In the Shadow of the Gods

by Rachel Dunne

  For a moment, a moment only, there was joy. Never again would he have to see the sad bodies floating in rivers, never again see the sun shining its torment down on the little graves. He was free, finally, of the staring eyes.

  And then came the pain.

  Through the thrashing and the screaming and the streaming blood, through the hands trying to hold him still, through Pelir’s sonorous voice beseeching Fratarro, through it all, somehow, Keiro’s eye opened, the one eye, the one he had left. It opened, and he saw something he had never thought to see.

  Standing there, nearly hidden among the swirling black robes, were two children, a boy and a girl, holding hands firmly as they stared back at him. Two children that were mirror images of each other. Twins. Alive and grown and old enough to walk, to talk, to look back at him with comprehension. A woman knelt before them, put her hands on their shoulders, tried to shield Keiro from their sight. They were real, as real as Keiro, as real as life. And the tears burst from him then, one eye sobbing blood, as he washed his conscience clean, wiped away the guilt and the staring eyes and the tiny graves. For here they stood redeemed, all the drowned babes through all his walking years.

  “Finish it, brother,” one of the Ventallo rumbled.

  “No,” Keiro gasped out, a smile breaking across his face. “Don’t you see?”

  “We see,” the man said sternly. Squinting with his one eye, Keiro saw that his face was sharp and unforgiving, uncompromising. “You should not. You’ve been given to the gods. Finish it.”

  They didn’t see, none of them. Living twins! They meant that it was possible, all of it. The Long Night, and a time when there would be no more drownings, no more tiny hand-dug graves. They meant that Keiro could bear the sight of the world for a while longer, knowing that it would change. They meant that he would need his sight, to guide them, the beautiful living twins, to their destiny, to the salvation of all.

  And looking at the twins with his one eye, he heard the fluttering of a voice again, no louder than the blood leaking from his empty socket: Find me.

  “No,” Keiro said again, not to the whispered voice but to the hands that held the bloody icicle out to him, to those who wanted to take his eye that had, finally, seen living twins.

  They took his seekstone, cutting him off from the mountain, but they let him keep his robe and his eyecloth and his walking stick. Those were, really, the only possessions he’d ever valued. They let him keep his title, too, though they argued heatedly over it. He was a preacher still, a Fraro of the Fallen. They took him to the very top of Mount Raturo and pushed him still bleeding out into the waist-deep snow that blanketed the peak.

  “Away,” the hard-faced Ventallo intoned formally, filling the doorway he’d thrown Keiro from. “Be gone from this place. Apostate.” In all the arguing, Keiro remembered, this man, this man he didn’t even know, had called for his death. For dishonoring the gods. Because he was blind to the truth. And half blind, sprawled in the snow, banished, Keiro let out a little laugh. “You are given a chance,” the Ventallo continued. “A hope of redemption. It’s more than you deserve, but there it is. You may use our words still, and spread our teachings, and pray that the gods forgive you. Should we see your face again, it shall mean your death.” He stepped back, into Raturo, and the mountain closed shut, swallowing him whole, and leaving Keiro so very alone.

  His hands were cold, near frozen, but he managed to tie the eyecloth around his face, hoping it would slow the bleeding if nothing else. Behind his blind eye, he saw still the faces of the dead babes, all the drowned children he’d laid in the earth; but in front of his good eye, all he could see were the faces of the living twins. His redemption.

  Perhaps he could not stand at their sides, lead them to the glory they were meant for. But he could prepare the world for them, as best he could.

  Keiro used his walking stick to lever himself to his feet, and he began the descent, down the steep slopes of Mount Raturo. He had a long way to walk.

  CHAPTER 8

  There was a servant named Mayga who took care of Rora, not letting her get out of bed and—when keeping her in bed failed, which it did—not letting her leave the room. She was pretty closemouthed, Mayga, especially when it came to Nadaro.

  “Cappo Nadaro,” she said, putting on the emphasis like she expected Rora to give him the same respect, “is a good man. He does well by us all, and he’ll do the same for you. Now get back in bed.” She would yell at Rora for not calling him cappo, but sometimes, when Mayga didn’t know she was there, Rora heard her call him “Seeker Nadaro,” and she said it more scared than respectful.

