by Dora Machado
“Would you ever trust yourself to me?” he had dared to ask.
She had smiled. “The gods willing, my lord, I think I would.”
Edmund was still speaking, but his accusations were no longer cutting through Bren like a knife skinning a bloody carcass. An odd calm quieted his mind and soothed his heart. He listened above the ague’s malevolent shriek and beyond the pain. When you were your people’s blight, when you had lost everything, including your death’s purpose, memories were the only link to life and suffering was the only way to enlightenment.
“Who ripped your sails and disabled the tillers?” Edmund was saying. “Who spread news of your death and told Nelia where she might find you? Who faked the words that Liliaveth relic spoke at the thirteenth temple? Who tried to kill your precious remedy mixer on that barge on the Nerpes? And who, pray, who planted those decoys along the way and caused that highborn witch Yadire to be branded in order to muddle your search and stoke highborn anger against you?”
“Not my friends,” Bren mumbled, summoning the last of his strength to make the connection between the long list of suspicious deeds and the creature who knew all of them. “You did it. Not content with cursing my line, you set out to make sure nothing and no one could diminish the curse’s suffering. You made sure I never had a chance. You did all that.”
The ague’s screech was the sound of murderous fury. The dirk in Edmund’s hand grew to a sword and the sword into a fearsome spear. It plunged into his belly and jerked up, ripping through him in a trail of burning fire. The pain was beyond unbearable, but Bren went into the rigor laughing like the madman he had become.
Chapter Eighty-five
BY THE TIME THEIR LITTLE GROUP caught up with Clio and Cirillo, pacing the entrance to the dockyard, Hato was puffing like the old man he was.
“He went that way,” Clio reported as they trotted down the stairs. “Somewhere towards the end, although I couldn’t see where he turned in.”
“Did you talk to the guards?” Hato said.
“Orell had kingdom permits,” Cirillo said. “They assumed he was going to one of Riva’s transports. There are some twenty-seven kingdom vessels in this dockyard. They’re not docked in any particular section, but rather all over the docks.”
“He was ranting when I spotted him last,” Severo said. “He was cursing aloud as he ran. If you let me through, my lord, I’ll find the bastard and I’ll squeeze the eyes out of his sockets.”
Khalia got them through the guarded gates with nothing but a haughty glance at the guards. The dock rattled under the clatter of feet. Ships were tied in row after row of long piers designed to accommodate the hundreds of vessels that traveled with the White Tide procession. More ships anchored around the island and near the shores.
Ernilda took in the extensive sight. “How will we ever find her?”
“Each of us will take a dock at a time and go down it.” Hato picked up handful of chalk pebbles from the manicured path and gave them out. “Overlook nothing, keep in sight of each other, and make a mark on the first post when you’re done scouting a pier. Keep your eyes open and ask questions. If you see anything, hail the rest of us. Be discreet. Every highborn on the island will be back here in an instant if they think something’s going on.”
Hato tackled the first dock, rushing down the long pier, stopping only to ask a question to the occasional mariners he found along the way. To his advantage, the bulk of the crews and passengers were in Teos proper, enjoying the sights and going about their business. To his disadvantage, there were fewer people to talk to and the majority of the vessels were shuttered and empty.
By the time Hato was halfway down his fourth pier, sweat had broken out on his forehead. The chances of finding Orell were growing slimmer. By now, he would be aboard somewhere, which meant they would have to search each ship in order to find him, not practicable with the entire highborn fleet at hand.
“My lord!” Severo hailed him from a couple of piers over.
“What is it?” Hato was wheezing by the time he reached Severo.
He held up a ripe-smelling suckerfish and a dead rainbow-tailed crow. “The guards said he was carrying these. They thought it was strange.”
Hato thought it was strange too. If Orell had gone to the trouble of carrying these things this far, why had he left them behind? He summoned the others. “Let’s search over here.”
“Did he have this stinky suckerfish on his person?” Khalia wrinkled her nose. “If he did, I should be able to find him.”
