A Glimmer on the Blade

by Rachel E. Baddorf

  “It really burns your buttons not to be filing reports right now, doesn’t it,” Ketchkei cackled. She was practicing high and low staff attacks on the other side of Copelia’s study. Her heavily muscled shoulders could be seen through the fabric of her new silver robe. She turned and twisted, testing the range of motion allowed by the hems of the robe.

  “That’s not the point,” Ildiko said stiffly. “I have been called to this duty, by the Goddess, to be a keeper of knowledge. I will do my best.”

  “‘Cause you know Copelia would just go up there and say ‘Okay, kiss her, where’s the cake?’” Ketchkei said almost under her breath.

  Copelia snorted. “Oh Mishi, we are all beasts of burden. Let my legs stay sound as I carry this load,” she said, chagrined to be repeating her father’s favorite saying when he was pretending to be put upon. Louder she added to Ketchkei, “How have your preparations been going?”

  “Fast as I can. It isn’t easy changing a pacifist order of clergy into a military unit, you know,” she replied, doing a spin.

  “They don’t need to be a military unit. But I won’t be the leader of a herd of defenseless cattle. From what I know from Anoni, the Shaisos were killing clergy before this. Being dedicated to the Goddess is not going to keep us safe anymore. We won’t return to the old temples without some way to protect ourselves,” Copelia said.

  Ketchkei snorted. “If they’re cattle, what does that make me?”

  “Boss herd dog,” Copelia said with a daring smirk. “It’s time you showed them you have teeth.”

  “Fine, but don’t expect much from these fat old priestesses and priests. Some of them haven’t left their temples in years before this,” grumbled Ketchkei.

  “Pay attention, we don’t have much time,” Ildiko interrupted, waving a hand at Copelia.

  Copelia rummaged through the box. All three of the metal boxes were open on the carpet around her. “I’m looking for that book with the ceremony for the Ordeal in it. Before I marry anyone, we have to wake him up. What did you call it again?”

  “The Book of Water. It’s supposed to elucidate all of the Sybil’s complex ceremonies,” Ildiko said, rereading the passage on marriage. The Sybil’s place at the marriage was officiating only. No magic would be needed. Copelia only had to say the right words. The words for the ceremony were in The Book of Light, a book for the simple reciting ceremonies.

  “You know, sometimes I don’t know about this whole Sybil thing,” Copelia said, reading titles and stacking the ancient tomes in a pile on the floor. “Half the time I don’t know what I’m going to say. The words just come out. I don’t want everything in my life to be a miracle or a major magical working,” she muttered, dejected.

  “Come on, Copelia, the Goddess doesn’t know what you’re going to say half the time either,” Ketchkei said with false consolation. She did a high block-side-block combination.

  “Ha ha, very funny,” Copelia said and then stuck her tongue out at the other girl.

  “Copelia, the Sybil is the voice of the Goddess. While other clergy petition for Her power and Her blessings, the Goddess pushes Her power through you to do as She wills,” Ildiko said seriously.

  “Wears me out,” Copelia complained. “I think I got it. The Book of Water,” she said as she showed them a large, black bound book, title inscribed on the binding with tarnished silver script. Ildiko motioned for her to give her the book. Copelia did, but came over to lean on the back of Ildiko’s chair so she could see the pages as Ildiko began leafing through it. The spells inside were labeled in clear script at the top of each page. Somewhere near the middle, Ildiko stopped.

  “The Ceremony of the Journey of Sight. This is it. Simple enough: a bit of blood, a body, and the ceremonial font. Using the rising moon to spur the spell...” she trailed off, reading rapidly.

  Copelia studied the diagram of the Ordeal Chamber. It made much more sense than the rubble she had seen through the light well’s window.

  “Oh, cow pox!” said Ildiko.

  “What?” Copelia had never seen the other woman curse.

