Path of Smoke

by Bailey Cunningham

  The wrongness of the situation was almost too much. The miles and the sagittarii had been created, in part, to fight the silenoi. Over the centuries, a tentative pact had emerged. The hunters were allowed to roam the cities after dark, picking off the drunk, the stupid, the helpless. In exchange, they made themselves scarce during the day, allowing the cities to function. They no longer killed indiscriminately, but they still devoured Latona’s people. The necropolis swelled, in part, because of their attacks. They had put more than one defenseless child underground. Now, to see Latona meeting with one of them—as if they were diplomatic allies—filled her with a terrible sense of unease. Nothing good would come of this.

  The basilissa paused. “I like this corner,” she said. “How do you find it?”

  “All of these graves look alike.” His accent had an unmistakable growl.

  “You ought to be more discriminating.” She surveyed the orderly plots. “I’m sure that you’ve done your part to contribute to the death toll.”

  “We are not here to discuss the hunt.”

  “But we are. The hunt is part of it, at least.” To Fel’s surprise, she sat down on the floor of packed earth. “Join me.”

  The silenus betrayed an expression of distaste. “It is undignified.”

  “Nonsense. We shall be on the same level.” Latona smiled. “You still tower over me, even from a sitting position. I promise you won’t lose your sense of superiority.”

  Awkwardly, the silenus joined her on the floor. He knelt on his haunches, rather than sitting completely. It was probably difficult for him to cross his legs in such a fashion. Latona knew that and chose to exploit it, beneath the guise of maintaining their equality. She was already playing with him. Fel supposed that was what she knew best. Of all the games that Fortuna had devised, the games of court were the most dangerous. She was always playing. The game could have no winner. At the moment of her death, another piece would take her place, and the match would simply continue. It must feel strange, knowing that you would live and die on a board whose edges you could scarcely comprehend. The same board upon which your ancestors had played, offering their brief and forgotten strategies, like graffiti on a basia’s wall.

  “Where is it?”

  Latona smiled slightly. “To what are you referring?”

  “You know.”

  “Ah. The heirloom.”

  “You promised to bring it.”

  She looked contrite. “Well, as it turns out, the treasury is a vast and confusing place. So many precious things, dusty and uncataloged. I’ve had a bit of trouble locating the item in question. My spadones tell me that it could be hiding under a mountain of rubies and rusted armor. It’s a small thing, you see. History tends to lose track of small things.”

  “He will not be pleased.”

  “Your master has no cause for concern. We shall find it anon. The treasury always gives up its secrets.”

  The silenus clenched his fist. “You have nothing.”

  “Far from it.” She withdrew a small bag from her wine-dark stola. “I’ve brought some entertainment with me.”

  His expression was wary. “Entertainment.” It wasn’t a question, but there was a slight edge of curiosity in his voice.

  Latona emptied the contents of the bag. A pile of black and white stones fell to the ground. She shook the bag slightly, and two remaining blue stones fell out.

  “Those ones like to hide,” she said. “But we need them most of all.”

  “What is this?”

  “Latrinculi. A game. Sometimes it’s called ‘bandits.’ Do you know it?”

  “We have our own version,” the silenus replied. “Instead of pebbles, we use finger bones.”

  “How practical.” Latona drew a small knife from her belt. The silenus growled. She handed the knife to him. “Inspect it, if you like. Or cut my throat. I have no guards with me, and you’re much stronger. You know I couldn’t do any damage with this, even if I wanted to.”

  He sniffed the blade. “Why did you bring it?”

  “To draw the board.” She began cutting lines into the dirt. “A blade is a tool, like any other. Do you know why the old empire was so successful in their military campaigns?”

  “They had no honor.”

  She laughed softly. “That was only part of it. They won because of the gladius—the short sword that every miles carries. The weapon is swift and efficient. It goes in”—she carved a long line, dividing the board in two—“then out again, in the blink of an eye. A clean strike. No fancy hilt getting in the way, no fuss. Death in a single stroke. Of course, it requires a sort of intimacy. Like the sting of love. So swift, you barely feel it.”

  “We hunt with spears, not swords.”

  “Exactly. Spears are perfect for the hunt. But when you’re fighting for your life in a cramped alley, or on the topmost floor of a burning insula, you want a sword.”

  “City fighting.” He spat on the ground—a respectable distance from the board that she was drawing. “The hunt wasn’t made for cities.”

  “Oh? You seem to have no problem finding prey on my streets.”

  “The territory belongs to us. We lived here long before your cities were built. They’re simply in our way.”

  Latona put the knife away. “Perhaps it’s time to modify that arrangement.”

  “How?”

  “Black or white?”

  He looked annoyed. “Answer the question.”

  “It’s too abstract. Mine is simple. Black or white?”

  The silenus sighed. Or perhaps it was a growl. It was hard to tell. “White.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What’s interesting about it?”

  “Nothing at all.” She handed him the white stones, along with a blue one. “This piece represents the basilissa. Once it’s surrounded, the game is over.”

