Fires of the Faithful

by Naomi Kritzer

  Giovanni was cupping his hand and staring at it, frustrated. “I can’t get a light.”

  “It takes a lot of effort,” I said. “It’s probably just as well if you don’t. We don’t want to drain the earth again.”

  “Besides,” Lucia said, batting his hand aside. “It’s a sin to use magery.”

  “What?” I said. I hadn’t heard this before.

  “It’s a sin,” she said.

  “Because of the drain on the land?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “Because the Book of the Lady says that magery was a gift from the Lady. And since there is only one true God, we know it can’t be right.”

  “That makes no sense, Lucia,” I said. “The Book of the Lady also says that slavery is wrong. Does that mean slavery is right?”

  “No, of course not.” Lucia gave me a look of earnest frustration. “There are plenty of reasons that slavery is wrong. But magery came only from Gaius, the Lady’s First Prophet—how can it be right?”

  “What does it matter where it came from? I can make witchlight whether I believe in the Lady or not.”

  “It matters, Eliana,” Lucia said.

  I noticed from the corner of my eye that Giovanni was watching our conversation with avid interest; his eyes flicked back and forth between me and Lucia, a slight smirk playing on his lips. I wondered suddenly if he’d been through this same argument.

  “I never heard this from my grandmother,” I said, “and she used to bless herself like a Redentore. I never heard this from Bella or Giorgi, at the conservatory.”

  Rafi cleared his throat. “Maybe it would be easiest just to think about the harm magery brings to the land. It’s wrong for that reason—can you accept that?”

  I nodded, a little reluctantly.

  “It is wrong to go against God’s will,” Rafi said, “for no other reason than it is wrong to stand against God. But—” he caught my wrist and gave me a look even more earnest than Lucia’s. “But often to go against God’s word will also cause harm to others—and so it is wrong twice.”

  “Exactly,” Lucia said.

  “So magery is wrong because it goes against God, and also because it hurts the land.” Rafi took a breath to continue the explanation, then decided against it. “Don’t worry about why it goes against God, Eliana. It’s enough for now to know that it hurts the land.”

  I nodded again, still uncertain. I wasn’t sure I liked where this line of reasoning was taking us. “So what else is against God’s will?”

  Rafi and Lucia both laughed. “Get some sleep, Eliana,” Rafi said. “I’m too tired for deep theology tonight. We can continue this in the morning, can’t we?”

  “I guess,” I said. I glanced at Giovanni; he looked a little disappointed that the argument was ending.

  As we made our beds and lay down, Giovanni brushed my sleeve briefly and caught my eye; in the last of the lamplight before Rafi put out the light, Giovanni gave me a sardonic smile. “It really isn’t any stupider than some of the rules the Lady made,” he said. “Those just seem less stupid because you grew up with them.”

  “Giovanni!” Lucia said. Her voice was shocked.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Good night.”

  • • •

  “This is the hilt,” Giovanni said. “This is the blade.” He had carved two rough knives out of a piece of wood. We stood in the little training ground he’d been using to train Michel and the others—two mostly undamaged walls and a canvas sheet pulled across the gap. Teleso probably had his soldiers keeping a watch on it, but it was the closest thing to privacy we were going to get in Ravenna. “For obvious reasons, I don’t want you waving a real knife at me while we’re practicing.” He handed me the knife.

  He was going to enjoy this, I could already tell. “Do we assume that I get attacked with my knife already in my hand?”

  “No,” he said, and took the wooden knife back. “We’re going to start with footwork.”

  “With what?”

  Giovanni had me clasp my hands behind my back, then reconsidered when I winced and had me put my hands on my hips instead. “The most important thing in knife fighting isn’t the knife, it’s how you move your body.”

  “How about getting away from someone who grabs you?” I asked.

  “We’ll get to that.” He had me follow him as he bounced oddly around on his feet, lunging forward, then back.

  “What’s the point of this?” I asked after about a half an hour. “This is useless.”

  “It’s only useless because you don’t know what you’re doing,” Giovanni said.