  “Though the structure of the chamber is used to hold the spell, the anchor of the spell is not where you would expect,” Ildiko said earnestly. At the two other women’s look of total mystification, she explained, “The Goddess’s magic is internal magic. The magic of the body. That is why herbs are eaten by the priestess and the spell lines are written on the skin for spells and ceremonies. With relics, you have spells set into external structures, where they are more stable but weaker. I assumed with what I knew of the Ordeal that the spell anchor would be in the prince’s body, or more worrying, in Alcyenne’s body.”

  “But she’s dead,” Copelia said.

  “Yes, but there was no adverse effect to the prince’s body after her death. I thought the anchor must be in him. But it’s not. This says that because the spell is so complex and dangerous, the anchor was put into the very relic that was used to perform it.”

  “Huh?” Ketchkei had come over to look at the book herself.

  “The ceremonial font. The anchor is the silver font in the floor of the chamber,” Ildiko said as she wrung her hands.

  “It was melted when I saw it,” Copelia said with dawning horror.

  “I—I mean, the Scion broke it to use as a grapple,” Ildiko said, face pinched. “To get us out of the chamber. It says the spell was supposed to automatically close when the journey was complete. But if the anchor was broken...”

  “You mean we might not be able to wake him up,” Ketchkei said, pausing in her exercises, a sickly grimace on her lips.

  “He might already be dead,” Ildiko said, her hands going numb on the pages.

  “No, we are very lucky,” Copelia said.

  “What, why?” Ildiko asked.

  “I happened to grab the font piece when we were leaving the lightwell. It’s in my room,” Copelia said, looking smug. The three young women exchanged a speculative glance.

  Copelia shrugged. “I thought it would be a good souvenir. We don’t have the whole font and I don’t think we can get it considering how close our escape was in getting out of the palace.” Copelia bit her lip, trying to push away her uncertainty. She really did not want to be responsible for killing the prince by botching the magic. “We’ve got no guarantees. Ammon has the prince stabilized, but I know something is wrong.” Copelia fiddled with the bandages on her wrist.

  “Oh shut up,” Ketchkei growled. “If I know one thing, I know Alcyenne was a tough bitch. She said she didn’t see the future, but I know she always had a backup plan. Magic doesn’t just break and go away. The energy goes from one thing to another, changed maybe, but there. Stop sniveling and think!”

  Ildiko sniffed and finally said hesitantly, “If he’s not already dead, we could...maybe...pull him back from wherever he is. But I think we’ll have to do it before the end of the journey. If his end of the spell terminates, he’ll flow down the magical connection right back to the chamber where the structure of the spell is broken and be lost. If he isn’t lost already...”

  Copelia took a deep breath. “All right. We have four or five days before the Dragons are supposed to arrive. If that is the end of the journey, that’s our deadline. We need to do it as soon as we can.”

  “If we do it, we’ll only get one chance,” Ildiko said, setting her lips in a firm line. Copelia tried to put up an encouraging and confident façade but it must not have worked because Ildiko pushed her spectacles up her nose defensively and said, “Don’t look at me, I’ve got the theomantic potential of a potted plant.”

  “Don’t worry about that. You have the words, I’ve got enough magic to go around,” Copelia said.

  Ketchkei nodded grimly and said, “So we do it.” She twirled the staff and brought it down as if on an opponent’s head with a whopping sound. “If it can be done.”

  ***

  Aquillion

  Anoni

  Anoni entered her room at the Clover Inn, as the sun got l
ow in the sky, without any sort of feeling of homecoming. It was a small room on the third floor of the inn. She kept the place for business she never wanted the imperial guards to get a whiff of. The place she sometimes considered home was in the palace, a place she could not go without her male disguise. Thinking about it, she remembered the rooms she had shared with her father as a child, long gone, reassigned to some other imperial steward and their family. Her father had died in a cart accident while she was in Oruno. He had never known his daughter lived, that she was learning and growing and meant to come back. Her quarters at the warcollege were closer to what she thought of as home. She had lived with Master Gurin for three years, first as his student, then as a friend and lover. She felt a momentary stab of pain at never seeing the indigo domes of Oruno again. She remembered Gurin’s face the day she had gotten that damned letter from Alcyenne. She had thought all of the painful memories of Aquillion safely buried. But when it came down to it, no matter how much she hated herself for still loving the prince, she couldn’t let it go. Gurin knew. The pain in his eyes was haunting. But she had left him. And now she was here again, in this damned city. After the Coronation Ball, it wouldn’t matter. Not having a home was not a concern. She would kill the Shaisos, and most likely, be killed in return. The prince would not know where to send her belongings. Maybe Vansainté would remember to send a letter to Gurin.

