Fires of the Faithful

by Naomi Kritzer

  “Hey, signora,” a voice said softly behind my shoulder. I turned. It was the kind soldier, Mario, looking tired and ashamed.

  “Mario,” I said. “How are you doing?”

  Mario shrugged. “How are you doing?” he asked, gesturing toward my shoulder.

  “Better than it looks like you expected,” I said. “I’m on my feet and the wounds aren’t festering.”

  Mario lowered his eyes again. I stood uselessly, knowing that he blamed himself but not knowing what to say.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, a few moments later. “Way too much of that was my fault.”

  “Because you carried the message from Lucia? Because you helped to tie me? Because you told Teleso you wouldn’t beat me, so he had Niccolo do it?” All of those; it was all of those things and more. “Mario, you’re one of the few people in Ravenna who actually wants to do the right thing. Who even cares what the right thing is. Don’t you think that’s worth something?”

  “I care,” he said. “But not enough. Or I wouldn’t have stood there and let them whip you.” He lowered his head again.

  “What do you think you should have done?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  I looked around; Lucia showed no sign of returning. “Let’s go for a walk,” I said.

  Mario and I went out to the hills around Ravenna, walking along the edge of the fence.

  “You lead the reformers now, don’t you?” Mario said. “Not Giovanni.”

  I hesitated for a moment; was this really the sort of thing I should be admitting to one of Teleso’s soldiers, even one I liked?

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I don’t blame you for not telling me. But everyone knows.”

  “Does Teleso have plans for me yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet. But you know, Eliana—you’re setting yourself up. That’s why no one but Giovanni is challenging you for leadership. They’re hoping that the next time Teleso decides someone should swing, it will be you and not them.”

  I was silent. Mario sat down on the dusty hillside, and I sat down beside him. “Thank you for keeping an eye on me, that night in the dungeon,” I said.

  “It was nothing.”

  “Is there anyone in this valley who wants to be here?”

  “Teleso,” Mario said. “But other than him, no.” He chuckled dryly. “They promised us that when the war was over, we’d receive our pay and be released from our oath to the Emperor. But somehow they decided the war hadn’t quite ended … so here we are guarding the lot of you. Even Niccolo resents it; he says the Circle should send down some bureaucrats to build the wall if they want one—hire architects and laborers like they would to build a monument in Cuore. But, well, the bureaucrats would have refused. And the Circle has to have its damn wall.”

  “Mario,” I said. “Where do you stand? I need to know. Are you with me, in the end, or with Teleso?”

  Mario was silent for a long time. “I know what’s happening here is wrong. The Lady—” He glanced down at me and added, “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re Redentore, like Lucia. I hope you don’t hold it against me that I’m not.”

  I shook my head. “Of course not.”

  “The Lady has said that slavery is wrong. When she brought her Gift to Gaius, and told him the path we were to follow, that was one of the first things she said; we are all Her children and belong only to Her. And slavery is what’s going on here, no matter what kind of word games Teleso and the Circle play with it.”

  I nodded.

  “And is it truly what the Emperor wants?” Mario said. “I swore my oath to the Emperor, not to the Circle. But Teleso takes orders from the Circle. That’s become blindingly clear to all of us.”

  I blinked. Bella and Mira had both said that the Emperor didn’t really rule. I wondered if the rest of the army was as loyal to the Emperor as Mario.

  “I helped to execute Beneto and Jesca. I stood by while Niccolo beat you,” Mario said. He tilted his head to try to meet my eyes, then looked away again. “If I disobey a direct order, Teleso could have me executed. And he would. He hates me. I don’t want to die, Eliana.”

  “Mario,” I said, “I’m not asking you to throw your life away. Especially not when it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t have done any good if you’d tried to protect me. But if there’s something you can do that would help—”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know if you can count on me.”

  “But you know what’s right,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said. “But I don’t know if I have the courage to do it.”

  “Mario,” I said, and took his hand. “Won’t the Lady give you the courage you need?”

  “What would you know about the Lady?” he said. “You’re Redentore.”

  “I know what they told me when I was a child,” I said. “That She would always take care of me; that She wants me to do what I know in my heart is right; and that She would give me the strength I needed to face anything, if I asked.”

  “But you don’t believe that anymore,” Mario said.

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe, Mario,” I said. “What’s right is right, and you know that.”

  For the first time that evening, Mario met my eyes full on. His eyes searched mine for a long moment. I’m not sure what he found there, but he squeezed my hand and said, “You’re right. I will trust in Her strength.”

  “Trust Her,” I said. “And trust me, Mario. You can do what you know you need to do.”

  “So what do you want from me?” he asked.

  I held his hand tightly for a moment longer. “For now, I only needed to know that I will be able to trust you when I need you.” I let go of his hand and he took a long breath.

  “Eliana,” he said. “Will you play for us again?”

  “Of course,” I said. “It’s probably best if I don’t go into the keep, but if the soldiers can meet me somewhere outside …”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Then I’ll play as soon as my back is healed up enough that I can hold a violin without it hurting.” His enthusiasm turned to distress again, and I said, “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t your fault, and it’s healing.”

