by Karen Brooks
Constantina had wasted no time with explanations. Shaking – with cold or trepidation, Katina was not certain – she'd found a sharp rock and, telling them to prepare themselves for a moment's pain, she'd drawn it swiftly across their palms, first Filippo and then Katina. Both had cried out but before they could complain, she'd taken their hands and pressed them firmly against the rock.
'Repeat after me,' she'd ordered. 'I do pledge my soul to the Estrattore, to seeing them returned to their rightful place in Serenissima, no matter how long it takes. Say it!'
With quivering voices, Katina and Filippo had said the words.
After that, Katina recalled very little. A strong feeling of malaise had overtaken the throbbing in her palm as if she were caught between sleep and wakefulness. Her body began to sink into the rock and her breathing became shallow. Her legs folded under her, and yet whatever force kept her attached to the Stone through her palm, her flowing blood, held her upright.
She could no longer see anyone; not Filippo nor Constantina. The air thickened and her world became grey.
When she returned to awareness, she was in the Limen, among those she now called her family and lovers. Her old life had seemed nothing but a dream and her mother and father like characters out of a story. Just like Constantina.
One day the Estrattore was beside them, the next, she was gone. No-one spoke of it and she'd been too afraid to ask and later, forced herself to stop caring. Katina had gradually learned to stop taking it personally. Everyone left the Limen at some time and many never returned. One day it would happen to her as well.
'You're still beautiful, you know.' Debora's stroking fingers and her gentle tone flung Katina back into the present.
Katina gave a small laugh. 'I am glad you think so,' she said, all the time wondering if someone else, in another world, might still think so too.
'You know why the Elders want to see you, don't you?'
'I imagine they're going to send me back.'
'That's what I think. But, Katina, your Bond, as important as it is and as much as you can't refuse, has clearly taken its toll. I'm not saying you shouldn't return; I don't have that right. But Alessandro and I have been talking –'
'Of course.'
Debora ignored the interruption. 'And while we know you must return, we want you to ask for more time – time to heal.'
'You both worry too much. I'm fine!' Katina began uprooting the grass at her feet and scattering it about.
'I'm not talking about your physical self.'
'I know,' said Katina, raising her hand to touch her cheeks and then around her eyes. 'But only I know what has been exacted from me. Only I know how much time I need. You have to believe me when I say I'm all right. I'm ready to return if I'm asked. I need your support in this, not your anxiety; not your judgement.'
Hurt flashed across Debora's face and she opened her mouth to protest, but Katina cut her short. 'There's no point going over it again.' She reached over and cupped Debora's chin. 'I know you and Alessandro don't want me to return – but Debora, I'm a Bond Rider. Like you and Alessandro, I made a pledge and even if I didn't understand what it was I was swearing to do, I don't have a choice. I never have – neither have you. The moment we gave our blood to the Stones, we became prisoners of fate. Nothing can change that. Only the Elders can guide us towards our destiny and that of our people. Only they can help us fulfil our Bonds. I can't very well say to the Elders "I'm not ready to go back," can I?'
Debora lowered her eyes. 'No, I guess not.'
Katina released Debora's face gently. 'Well, mi amo, stop asking me to.'
A horse whinnied nearby and they watched as two Bond Riders made preparations to leave the camp.
'Anyway,' continued Katina. 'If you really want me to get better, you're going to have to stop sneaking up on me to see how I'm feeling. It's not good for my nerves.'
Debora laughed. Katina had forgotten how sweet the sound was. She looked at her friend's white, even teeth and dark, windswept hair. She wanted to take her in her arms, and tell her just how much she'd missed her, to crush her mouth against hers. Then their eyes met and she could resist no longer.
It was some time before they drew apart. Finally, Katina sighed and pushed the hair out of Debora's eyes. She raised their conjoined hands to her breast. 'This is harder than I thought, Debora. Please, you'll have to bear with me. There were ...' Thoughts of Tallow and Pillar flashed through her mind. 'Distractions there I didn't expect.'
Debora ran a long finger over Katina's kiss-swollen lips. 'I've missed you – Alessandro's missed you too. He couldn't stand seeing you so broken, so unwell. He volunteered for a mission, without either of us, his partners. No-one could believe it, but such was his turmoil. All being well, he'll be back in two rests.' She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the back of Katina's hand, taking in the prominent veins, the papery skin. Debora stared out over the camp. 'Katina, if you go now, I'm afraid you won't come back.'
'I know. Me too.'
They sat for a while neither speaking nor moving.
'Katina,' asked Debora finally. 'What's she like, this Estrattore?'
'Does it matter?'
'I guess not. I'm just curious about this person who's destined to be our saviour.' Who you still think about to the exclusion of all else.