  “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be teaching me?” I asked. The morning was already growing hot; my face was damp, and my hair was sticking to my neck.

  Giovanni turned around to face me. Far from snarling at me, he was half smiling; he really was enjoying seeing me run around in circles after him. “If you needed to teach me to play a violin, would you hand me your violin and a sheaf of sheet music?”

  “No, of course not,” I said. “You can’t even read music.”

  “Actually, I can,” he said. “I was taught at the university. But that’s beside the point. You’d teach me how to stand correctly, wouldn’t you? How to hold the violin and bow? You’d teach me to move the bow on the strings to make a noise that didn’t sound like a dying cat, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I’m teaching you how to move with a knife. Trust me.”

  He had me prancing in circles for another hour, then called a rest. “You’re not bad,” he said magnanimously.

  “Thank you,” I said, clenching my teeth.

  “We’d better rest for a while; Rafi will have my head if I work you too hard. He’s afraid you’ll get sick from your injuries.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  Giovanni sat down on part of the fallen wall, tipping his head up to look at me. “You sound pretty sure of that,” he said with a derisive half-smirk. “I’d still better not take any chances. Besides, you’re out of breath. Have a seat.” He gestured toward another fallen stone. I sat down. I was out of breath, and hot and thirsty besides. Giovanni had brought along a wineskin to his training ground, and he tossed it to me. “Cooled tea,” he said. “It’s what you drink when you’re sparring at the university. Wine when you’re sparring will just give you a headache.”

  I took a swig.

  “I suppose if I’m training you I ought to tell you some principles, as well,” he said. “The code of honor, and all that. You’re a peasant, after all; I couldn’t really expect you to know.”

  I looked at him over the wineskin and waited.

  “Never strike from behind,” he said. “Or rather, never strike without warning. It’s dishonorable.”

  “So, waiting behind a wall for someone, and then jumping out and killing them, that’s bad?”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  “Why should I follow this rule if my enemies aren’t going to?”

  “You’re better than they are,” he said.

  “What?” I said. “I’ve barely started to learn how to use a knife, and I’m up against trained soldiers. What do you mean I’m better than they are?”

  “I mean morally better.”

  “A lot of good it’s going to do me to be moral, honorable, and dead,” I said. “Striking from behind without warning sounds like a good way to keep myself alive.”

  Giovanni was glaring at me. This really was my week; gain alliances with every leader in Ravenna, and then get every one of them angry at me over some article of faith. “Look,” I said. “What if I’m leading the uprising to break out of Ravenna, and I’ve got a crossbow, and I come upon somebody who’s got his back to me? What am I supposed to do then?”

  “Warn him,” Giovanni said. “Then fire.”

  “Warn him?” I said. “I should say, ‘Hey you, I’m going to shoot you now’?”

  Giovanni rolled his eyes. “It’s more traditional to yell an insult, or order him to
surrender.”

  “What if it’s Teleso?”

  “Wouldn’t you want Teleso to know that it was you killing him?” Giovanni asked.

  “As long as when we’re done, he’s dead and I’m not, I really don’t care,” I said.

  Giovanni’s eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “Well, you’re a peasant,” he said. “I suppose it isn’t really fair to expect you to understand a gentleman’s code of honor.”

  “And after all, you’re a gentleman,” I said. “I suppose it isn’t really fair to expect you to understand a commoner’s desire for survival.”

  Giovanni stood up. “Let’s keep working.” He picked up the wooden knives and handed me one. “I think it’s time to try some attacks.” He set down his own knife. “We’ll assume that you’re starting the fight, and I’m unarmed. Attack me.” He put his hands on his hips and smiled at me.

  Shrugging, I walked up and raised the knife. Giovanni caught my hand neatly and gave it a jerk to send me flying forward, off balance. A kick sent the knife spinning into the corner. “Grab it. Keep going,” he urged.

  My back was too raw to roll, so I stalked to the corner and picked the knife back up. “Maybe you should teach me those moves,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Later. Attack me again.”

