A Glimmer on the Blade

by Rachel E. Baddorf

  She was waiting for midnight. She was being led by the feelings and the vivid dreams she had been having since the Goddess chose her. Lyceo to Aquillion was normally nine days travel. She needed to get there in three and she needed the clergy to be ready when she got there. The Caruda business manager in Aquillion, Sarousch Nelvandi, was an officious, shrill man, who she had spent her years in Aquillion doing her best to annoy. He was also the only devoted Goddess worshipper she knew. He was going to be apoplectic tonight.

  If her dreams were to be trusted—and at this point the alternative was that she was deluding herself—the clergy were scattered in hiding in the capital. The religion didn’t ask much from the devotees. But now, that was going to change. The Goddess was awake and now was the time. She had barely slept on the way here, only stopping in Lyceo for a nap, food, and a wash prior to this. She still had a ways to go before she slept this night.

  Midnight must be near: young acolytes went around the outside wall, extinguishing the candles. Four more acolytes processed in with paper globe lanterns full of fireflies hanging from poles by string. They moved around to put one lantern at each of the cardinal compass points around the altar. The priest entered next, bringing a large, silver bowl in both hands. The priestess followed in silver robes carrying an ewer full of water.

  The bowl was blessed on the altar. The water was blessed and poured into the bowl. All this was timed to coincide with the full moon’s appearance in the round skylight directly overhead. The clergy and acolytes began chanting their opening prayer.

  Copelia shifted nervously. She had already slipped off her shoes and stockings and left them in her pack on Nightswift. Now she pulled the gloves off her hands, keeping them low by her sides to avoid notice. The moment when she should do whatever she was going to do was nearing or was gone, she thought. Her feelings were pointing her in this direction, but she couldn’t believe what she was about to do. Even in all her years of stirring trouble, she had never disrupted a holy service. A single escaped lightning bug drifted to her over the heads of the parishioners. It blinked its light, once and twice, weaving with the draft, catching the eyes of several men and women sitting in the pews. They turned around to follow the bug with their eyes. The bug came to rest on Copelia’s right cheekbone. She had stopped her first instinct, to swat the insect or duck away from its landing. The lightning bugs were holy to the Goddess. Silently it flared its light three more times, just under her eye. All right, Copelia thought. I get the message.

  The bug’s light went out and it took off. Five or ten parishioners had witnessed the strange exchange of the bug on the woman in black who leaned against the wall. Copelia stepped forward, bringing her hands together in a clap. The clergy pointedly ignored her. She began to pray out loud as she walked down the aisle.

  “Our Lady of Peace, Our Lady of Mystery, Our Lady of Silence, Our Lady of Light...” On ‘light,’ the casters on her hands and feet began to glow. The priest and priestess stuttered to a halt. Copelia continued, voice getting stronger as she went. “Before the witness of your glory, I call on you, Lady of the Moon. I have been called to service. Your children in this place have doubt in their minds.” Copelia kept walking as spell lines began sprouting from her fingernails and toenails and growing up her skin. She walked with her hands palm up in an offering gesture. “Your children in Aquillion are lost and afraid. Your Voice was silenced. Now your Voice will find a new path.”

  Copelia stepped between the lantern with its blinking cargo of fireflies. She climbed the dais and stepped up to the priestess and priest.

  “Who are you? You can’t be here,” protested the priestess.

  Copelia turned to them, saying in a whisper, “You better step back. I don’t really know what will happen.” Maybe it was the calm way Copelia held out her small hands that were coiled in the silver lines, but they stepped back nervously.

  Copelia looked up to the full moon and down to its reflection in the silver bowl of water. She continued to pray, placing her hands, palms up, right resting in left. She held the offering gesture over the bowl.

