forward on the lectern and lowered his voice; he saw the congregation lean forward to hear him.

  “Listen,” he said to them in a near-whisper. “Listen.” He paused, holdi
ng a hand to his ear. “If we listen to our hearts and our prayers, we will hear Estraven ca’Cellibrecca and Kraljica Marguerite, both of them calling to us from the arms of Cenzi and Vucta. Listen: they call out with the voices of all those who have been murdered over the years.

  They cry for justice. And we must. .” He paused, looking from the congregation to the casket, to Francesca and the family, and back again to the people crowding the Old Temple. He let his voice roar once more. “We must listen to their pleas and give Estraven and Kraljica Marguerite what they ask for. If we do nothing, if we refuse to hear them, then it will be Cenzi’s wrath that we will face next. I will not let that happen. This must be the task for all of us: do not let that happen.”

  There was no applause, not here in the sacred space below the painted vault, but he knew they yearned to shout and clap their hands.

  He could feel it. Orlandi pressed his lips together, looking at them and nodding once, slowly. Then he left the lectern, and the u’teni leading the service called out the recitatives as the choir began to sing from the loft.

  Orlandi took his seat next to Francesca. He took her hand into his lap.

  “You should have seen the Archigos, Vatarh,” Francesca whispered to him, leaning on his shoulder. “I thought the man was going to collapse right there, his face was so red.”

  “If only that were truly Cenzi’s Will,” Orlandi told her. The choir’s lament masked their voices. He patted her hand. “It will have to be enough that Cenzi has called Estraven back to Him. That will suffice.”

  “Was he called, Vatarh, or was he sent?” He glanced at Francesca, at the strange sound of her voice, but the funeral veil obscured her features. For a moment, he wondered, then her fingers pressed against his.

  He leaned back, closing his eyes and singing along with the choir.

  After the service, as Estraven’s body was placed on a white-draped carriage to be taken to the crematorium for its final dissolution, the Archigos approached them, bypassing the long line of ca’-and-cu’ prepared to pay their respects to the new widow. Low, fast clouds drizzled rain as they emerged from the Old Temple and hoods and scarves had come up, but the Archigos’ head was bare, his bald scalp gleaming with the moisture. It had also turned colder, as if the spring had decided to retreat back to winter, and his breath was a cloud around him. His staff remained behind in the shelter of the temple alcove, and the whore was not among them. That made Orlandi scowl under the blue-and-gold