  We walked back down to Rafi’s tent. “I’ll leave you here, then,” Mario said. He folded my hand around something, then kissed my hand gently, before dropping it as if he was afraid I was going to slap him, and fleeing into the darkness. I opened my hand once he was gone, to see what he had given me: coiled tightly in my palm was a new E-string, to replace the one that broke during the funeral.

  Rafi and Lucia were still at Mass. I thought about going to bed, but despite my exhaustion, my conversation with Mario had left me with a restless energy. I tucked my violin case under my arm and walked over to near where I knew they would be dancing. I circled the area and climbed a bit higher on the hill, sitting down in the shadow of the fence to watch them.

  There were perhaps twenty Redentori, dancing in the moonlight. I recognized Lucia, Rafi, Michel, and several more. Michel was even more graceful dancing than he was fighting; he danced with a wild enthusiasm, an ecstatic abandon that made my heart quicken just watching.

  They had no violin tonight, but Lucia and Michel sang, his baritone blending with her clear alto. They paused in the dance for a moment to sing. Lucia’s face was shadowed, but I could fill in the details for myself. Her eyes were closed, her face sweet with delight in the ritual. I felt a stab of envy.

  She will give you the strength you need to face anything. Lucia’s God gave her the same strength—as much as she needed. I couldn’t imagine having so much trust in something so powerful. Lucia knew we would succeed; I couldn’t be sure. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I’d wager tomorrow’s rations on it. It struck me that I was staking my life on it, but I was in too deep to back out now. From the corner of my eye, I saw movement. Giovanni sat down a few paces away from me, resting his chin on his arms as he watched the dancers.

  “Do
you ever envy them?” I asked.

  “Why would I?”

  I looked over at Giovanni. “You never envy the strength your cousin draws from her faith?”

  Giovanni paused. “Yes, I envy her sometimes,” he admitted.

  “Were Beneto and Jesca Redentori?” I asked.

  “After a fashion. They preferred that the Redentori think them Redentori, while those that pray to the Lady also claim them as theirs.” Giovanni shifted where he sat. “They had their own kind of faith. I think all Beneto needed to believe in was his cause and himself.” His voice turned bitter. “Isn’t that what you believe in?”

  “I need more than just the cocky self-assurance of a naive schoolboy like Beneto,” I said. Giovanni gasped and smothered a laugh, and I knew I’d spoken his opinion of Beneto as well. “I need support. I need counsel.” I turned to Giovanni and saw him looking at me. “I need you on my side, Giovanni.”

  “Thank you so much for your confidence in me,” he said. “You take away the one thing Beneto put me in charge of, and now you say you need me? Am I supposed to be impressed?”

  “Beneto put you in charge of military training because he didn’t think it was important,” I said. “Was that what you wanted to be doing?”

  “No,” he said.

  “What was it you wanted?”

  “I wanted to be in charge. I wanted to be the one to make the important decisions.” His voice became petulant. “I wanted to be Generale.”

  “If the title means that much to you, Giovanni, I’ll call you whatever you want,” I said. “Look, I know as well as you do that the organization that sent you here will never accept me as a leader. I’ll do this with you or without you, but I would prefer to have you on my side.” He turned to glare at me and I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to smack him. “Giovanni, I know that you would make a powerful ally. In any case, I think it’s fair to say that as far as the reformers are concerned, you are in charge. As for important decisions, you’ve got one now: are you with me, or against me?” He was silent. “Giovanni, I need to know where you stand. Do we have a truce?”

  There was another long silence. Then: “Generale Giovanni,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Call me Generale, and I’m with you.”

  We stood up, slowly, in the darkness, and looked at each other. Even when he stood up straight, I was taller than he was. Slowly, grudgingly, he held out his right hand, and I clasped it briefly. “Then, Generale,” I said, “as long as you understand that you take orders from me, I believe we have an understanding.”

  I could see in the moonlight that he was clenching his teeth; he could probably see that I was, too.

  “Yes,” he said. “We understand each other. Generale.”

  On the hill below us, Mass had finished; Lucia and the others had gone home. “Are you coming back to Rafi’s tent?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” he said, so I headed back on my own.

  Rafi’s tent was on the other side of the piazza from where we were. I wound my way uncertainly through the maze of ragged tents, unsure of exactly where I was. The keep rose like a hulking shadow, my only landmark.

  As I passed by the dark edge of a half-fallen wall, hands seized my arms and another clapped over my mouth. I bit down viciously on the hand that covered my mouth, and gagged at the taste of blood as I felt the hand tighten in pain. Something cold and sharp pressed against my throat. “Shut up,” a voice whispered, and the hands yanked me backward, behind the wall.

  “Unlike your Redentore God,” a soft voice said with malicious satisfaction, “the Lady has told us that She does not want human sacrifices. But in your case, we think She’ll make an exception.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  What need have you for friends? I am friend, lover, teacher. I am father, mother, child. I am the earth and the sky. I am the first and the last. I am everywhere that you think of me.

  —The Journey of Gèsu, chapter 22, verse 23.