  “Lady, they need to hear you. Your servant, Sarousch, needs to hear you. Sarousch, gather the children under Mishi’s sign. Use the Lady’s silence and secrecy to guide you. Wait there.” She paused. She needed something to close this benediction. In a voice filled with dread and glory she added, “All who hear, remember in silence, the Goddess’s Will has returned to Aquillion.” She plunged her glowing hands into the bowl. The water boiled off in a flash of silver light that flew up in a pillar into the sky.

  The entire temple was silent enough to hear a mouse squeak. The priestess and priest looked both awed and horrified. Copelia turned to them and said on the edge of a laugh, “Thank you for the use of your temple. I’ve got to go.” She paused, looking over the congregation. They were stunned. Maybe one more trick for this show, and they’ll be telling their neighbors for generations. The stories of this night will teach the people of Lyceo to ignore high service on full moon nights.

  She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled a loud and high-pitched whistle. Heavy beats sounded like an earthen heartbeat. Nightswift came in through the north door, shoes sparking on the stone. He came slowly, with care to avoid the suddenly frightened people and the pews. He stopped at the dais and Copelia leapt aboard. She collected her glaive from the holder on the saddle. When she touched it, the curved blade shone silvery in the dim temple. She leaned forward and gave a mighty sweep with the blade. It neatly cut through the paper lanterns and the poles they were attached to. A thousand lightning bugs spilled into the air, swarming outward, blinking joyously in the dark.

  She wheeled Nightswift with her knees to face most of the congregation. “The Lady’s Light has returned to Lyceo and the rest of the Empire. Your faith is rewarded. Go in peace and know your Goddess is afoot!” She kneed the stallion and galloped down the north aisle, ducking in time to make it out the door, just barely. Her wild laughter rang through the night streets of Lyceo as she continued her wind-born ride toward the capital.

  ***

  Aquillion

  Sarousch

  In a small Moon Temple off Water Street, Sarousch Nelvandi prayed. He was waiting for the single priest to perform the high service. Sarousch was a dark brown-skinned man, thin of stature, and sharp of mind. He attended service every week, and was proud of it.

  Sometimes he prayed for patience. Sometimes he prayed for his employers, Vansainté and Copelia Caruda so they wouldn’t drive him to drink. Vansainté was a good enough fellow, if Sarousch disregarded his crazy decision to join the Dragons. That left his young and—Sarousch was convinced—insane sister to take over the business. Copelia was wild and undignified—the exact opposite of what a high merchant family daughter should be.

  But it was he, Sarousch, who ran the business. It was he who kept the ledgers balanced and the breeding records up to date. It was he who made sure the Delkerans had been supplied with the right number of bales of choice foods, so that the horses never ran short and there was not an excess molding away in the lofts. Despite being saddled with Copelia for the supposed month of Vansainté's absence, Sarousch was still alive and sane. Copelia had disappeared, along with one of Paol Caruda’s prized studs. Sarousch had never been so happy, in his quiet, tight-lipped way.

  The priest began his chanting, bringing Sarousch back to his surroundings. He felt himself to be a pious man, and so he did pray that Copelia was safe somewhere out of harm. He prayed fervently that Vansainté would return safely and triumphant. Please don’t make me have to deal with Copelia alone, he prayed.

  A flash of light came through the skylight of the small temple and blasted into the sacramental bowl on the altar. It seemed to rest there, contained by the water, but glowing brighter than the small lanterns of fireflies. It was bright enough to illuminate the surprised face of the old priest and those of the ten other parishioners in the little temple. Then the light spoke in a voice that was vaguely familiar.<
br />
  “Lady, they need to hear you. Your servant, Sarousch, needs to hear you. Sarousch, gather her children under Mishi’s sign. Use the Lady’s silence and secrecy to guide you. Wait there.” The voice paused, then went on in ringing tones that echoed around the dome. “All who hear, remember in silence, the Goddess’s Will has returned to Aquillion!” The bowl’s light faded into darkness.