  More troubling than Nadaro was her brother, who was gone most days. “Cappo Nadaro is showing me the whole city!” he told her excitedly, burrowing into the bed next to her. “He lets me come with him wherever he goes, and it’s so . . . so wonderful, Rora! It’s a hundred times better than the West Market . . . there’s so many things to see!”

  She didn’t like Aro hanging around the man so much, didn’t like it at all. “I don’t trust him, Aro.”

  He looked like she’d given him a whole pile of sweets and then snatched it away. “He’s nice, Rora. He saved you.” Unusually solemn, he looked her in the eyes and said, “I couldn’t’ve saved you on my own, and if you’d . . . if you’d died, I would’ve been nothing. We owe him, Rora. And it’s not so bad, not at all. Once your arm’s better, you’ll see.”

  She felt guilty doing it, couldn’t look him in the eyes as she said it, but she had to. “I just . . . I wish you’d stay with me more. I get lonely here.”

  Aro hugged her tight. “I’m sorry, Rora. I’ll stay tomorrow, promise. And I’ll talk to Mayga, too, she likes me. I’ll get her to let me show you the rest of the house. There’s so much stuff we never even knew about, Rora . . .”

  Mayga did let them go exploring, and the house was just as fancy as Aro’d said. She let him show her everything, but also kept her own eyes sharp, looking for a way out, just in case. And stuffing her pockets whenever Aro and Mayga weren’t looking.

  Her arm got better pretty fast, and Mayga said it was because kids healed quick, and because Nadaro had taken her to the best chirurgeon in the city. Rora didn’t know what that was, but Aro said it was like the cutters that took care of sick and dead people in the Canals, only much better. It didn’t matter to Rora, so long as her arm got better; soon as that happened, she was going to get her and Aro out of the house. There were a few doors to the outside, but they were locked all the time. If she could figure out where the keys were . . .

  Nadaro didn’t talk to Rora much, but it sure seemed like him and Aro were fast friends. It made her angry, but at the same time she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her brother so happy. Even when they’d been with Kala, he hadn’t smiled so much. Every time she started to feel guilty about wanting to take him away, though, she’d see Nadaro’s dead gray eyes, and know it was for the best. She still didn’t know what he really wanted, but she knew she didn’t want to give it to him. Especially not if it had anything to do with her brother.

  Mayga took the splint off and put her arm in a sling. It still hurt a little, but not so bad as long as she held it still against her chest. Not too long after, Aro came whirling into the room carrying a pile of cloth near as big as he was. Clothes, she saw when he dumped them on the floor in front of her. Fancy clothes.

  Aro was beaming, his cheeks red with excitement. “Look what Cappo Nadaro gave us!” he crowed.

  Awkward with her left hand, Rora plucked up one of the pieces of clothing. It was yellow, the pale color at the edges of a candle flame, and the funniest-looking tunic she’d ever seen. It took a few moments for her to realize it was a dress. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at it. Not even Kala had worn dresses.

  Aro was already stripping out of his clothes and tugging on the new fancy stuff, but Rora kicked the dress under the bed. Trapped halfway into his tunic, Aro gave her a sad look.

  “I’m not wearing
that.”

  “But that’s what girls wear.”

  “So?”

  “Cappo Nadaro’s throwing us a fancy dinner. We have to dress fancy, too.”

  Rora sat resolutely on the bed and folded her good arm over the bad one. “I didn’t ask for a fancy dinner. Sure as hells didn’t ask for a dress.”

  Rora had been taking care of both of them for most of their lives, and she’d gotten used to Aro doing what she told him to, even if he complained sometimes. So she was a little surprised when he straightened up and crossed his arms, too, a mirror of her. “There’s two things I know,” he said, his voice an exact match for hers whenever she had to talk him into something. “One thing is, if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead. The other thing is, I know he wants something from us. I’m not dumb. I know how biggers work, and adults are just bigger biggers. But he saved you, and that means we owe him. It’s simple, Rora. Whatever he wants, we have t’ give it to him.”