  The hands tightened, and the knife was pulled back for an instant. I knew that it was being drawn back for the final blow, and made a desperate attempt to wrench free. Then something whistled past my ear, and I heard the knife clatter to the ground as someone yelped. “Scatter!” a voice hissed, and I was turned loose as my attackers fled into the night. I stared around me, too stunned to move. As the surge of fear faded, my back began to burn from the fabric rubbing against the welts.

  Giovanni stepped out of the shadows. “Some Generale you are,” he said, and pulled his knife. He wiped it clean on a rag and then slipped it back into a sheath in his boot, tucking his trousers around it to conceal it.

  “Did you follow me?” I said.

  “It occurred to me that something like this might happen,” he said. “I thought it would be good to find out who wanted you dead at this point.”

  “So you used me as bait.”

  “Better to be bait than prey, isn’t it?” Giovanni said. “Which was what you were turning yourself into.” He picked up the knife my attackers had dropped. “Let’s go before Teleso sends someone to arrest us for attempted murder or disturbing the peace.”

  “So who were they?” I asked.

  “I didn’t get a good look at most of them, but the one I wounded was a soldier named Rico.”

  “I didn’t think they were in uniform.”

  “They weren’t. Presumably, Teleso wants you assassinated rather than executed. Or maybe Rico and some friends decided to show some initiative.” We were about to cross the piazza, and Giovanni ducked into a shadow. “Here, you can keep this. Tuck it inside your boot.” He handed me the dropped knife.

  “You’re cracked. I’ll cut myself.”

  “You really don’t know the first thing about taking care of yourself, do you?” he said.

  “Want me to break your arm to prove I do?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Giovanni tucked the knife into his own sleeve and wrapped a piece of cloth around his arm to bind it flat and secure. “Let’s go.”

  I studied Giovanni as we crossed the piazza; he had a little bounce to his step. The smugness would have been obvious at twenty paces, and the self-satisfaction at forty. “So this proved …?” I asked.

  “You need a bodyguard.”

  “A bodyguard?” That really seemed ridiculous. “What, to follow me everywhere?”

  “Yes,” Giovanni said. “I’ll talk to the men who’ve been training. Michel would make a good one, and the others can trade off with him. Also,” he added, and turned to give me a patronizing smile. “I’ll teach you some knife-fighting.”

  “Knife-fighting.”

  “You can have the knife the assassins dropped. We’ll make a sheath for it that will fit into your boot and keep it from cutting you. I’ll start training you tomorrow.”

  Just what I need, I thought. We’d reached Rafi’s tent, and went inside.

  Lucia and Rafi were horrified by the assassination attempt; Giovanni told them he’d headed home right after I had, and “fortunately” came upon the assassins just before they were going to kill me.

  “Knife lessons are a good idea,” Lucia said. “This could happen again. And if Rico was motivated by faith, things could get even worse as we get closer to Dono alla Magia, at midsummer.”

  I’d almost forgotten how soon the festival would be. “Did anyone ever try to assassinate Beneto and Jesca?”

  “Yes,” Giovanni said. “Once. But—” he thumped his hand on the ground for emphasis, “Beneto and Jesca were never alone. Everywhere they went, they went together. That’s why you need a bodyguard.”

  “Hmm,” Lucia said. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Lucia.” I turned to her. “There was something my attackers said that I was wondering about. They said that the Lady didn’t want human sacrifices, unlike the Redentore God. What were they talking about?”

  Lucia flushed angrily. “That’s just libel,” she said. “We say that through blood the land will be redeemed, but we mean
sacramental blood, the wine that becomes the blood of Gèsu in the Mass.”

  “Ah,” I said, and waited.

  After a moment she continued. “There are those,” she admitted, “that would like to take that passage of scripture more literally.”

  “Whose blood would they like to shed?”

  “Well, Teleso’s, for starters. And the Circle’s. And their enemies, and the enemies of Gèsu …”

  “That seems like it could become a rather large group.”

  “Well—yes. It could. But they’re wrong, anyway, and distorting scripture.” Lucia shook her head. “The only sacrifice that was needed is complete.”

  This reminded me of something. “Hey, Lucia,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about this. The night I was in the dungeon—well, watch.” I closed my eyes for a minute to concentrate, cupped my hand, and summoned a tiny witchlight.

  The whole tent fell silent. Giovanni reached out to hold his hand over it to test for heat, as if he thought I’d somehow secreted a candle in my hand. “That’s impossible,” he said, after confirming that it was witchlight.

  I closed my hand over it and let it go out. “Guess not,” I said. “Not anymore.”

  “How?” Lucia breathed.

  “When I defused the riot,” I said, “I poured the energy down into the ground. Maybe you’re right, Lucia—Old Way rituals really can redeem the earth.”

  “Or blood,” Giovanni said. Lucia turned to stare at him sharply, and he tilted his head to look at her. “Beneto and Jesca’s blood.”

  “That’s not right,” Lucia said. “It couldn’t have been their deaths.”

  “Well, in a way, it might have been,” Rafi said. “The anger from their deaths fueled the dance as lamp oil fuels fire.”

  “Either way, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “Not right now. Right now, what we need is to get out of Ravenna. But later—maybe the land can be restored.”