  I ran at him, impatient now. “Are you going to show me the right way to do this,” I demanded when he disarmed me again, “or are you going to keep me running around uselessly all day?”

  “First you complain when I have you do exercises,” Giovanni said, “and now you’re complaining because I’ve got you holding a knife and you don’t know what to do with it.” He arched an eyebrow snidely. “Make up your mind. What do you want?”

  I stepped close to Giovanni so that he had to look up to meet my eyes. “Teach me how to break the hold the assassins put me in. Teach me how to hurt somebody if I have to. I want you to show me what I need to know to survive, Giovanni.”

  He stepped back and set his knife down, looking thoughtful. “Show me what they did.”

  “They grabbed me,” I said. “Here.” I set down my knife and moved behind him. “One of them pinned my arms, and put his hand over my mouth.” I started to cover Giovanni’s mouth with my hand, then pulled my hand away. “I bit him. The other one had a knife to my throat, here.” I picked up the knife again and showed him. “When they were going to kill me, they pulled it back, like this, to stab.”

  “Huh,” Giovanni said. “Rico must not know much about knife fighting; he should’ve just cut your throat. I mean—not that I wish he had. But—uh. I’ll show you how to get out of the hold.”

  Giovanni led me through a series of moves designed to break most common holds. I felt more in my element now; this was like what my brother Donato had taught me when I was a child. “Keep going,” Giovanni urged me as I broke free. “Pretend I attacked you. What are you going to do now?”

  I kicked out, hooking Giovanni’s ankle with my foot and jerking it out from under him. He squawked in surprise and fell in a heap; I jumped on top of him, one knee in his stomach, hand raised. “Never mind!” Giovanni yelped. “Let me up.”

  I climbed off Giovanni and he got up, brushing himself off. “I guess you know how to fight without a knife,” he said. “Hold out your hand.” I held out my hand as if I were going to clasp Giovanni’s. He put the knife in my hand, point down, blade out. I closed my hand around the knife, tentatively raising the knife to stab. “Wrong,” Giovanni said, and turned my fist so that the knife pointed out away from my body. “The easiest way to do some damage in a knife-fight is to hold the knife like this. Don’t stab. Just punch, then drag the blade.” He took his own knife and demonstrated a slashing sideways blow. “You probably won’t kill anybody this way, but it shows you’re serious, and dangerous. Anyone expecting easy prey will probably run.”

  “ ‘Probably’?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll teach you more tomorrow.”

  • • •

  It was late spring, and the days were getting longer. The soldiers began refusing to keep their laborers out from dawn till dusk, since that meant working from dawn to dusk themselves. In the low-slanting daylight, the Ravenessi had found a new diversion: a game called Lupi, wolves. Even the people who weren’t playing it watched, cheering and placing bets on their favorite players.

  My back was healing, but I wasn’t up for playing Lupi yet, so I spent most of my time talking to people, learning names and faces and home villages and family connections. Michel had taken to his new job of “bodyguard” with great enthusiasm, following me everywhere. When I turned and glared at him, he would at least fall back a pace or two.

  A week or two later, I was talking with an old woman who had lined up for morning gruel when I saw a familiar face out of the corner of my eye. I whirled—I had seen familiar faces several times, but they had always belonged to strangers, rather than my mother or Donato or whomever I thought it was at first glance. This wasn’t a family member—but it wasn’t a stranger, either. She didn’t see me; she was staring off into space, looking hungry and lost. “Giula?”

  She looked up. “Eliana!” Her face lit up, and she left her place in line to run over and give me a hug. I winced as her arms rubbed against my back. “Love of the Lady, it’s been how long?”

  I calculated. “Six weeks.”

  Giula shook her head. “It seems so much longer.”

  I nodded. It seemed like months since I had seen Giula. “How long have you been in Ravenna?”

  “Just a day. My mother and father are here, too, and some of my brothers and sisters. I’m so glad to find you here.”

