“What happened to them?” Luca asked Leyla.
“Go find out,” she said, her tone gently mocking. Calio shot her a look of reprimand. Their elder brother was the peacemaker.
“Tell us of the others,” he reminded Luca, who had flushed.
“There were the Kijari, a race of mannikins who live underground. I think we need not give them much consideration. It is the last group that interests me, the Mannites of Trea.”
Several in the room gave Luca questioning looks. Most had visited the Heartland and met Trean traders, but the Mannites were an outlawed cult and kept a low profile.
“Those Treans are a narrow-minded bunch,” Vulla, the Minister of Magic, grumbled. “Ruled over by that Priest-King and his band of roaming priest soldiers. They force the married women to wear silly caps, the goodwife cap they call it, and if they don’t, they are publicly shamed.” She touched her own hair, kept short for convenience. Unwed and unloved, she lived for the practice of her craft.
Mak, the Minister of Innovation, had not spoken till now, but he remarked, “The cap is the least of it. Trean society is obsessed with pairing and propagation.”
Luca smiled at his best friend, who had no interest in children. Mak loved his lab, and if there was a man friend occasionally in his private quarters, well, who cared? “The Mannites follow a different philosophy. There are still a hundred or so in Trea—gifted magicians and brave warriors,” Luca said.
“As far as you know,” Vasio pointed out.
Luca bridled. “I made sure to check, brother. Just as I asked about the Elders. Not more than thirty years ago, we received a letter and a lovely gift of ermine pelts from the Mannite Master of the Horse. He is one of the military leaders.”
“He or she,” Leyla reminded everyone. “Krossos Mannine taught that any position should be open to someone who demonstrates aptitude, regardless of gender.”
“Aptitude,” Luca began hotly.
Calio interrupted. “Our Prime believes that the Mannites of Trea, the third signatories, are most allied to our own interests. After all, they are humans, like us.”
“We will earn more gold from the ice trade with Farzia,” Samu pointed out. “It must be our first priority.” Mak nodded. He had two men working long days, smelting various combinations of metal to test for the hull’s lining.
“Wrong, Samu. Gold is not our first priority,” Luca chided. “Knowledge is. Without knowledge, there is no advancement.” The Minister hunkered down at the reprimand, emptying his cup.
“Knowledge about a demon will not help us make better ice ships,” Vasio said. “And why do we need the goodwill of the outlawed Mannites? They have no military might to speak of, and we have no use for magic here. We are seafarers and traders.”
Vasio was clever with numbers, but he had no understanding. “We are the descendants of scholars and artisans,” Luca reminded him. “Vendrisi’s founders braved the open seas to escape a tyrant’s madness. Does not the spirit of discovery live on in us?”
“It does,” Leyla agreed. No one else spoke.
“So the rest of you recommend we do…nothing?” Luca challenged.
“We have a navy,” Calio said. “A very good one. We might be able to hunt the Demon down before she reaches the Heartland. Can she move fast?”
“As fast as the fastest flowing water,” Leyla said. “She can ride the swells of waves, cascade through foam, even rise and fall with the rain. She is the world’s most dangerous supernatural predator. Her hunting ability is only hampered by her lack of sight. She perceives no more than dim shapes. She recognizes men by the smell of their blood. She can tell us apart that way.”
“What a dreadful creature. Why did we get involved with her imprisonment in the first place?” Vasio asked.
“Trean lapis-lazuli trade,” Samu whispered to him. “The Fifth Prime got the concession.”
Mak smiled at Luca. “I’m guessing our Prime is fascinated by this dreadful creature. Tell us your impression.”
“The night the meteorite fell, so far east of where the astronomer predicted, I heard singing. The roar of the waves, the low chant of an ancient voice, they were woven together as one. She has a strange smell. It aches in me, like memory,” Luca said. Vasio gave him a puzzled look.
Luca’s voice turned brisk. “She lured the Lighthouse Keeper’s boy off the cliffs, you know. He was not much younger than me.” He paused. “I’ve decided to send a company of our best warriors after her.”