  Sarousch stood in awe and shock at hearing his name called by the Goddess. He stumbled out of his pew, running outside under the moon. He floated on an impassioned, gleeful cloud all the way back to his apartment in the Caruda compound. The Goddess had called him, given him a purpose and mission. He felt an awesome shiver go through his body at remembering the words. The Goddess’s Will has returned to Aquillion. Faintly, he wondered if the Goddess always spoke about herself in the second and third person address. Perhaps goddesses felt correct speech etiquette did not apply to them...

  ***

  Imperial Palace

  Horacio Franco

  Franco became aware of water dripping. He had a vague memory of hearing it before, over the hours of blurry awareness between the blessed relief of unconsciousness. He had the bitter taste of itainai in his mouth, but the painkiller was not strong enough to numb all the pain from his legs. Over time, the pain grew and dragged him up from blurry half-consciousness. He opened his eyes. He was in a wide stone room, empty of anything besides his straw pallet, a blanket, a stool, and a lightfish globe. A leak in the ceiling dripped steadily into a puddle around a drain. The door was stout. He thought he was in the dungeon, but couldn’t be sure. The place smelled dank, but not rotten. The palace was such a maze of abandoned and unused levels he could be anywhere. No one would find him.

  The door was unlocked and a dark figure entered. Blinking, he recognized Fadarin Shaiso dressed in full court dress, surcoat and open court robes as well. Franco tried to brace himself.

  “Hello,” Shaiso said and sat himself on the stool.

  “I won’t tell you anything.”

  Shaiso laughed, seeming genuinely amused. “I’m not going to ask you anything, Franco. Though if I wanted to torture it out of you, all I would have to do is withhold your medicine, and let your wounds go septic.”

  Franco looked down at the blanket-covered legs he had been ignoring. They hurt, and they did not want to move. “Why?” Franco said, hopelessly.

  “It served my purposes,” Shaiso shrugged.

  “Does the prince still live?”

  “That is the question. I could lie and say I know, but well, there doesn’t seem to be a point. I imagine he is dead, or if he isn’t, he will be very soon.”

  “Why did you try to kill him?”

  “They think he is meant to rule, the Goddess’s August son. I think they are wrong.” He pulled a small clear bottle out of his pocket. He held it up. “This arrived by courier. There’s a piece of tapestry in it from Cavanii keep. The dam was destroyed and Esau is under twenty feet of water. The keep is nearly destroyed.” He put the bottle down beside Franco. “Who did this?”

  “I don’t know.” But he could guess. Norsson and his band of crazy men. Franco sent a fervid prayer that Theresa and the boys were safe.

  “No more itainai until you tell me,” Shaiso said with cold hatred. He swept back to the door and through it with only a single parting glare.

  Franco laughed. He laughed and laughed, though the pain was just starting. He laughed until the echoes off the stone walls hurt his ears. The hours of his life would come down to questions. The things Shaiso desperately wanted to know. But no matter what questions he asked, he would never think of the ones that mattered and thus was Anoni safe. He would never ask who Anoni was. He would never ask if Mizrahi was a woman. He would never know that she was a girl wronged by his son so many years ago.

  CHAPTER 16

  Cape Miliar

  Anoni

  She was floating, drifting to the movement of the ocean. The water lapped at the sides of her face, her ears filled with the muted rush of the ocean and her own heartbeat. She was cool as the water, but not cold. Night and a billion stars overhead, the Milky Way galaxy in a trail across the sky. A muscled arm held her across the chest, and someone’s chest cradled her back, keeping her afloat. The starlight seemed a new sight, fresh after so long. She murmured something, but the hold on her shifted.

  “Anoni?” Corin was holding her afloat.

  “Where are we?” mumbled Anoni.

  “In Cape Miliar, I think. The underground river dumped us out here. We’re going shoreward but can you swim? I can’t get us over the rocks by myself.”