  She put it out of her mind. There was still much planning to do before she could meet Markham Shaiso at the ball. She dumped her saddlebags on the narrow bed. She wanted to have a bath and rest, but the only thing more pressing than lethargy was the need for revenge. If she was going to the ball, she needed a dress. The fine dressmakers of Aquillion had been working for months on the courtiers’ dresses for the event. She needed a dress in a little over three days. The longer she gave the dressmaker the better chance she would have. She remembered Alcyenne joking about asking the dressmakers to make a gown for her. The old woman had delighted in ribbing her about her choices to stay disguised as a man. Another friend dead at their hands.

  So she brushed herself off, used some water from the basin to wash her face, and went back downstairs. She took her new horse, weary as the gelding was, and rode to the goldsmith’s where she kept her money on account. The goldsmith knew her by her real appearance, but under the name Anoni Gurin. She withdrew all she had there—a small fortune by Aquillion standards—and rode to the artisan’s district. She savored the silence in her skull. Apart from the snide comments in Lyceo, she had not heard anything from Koseichiro. She counted it a blessing and didn’t worry about it.

  She stabled the gelding at a public livery with a couple of extra coins handed over to the stablemen for them to unsaddle and feed the gelding but to keep his tack ready near the door for a quick exit if she needed it. Back outside again on the street she began searching for the shop she wanted. A few minutes later, she found what she needed. The shop was a little shabby; the glass in the front window was dusty and dark. The sign hanging by the door was faded so badly she could only just make out a picture of a spool of thread. She entered the shop to the tinny tinkle of bells hung on the door. The musty dimness of the front room tried to convince potential patrons that the dark wooden chairs and deep red carpeting had seen better days. Behind the counter, an older rotund seamstress leaned, looking up at the jingle.

  “What canna get you, sir?”

  Anoni started, then pulled back the deep hood of her cloak. It had covered her hair and face from view. “I need a dress for the Prince’s Ball.”

  “Too late. Should’a ordered when the Dragons set out, no later,” the old woman said, her attention piqued by the breeches and the two daggers Anoni wore, lacquered hilts gleaming in the light.

  “I have money,” Anoni said as she held up one of her jingling purses. “I don’t need a new dress, just something that can be altered to fit.”

  The seamstress considered for a moment. “I have something that might work. It was commissioned by a lord’s daughter but she never came to pick it up, or pay.” The old woman looked like she was going spit on the floor for good measure but restrained herself. “Come on back.”

  Anoni followed the woman behind the counter into the workroom of the shop. Among the shelves of lace and bolts of cloth, and behind racks of dresses carefully hung, there was a dressmaker’s dummy. On it was a gown in red raw silk. It had tight off-the-shoulder sleeves so that the shoulders were exposed and the neckline was low. The bodice was made to be worn over a corset and was beaded in intricate designs that reminded Anoni of fish scales. If it had been a Highlady’s dress, it would have had seed pearls, or precious gems on it. The beads on this dress were red glass, cheaper but used to great advantage to make the dress finer than its price would imply. It had a full floor-length skirt with many petticoats beneath. It was by far the most beautiful dress she had seen in years. It glistened in the light from the single lightfish globe. As the fish circled, the dress seemed to breathe, like a beast beaded in heart’s blood. “All right. Here,” Anoni tossed the purse to the seamstress, who caught it with a movement that belied her appearance of age. “I need a whole kit.”

  “What, shoes, gloves, underwear?”

