Turning the Storm

by Naomi Kritzer

  “Where are you from?” Valentino asked.

  “Verdia,” I said. “The conservatory at Pluma.”

  “Oh!” Valentino said, obviously intrigued. “Hey, if you've been down there, maybe you can tell us—ow.” He broke off. “Quirino, why—”

  “Eat your dinner, Valentino,” Quirino hissed, “and shut up. You can ask later.”

  Valentino gave me a baffled, hurt look across the table. I could only assume that Quirino had kicked him. I glanced at Quirino. “Would it be best if I refrained from mentioning my home province here?”

  “Most Verdiani simply say they are from the south,” Quirino said.

  “Ah,” I said, and we left it at that.

  We went back out walking after dinner. Despite the chill, most of the enclave was out for an evening stroll, wearing richly colored wool cloaks. Each person cupped witchlight to light the path; hundreds of globes of light shimmered like stars in the moist veil of mist. I'd forgotten how beautiful those tiny lights could be. The damp paving-stones reflected the lights, and the fountains flickered with stray gleams.

  “There she is,” Valentino breathed.

  “Just don't, Valentino. Don't even think about it,” Quirino said.

  They were staring at a young lady who loitered idly by one of the fountains. She was a pretty enough girl, in a giggly Giula sort of way—high cheekbones and a turned-up nose. Her long, satin-dark hair was held in place with a jeweled band, and she wore a dress of buttercup velvet. Valentino sauntered over to her, Quirino and I trailing in his wake. From under his cloak, Valentino produced a fresh flower, which he held out to the lady as he approached. “Excuse me, signora, but did you perhaps drop this?”

  “Oh!” The young lady looked up, feigning surprise. “Lady bright, I suppose I did. Thank you, Valentino, for getting it for me.” She tucked the flower into her sleeve and took Valentino's arm; he led her to the edge of the fountain, sitting down there to use the sound of the falling water to cover their conversation.

  “That's Sura,” Quirino said in my ear. “Cute little thing, isn't she?”

  “Adorable,” I said.

  “Valentino certainly thinks so. Never mind the brilliant yellow dress …”

  “Is there some significance to the yellow dress?”

  “There are two factions at court—one wears yellow, one green. And Valentino's dear friend Ulisse favors green.”

  “What are the factions?” I whispered.

  Quirino shook his head. “Does it matter? I'll tell you later. The important thing is that Sura is of great interest to Signora Clara, and Signora Clara can't stand Valentino.”

  “She threw wine in his face,” I said.

  “Yes. I'm not actually sure if it's that incident or the friendship with Ulisse that's the problem. But either way, Sura is trouble, whether she knows it or not. And whether Valentino wants to admit it or not.”

  “Isn't it supposed to be up to Sura?” I said. “And the Lady?”

  “Well, yeah, but who's going to press that point? Other than the Fedeli—and bringing them into it would just open up a whole new crate of trouble.”

  Valentino and Sura were just talking, cheerfully oblivious to us—and to a grim-faced older woman in a yellow dress who glared at them from across the garden. “Sura!” she called after a few minutes. “It's time to go in.”

  “Is that Signora Clara?” I asked.

  “Her?” Quirino snorted and shook his head. “I don't think Valentino would have tried to flirt with her! No. Clara is younger, and very beautiful. Watch out for the pretty ones,” he said. “They're all trouble.” Sura slipped the flower out of her sleeve as she jumped up to trail obediently after the older woman, and dropped it discreetly into the fountain. Valentino did not try to return it to her.

  The following morning, I rehearsed with the quartet for the first time. Fabia, the leader of the quartet, played viola. Valentino was the other violinist, and the cellist was a man in his forties named Naldo. Valentino was brusque and professional at the rehearsal, all his flirtatious manner gone. Fabia clearly ran the quartet. I was surprised at what a pleasure it was to play in a group again. To my relief, I slipped easily back into the habit of following someone's lead to play in harmony. We finished up our rehearsal close to noon; Fabia seemed pleased. She drew me aside briefly to tell me that generally we rehearsed together in the mornings and did our own practicing in the afternoon. Solo engagements were at my own option, so long as they didn't conflict with ensemble rehearsals or performances. She'd held off scheduling any performances for a bit to let me get settled in, and was pleased with how well I blended. With a warning against spending too much time chasing after the ladies—I assumed, correctly, that she had seen me eating with Valentino the previous evening— she let me go to the noon meal.