Katina nodded. She had been curious too. But how could she explain that Tallow was nothing like she expected; that, against her will, she'd begun to care, not just for the girl, but for her pathetic guardian, Santo's forsaken son, as well.
Katina tried to think of how to describe Tallow. How to describe someone who, despite the cruelty that life has meted out, carries within them a great capacity for hope? A person who still gazes upon the very world that shuns her with anticipation and wonder? Words were inadequate. They were also unfair. They captured, contained, limited. Tallow had already endured more of that than most.
Katina knew Debora was waiting for her to answer. But this was not the time or place to reveal that, while she'd been forced to Bond to the idea of Tallow more than three hundred years ago without the slightest awareness of what the commitment entailed, and despite all the losses she'd endured in the name of faith, a legend and a possible future, she no longer had any regrets.
She took a deep breath, considering her words. 'Regardless of what happened, we were right to take her from the Estrattore.' Before Debora could ask any more questions, she jumped to her feet and with a heavy heart walked away.
Debora remained where she was, watching her for a moment, then she picked up Katina's abandoned cup. Twisting it in her hand a few times, she mulled over what her partner had said. Anger, jealousy and an unquenchable sadness rose within her. She tightened her grip on the delicate object before raising her arm. With all the force she could muster, she hurled it at a nearby rock. It shattered on contact, its porcelain shards lying raw and open on the ground. Looking at the broken remains, Debora wondered why she didn't feel any better.
'YOU TOOK A GRAVE RISK becoming so involved, Katina Maggiore,' said Elder Pisano from behind the stone table. 'It seems to us that it's not only the child who became dependent upon you.' There were murmurs of agreement from among the other seven Elders.
Standing before them in the centre of the cavern, Katina bowed her head and waited patiently for their decision. A cool breeze whistled though the opening behind her, ruffling the Elders' gowns. Through a haze of exhaustion she studied the Council, a pale imitation in name and authority of her lawgivers back in Serenissima. The flickering grey light from the sconces cast the Elders' shadows over the sandy floor, and transformed the rock formations into sinister reliefs.
Once they, too, had been Bond Riders, pledged to a cause or person. But unlike those they commanded, the Elders no longer had partners. It horrified and fascinated her all at once: the idea that anyone who had fulfilled their Bond would choose to return, alone, to this pale excuse for an existence. Intimate relationships were the only thing that made the half-li
fe of the Limen bearable.
The Council had once filled all of the seats in the cavern. But without the guardianship of the Estrattore, their numbers had slowly dwindled. While the Limen gave Bond Riders longevity, it didn't give them immortality. Protected from time, they were not safe from the deadly creatures that dwelled within its mists and forests. Nor were they spared from illness. If they were unprepared, either of these could snatch away a Bond Rider's life without warning.
Stifling a cough, Katina tried not to breathe too deeply. The air was dry in the cave; it hurt her lungs. She was suffering from the one sickness all Bond Riders feared most – the disease of time. Time that, in the short period she was back in Vista Mare, had accelerated her body's ageing process to try to match her lifespan. Over three hundred years in a few months. After standing and being forced to explain herself for five hours, she felt every second.
She'd been questioned and made to retell the story of what occurred while she was in Serenissima, over and over again: how she finally made contact; how she convinced Pillar and Quinn to accept what Tallow was and allow her to be trained; how she trained her; what sort of powers Tallow demonstrated; how they used the candles and what effects they'd had. She was bone-weary. They hadn't even offered her a place to sit, but kept her standing before them like a prisoner being interrogated. She tried to stop her mind drifting, but thoughts of Debora and Alessandro's comforting arms kept rising. She pushed them aside. She needed to prove to the Council that, despite her frail appearance, she was ready to return.
Raising her chin, she met the Elders' gazes. The head of the Council, Elder Dandolo, was watching her carefully. To the left of the long table, two of the others were heavily in discussion. On Dandolo's right, Elder Nicolotti was busy making notes while the remainder shifted their attention from Katina to their leader, waiting to see what would unfold.
Elder Nicolotti made a few more scratchings on a piece of apricot-coloured parchment. He passed Dandolo his notes and the rest of the Elders conferred in low whispers. Long minutes passed before Elder Dandolo finally cleared his throat. 'It seems that the decision to give the child to the candlemaker to raise was not entirely without merit.'
There were murmurs of agreement.
'When you and your brother – what was his name?' Dandolo waved his fingers about as if trying to pluck it from the air.
'Filippo,' answered Katina through clenched teeth.
'Ah, yes. When you stumbled upon that remote settlement of Estrattore and found not only a race we thought had ceased to exist hundreds of Vista Mare years earlier, but also the child of the legends, you took her.'