“But you’re hurt—”
“I can find this scent,” she said. “I know I can.”
“You’d be risking your craft and your livelihood. You’d be risking everything you’ve worked for after all these years of service at Teos.”
“Is preserving my livelihood more important that ensuring Laonia’s freedom?” Khalia’s gray eyes fixed on his face. “Is there a place for a ruined inhaler away from Teos?”
Hato knew exactly what Khalia was asking. “I don’t wish to see you harmed,” he said, “but if there’s a life for me on the other side of this bridge, I won’t live it without you.”
Khalia’s face lit up with the smile that had captured Hato’s imagination forty years ago. She sniffed the air cautiously and marched to the far end of the pier. “Strange. I can whiff the ripe suckerfish. Right here. Do you see Orell?”
“No.”
“The smell,” she said. “It’s coming from … beneath us?”
Hato knelt down and, hanging his head over the edge, looked under the pier. Orell sat very still on the last rung of a wooden ladder. He reminded Hato of a bird resting on a perch. Half of his body was submerged in the dark water. The other half was perfectly dry.
“Orell?”
“Oh, hello,” he said, all too amiable for the bellicose thug Hato remembered.
“What are you doing?”
“Dying.”
“Dying?”
“I didn’t figure it’d be this soon,” Orell said. “She killed me.”
“Who?”
“The remedy wench.”
“Lusielle?”
“I’ve survived bloody battles and crazy deeds, but I couldn’t survive her.”
“Where’s she?”
“Are in you in need of a remedy mixed?” Orell laughed like a drunk. “I know I am.”
“What’s going on?” Khalia lay down on her belly next to him. “What’s he doing?”
“He says he’s dying.”
“This is no time for foolery,” Khalia said. “Come up. Where’s the woman?”
“I don’t have her,” Orell said. “My lord Riva, he betrayed me. He took her when I needed her most.”
“Why would Riva do that?”
“He doesn’t need me anymore. He wants me to die, too. He doesn’t want anything to do with it.”
“It?”
“You know.” He made a face. “The curse.”
It took a moment for realization to sink in, but when it did, it came to Hato and Khalia at the same time.
“Yeah.” Orell winced. “I’m cursed, too.”
“Listen, lad,” Hato said. “We can help you. There might still be time. You might yet—”
“I’m done. She killed me. Dragon’s breath. I had some hours. But now she’s gone. I’m dead.”
Khalia frowned and whispered, “Dragon’s breath takes days to kill, not hours.”
“Where did she go?” Hato said. “Where is Lusielle now?”
Orell pointed to a massive four-masted vessel heading upriver towards the bend.
Damn the river gods.
“I’ll get the galley ready.” Khalia’s quick steps rattled the dock.
Hato’s heart found a soft spot for Edmund’s wretched bastard. “Why don’t you come up and we’ll talk about this on the way?”
Orell shook his head, put his hands to his belly and jerked a little. “It’s too late. I didn’t want to wait. The poison. The curse. How did he do i
t, Hato? All these years. I’ve only known for a few days and I can’t stand it. How could Bren live and fight knowing he was slated to die so badly?”
“Day by day,” Hato said. “Hour by hour.”
“I’m so glad I don’t have to wait anymore,” Orell said. “They like to linger after the procession.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” Hato said. “Who likes to linger?”
Orell’s neck bulged. His lips swelled. Hato caught a glimpse of translucent scales running like a silvery tongue inside his mouth. A fat little yearling slipped out of his lips. It dangled there for a moment before doubling back. A twin peaked out from in between Orell’s bloody buttons. By the time it plunged back into the crowded body, Orell was dead. His body dropped backwards into the water and, heavy with its famished passengers, sank into the river’s quiet embrace.
Chapter Eighty-six
THE DOOR BURST, INTERRUPTING THE BEATING. Lying on the floor behind the bed, Lusielle couldn’t see what was happening, but she heard the ruckus of many feet trampling into the room and then Aponte was no longer standing over her.