“Warriors?” Leyla tittered.
He rose, stalked over to her chair, and grabbed her half-full glass away. “Who else would I send?” he demanded. “My viper of a sister?”
Vulla coughed and cleared her throat. “Perhaps what Leyla was about to say was the Demon can’t be killed.”
“Of course she can,” Luca barked, now thoroughly irritated.
“Not by ordinary means. She’s the oldest creature on earth. We are all her descendants. Spears, swords, poison—they will not touch her,” Vulla said apologetically.
“That can’t be true,” Mak said. “Old tales.”
“All you’ve seen of the supernatural is that moaning ghost in the cellar, and you claimed that was a trick of the light,” Vulla said.
“Surely the dissolution of the Demon is something you and Luca could apply your science to,” Leyla purred.
Mak’s tone was cool. “We work far into the night as it is, on the ice ships.”
Vasio moved restlessly in his chair. “The trade agreement to bring ice to Farzia takes precedence. Farzia is fabulously rich, a ripe peach ready to be fondled in your hands. If you play it right.”
“Enough about the Princess,” Luca snapped. A close-knit family was one thing, but his brother’s interest in his bedmates, which had once included the Farzian King’s daughter, was unhealthy.
“We need a future Prime,” both his brothers said in unison. Luca had fathered two children so far. Only a fifth-born could be Prime. Unless she was a girl, and a boy came after, as had happened in Luca’s family.
Leyla glowered at them. “For such a progressive nation, we have rules little better than the Priest-King of Trea.”
“Our rule of succession is not superstition,” Calio pointed out. “The fifth child is younger, and therefore expected to live longer, providing a stable rule. The older, more experienced siblings pledge to provide support and advice to guide the Prime.”
Vulla said, “Leyla knows that. She’s just tired. We looked through scrolls about the Demon all day.”
“I’m not sure Leyla remembers. If she cannot support the Prime, I’ll have to ask her to leave the meeting,” Calio said calmly.
“I’m leaving anyway,” Leyla huffed.
Luca blocked her path. “No, you’re not. Sit back down.” He pushed her into her chair. “Now answer me a question, sister. You say the Demon went to release the Elementals. Where is their prison?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere near the Western Wilderness.”
“How can I send a mission there if I don’t know where it is?”
Vulla said, “With all due respect, Prime, the location was kept secret. The Kijari know because they built it. The Elders know.”
“And the Mannites will know, even if no one on my own Council is capable of giving me an answer,” Luca told her. He turned to the others. “Our House always keeps its word. That’s what holds a nation of disparate islands together. We will do so now. We will send a delegation to the Mannite Master of the Horse, ask him for news of the Demon, and offer help.”
“I trust our help will be accompanied by remuneration,” Vasio said, dark eyes narrowing.
Luca shook his head. Mannites were not wealthy. “Knowledge is the true treasure.”
Leyla said, “It is cowardly of us to stand aside and do nothing.”
“I am doing something,” Luca said.
“Sending a delegation. Perhaps you should invite them over for a bitter ginger and some biscuits?”
“What do you suggest Luca do?” Vasio asked.
“Go himself. Find the Elders. Recapture the Demon.” She gave a little laugh. “Help save the world.”
“So says the apprentice witch,” Vasio sneered. “We live in the real world, dear sister, the world where sixty thousand Vendrisi depend on trade to put bread in the mouths of their children.”
“Who would rule in Luca’s absence?” Calio asked her. “We need a Prime here.”
She turned red.
“You are not as subtle as you think,” Luca yelled. “Even if I left, I would never choose you to rule for me.”
Everyone had forgotten about Vulla, who huddled in her magician’s robes, looking into space. Now she sat up, cocking her head. “So what are they going to be able to accomplish? This small band of Mannite heretics, running around in their bright Robes?”
Leyla had the final word. “We can only hope they have a secret weapon, since no one here will help them.”