  “More. Jewelry, hair stuff, makeup and I’ll need a loose corset. I don’t know anything about full formal women’s stuff. I need someone to buy it all for me. And help me get ready at the time.”

  The seamstress looked doubtful, but before she refused, she opened the purse and squinted at the coins in the poor light. They were gold, not silver as she had assumed. Eyes slightly wider, she nodded and went to get her measuring string. The woman called out the back door to a girl in the yard.

  “Find Doris and her girls. And Shawnchin Bootmaker. Get all the globes filled from the tank and bring them in.” The old woman handed the girl a few coins. “Buy bread and sausage for everyone. We’ll be up tonight.” The girl ran away with a flash of her braids. The old woman turned back to the room and went to stoke up the fire. In the added light, Anoni could see she had been right about the shop, that it had only recently fallen on hard times. She could see four sewing tables and shiny brass globe holders on the walls. It had been prosperous possibly as late as last year. The seamstress turned to Anoni, inspecting her in the firelight. Anoni was still in her breeches and shirt that she had ridden in.

  The old woman sighed and said, “Your choice is the trough outside, or the bathhouse two streets over. I’ll not have you messing up my gown with your dirt. You get clean before you get near it for the fitting.”

  “Oh.” Anoni was startled, becoming aware that she stank of horses, sweat, and road dirt. She nodded and said, “I’ll be back in half an hour.”

  The seamstress nodded, attention still on the dress glimmering like flames. Anoni walked out and made her way through the evening streets.

  ***

  Aquillion, Caruda House

  Anoni

  The garden at Caruda House was a calming place even at night; it had a fair-sized lawn with flower beds and fruit trees running along the west side of the house. One of the servants had no doubt dimmed the oil lamps this late at night. Activity in the stables had quieted, but the house’s windows were brightly lit so someone was still up and about. The Caruda’s being from Oruno meant they didn’t see the point of paying so much extra for the outdoor-adapted lightfish when plain old olive oil would do. Anoni leaned against the building across the street, head deep in the shadow of her hood, watching the building. The wall around the house was all that separated her from the place where she had spent so many pleasant afternoons with Vansainté and his sister since coming back to Aquillion. And yet, as she hunkered down into a more comfortable position, the distance seemed impassable.

  She hadn’t meant to come. She was not one of these people anymore. But after the seamstress had finished measuring her and making little disparaging comments about covering scars and muscles, which had left Anoni flexing her fists unconsciously, she had wandered and found h
erself here. The house had a few people moving from building to building. She recognized the hiding clergy from their unevenly shorn hair. She should leave them a note that they should wear hats.

  Altogether, she had seen things that stirred a warmth deep inside, where she hadn’t felt anything in days. A while earlier, she had climbed a rubbish bin in the house’s alley and had seen the clergy, standing in rows, doing staff exercises under the direction of a blonde girl. A grin had quirked Anoni’s lips, unintentional, at the site of these men and women shouting in unison. When they went inside she had backtracked across the street, better to see who was coming. The people on lookout were generally alert. Copelia was doing a good job. She would do a fine job and the temple would be safe. No doubt she already had the prince well in-hand somewhere in there.

  A movement over the garden wall, near one of the garden posts with a lamp, caught her attention. Something was in the fruit tree that overhung the wall. Curious, Anoni ducked across the street into the alley to parallel the movement. The movement became recognizable as the skinny brown arms of a young girl, who pulled herself up to sit on the wall.

  “Hello?” Anoni asked making sure to stay out of the lamplight.

  The girl jumped and let out a squeak. “Who’s there?”

  “A friend of the temple.”

  “Oh,” the girl looked around for observers. “What are you doing out here?”

  Anoni was at a loss for words. Children came right to the quick of things. “Just making sure all of you are okay.” A thought crossed her mind. “You are okay aren’t you? Everybody is here and all right?”

  “Oh no. There’s a man with only one leg. They brought him in this afternoon.” The girl bobbed with excitement at the oddity.