The pain stopped.
“You bastard!” A punch. A crash. More thrashing. “That’s only a taste of what you’ve got coming!”
Was that Severo’s voice?
“Get him out of here,” Hato barked.
“By the Triad, out of the room, all of you!” Lusielle thought she also recognized the lady Khalia’s authoritative voice. “Take that beast to the galley.”
The Chosen’s face came into view. The lady Ernilda hovered behind her. Lusielle didn’t know what to make of the Chosen’s unexpected arrival, but she was nothing if not kind to her. A warm cloak covered her naked body. A cool drink moistened her lips.
“Can you hear me, child?”
“Aye.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing that will not heal in time,” Lusielle said.
“Can you move?”
“Maybe.”
“Would it help to know that your Lord Brennus needs you?”
Lusielle hugged her arm to her chest and rose on a sore elbow. “He lives?”
The lady Khalia nodded.
“Help me up.”
They made the strangest trio, the two highborn women carefully lifting Lusielle from the floor and helping her onto the upholstered chair. The lady of Barahone sponged off the blood and cleansed her scrapes. The Chosen took off the leash and wrapped her sore ribs with great care. The world tilted on a shifting horizon. Lusielle closed her eyes and, resting her forehead on her hand, forced the bile down.
Snippets of the women’s conversations reached Lusielle through the haze. “What kind of animal leashes a woman to his bed? Savage beating—Appalling beast.”
The lady Ernilda gasped when she saw the straight line of little round burns Aponte had scorched from knee to hip on her thigh. “Damn brute.”
Lusielle forced her mind to work. “I’ve got some cooling salve in my remedy case.”
The lady Ernilda fetched the case and carefully oiled the burns. The lady Khalia helped her to don her shift and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Her worried face seemed to be floating in some kind of fog before Lusielle’s weary eyes.
“Last time we met, you wanted to kill me,” Lusielle said.
“Killing you was never my intent.”
“Why are you here?”
“We need you.”
The haze clouding Lusielle’s sight parted to reveal a new expression dawning on Khalia’s face, a combination of grief, truthfulness and humility. It was strange. It was as if Lusielle’s senses were awakening from a long sleep. She could sniff the truth in the other woman, as if the Chosen’s pores had opened up to waft her true scent.
Hato entered the room.
“How long before we return to Teos?” Lusielle asked.
“The ship has turned about,” Hato said. “An hour, maybe less.”
“The sooner we set your arm, the better,” the Chosen said.
“Can you do that?” Hato said.
“We are all trained in the basic measures of healing,” the Chosen said. “Go find me some bandages, Ernilda. I’m very good at setting bones.”
“My lady.” Lusielle stretched her forearm on the table and closed her eyes.
“Call me Khalia,” the woman said.
Lusielle’s aching body was almost numb. A tug, a couple of jerks, three jolts of white pain, and it was done. The woman was indeed well trained. Ernilda produced a roll of clean bandages she had requisitioned from the ship’s master and went out to locate the makings for a proper sling. Khalia began to wrap her arm with obvious skill.
Lusielle leaned her head against the chair’s cushion. “What am I?”
Khalia looked up from what she was doing. “What do you think?”
“By birth and training, I must be an oddity.”
“Do you worship the Odd God?” Hato said. “Do you practice the forbidden odd arts?”
“I didn’t know it,” Lusielle said, “but I think I do.”
“How did you come to the realization?” Khalia said.
“My remedies,” Lusielle said. “They’re not always simple potions. They’re complex preparations, bettered, not just by the balance of superior ingredients and perfected processes, but by the fusion of knowledge, reason and awareness, which results in the Strength.”
“You mean as in the Odd God’s Strength?” Hato said.
“The book and the prayer are the two elements that differentiate the way I practice,” Lusielle said. “The prayer is the trigger than unleashes the fusion. Isn’t it?”
Khalia nodded. “It’s called an entreating prayer.”