  Valentino pulled me aside after lunch. “I want to talk to you,” he said. “Come back to my room.”

  I had never seen the inside of a boy's room at the conservatory, and I was shocked at the mess in Valentino's. He didn't appear to actually use the wardrobe that stood in a corner of the room, but just draped any clothes he wasn't presently wearing over the furniture. I wondered briefly if I should go mess my room up once Valentino let me leave, but decided I wouldn't be able to stand living like this. Besides, Giula would have created just as much of a mess if she'd had the opportunity; it probably wasn't just boys.

  Valentino wanted to know about the war. I started to talk about the Vesuviani advance, but he shook his head and cut me off; he wanted to know about the new war. The Lupi. “You know,” he said. “Are they a threat? Pluma is so close to the wasteland.”

  My breath caught and I hoped that my face hadn't just blanched. But this was ridiculous; I'd planned what to say if the subject came up. “The soldiers in Pluma insist that they'll be able to protect us,” I said. “At any rate, the Lupi suffered a major defeat last month. I was never worried. Besides—” I lowered my voice further. “We weren't their targets.”

  “What do you know about them?” Valentino asked. “We don't hear much here, other than those songs—”

  Valentino's door banged open and Valentino jumped up off his bed. It was Quirino, glaring across the room with an expression that could sour wine. “You are such an idiot, Valentino,” he said. “Come on. We're going into town.”

  We walked out of the enclave, Valentino furtively protesting that no one would have overheard. “I did,” Quirino said. “Lucky for you.”

  We walked through Cuore for a long time. I realized we were heading for the university district. Quirino led the way to a loud, smoky tavern. “Here?” Valentino said.

  “Here,” Quirino said. We went in and found our way to a vacant table near the back. I thought I glimpsed Michel as we made our way through the tavern, but he looked away without a flicker of recognition on his face.

  Quirino pulled his chair in and leaned across the table. “So,” he said. “Keep your voice down. What do you know?”

  “I had noticed that no one here talks about the trouble in Verdia,” I said, “or wears red. But I hadn't realized that it was quite this secret—”

  Quirino shrugged. “It's not so much talking about Verdia,” he said, “although that's easy enough to get yourself in trouble with. But Valentino was going to bring up the songs—”

  “Which songs?” I asked. “The ones about the Lupi? I have freed you and now I will lead you to glory/I'll trade my own blood for the life of the land?”

  Just the lyrics made Quirino nervous. “A month ago, a man named Protego played that song where he could be overheard—I'm not sure if he was mad or stupid— and three days later he was dead.”

  “Executed?”

  “No, of course not. Probably poisoned. We got the message. Of course the song's been passed around anyway … I think we all know the words, whether we believe it or not.” Quirino shook his head.

  “Hey, Valentino,” a strange voice said. “I heard you were here.” The boy joining us was tall, a lit
tle older, and dressed as a noble—in a green tunic.

  “Ulisse,” Quirino said, and introduced me, noting that I was from Verdia and they'd brought me here so that we could talk about the troubles without attracting attention. We'd attracted it here, obviously, but apparently Ulisse was all right. He pulled up a chair, obviously interested.

  “So what exactly do you already know about what's going on?” I asked.

  “They're peasants,” Valentino said, ticking off on his fingers. “Their emblem is a red belt and they call themselves the Wolves. They've been terrorizing towns along the edge of the wasteland—or something—and their main grudge is against the Circle.”

  “And there are the songs,” Ulisse said. He looked at me. “Daniele? How much in those songs is true?”