  “Uh, yeah. Let me go. I need to get out of this water.” He backed off and she took a few experimental strokes. It helped that she could see the stars. The water was still dark, a threat, but if she concentrated on the shore then the fear would stay at bay. They took a leisurely stroke toward the closest beach a few hundred feet off. She was exhausted, but she kept pace with Corin and the tide carried them in. She thought he was right. Cape Miliar was the three-quarter circle of land with the Isle of Asteri at its center. Anoni looked back and could barely see the dark lump in the middle of the cape. The fourth quarter of the circle was open to the dark ocean, but white water signaled the reef that protected the cape. Somewhere out there the causeway led to the island and the Dragons’ goal. She was almost too tired to care.

  The waves carried them in quickly, and she and Corin skinned their knees on the pebbles. She dug her hands in, and dragged herself up the beach, Corin close beside. She collapsed on the pebbles, concentrating on getting the air in her lungs. She came to minutes or hours later when Corin put a hand on her shoulder.

  “I see the camp. We could have saved ourselves a couple of miles if we swam it,” said Corin.

  She sat up, doing an inventory of herself. Bruised and dazed and tired she was, but nothing was broken. Looking in the same direction as he, she could see the cheery light of a campfire. “All that matters is getting out of the water.”

  “I don’t disagree,” said Corin as he helped her up.

  “What happened to the alternate route?”

  In a dead voice Corin answered, “He lied. He lied about it all. You passed out and he yelled at me to leave. I kept you above water. The ride was pretty gentle.”

  “Oh.” The word felt like lead in her throat. The Ozuk had lied. “Well, at least I wasn’t awake for that part...”

  “That’s all you can say? After what happened?” Exhaustion diluted his anger. He folded his arms across his chest, glaring.

  Anoni looked at him in the dark. “I can’t help it. I took a chance, I was wrong. But there are no after effects that I’ve noticed. He’s still down there somewhere, right? Maybe I’ll be mad later.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” he said stolidly.

  Silence dragged as she concentrated on regaining the will to walk. Finally she spoke. “We better go. My muscles are starting to harden up.”

  They walked through the warm summer night air, drying in motion. The moon shed enough light for them to see their feet. About an hour later, they stepped into the circle of light provided by the fire. It felt like she was walking into a nightmare. She took it all in with one long glance as Vansainté came to his feet in shock. There was a body under a tarp, unmoving. There were only five horses; the supply wagon was noticeably absent. Yupendra was bandaging a burn on Vansainté’s face. Arjent had an arm in a sling. Nekobashi and Wix were building up the fire, but seemed relatively unharmed. All of the men were solemn and singed around the edges. Giovicci lay in a bundle at Yupendra’s feet, badly bruised with a splinted leg.

  Vansainté caught her in an unexpected hug. “We thought you were dead.”

  “Nearly was. What happened?” Anoni said, pushing away to go look at the body. It was Tevix, their jolly cook; his mode of death evident in the burns on his body. She pulled the cover back over his face, feeling her own face settling into impassible lines.

  “The fire. We tried to make i
t across the plain before it went up entirely in flames. Tevix was killed when his horse bolted into the flames. Giovicci was trampled by the horse and wagon. What happened to you?” Vansainté asked.

  “It’s a long story,” she said, dismissing it. She walked over to Yupendra. “Are you going to help Giovicci like you helped Vansainté?”

  “I am going to try,” he said tightly. He held up a hand to show her his golden caster. His other hand threw a bundle of herbs into the fire.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Her voice was carefully void of emotion.

  He glared at her. “You could have been here.”

  She clenched her jaw and said, “Next time I fall through a sink hole into an underground river, I’ll clear it with you first.” Turning away, she went back to where Corin sat, eating supper. She dished up some soup and ate while watching Yupendra. Without any fanfare, he clapped and started chanting, laying a circle around the fire. She was not so awed this time. Magic in raw form was much more frightening than this little ceremony could be. She would have to deal with Yupendra’s blame soon, though. She had not been there to lead them when everything went into the fire. She had asked them to come. She was responsible.