  He laughed harshly. “You are a pawn in your own game.”

  “A piece is not the same as a pawn. And games are impossible to predict. Even the most skilled player can fall to a neophyte with a bold strategy. That is one of Fortuna’s most difficult lessons to grasp. The wheel never stops.”

  “We do not worship Fortuna. We worship Bromios.”

  “Unless I’m mistaken, they’re related.”

  “Distantly,” he muttered.

  “So. You know the rules, but there’s one piece of knowledge that I lack. Your name.”

  He blinked. “Why?”

  “Because you already know mine. It creates an inequality.”

  “Septimus.”

  “Very well, Septimus. Plegona li joc.”

  His eyes widened. “You know our language?”

  “I know that phrase, and what it means.”

  He stared at the pile of white stones. Anger flashed across his face. “The challenger names the terms. You have tricked me.”

  “No. I simply obscured my motive. That isn’t quite the same thing.”

  “You deceive like a citizen.”

  She smiled. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

  “Name your terms, then.”

  Latona regarded the small blue stone in her hand—her simulacrum. “Should I win, your master shall meet me in a place of my choosing.”

  “And should you lose?”

  “Then I shall meet him anywhere.” She began counting her stones. “Up a tree. On a bed of hot coals. In the jaws of a giant bear, if it pleases him. I shall come alone, and unarmed.”

  “I cannot promise that he will agree.”

  “Of course not. But as his ensign, you can suggest it to him. A change of scenery.”

  He closed his hand around the blue stone. “Very well.”

  “Good. Let us play.”

  The basilissa placed one of her black stones on a makeshift square. Septimus thought for
a moment, then followed with one of his white stones. She allowed her opponent to gain ground, only to strike at him from an unexpected direction. She began on the defensive, but halfway through, she switched to a more aggressive strategy. Fel had played latrinculi with Drauca, who was quite good. Latona was in a different class entirely. It seemed as if she’d been playing bandits forever. And the more that Fel thought about it, the more she realized that the basilissa had probably grown up with the game. She was a part of the game, after all. That small blue piece represented her, all of her dreams and fears, winking in the dark.

  For a while, it looked as if Septimus might win. But Latona was only biding her time. In the blink of an eye, his dearest piece was surrounded on three sides.

  Septimus glared at her. “You chose this game on purpose.”

  “I do have a fondness for it.” She placed a finger lightly on one of her pieces. “Do you have a countermove? There is one, in fact, that can get you out of this situation. Very tricky to execute, but perhaps you’ve been concealing your true strategy.” Latona smiled at him. “Those eyes of yours conceal so much.”

  He studied the board for a moment. Then he moved one of his black pieces. It was nowhere close to the right move. Fel had no idea if Latona was even telling the truth about that counter, though. As far as she could see, there was no escape. The basilissa paused for a moment, as if she were considering her response. Then she cornered him.

  “The game is yours.” He scattered his white pieces.

  “So it would appear.” Unexpectedly, Latona reached out her hand. “It was never my intention to trick you. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Septimus looked uncertainly at her outstretched fingers. His eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, he took her hand in his own. The basilissa looked into his eyes, her glance unwavering. Then she delicately withdrew her hand.

  “The order of things is about to change,” she said. “Your master knows this, as well as I. Together, we can shape what’s to come.”

  “Do you think that you can predict it?”

  “I have my intimations. I’m certain that we’ve noticed the same signs.”

  “They remain unclear. Every night, we burn a pyre in offering to Bromios, and the wisest among us read the smoke.”

  “What have they seen?”

  “I cannot say. I lack that particular gift.”

  “You’ve heard nothing? Not even a whisper?”

  Septimus studied her for a moment, as if deciding how far to trust her. Having been played only moments before, he would have been justified in saying nothing. But they were both in the game. He had to make a move.

  “They say that the walls are thinning. Shadows are coming through.”

  “The oculi have seen the same thing.” Latona gathered up the black and white stones, placing them back in the pouch. “The seal is breaking.”

  “That shouldn’t be possible.”

  “All magic—even the deepest magic—eventually fails. That’s the price of power. The wheel never stops.”

  “Didn’t your goddess create the seal? Why would she make something that would eventually fall apart?”

  “Nobody knows who made it, or why. All we know is that it’s dying.”

  “Without the walls—”

  “It’s a different game entirely.” She picked up one of the gleaming blue stones, turning it in her hand. “The unknown. That’s what my mother was afraid of, and my grandmother. They cleaved to the safe spaces, and died in their corners. I want something better for my daughter. The board needs to expand.”

  “If that is your wish,” Septimus said, “I believe that we—”

  Something clattered to the ground. Septimus turned, growling. Fel saw a flash in the opposite corner. The lamplight flared, and she recognized a familiar amulet. The bula. Only, as she looked more closely, she realized that it wasn’t a boy’s talisman. It was delicate, almost heart-shaped. A girl’s bula.

  “Eumachia?” Latona stood up. “Is that you?”

