Steadfast

by Michelle Hauck

  They all turned to look at the woman who had caused nothing but cruelty in their lives and the lives of so many others. Father Telo had explained how she’d order the deaths of children. The peacefulness of her breathing seemed out of touch with the brutality of her soul.

  “Or you could be reading too much into where an ill woman was looking,” Ramiro pointed out. “She had to look at something. You claim she is crafty. Her gaze could have been meant to deceive, exactly as her words.”

  “Logically, the only one who could help us sort truth from lies is another Northerner,” Teresa put in. “Surely, though they might not have all the facts about Dal, they would all know about the red Diviners.”

  Ramiro shook his head. “I take your point, cousin. But we can’t just ask a Northerner his thoughts,” he pointed out. “They’d hardly answer us freely even if they did understand us.”

  Father Telo’s eyes lit up, and Ramiro braced himself. “I know one who speaks our language,” Telo said, “and might even be sympathetic to our cause—the officer from the gate. After we question Santabe thoroughly, I shall go to him alone, and with the Lord’s help, I’ll try to get confirmation for anything we have discovered from Santabe. At the same time, the two of you can go out the gate and get our news to those waiting.”

  Ramiro touched mind and heart, hoping to bring them into balance. His mind said all his friends’ plans made sense. Their ideas sound and logical. Unflawed. His heart said otherwise, warning it could never be that easy.

  Chapter 23

  Julian held himself straight and tall at Beatriz’s back with Captain Gonzalo and a few others, his gut pulled in to flatten his stomach. Well did he know the value of appearances at times. Occasionally the façade of confidence had been the only thing that made a vote swing his way when the concejales should have opposed his choice. His best help to his wife on this day was steady eyes and a neutral expression while she spoke to the combined people of Colina Hermosa and Suseph.

  His companion caught his eye. As a soldier, Captain Gonzalo had long mastered a similar art, projecting solid reassurance while fading into the background. By necessity the captain of a pelotón must be a man of many talents—able to lead and command at a moment’s notice, but also to take orders in turn. Julian gave the captain a nod of approval as Beatriz’s speech drew toward its close, and got a quirk of the head in acknowledgement.

  The faces in the packed church showed a mix of incredulity and horror. They had visited so many churches already that Julian had lost count after a score. Each church was in a different district of the city so that every person could hear for themselves the words of their alcalde. Words to prepare for the worst. Beatriz had decided to offer hope, but not to shirk truth:

  We will oppose this Dal, yet might not be able to succeed.

  So far her message had been received as well as could be expected, though word had surely run ahead of Beatriz as they made their slow way through the city, and to be fair, no amount of preparation could brace a person for the details spelled out from an actual authority figure.

  Yet the speeches to the people had almost not happened—or not by Beatriz. The concejales of both cities had tried to dissuade her and then insisted they’d be better to speak to the people—that the people needed to hear such dire news from a man. The scene outside the first packed church replayed in his head.

  Beatriz had been surrounded by fourteen councilmen, all trying to protect her from herself.

  “Let someone with more experience talk to the people,” Osmundo the potter had suggested with a patronizing smile. “We would not stress you.”

  “I concur,” had said a landowner from Suseph whose name Julian always forgot. “To speak at so many venues all over the city would be tiring for anyone. Let us handle it.”

  “For anyone?” Beatriz had snapped. “But not for you?”

  “Beatriz has been in front of crowds since I got into politics,” Julian had said, hoping to defuse the situation. “I daresay she has done this more than any councilman.”

  Beatriz’s eyes had narrowed. “Thank you, Julian, but today I need no one to speak for me.” She had given him that glare he know so well and he had stepped back. “I am the alcalde here. Duly elected by not one, but two cities. It is clearly the duty of the alcalde—”

  “And our duty to advise and vote,” Diego had said. The elderly man had lifted a hand to stroke his white beard. “And to spare the alcalde when possible. You may verbally delegate this unpleasant task to us. This needs to be handled with care to avoid a panic.”