  I shook my head. “Pluma isn't in the wasteland,” I said. “I don't know that much …”

  “If you think about it,” Valentino said, “magery has been used for centuries, for thousands of years. Why would it cause a famine now? And if it was going to cause trouble anywhere, why wouldn't Cuore be affected?”

  “Only one thousand years, and it wasn't until recently that the strongest magery has been used,” Ulisse said. “The last war was particularly intense. And no one makes anything like magefire in the skies over Cuore.”

  “Are you saying you believe the songs?” Valentino asked.

  “No,” Ulisse said, in perfectly even tones. “Of course I don't believe them; of course none of us believe them. So, Daniele. You were going to tell us what you know.”

  “Some time back the Circle sent soldiers to keep the displaced farmers in the wasteland from migrating north,” I said. This was common knowledge in Verdia, but Valentino looked surprised.

  “Are you sure that was why they were sent?” Valentino asked. “Maybe there was another threat from Vesuvia …”

  Ulisse snorted. “Vesuvia is in no position to threaten us anymore—if they ever were.”

  I wondered if he knew something about conditions in Vesuvia that I didn't. “What are you saying?”

  Ulisse shrugged. “I'm just saying that maybe the war wasn't fought for the reasons we're all supposed to believe.” I knew that was true; Lucia had told me that the war was fought over a perfume ingredient, and they'd told us otherwise at the time. “Anyway, Daniele, go on. The Circle sent soldiers.”

  “Right. We actually knew it couldn't be for a new war, because there were no mages with them; they couldn't have been planning to challenge the Vesuviano Circle. Refugees who tried to go north past the soldiers—well, some were killed. Others were rounded up and taken somewhere, no one was quite sure where. According to what I've heard, they were taken to camps near the border with Vesuvia and enslaved.”

  “That's illegal,” Valentino said. “Who was enslaving them?”

  “The soldiers,” I said, “on the orders of the Circle. The Circle wanted the prisoners to build a wall along the entire border with Vesuvia, since the border can't be defended magically anymore. You know—and this is something I've heard on very good authority— magery doesn't work in the wasteland.”

  “We'd heard that,” Ulisse said, “though the Fedeli still deny it.”

  “Well, it's true.” I paused for a moment, then went on. “That's where the uprising started, those camps. And that's what the Lupi did for most of the summer— they freed the camps. Then just as the summer was ending, we heard they were heading north. Then almost immediately after that, we heard that mages had destroyed their army and they'd retreated to the wasteland. Then I came north; that's all I know.”

  “Well, it sounds like we don't have anything to worry about, in any case,” Valentino said. “It made me more nervous that no one was talking about it, you know? Like, there must be something we should be worrying about.”

  “Worry about Sura,” Quirino said. “Or Signora Clara.”

  “Do you know any more of those songs?” Ulisse said.

  “I know them all,” I said. “If you want to know the truth, I kind of liked them.”

  Ulisse hummed the tunes quietly, and it turned out he knew them all, as well. He even had them memorized. I was impressed, as he wasn't a musician. “Ulisse's got a crush,” Quirino explained.

  Ulisse turned bright red. “That's not true.”

  “Oh really? When was the last time you flirted with a lady and didn't compare her to the mythical Eliana? Could it be, say, a couple of months ago? Maybe before you ever heard the songs? Give it up, Ulisse; she's probably dead.”

  “No,” I said. “She's alive—or so the rumors said.” I glanced at Ulisse and bit my lip to conceal my amusement. “I don't think you'd like her, though. You know, she used to be a musician, at the Verdiano rural conservatory.”

  “That's right,” Ulisse said. “Did you ever meet her?”

  “No,” I said, “but I met somebody who knew her, and trust me, she's not what you're picturing.”

  We finished our drinks not long after that and headed back toward the enclave. Valentino, flushed with wine and irritated with Quirino for harping on Sura, started in on Silvia, some ex-lover of Quirino's.

  “Why shouldn't I sleep with a mage?” Quirino said. “Maybe if you slept with mages you'd get into less trouble.”

  “Excuse me,” Valentino said, “but maybe I'd like to have children someday.”

  “I'd like to have children someday, too,” Quirino said. “Just not nine months from when I was sleeping with Silvia.”