CHAPTER 7
Berona
As Shandon and I approached a copse of trees, Rheyna emerged from the shadows. “Oh, it’s you. Why have you come along? You have a father to provide for you.”
It wasn’t like I was delighted to be traveling with her either. I was deciding between scathing retorts when I noticed the two horses. I’d rarely been so close to a horse before. A sinking feeling started. Surely he wouldn’t expect…
His next words made his intention clear. “We ride through the night. The King’s Road will be nigh empty. We have to put some distance between us and the village.”
I looked the mounts over and realized one of them had toes instead of hooves. They were huge toes, as broad as three of my fingers held together, but they were definitely toes. They gleamed like polished leather as the beast flexed them back and forth in the soft grass, making snuffles of contentment. It was bulkier than the horse, rippling with muscle.
“What is that?!”
“My weatherbeater. He can climb steep paths, even if there is snow. Rheyna will ride with me. You can take the other. She was a cart horse,” Shandon said, and gave me a reassuring smile.
“I’ve never been on a horse,” I stuttered. “Never even bridled one.”
“How did you plow?”
“The donkey,” I mumbled, unwilling to admit that since its death, Father and I took turns scraping and pushing the plow through the sticky clay of our tiny maize field.
“Ah, well. Riding is essential for a woman. You won’t ever have the strength in your arms to throw a spear while you’re standing on the ground. Even Kendall can’t do that. She’s the Red Robe I mentioned.”
I raised a tentative hand to the horse and made a clucking sound. She swung her head around and blew air out of her nostrils.
“There’s the matter of my knife,” Shandon reminded me, holding out his hand.
“Can’t I carry it?”
“Six pieces of gold,” he said softly, so Rheyna wouldn’t hear him. “I wonder how you ever found the courage?”
I pulled the knife out of my pack and grudgingly gave it to him. “If I’m a warrior, I should be armed.”
“A true warrior doesn’t depend on weapons. Cultivate judgment and self-reliance.”
Easy for a man with two swords to say—for at that moment he shook out his Yellow Robe and I glimpsed a second sword fastened across his back.
“How are we supposed to get on these things?” I gestured to the horse, and then my tunic.
“I’ve brought pins. If you pin your tunic up just right, you can pull the folds of loose fabric over your legs once you’re up.”
Rheyna and I grappled with the pins. He didn’t offer to help. I got the impression he was reluctant to touch us. That was fine by me.
* * *
All went well the first few days. By “well” I don’t mean it was easy. I fell a few times, injuring my pride.
With each mile we covered, my ancestral lands receded in the distance. Now I was among strangers, passing villages whose names I’d only heard in idle conversation. I had no idea where my family might have gone. I hoped the Demon would hunt me and forget about them.
When we rested, I chatted with Shandon, asking him questions about Mannite magic, trying to judge the level of protection it could provide. I caught him giving me puzzled glances. I didn’t dare explain. He might abandon me.
Then on the third day, our luck changed for the worse.
* * *
The soldiers came out of the gate shortly after we passed by the outside of the town walls. Perhaps they’d been in there sniffing around, asking the bailiff if he’d seen us. People might believe I’d gone with my family, but Rheyna’s mother had wailed her grief through the entire village.
There were five mounted men, four Chosen and the Intercessor himself, recognizable by the lack of a helmet and his shaved pate. So he could hear the commands of the Goddess better, according to Aunt Galent.
I’d never spoken to our regional Intercessor, and I certainly didn’t want to now. I was horrified when Shandon reined his horse to a stop. He pulled out a silken mantle from his saddle bag and threw it over the Robe. Then he spurred his mount on; my mare followed the lead of his beater.
The mare’s great strides threw me up into the air like a leaf, though I tried to hold on with my thighs, the way Shandon had shown me. I barely righted myself as I came down hard, my spine jarring.
Shandon noticed. He slowed his beater to a canter, and my mare followed suit. It was barely an improvement. Instead of the even flow of the horse’s muscles, there was a sharp glancing impact as hooves hit pavers. I flung my arms around her neck. Air huffed out of my lungs each time I hit the saddle.