  There was a part of her that knew he was right, but there was a bigger part of her that knew that honor and fairness didn’t really matter outside of kids’ stories. “You don’t know what you’re saying, little bird.”

  “Yes I do.”

  “What if he wants to turn you into his slave, huh?”

  The tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn’t blink or look away. “Then it’s worth it, ’s long as you’re alive.”

  Rora shook her head. “I won’t let that happen. Ever.”

  “Then let’s find out what he does want. If he really just wants us to stay awhile, keep him company . . . that wouldn’t be so bad, Rora, would it?”

  It’s not that simple, she thought, but she kept the words behind her teeth. She couldn’t really think of anything else to say, so she fished the dress out from under the bed. Aro’s smile was all the answer she needed.

  Aro had shown her the eating room a few days ago, and she’d thought the long table was a dumb idea then; seeing it again didn’t much improve her opinion of it. It was long enough that she and Aro could have laid down on it with their arms stretched up, hands to feet, and neither of ’em would’ve been able to touch the ends. Judging by the chairs, it could’ve sat a score of people. If Nadaro was so lonely, what’d he need such a big table for? And Rora would be the first to admit she didn’t know a thing about fancy stuff, but it just looked dumb with only three places set at one end. Nadaro was already sitting at the head, his hands folded and that smile on his face that didn’t go to his eyes.

  “My, don’t you two look lovely,” he said as they sat to either side of him. “Rora, you clean up very nicely. In just a few years, I imagine you’ll be setting young men’s hearts to racing.”

  She grunted, glaring at all the stuff laid out on the table. The plate she knew, and the knife, even if it was dull and pretty useless looking. Then there was a two-spiked poker and a little bowl on a stick, and she was damned if she knew what those were for. They were made of silver, though, that she was sure of. There was enough room down the front of the dress that she could probably sneak at least one of them away and keep her and Aro fed for a few weeks once they got back out on the streets.

  “I’m so glad you’ve decided to stay,” Nadaro went on. He said the words, but there was nothing behind them. Rora’d seen a few acting troupes—the crowds were the best places to filch a few coins, with everyone paying so much attention to the actors—and you could tell when an actor was good, and when he was just saying his lines. Nadaro would’ve made an awful actor. “I hope you’ll forgive an old man his prattling, but it’s so refreshing to have company, especially such charming children.” Aro was grinning like he couldn’t hear the blankness in the man’s words. He probably couldn’t. Rora loved him, but she worried he was a little simple when it came to some things. He just trusted everyone and everything they said. Lies were as impossible for him to understand as flying. “I look forward to getting to know both of you better. I daresay Aro and I have already made a good start on that.” And he and her brother smiled at each other in a way that made Rora’s fingers itch for that knife. It was dull, but it was something. “But I’m afraid I don’t know much about you yet, Rora, save for what your dear brother has told me. It simply won’t do. Please, tell me about yourself.” Everything about him said he was actually interested in her . . . except for the eyes. Gods, did his eyes ever move or change?

  “Not much to tell,” she mumbled.

  “I hardly believe that. You managed to keep yourself alive for, what, ten years? In the quaint little hellhole everyone likes to ignore? And kept your young brother alive as well, no less. You’re a remarkable girl, Rora.”

  There was a loose thread on the skirt of the dress, and to keep her fingers away from the knife, she let them tug at the thread, tug and tug, until there was a wad of thread and a ragged line running parallel to her leg. “We do what we have to.”

  “Of course,” Nadaro said as servants marched into the room with tasty-smelling platters of food.

  She’d eaten pretty well so far, thanks to the meals Mayga’d brought her, but never like this. The servants piled her plate high with things she couldn’t even recognize, and even though she didn’t want to accept any kindness from Nadaro, didn’t want to dig her debt to him any deeper, her stomach growled like a wild dog and she grabbed a handful of some kind of meat. It didn’t taste like anything she’d ever had before, and it was delicious.

  Nadaro cleared his throat softly, and she looked up. He had the dull knife in one hand and the strange poker in the other, using the two to hack at the food on his plate. Aro was trying to copy him, but not doing too good at it. A servant stepped forward to help him. Rora met Nadaro’s eyes and lifted the handful of meat to her mouth. They stared, and Rora promised herself she wouldn’t be the first to look away. Bluffing, playing tough, just the same as she did every day in the Canals. She might not’ve known how to use a food-poker, but this she understood.