  “You had a mage as a lover?” I asked, trying to clarify the situation. “What was that like?”

  Quirino snorted, looking me over—probably wondering if I'd slept with any of the girls back at the conservatory. I blushed, against my will, and he relented. “About like any other girl, I guess. Silvia's very beautiful.”

  “So what happened? You decided you wanted to have children?”

  Quirino shook his head. “You know how they take mages young, even younger than musicians? They teach them to think a certain way, you know, and if you don't go along with them, they make you sorry. Silvia used to talk about that, a bit.” He paused.

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “Well, one of the things they teach mages to think is that they're better than anyone else. And that lesson she'd learned.” Quirino gave me a rueful smile. “But,” and he turned back to Valentino, “she was not someone who was going to get me into trouble.”

  Once we were back at the enclave, Valentino wandered off—to look for Sura, no doubt—and Quirino drew me into one of the smaller gardens. “I don't trust Valentino to keep his mouth shut,” he said, “and I don't trust Ulisse not to share things with Valentino. But you can trust me, and the fountain should cover our conversation.” We sat down on the marble edge. “You know a lot about the rebels,” he said, “and a lot about their leader. Have you met them? Her?”

  “No.”

  “You can trust me,” Quirino said. “I don't know how to convince you, but—I want to know more. Anything you can tell me.”

  Well, I couldn't play it safe forever.

  “Not their leader,” I said, “but a party of scouts—at least, that's what I thought they were.” I'd thought this story out, on my trip up the river. “The roads in Verdia are dangerous right now. I was traveling alone, which was stupid. I don't know what I was thinking except that when I first started at the conservatory, before the war with Vesuvia, it would have been safe. I was set upon by bandits, and a group of four men and one woman came to my rescue.”

  “Lupi,” Quirino said.

  I nodded. “I thought so, though I'm not absolutely sure. It wasn't like they had writing on their foreheads saying ‘hey there, folks, we're rebel soldiers,’ or anything.”

  Quirino laughed hesitantly. “No sashes?”

  “No, of course not. This was just a handful—but they carried crossbows, and they looked like they'd been armed from the bodies of fallen soldiers …”

  “They must have been Lupi,” Quirino said. “What did yo
u think of them?”

  “They were courteous,” I said. “They took care of me until I could join a larger group to travel with. When they realized I was a musician, of course, they taught me all those songs; that's why I knew them.”

  Quirino nodded. “Do you know any of the other, you know, secret music?”

  “Old Way music?” I whispered, despite the cover of the fountain. “Don't all musicians?” I smiled at him wryly. “I knew without being told not to play those here.”

  Quirino shook his head. “It wasn't always such a serious crime. Is it true that the Lupi are also Redentori?”

  “Most of them.”

  “The Fedeli—well, it's not like they were ever very happy about Old Way superstition, but since the trouble in Verdia started—” He shook his head. “Maybe we can take a trip sometime, out of Cuore, and you can teach me a few of those songs, you know?”

  “I'd trade,” I said. “But I gather I shouldn't teach Valentino?”

  Quirino looked exasperated. “Valentino thinks that his naïveté will protect him. So he's friends with Ulisse, and he thinks Sura is cute. Why should this be a problem?”

  “Why should it? I still don't understand. You said you'd explain the factions to me—”

  “—later, I know. I'm sorry to keep putting you off, but my ensemble's performing soon and I need to get back to my room to get my clarinet. I'll explain later, I promise.”

  Quirino headed off, turning back to make a final request—“Find Valentino! Get him away from Sura. This is ridiculous—he really is going to get into trouble.”

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  I went out to meet Michel that evening, at another smoky tavern near the university. I was afraid Ulisse would spot me and demand to know why I was there, but this crowd seemed to be older. Michel joined me at my table a few minutes after I arrived.

  “Was that you I saw today?” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said with a broad grin. “I did a good job at looking like I didn't know you, didn't I?”

  “You did fine,” I said. “Do you have any messages for me? I don't have anything to report yet.”