“Harlots,” Lucia said, her eyes locked onto the dancers.
Giovanni rolled his eyes. “I don’t see any harm in dancing steps that God didn’t write out for you,” he said. “I always liked dancing before the Dono alla Magia service.” Lucia glared at him, and he stayed where he was.
We spread out our cloaks and sat down on the ground on a slight rise at the edge of the expanded piazza. “You should see Dono alla Magia in Cuore,” Giovanni said to me. “I thought there were a lot of lights in Varena, but it’s nothing compared to Cuore. The Circle participates, of course. The whole city is lit up.”
“I can imagine.”
“I doubt it,” Giovanni said.
Petro, passing by, offered us a swig from his clay jug. Lucia shook her head primly, but Giovanni took the jug. “You should have some, Lucia,” he urged with a smirk, but she shook her head again and he returned the jug to Petro with a nod of thanks. “Best wine I’ve had in months,” Giovanni said when he’d gone. “Should’ve figured Petro would have a stash.”
“I’m surprised he’s sharing it,” I said, and Giovanni laughed. Lucia glared at both of us.
More of the old women arrived, joining the drummers. Some of them brought drums, but most just had pots or tin cups to bang together. The noise increased and sharpened. I wrinkled my nose. “We had drums at the conservatory,” I said. “Just drums.”
“You drive away the Maledori with noise,” Giovanni pointed out. “Any noise. We had all sorts of noisemakers in Varena and Cuore.”
“There’s nothing that says it has to be an unpleasant noise,” I said. Most of the old women had gotten onto the beat together, but a few were a hair behind, creating a clattering cacophony that sounded like a drunk cat in a room full of cymbals.
Twilight fell, and the faithful began to leave the piazza. The old women stayed, of course, still banging on their pots. Someone—Petro, maybe—was starting to light the torches. Giovanni fell silent. “I’ve never watched this before,” I said. “I was always one of the Blind, at the conservatory.”
“Figures,” Giovanni said.
“Give me a break, Giovanni. I suppose you were an honorary drummer.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Of course I was one of the Blind, too.”
“Yes, you were,” Lucia said softly. She was smiling a little bit when I glanced back.
On a signal from someone I hadn’t seen, the drumming became more insistent, and more regular. They were almost all on the beat now. I remembered this moment, from the conservatory, standing blindfolded in the vestry of the church, my hand on Bella’s shoulder and Giula’s hand on my shoulder. Straining for the sound of the beat, for the signal that we could stop standing around and could wind our way into the church.
Here they came, finally. I’d never realized quite how simultaneously frightening and silly we must have looked. At the conservatory, we all had matching white blindfolds, but here people made do with what they could find. I saw more than a few red sashes used that way. The line was led by the priestess, Margherita, whose eyes were covered only with a thin veil that she could easily see through. Behind her was Giula, who had claimed the place of honor by virtue of her position as Teleso’s lady, and behind her, one of the women who lived by the latrines. To be next to Giula was no honor. Each person was blindfolded, led by the person in front. The faithful wound through Ravenna like an endless blind centipede. When they reached the piazza, Margherita began to spiral the line, so that it wound tight, packing people in. She signaled, and the drumming stopped. Silence was the cue: everyone dropped hands and sat down in the piazza, feeling carefully underneath them first. Margherita pulled off her blindfold and spoke to the crowd.
“Tonight is the Night of the Gift of the Lady.”
Crash. I jumped at the echoing cymbals.
“Centuries ago, our land was dark with war, ignorance, and superstition. The Empire that had kept the peace for a thousand years was crumbling, and barbarians invaded from the north. The Maledori nipped at our heels and leered at us from the shadows. Our people cried to their god in fear, but there was only silence.”
Crash.