The Chosen urged their horses on and soon surrounded us. The sun glinted off the silver thread of the embroidered pig insignia and the metal of their long swords, tied onto their backs. They dismounted, and the broadest one caught the reins of Shandon’s beater tight in his hand, giving Shandon a warning look when it huffed in protest. Shandon quieted his mount, and my mare followed his lead.
The Intercessor was the last to dismount. He came close to us. He looked at me and Rheyna with his sharp dark eyes, and then back at Shandon. I couldn’t help it; unbidden, the impious nickname came to mind: Raspers. People secretly called them that because sometimes their voices were hoarse. From praying all night, some claimed. Others said it was from the exorcisms they performed.
“May the Mother’s womb bless you,” the man said. His eyes had a cold look to them, even if he was the Goddess’s chosen emissary.
“I am blessed,” Shandon replied calmly, forcing his beater to a standstill. My mare danced skittishly, my nervousness transmitting to her.
I dared a sideways look at Shandon. The Yellow Robe was light and short; it was completely covered by his well-woven, dark blue cloak, which had a border of leaves picked out in gold thread. But we had tried to run, which made us look guilty.
A lump formed in my throat. What would the Chosen do if they discovered we were in the company of a Mannite? Girls did not leave their homes until their future husband’s family summoned them. I was so distracted that the mare’s next shuffle took me by surprise. As I tumbled off, my foot nearly caught in the stirrup. I jerked it loose at the last moment, landing at the feet of the tallest soldier, who snorted in laughter.
“Cherry Top,” I mouthed, infuriated. The red knob on their helmets earned them that name. Luckily, the Chosen had turned back to study Shandon.
Trembling, I got up, disappointed to see Shandon stay in his saddle, rather than dismounting and defending us. Were we worth that little to him?
Or perhaps he was not as powerful as I hoped. That would be even worse.
The Intercessor spoke. “The dark-haired seems about right. Eighteen or so.”
“Right age for what?” Shandon asked casually. The riding cloak draped his tall, lean figure, lending him a majestic air.
“We’re looking for a missing girl, Rheyna. A Mannite stole her.”<
br />
He was waiting to see if she’d react to her name. She stared ahead stonily.
Shandon broke the silence. “Outlaws again! When will the Chosen purge the lands of these heretics?” I envied his poise.
“There’s worse things about. If only the Mannites would stay up in that hidden castle of theirs and keep their paws off the girls, we wouldn’t bother with that motley lot,” the tallest soldier said.
The Rasper reproved his man. “This Lord does not wish to hear of our tribulations.”
“Apologies, Intercessor.”
“May I be on my way?” Shandon asked. “My holding lies west, and I have a long ride ahead. I need to be at my wedding in three days. That’s why we were riding so fast.”
The Rasper squinted at me. “This other girl is interesting. Striking. What purpose do the two serve?”
“I obtained servants for my future wife.”
“You’re not from here. Why not just choose among your own people?”
“My wife comes from these lands. She’ll have familiar faces.”
“Best give these faces a good scrubbing before you let them serve as attendants,” one of the Cherry Tops joked.
The Rasper let his eyes run over Shandon, who sat easily in the saddle. He nodded slightly as he saw the broad gold ring, one that Shandon must have just put on. Perhaps it was some type of insignia that identified him as a noble. “I am sorry to impede your passage. However, your story puzzles me. These girls do not appear to be suitable as lady’s maids.”
I felt my face flush. My tunic was stained and torn from being pinned, but it had been good material once. My father had a vineyard; unlike Rheyna, we were not reduced to foraging in the forest for lichen to boil for our winter meals.
“It’s clear enough, in’t it?” The tall Cherry Top had an unpleasant grin. “Clean the redhead up and she’s a sumptuous morsel. Buxom too.”
I didn’t like the thick sound of his voice. These were supposed to be quality people, men of religion. If I hadn’t been so frightened, I would have spat at him.
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