  Beatriz’s expression should have spit sparks. “And you think I’m not the person for it. That I need to be spared unpleasant tasks?”

  “You are new to it,” Diego had agreed. “Untried. Better if one of us takes the podium so things don’t get . . . emotional.”

  “Emotional? And would you suggest the same for someone in pants or do you speak to me in this way because I can’t grow a beard?” The concejales had been unable to meet her eye at that. “Thank you for your concern for my welfare, but I will delegate this task to no one. I daresay I’ve been handling unpleasant tasks since before some of you were born. If you ever try to patronize me like this again I shall not be so discreet about it, if you get my meaning.”

  Beatriz had turned from the councilmen, still muttering about not needing their help to get elected and certainly not needing their assistance to do her job. Julian had left his smirk in place, and had given the councilmen a cold, “Caballeros,” before he had followed Beatriz to the first pulpit and her speech. Reminding them her popularity far exceeded their own had been a masterful touch—he couldn’t have managed better himself.

  And she had managed each speech just as masterfully, getting stronger with each performance, conveying the same details each time while giving each message a personalizing touch. Yet still Julian felt for the people receiving that communication.

  Who would want to believe that their entire family—an entire ciudad-estado—might be slaughtered and left nothing but a pile of corpses by an uncaring god? A myth come to life.

  It had been hard enough for Julian to face the loss of his eldest son. The unbidden image of an entire city’s death almost shattered his composure. He quickly schooled his face back to stillness, touched mind and heart, and turned to Gonzalo as a distraction.

  Here at least was one who hadn’t tried to dissuade Beatriz. He had more brains than the concejales. The dark-skinned captain was a good ten years older than Salvador had been. “Have you any family?” Julian asked.

  For a moment, Gonzalo’s throat worked before he answered. “A wife. Four children. Two sons and a daughter here in this city.”

  “Evacuated?”

  “Aye. With the same group as your good wife, the saints bless her. They shared stories with me of her leadership on the journey here.”

  “That is Beatriz,” Julian said with a glow of pride. “Times of hardship bring out the best in her.”

  “My eldest son rides with the grooms and squires beside me,” Gonzalo confided. “I haven’t had a chance to see my wife and other children yet.”

  Julian nodded in understanding and allowed himself a small smile as remembrances flooded him. “Your son has answered the calling. Both of mine did the same. They would have it no other way, right from the beginning. They had one-track minds. The military was the only place for them.”

  “Duty to our people runs in your family,” Gonzalo said.

  “And in yours. When our tour of the city is over, you must go to see your wife. I insist upon it—and I know Beatriz would as well. Consider it an order, Captain, from one no longer able to command you.”

  “Hi-ya, sir. It is my privilege to serve.”

  Julian sensed neither of them felt easy speaking of their private lives. The situation with Ramiro’s abrupt departure from his duty stood between them. He turned the conversation. “Have you troops in place in case of rioting?”

  “What troops are available t
o us are ready. We are spread very thin. I doubt we can do much good if the whole city erupts, let alone a quarter of the people take to the streets.”

  With one regiment and a few squads of gate guards, Julian agreed. So far the people’s reaction had been quiet, but he was pretty sure they hadn’t fully absorbed the news yet. They would reach the real precipice as light faded to night, when inhibitions weakened.

  Beatriz finished her prepared speech and blank silence greeted her and stretched to an uncomfortable count before being broken.

  “What should we do?” asked a woman, holding an infant to her chest.

  Beatriz’s fingers, which had been clamped on to the podium until the knuckles turned white, slackened. This is where his wife excelled: speaking not to a crowd but to an individual. He knew well Beatriz dreaded public dialogues, but interaction was another story.

  The first question broke the flood and more poured from every direction, too many to hear or answer.

  “Silence!” Gonzalo shouted in a booming bass. “Silence for the Alcalde so she can speak! Silence!” The crowd settled with a reluctant final drone of noise.