  “Rora’s real good at everything,” Aro burbled around a mouthful of food, as if the conversation’d never stopped, as if there wasn’t a little war going on. He didn’t know fighting, didn’t know toughness. If someone spoke to him too rough, he was as like to cry as anything.

  “So I’ve heard,” Nadaro said. “You seem a most resourceful girl, Rora. A useful friend to have. I do hope you consider me a friend?”

  “Friends are people you can trust.”

  “Caution can be a virtue. But I would dearly love to earn your trust and friendship.”

  With all the innocence in the world, Aro chirped, “You’re my friend,” and Nadaro finally turned his eyes from Rora, gave her brother that dead smile.

  “I’m very happy to hear that, little Aro.”

  Rora stayed as quiet as she could for the rest of the meal, eating with her good hand and pulling at the thread on her dress, glaring at everything as Aro and Nadaro chatted as easily as if they’d known each other for years. And still Aro couldn’t see what a bad actor the man was, couldn’t hear the strangeness in his voice. As soon as Rora could, she announced that she was tired and pushed herself away from the table.

  “Healing is a tiring process,” Nadaro said, nodding. “I have enjoyed our time together. Sleep well. I hope you’ll allow me to keep your dear brother for a while longer?”

  “No,” she blurted, fear and anger stabbing together at her heart. Aro frowned at her, and Nadaro smirked, the first thing that came close to touching his eyes, and it sent prickles up her back.

  “No?” he repeated, faking shock just like a bad actor would.

  “I . . . I need him.”

  “Need him?” Nadaro repeated again, and it almost felt like he was mocking her. “Whatever would you need him for? He’ll be right here, with me. I had Cook prepare a special dessert, and it mustn’t go to waste. It would break the poor woman’s heart.”

  Aro’s eyes lit up at that. “I’ll be up later, Rora, I’m not tired at all.”

  Rora wanted to tear at her hair, to stamp her f
eet, to scream in Nadaro’s face. Stupid Aro, why couldn’t he see how things worked? “I . . .” There was still that smirk on Nadaro’s face, and Rora knew with a simple certainty that she couldn’t leave her brother with the man. Couldn’t. “I . . .”

  “You . . . ?” Nadaro prodded, and she knew this time he was making fun of her.

  Her cheeks were burning, but she looked to Aro, trying to talk to him with her eyes, to get him to understand. “I can’t sleep without you.” She saw his face soften, could almost see his heart reaching out to her, and she pounced on it. “It’s just . . . we’ve always been together. It feels wrong going to sleep without you there. I can’t sleep if I don’t know you’re safe.”

  “I’m safe here, Rora, we’re both safe. I’ll just be right here.”

  She shook her head, and glanced at Nadaro. I’m a better actor than you are. “It’s not the same, though. My mind’s always gonna be worried about you.” The best actors were the ones who knew exactly what to do and say to get the best reactions from the audience, and Rora knew her audience better than anyone else ever could. “I’ll just have to get up every few minutes to check on you. I won’t get any sleep at all.”

  Aro’s face was softening more and more, and as he gave Nadaro an apologetic look, she felt triumph well up inside her. She gave Nadaro the sweetest smile she could pull up.

  “Can you tell Cook that we’ll have her dessert tomorrow?” Aro said. “And tell her I’m real sorry. Everything else was real good.”

  Nadaro nodded, and his eyes were flat and hard again. “Of course. I wouldn’t dare come between the bonds of sibling attachment.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “Sleep well, dear children.”

  Rora took Aro’s hand and pulled him up the stairs to the relative safety of their bedroom. Not that she really felt safe there, but it was better’n being around Nadaro. She yanked off the dress with its long tear and wadded thread, clumsy with her arm in the sling, and found the plainest clothes she could instead. Her old clothes, the ones she’d worn since Kala’s, were long gone, probably burned. All the clothes Mayga’d brought her were a little small, but at least they were simple wool, and not dresses.