“The book is not just a place where knowledge is recorded,” Lusielle said. “It’s a transformative tool where worthy efforts are advanced by the Strength.”
“Some call it the witching book.”
“The witching fire is to the inhaler what the witching book is to the mixer.”
“Exactly.”
“Wait a moment.” Hato looked from one woman to the other. “What’s going on here? Did you know Lusielle was an oddity from the beginning?”
“I suspected that the birthmark your lord hunted was likely to be the ancient sign of an oddity,” Khalia said. “But I didn’t know what kind of oddity we should expect. There are many kinds, you know. We are all different. I don’t know of another oddity quite like Lusielle.”
“Is that why Riva was also hunting for my birthmark?” Lusielle said.
“Yes and no,” Khalia said. “Riva started to look for the Goddess’s mark when he found out that the lords of Laonia were hunting for such a mark. But it’s not so easy to find. He set out to find the mark by doing something he’s always done very well: fishing for oddities in his kingdom’s wide sea, hoping to net and kill the oddity that the lords of Laonia were looking for before they found it.”
“I understand that Riva wanted to thwart our search to ensure my lord’s death in order to get his hands on Laonia,” Hato said. “But Riva was hunting for oddities some thirty years ago, even before the curse was conjured. What was his motivation back then?”
“Fear,” Khalia said. “Riva has always been terrified of oddities. He believes that no man can dethrone him, but an oddity could and a curse is the only practicable threat to his kingship. It’s why he’s persecuted and executed oddities since he came to power. He’s afraid of the curse giver and the cursed. It’s why as soon as he realized that his champion was cursed as well, he betrayed Orell and left him to die.”
“Orell’s dead?” Lusielle was surprised. “How?”
“He gave himself to the yearlings,” Hato said. “He despaired because the curse had begun to affect him. He said you had poisoned him with dragon’s breath.”
“He once gave me this to poison Bren.” Lusielle pulled out the little comb from her remedy case and showed it to Hato. “I had long cleansed the poison off it when I used it on Orell. He wasn’t going
to die from the scratch I gave him, but did I kill him all the same?”
“A man without a will to live is as good as dead,” Khalia said.
“Let me get this straight,” Hato said. “Lusielle never poisoned Orell. He died all the same. Riva kills oddities. Teos collects them. You are an oddity. She’s an oddity. But Teos serves the Triad, whereas oddities serve the Odd God. Does everybody in Teos know this?”
“Only the highest Chosen are initiated into the Odd God’s mysteries.”
“I don’t understand,” Hato said.
“Lusielle, would you care to explain?”
“I can only guess,” she said. “Teos was founded to keep Suriek’s peace. To do so, Teos had to promote the worship of a unifying deity that included all the gods and their children—the Triad. By all versions of The Tale, Suriek was ‘skillful, clever and proficient, generous in spirit and capable of great deeds.’ I should think that means she was proficient at deceit also.”
“What do you mean?” Hato said.
“The Goddess would stop at nothing to give peace and comfort to her children, even after she turned to stone,” Lusielle explained. “That’s what the Odd God aims to do. That’s what Izar strives to do as well. Suriek. The Odd God. Izar. They’re one and the same, Suriek in disguise.”
A stunned Hato looked from one woman to the other. “Are you telling me Suriek impersonates her own children?”
“Easy to do when you’ve spawned a thousand gods,” Khalia said.
“Easy to believe also, if you’ve ever tried worshipping all of them,” Lusielle said.
“And thus you think that the powers of oddities come from Suriek herself?”
“Yes,” Khalia said.
“No,” Lusielle said at the same time.
“Which one is it?”
Lusielle shrugged. “Of gods, she knows better.”
Khalia gave Lusielle a curious glance. “Do you have reasons to doubt the faith?”
“My craft relies on reason over faith, knowledge over legend, practice over belief. My reason is all I have. My life is all about doubts.”
“How—?” Hato shook his head. “You’ve never been to the great libraries and schools of Teos. You’ve just been recently thrown into this chaos. How did you figure it out?”