  I followed Giula back to the line where her family still waited, Michel trailing me. “This is Eliana, one of my friends from the conservatory,” Giula said. Her father took my hand gravely and bowed. Her mother was a sweet-faced woman with a wary, helpless smile. “These are my parents, Lina and Elmo.” I smiled in greeting. “Are your parents here?” Giula asked.

  I lowered my eyes. “They’re dead. My family—they’re all dead.”

  “Oh!” Giula covered her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked—”

  “How were you to know?” It had been long enough, now, that I could say it without choking back tears. “Once you’ve gotten some food, I’ll introduce you to some of my friends here.”

  Giula glanced past my shoulder. “Who’s he? Is he your sweetheart?”

  I followed her glance to Michel. “Oh—no. Michel is my bodyguard.”

  Giula’s eyes went wide. “Your what?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  Giula’s family was much too large to add to Rafi’s tent, but they had some blankets and canvas of their own and Michel and I helped them set up a tent on the perimeter near where Rafi lived. “Magery doesn’t work here,” I said. “Not even witchlight.” Not entirely true, but if Giovanni couldn’t get a witchlight, I was confident Giula wouldn’t be able to.

  “Really?” Lina asked, astonished. “Did you hear that, Elmo? Want me to show you how to use a flint?” She smiled, oddly pleased. I remembered that Giula had told me that her mother couldn’t use magery.

  “I’ll just have you light the fire for us,” Elmo said, putting one arm around her shoulders in a hug. Watching them, I felt the tears I hadn’t shed earlier rising in my throat, and blinked them away.

  “Eliana,” Giula said. “What happened to your family?”

  “The Circle burned my village,” I said. “Refugees trying to go north had gone there, and wouldn’t turn back.”

  Giula’s eyes filled with tears. “Why do they hate us so much?”

  “They’re afraid,” I said. “They don’t want all those hungry, angry people in Cuore.” Lina and Elmo were arranging their tent, so I pulled gently at Giula’s sleeve. “Let’s go,” I said. “I want to introduce you to Rafi and Lucia.”

  Giula blushed shyly as I introduced her to Rafi, then looked up carefully to examine Lucia. “This is Giula
,” I said. “She’s a friend of mine from the conservatory.”

  Lucia scrutinized Giula. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said blandly, squeezing Giula’s arm. Next to Lucia, Giula’s dimpled prettiness seemed dull and sallow; her sweetness seemed weak. Giula could never have survived Lucia’s trip from her seminary down to Verdia, even if God had appeared to personally tell her that she should go.

  Under Lucia’s stare, Giula gulped anxiously and turned back toward me. “Is Lucia a musician?” she asked, flinching a little from my own appraising look.

  “No,” I said. “She’s a dancer, though, and knows a lot of Old Way music.” Lucia nodded, trying to catch Giula’s eye again. “She’s taught me some new songs.”

  “Oh!” Giula said, and glanced nervously at Rafi.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “The Fedeli don’t come here.”

  Giula smiled again, but didn’t look entirely convinced. I started wondering if I should have given her a few days to get her bearings before introducing her to my new friends.

  Then Giovanni ducked into the tent, and Giula froze, her hand closing on my wrist. “What’s he doing here?” she said, shrinking back against me.

  “He won’t hurt you,” I said. “Don’t worry, Giula.” The inn in Pluma where Giovanni had slapped Giula seemed like a lifetime ago, but I could understand why Giula was upset. I stroked her shoulder, trying to reassure her.

  “Is he one of your friends?” she asked.

  “No, not exactly.”

  “I think I’d better go,” she whimpered and stood up. I followed her out of the tent. She walked rapidly back across Ravenna. I ran after her, squinting in the bright sunlight. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Michel, but he was keeping his distance.

  “Giula—” I said.

  “I understand you wanted me to meet your friends,” she said, turning back toward me. “But I really don’t understand why you have anything to do with him!”

  “He’s Lucia’s cousin,” I said. “No one really likes him, Giula, honest!”

  Giula shook her head. “Maybe I’ll like your friends more later,” she said, and went in to her family’s tent.