“Then on this night, those centuries ago, the Lady came to a man called Gaius, shining in the darkness like a star come to earth. ‘Behold,’ She said. ‘I bring the greatest of gifts.’ ”
“ ‘Behold,’ ” Lucia muttered beside me, “ ‘I am a stranger among you, yet I bring the greatest of gifts.’ The Journey of Gèsu, chapter 1, verse 1.”
“So the Lady borrowed,” Giovanni said. “She steals only from the best.”
Margherita continued from the center of the piazza. “Gaius said, ‘What have you brought us?’ And the Lady said, ‘Open your eyes, Gaius. Open your eyes, and see!”
Crash.
That was the cue for everyone to pull off their blindfold, to see the ring of light that surrounded them.
“In Cuore,” Giovanni said, “the Circle created lights in the sky—not magefire, it wasn’t dangerous. Just pretty. All colors, too.”
At the conservatory, we were ringed by teachers, each of whom held a globe of witchlight. No one held witchlight here in Ravenna, of course. Instead, torches flickered brightly in the summer night.
“The Lady’s Gift to Gaius was magery,” Margherita said. “Gaius also learned the other things the Lady wanted for Her children—peace, prosperity, fertility, abundance, freedom. To provide these things, Gaius taught as many people magery as he could, and gathered in those with the strongest talent to serve the Emperor and protect the land.”
Giovanni snorted softly behind me. “To take over from the Emperor,” he said under his breath. “And divide power with the Fedeli, as poachers might divide the spoils from their hunt.”
“Mario is loyal to the Emperor,” I said.
Giovanni shrugged. “What good is the army without the Circle?”
“The Circle united the land, and magery spread,” Margherita said.
“Actually,” Giovanni said, “the Empire fell apart anyway. Magery spread all right, and now there are thousands of little Circles out there. Tough to control an empire with a handful of mages who don’t want to leave their comfortable enclave …”
“Our people abandoned superstition. The Lady does not ask us to believe in things we can only imagine, but gives us light we can see by and faith we can touch,” Margherita said. “We can hold the Lady’s Gift in our hands.”
“Not here!” someone shouted. I realized with a lurch that it was Rafi. I looked at Lucia, but her eyes were as wide and horrified as mine.
Margherita never missed a beat. “The Lady promised Gaius that She would never turn away from us; Her love is perfect, true, and complete. And so, Her blessings were passed from Gaius to our grandparents to us. Please join with me—” and everyone joined in with her in a long hymn.
Lucia shook her head, not quite able to hide her smile. “You never expect Rafi to be the one who makes trouble, you know?”
Giovanni shrugged. “So what did you think?” he asked me.
“It’s strange, with fire instead of witchlight. It looks like we’re saying that until the Lady came, we didn’t have fire,” I said.
In the piazza, Margherita lit the bonfire and people tossed in handfuls of incense. A wave of rose-scented smoke washed over us.
“I’m going to be ill,” Lucia warned us. “I can’t stand that smell.”
“I’ve seen what I came to see,” I said. “We can go.”
“I’m staying,” Giovanni said. “Next is more dancing. I always liked dancing.”
“Harlot,” Lucia said to him.
“I’ll repent tomorrow,” he said with a mocking bow. “Or the day after. Tomorrow night is Midsummer’s Eve, isn’t it? And you know what they say about Midsummer’s Eve.”
“You’re hopeless,” she said, and turned her back on him. I followed her toward the hills.
“What do they say about Midsummer’s Eve?” I asked when we’d gotten a ways awa
y.
“Oh, you know,” Lucia said. “Didn’t they say this in your village? Anything that happens that night doesn’t ‘count.’ ”
I grinned. “That does sound familiar. People said that sort of thing at the conservatory, but you know, if we were caught with a boy it would count no matter what night it was.”
“Well, the priests and priestesses at the seminary always said it was heresy, but it’s a very popular heresy all over, I think.”
We sat down on the hillside. From here, the torches looked like a ring of dancing jewels against the darkness. I sighed.
“You can go dance, too, if you like,” Lucia said. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“That’s all right. I’ve never been a very good dancer.”