  When quiet prevailed, Beatriz said, “You can pray. Pray that we prevail.” Beatriz pulled herself taller against the lectern. “We have taken many steps to protect you. There will be a convocación of alcaldes soon. I have the advice and experience of former Alcaldes Julian and Ramón. Our scouts and spies are among the Northerners, looking for ways to stop this god. Scholars, historians, and clergy have all been instructed to examine every scripture, every document, and history for clues. The best minds of our military have been consulted, including the retired members. Indeed, we have requested those members and any who left for other professions to form a new pelotón. We have put word among merchants and other travelers who have visited foreign lands for any rumors they have heard of the Northern god. Be assured we have left no stone unturned, nor will we.”

  Julian nodded to show the people he agreed. He had snatched perhaps two hours’ sleep since returning to Suseph, and Beatriz had gotten less. Everyone on the inside had been tireless in doing everything that could be done, including the councilmen of Colina Hermosa and of Suseph, though he noted Beatriz left their names out of her praise.

  “The best thing you can do now is wait and be ready. As I said, darkness and shelter are our protection. We have plenty of food and water. Go back to your houses and be with your families. Seek solace at your church. Let no one suffer fear all alone but include those without kin at your hearth, just as the people of Suseph took in their cousins of Colina Hermosa.”

  Julian looked up. He had not heard these words at any of the other events. Tears stood in Beatriz’s eyes. “The Northerners are a people of violence and bloodshed. They took our city—my child—our children. I would not have us be like them. I would have us show them the meaning of kindness. Embrace the lost. Tend the sick. Soothe the panicked. If you have plenty of something, offer it without price to those who need. Let us take no money in these days of trial, but help each other. Stand together and stand for compassion. Be not angry or hopeless, but find strength in family and courage.”

  Her mantilla trembled atop her head with the force of her conviction.

  “I trust in you. Enough to share with you everything I know. I wish I had more answers to give you, but for now, like you, I wait. Let us wait with kindness. If these be our last days, let it be said we filled them with benevolence and showed the world the true meaning of humanity! Let us not be like them!”

  Beatriz stepped down from the pulpit and the people, swept up in her emotion, rushed forward. Gonzalo tried to dart in front of her, but most people merely touched her arm or the edge of her dress, murmuring words of thanks or promises to be kind. Tears stood in many eyes, and Julian dashed his hand across his cheek to wipe away his own.

  As a large matron crushed Beatriz in an embrace, whispering blessings, he managed to get close enough to his wife to smile at her across the distance and mouth the words. “Mi amor. Now and forever.”

  Her return smile was filled with sweet sadness. There and gone as she went from belonging to him for an instant to back to belonging to the people. How many years had she been the one who stood back and gave him over to their city, offering her quiet support? He gladly took his turn being her strength.

  “No emotion, caballeros?” Julian couldn’t help putting forward that dig to the members of the council close enough to hear.

  Gonzalo cleared his throat beside him, having worked his way through the crowd. “I think those words will travel to every corner of the city. We will have a quiet night. Unless I miss my guess, there will be no riots.”

  “No,” Julian said in agreement and gestured to a table in the corner where a priest scratched words on parchment as another dictated. Other clerics wrote furiously on their own papers, making copies of the speech. “I don’t suppose there will be.”

  “They love her,” Gonzalo added.

  Julian had no answer but the swell of pride in his throat and heart. Beatriz had become the parental figure of old and young.

  Law and order would be maintained tonight. All due to the will of one very extraordinary woman. Another miracle of sorts. Let the morrow bring them more blessings.

  Chapter 24

  Telo stared at Santabe as she sat on the ground, her back against a pillar. Leather straps bound her there—her arms pulled backward and pinned against the stone, while the girth of the pillar ensured her hands didn’t meet. While he was loath to see anyone so restrained, having suffered his own captivity at the hands of the Northerners, he agreed with Ramiro that she was much too dangerous to be free. With relief, his conscience gave over that worry to the Lord. God would have to judge if necessity outweighed morality in this case and tally the results against his soul. For now, he was willing to live with this treatment.