  The shape darted. It was hard to see from the shadows, but Fel realized that it was the basilissa’s daughter. She’d cut her hair short and dressed in a boy’s tunica, but her face was unmistakable. Septimus snarled, ready to leap forward.

  “No!” There was real fear in Latona’s voice. “She’s my daughter!”

  “Julia,” Fel hissed. “If you’ve a distraction, now is the time!”

  Eumachia’s sandals echoed as she ran. Septimus was growling, but he still hesitated. The hunter in him warred against the politician, who knew that running down the basilissa’s daughter would cause problems. But his eyes gleamed. The hunter was winning.

  “Julia—”

  Latona heard her. The basilissa looked in their direction. “Who’s there?”

  The artifex reached into her pouch. “Look away!”

  She threw something on the ground. Fel heard a soft click. Then the necropolis was ablaze with light.

  Morgan grabbed her hand. “Come on!”

  And they ran. The cloud of light burned behind them, and Fel could hear Septimus, cursing in his own liquid language. Latona shouted something, but she couldn’t make out the words. All she could feel was Morgan’s hand, pulling her away from the crash of impossible sunlight that exposed every grave. The silent city trembled in protest. As they passed the grave of the sicarius, the light was still so intense that she could almost read the forgotten name. Before the letters aligned, they were already outside.

  “Where are the horses?” Julia asked. “We don’t have much time.”

  “There are no horses,” Babieca said.

  She stared at him. “What do you mean there are no fucking horses? Have you any idea how fast a silenus can run?”

  “Shut up and follow me,” Fel hissed.

  The miles led them to a pile of reeds. Quickly, she brushed them away. Three stinking, mildewed cloaks were beneath them. She handed the ragged bundles of cloth to Morgan, Julia, and Babieca.

  “Put these on. Make sure your faces are covered.”

  Babieca made a face. “We’ll look like—”

  “That’s the point. Now put them on.”

  “What about you?”

  “It won’t conceal my armor. Besides. One of us has to look like a customer. Morgan could be recognized, but my face is unknown.”

  “I could be the customer,” Babieca murmured.

  Fel silenced him with a look.

  They pulled on the rotting cloaks. As Felix had promised, the hoods were voluminous and covered most of their faces.

  “Where did you find these?” Julia asked.

  “There’s no time to explain.” She heard a sound near the entrance to the necropolis. “Just—try to look tired. And don’t say anything. Morgan—”

  The sagittarius looked at her curiously. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  Latona and Septimus emerged from the necropolis. The basilissa held the lamp before her. Light skittered at their feet. The silenus looked at her, and his eyes were lanterns of their own, burning green in the darkness. Fel tensed. Her heart was pounding, but she knew that this would work. It had to.

  When they were a few paces away, she leaned forward and kissed Morgan.

  Her breath was startled, but she didn’t move or cry out. Her lips were soft. They opened beneath Fel’s kiss, and she felt her blood catch fire. Morgan pressed against her. Beneath the stained cloak, she was warm and smelled like grave flowers. Fel touched her hair. As her fingers brushed the dark curls, she realized that she had always wanted to do this. From the moment that she’d first seen Morgan, a part of her had always been reaching out, then pulling back. Now there was no hesitation left. She held the archer in her arms, knowing that this was a beautiful mistake. In a few seconds, it would haunt her. It wasn’t real. But she had one breath
left, one heartbeat, and if she wanted to, she could draw it out until the end of days.

  Fel stepped back, just as Latona and Septimus approached. Morgan was blushing furiously beneath her hood. She stared at the ground, astonished, smiling.

  “What is this?” Latona demanded. “A midnight orgy?”

  Septimus said nothing. Fel realized that he was holding his tongue. Perhaps he didn’t want them to realize that he could speak.

  She lowered her head. “Pardon, Your Grace. I only came here for a bit of comfort.”

  Latona examined the rest of them. “You can afford three? I wasn’t aware that a miles earned such a generous salary.”

  “Beg pardon, Your Grace, but”—Fel chose her words carefully—“I’ve gambled some tonight. Hazard, mostly. I know it’s not right, but I’ve—well, it’s been a good night, Your Grace, and I don’t have many of those. I wanted to celebrate.”

  “The wolves must be hungry.”

  “We are, Your Grace,” Babieca said. His voice was a defeated whisper.

  She shook her head. “Fine. I shall keep your secret, miles. Tell me—did you see a boy come running out of the silent city? A—girlish sort of a boy?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Fel pointed to the line of reeds. “I think he ran that way.”

  Septimus glared at her. Did he know that she was lying?

  Latona sighed. “If I’d known that I was going to chase a boy through the marsh, I would have worn something more appropriate.” She gestured to Fel’s caligae. “Something like those. What a lovely invention. Shoes with spikes.”

  “You can have them, Your Grace.”

  “No. You keep them.” Her eyes lingered on the three “wolves.” For a moment, Fel thought that she could see through the dirty cloaks. But she simply smiled. “Enjoy your fortunate night, miles. And forget that you saw us here.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”