Lucia leaned against my shoulder. “Lying’s a sin too, you know. You’re a fine dancer.”
“How would you know?” I said. “I play, I don’t dance.”
“I know,” Lucia said. She turned her head to look up at me, and give me a wry smile. My gaze nearly faltered, but I managed to smile back at her.
Lucia pulled away from me briefly and spread out her cloak; we lay down on her cloak and covered ourselves with mine, leaning against each other to stay warm in the wasteland’s chill night breeze. “Do you ever think about your parents, Lucia?” I asked.
“Not very often,” she said. “I haven’t seen them for a long time.”
“Are they alive?”
“As far as I know.” Lucia sighed. “I tried to write to them once, last year. Before I came to Ravenna. Apparently, they refused to open my letter. So I might just as well be dead, as far as they’re concerned.”
“And Giovanni?”
“I don’t know what his parents think. He was their only son and they always let him get away with a lot. Joining a reform movement is probably just another little boy’s game, as far as they’re concerned.”
“I don’t know what my parents would have thought,” I said.
“Would you be here, if they were still alive?” Lucia asked.
“No.”
Under the cloak, Lucia’s hand found mine. “Your hands are cold,” she said.
“Sorry,” I said, and my voice trembled slightly.
Lucia turned her face toward mine in the moonlight; she smiled. I pulled one hand free of the cloak, and reached to touch her cheek. It was as soft as velvet; she closed her eyes briefly at their cold touch.
“Lucia,” I said, and my voice shook. “The last time I saw Amedeo, he said something—about women who feel toward women as Giula feels toward men.” I wanted to stop, but I had gone too far not to finish asking now. “He said that—that it’s one of the things that goes against God. Is it?”
Lucia’s hand tightened gently over mine. “Amedeo is a foolish old man. Gèsu never said anything one way or the other.”
We lay in silence for a moment, and Lucia brushed my cheek gently. “I am not as you are, Eliana. But I don’t believe that God thinks any less of you.”
I was comforted, though I felt an odd wrench at her words, I am not as you are. But at least this didn’t fall into the strange category of things that the Redentori forbid. As Lucia’s hand fell away from my cheek, though, I remembered that Amedeo hadn’t said that the Redentori had this prejudice in common with the followers of the Lady; he had said that they would have this in common. Amedeo is a crazy old man, I told myself, my hand tightening on Lucia’s. I’ve heard him say nothing that makes sense.
We stared up at the stars for a long time. Then—“Look!” Lucia gasped, and I turned my head to see the shooting star.
“Do Redentori wish on shooting stars?” I asked.
“I’ve never heard anyone say we can’t,” she said. “There was an old woman in one of the villages I visited before the war—she said that a shooting star was the Archangel Michel coming to earth from heaven.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. So he can lead a battle on God’s side. Michel is Aral Din, the Angel of Justice. The patron of those who fight and die for God.”
“Like Beneto,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “Or like you.”
I didn’t sleep that night.
• • •
As the sky lightened to gray, I got up quietly to go to the latrines, covering Lucia carefully so as not to wake her. I wished before long that I could have brought my cloak; I could see the puffs of my breath as steam in the air. I didn’t think I was likely to sleep, but by the time I was finished at the latrine, I had decided that I was going to go back and lie down next to Lucia again, just to get warm.
“Eliana.”
I turned to see Mario, his cloak pulled around his face.
“You’re in danger,” he hissed. “Come on. We need to get you somewhere hidden.”
“Isabella’s,” I said.
“No. They’ll look there. Come on.” He had brought an extra cloak, and flung it around my shoulders; I pulled the hood over my face. The cloak was so long it trailed on the ground, and he hustled me along toward the keep. I pulled the wool around me, shivering. I still wanted to be sleeping next to Lucia.
“Teleso has ordered your arrest,” he said.
“Lucia—”
“Is not in danger,” he said. “It’s you he wants.”