  I can ask for forgiveness later.

  “What does the red Diviner do?” he asked Santabe for the hundredth time.

  A gloating smile remained his only answer. Ramiro took a step closer, eyebrows raised in inquiry, and Telo gave a small nod. The young man knelt slightly behind the pillar, close enough to breathe in Santabe’s ear. Her gloat wavered, looking far less certain. It vanished altogether at the rasp of Ramiro’s knife leaving its sheath.

  “You have rightly pointed out that a man of my calling is by nature too kind,” Telo said. “Too quick to forgive, as I forgave the taking of my hand. Our job is to council and absolve. But Ramiro is of a different calling.”

  Ramiro passed a sharpening stone over the knife, leaving a hiss of stone against metal to hang in the air. “A soldier learns to put aside conscience. You burned down my city. Ordered the death of children. Maimed the good Father. Helped cause the deaths of thousands . . . including my brother’s.” He leaned forward so she could see him out of the corner of her eye, then set the knife against her wrist, drawing a thin mark of blood. “We have a saying here: Treat others as you want to be treated. But we have another one, similar in nature, yet slightly different: What comes around goes around.” The knife bit a fraction deeper.

  “You would not,” Santabe hissed. “You bluff. Your religion forbids it.”

  “Does it?” Ramiro said into her ear. “Sorry to disappoint, but a lot goes out the window in a time of war. I learned field interrogation in my training. You would be amazed what I can do with a knife and a fire. The fire will make sure there isn’t enough blood to bring down your Dal. The knife will make sure there’s enough blood to at least make that a worry. And if you’re concerned about our religion, the good Father can take a little walk if he doesn’t want to watch. But I’m not going to have any regrets.”

  “Tell me something about your god—the Diviners—and I’ll call him off,” Telo said.

  Santabe’s lips pressed together, and Teresa stepped forward. “Did Ordoño teach you the symbolism of a man’s beard? On a soldier it means they’ve killed. Ramiro earned his beard particularly young.”r />
  “Thanks to you,” Ramiro purred in Santabe’s ear and she jumped. “They taught me all kinds of ways to inflict pain without causing death. But I’ve never taken off a hand—yet.”

  “How do your people get the demon to leave?” Telo snapped quickly. “Give us something or I leave it to Ramiro!” Telo nodded and Ramiro dug deeper with the knife. Blood ran down into her hand, dripping off her fingers.

  “The moon,” she gasped. “It is no secret. Any could tell you that with each visit Dal stays another turn of the moon.”

  “How many months?” he prodded, but the gloating smile had returned. She had confessed that much not out of fear, but as a dig—to get under their skin, not to save hers. Or possible she lied, but at least she was speaking. They could sort out truth from fabrication later. “Tell us about the Diviners!”

  “No—I think not. Wait and you’ll find out firsthand.”

  Teresa growled with frustration and darted forward to slap Santabe across the face. The crack of flesh brought Telo half off his seat.

  “Stop!” The same frustration ate at his insides, but he couldn’t condone this anymore. Not yet. They had only been at the questioning for half a day. He would give more peaceful methods at least a full day. Besides, he doubted intimidation or torture would work. He waved Ramiro back and the young man faded to the edge of the room as they’d agreed. Teresa returned to her seat in front of their prisoner as well. Today Telo was in charge, but tomorrow would be a different story.

  I will not fall into my former brutish ways. But the day I cross over that line might very well be coming soon . . .

  Instead of letting Santabe’s obstruction anger him, Telo allowed his focus to drift to calmer ground.

  Their new accommodations, where Telo had led his friends, allowed them much more space, including concealment for Sancha. Still underground, still full of the blessed dead, but some long-ago smugglers or others hiding from law and order had moved the heavy tombs aside, clustering them around the edges of this room or crowding them into other chambers. This place gave them area to move around and stretch out without having to squeeze between blocks of stone.