'The first child born to the Estrattore, and the first born in the Limen,' added Elder Nicolotti, leaning over to point to a paragraph in his notes. 'Just as the prophecy states.'
'Exactly. Now, we know the story of your escape from the Estrattore: the pursuit, how you all separated and, at that point decided to take the child into Vista Mare.'
'It was for her own safety,' said Katina.
'Did you even consider ours?'
Katina's hands balled into fists at her side, but she refrained from commenting. They'd been over this territory many times over the years. Silence was her only option.
'It has always fascinated me that you listened to Bond Rider Santo Pelleta over and above the orders of your Elders. It tells me a great deal about your loyalty, Katina Maggiore.'
'My loyalty is to my own, Elder Dandolo.'
There was an uncomfortable silence.
'As it turns out, leaving the child in Vista Mare, specifically Serenissima, also enabled her to mature and her powers to become manifest. It has given her a period to become familiar with her capabilities, and test her limitations. In the end, it's all been for the best.' Dandolo paused to see if his peers were listening. There were murmurs and nods.
Katina felt the dragon of rage in her stomach start to uncurl.
'Just as our decision to send you to her, despite this momentary setback, has worked in our favour. You were able to put her apprenticeship to the candlemaker to good use. Santo's suggestion, as rash as it seemed to you at the time, was wise. Perhaps we were hasty to punish him.' Dandolo's comment drew derisive laughter.
Katina fought to keep her face neutral. They'd had no choice. None of them. They were all acting on the Elders' orders. To disobey was death. Not only for Riders, but their partners and, ultimately, their Bonds as well. When they'd been sent, as so many Riders over the years had been, to look for any pockets of Estrattore in the Limen who had survived the purge, at that stage the child had been just a rumour, a story. The Estrattore were another matter. When the Doge had ordered exile or death, many had fled into the Limen. Only, no-one knew where they'd gone. It was as if they'd become as insubstantial as the mist that veiled everything.
For as many years as Katina could recall, groups of Bond Riders had been sent to search for a sign of their presence. Six Riders had gone on this particular venture. They'd spent months searching until, just as they were about to return again in defeat, they'd been drawn to a tiny village. Hidden deep within a hill dwelt a small but powerful group of Estrattore, living in a catacomb of mossy rock formations. Cautious, Katina's band had spied on them for a few days before entering the maze.
Not far beneath the hill, close to where water trickled out of the rocks, they'd found a little nook upon which a tiny bundle rested. Surrounded by candles and the sweet smell of musk oil, it had looked like a shrine, the baby a wax effigy, until a tiny hand had moved as if beckoning them closer. Something within Katina and Filippo had responded, they knew they had to take her – that this was the child of the legends. Three of the Riders had felt that the risk was not worth it – that they should return with haste and report what they'd discovered, come back with a larger force. Santo, who had been so difficult the entire journey, had disagreed. He'd insisted with a peculiar, barely concealed intensity that the baby had to be taken. Scooping the child into his arms, Filippo had run and they'd followed.
What made the whole enterprise surreal was that no-one was guarding her. There was no-one in the vicinity. The dulcet tones of the Estrattore at prayer had filled the tunnels with mystical music – they'd entered their lair during devotions. That's why it had been so easy. Too easy.
They were miles away before they knew they were being followed; not by the Estrattore, but the Morte Whisperers. Terror made them irrational, foolish even. It was then Santo made his wild suggestion. At first they'd refused, but as they were pursued and one, then two more, had fallen, it offered their only hope. Would it have made any difference had he known the life the baby would endure? Could he have suggested any differently, anyhow? Filippo had taken the baby and Santo and Katina became decoys. Little did she know as she watched her twin brother gallop through the fog, the baby strapped to his chest, that it would be the last time she saw him.
Santo should have taken the baby – he had many crossings left. It should never have been Filippo. But as usual, Santo had argued and wasted time until Filippo, sick of his procrastinating, took the child. Katina would never forgive Santo for the cowardice that had cost her brother his life.
'Santo was correct in his belief that his former wife and son would keep the baby and protect her,' continued Dandolo. 'Despite the years that had passed, he understood his wife's avarice and his son's neediness all too well.'
Katina gasped. 'I thought it was a spontaneous idea. But you're implying it was planned.'
'Yes, my dear, what seemed an accident, a decision made under pressure, was actually performed with our blessing. It wasn't our preferred choice, but it was a sensible second. We kept insignificant families as potential foster homes should the need arise. Only a few select Bond Riders knew.'
'But, you punished him for making the suggestion ...' She shuddered at the memory of the terrible lashing, the deprivations Santo had suffered.