Mario led me through the back door into the stables. The two young men on guard duty there were Tomas and Plautio; they saluted me gravely as Mario led me in.
“Do you have a plan, then?” Mario asked. “Or will we need to smuggle you out?”
“I’m not leaving,” I said.
“You have a plan, then?”
“Yes.” I closed my eyes for a minute, tipping my head back to rest it against the wall of the stable. “I was almost ready to lead the breakout. I wanted a few more days—people tend to get drunk during Dono alla Magia, if there’s any wine at all to be had. But I could do it now. I just need a crowd.”
“There’s a crowd—”
“Not in the piazza. That’s Teleso’s territory and he knows it. North hill. I need a crowd on the north hill at dawn.” I opened my eyes again and looked Mario in the face. “Tell Michel. He’ll get people there.”
“What then?”
“Then I start the uprising,” I said, and tried to smile.
Tomas and Plautio hid me in the stables as Michel and Mario were sent out to gather the Ravenessi to the north hill. All I could do at that point was to stay out of sight, so I huddled in a corner behind barrels of grain. The grain used for horse feed, I noticed, was better than what was fed to the Ravenessi. I wished I had Lucia with me, to keep me from worrying. Over and over, in my head, I rehearsed the words I was going to say. At one point, one of the horses snorted and stamped its foot, and I started with such force that I almost knocked over the barrels I was hidden behind. My heart pounded like a drum, and my head throbbed with each knock. My hands were shaking.
It’s just one of the horses, I thought, pressing my cold hands against my forehead and trying to rub away the pain. Nothing worth getting scared over. I realized a moment later that I had thought—for an instant—that the noise was someone like Niccolo coming into the stable. You’re going to be leaving the stable in a little while, I thought. Facing Teleso and Niccolo and all the other soldiers who won’t surrender. It’s a bit late to be getting scared now.
I tried to focus again on what I would say, but the ache in my head and the sickness in my stomach were getting worse. I’m sick, I thought. Lady’s tits, I’m getting a fever. I pressed my palm against my forehead, but of course to my icy hands, anything would feel hot. I can’t get sick now. I’d let down Lucia, Mario, Michel … and Giovanni would gloat. That thought made me angry, and for a moment, I no longer felt afraid. And Teleso would be so pleased that I’d failed. I thought of Teleso laughing, his cold eyes brightening, his arm curling around Giula’s waist—
“Eliana.” Mario had come back so quietly that I hadn’t heard him. “Everything’s ready.”
I stood up. “Let’s go,” I said.
A handful of the soldiers closed in around me to conceal me as I left the stable; when we reached the edge of the crowd at the north hill, I slipped out. The crowd parted to make way for me as I strode toward the north hill. Some lowered their eyes as I passed; others held out their fists in salute. I climbed to the top of the hill, painfully aware of what an easy target I made; the crowd fell silent as I turned to them.
“I have no music for you today,” I said. “The dancing that was needed has been done.”
Deep in the crowd, I could see Lucia and Giovanni. Lucia’s eyes burned with her own light, but Giovanni’s face was lit too—and I realized with shock that his eyes burned with faith in me. Suddenly, I was no longer afraid. I could face down Teleso. Nothing was going to stop me.
“We have the strength we need,” I said. “We have the will that we need.”
Mario moved along the edge of the crowd, speaking urgently to each soldier.
“The Circle killed my family,” I said. “They burned my farm and herded me here like a dog. Why? Because they are afraid of us. They are afraid of thousands of hungry, angry people, standing outside their gates in Cuore and shouting, ‘Why? Why did you fight this war? The Vesuviano army could have done nothing worse to us than you have done!’
“They have left us to starve. They want us to die—they want our skeletons to lie bleached in the sun like those of our families that they have killed. They want us to die quietly. They have treated us like dogs that they can shut away or kill at will. But we are not dogs any longer. We are wolves.”
Fires of the Faithful Page 30