“Your papers, Captain?”
Receiving no reply, she looked about to realize only Jewell occupied the yard with her. A few guards dawdled at their stations, but they might have well been miles away. Donalds had been right beside her on their route out, and his absence now brought her Armor plans to mind.
“You saw him, correct?”
“He was right here,” Jewell hissed back.
Backing up against the cart, Marta surveyed the area again and found no sign of the man. “Get in. We go. Now.”
Jewell had the chance to act before Marta heard the familiar feminine laugh. Wheeling, she saw the female glassman appear from the darkness not ten feet away. One hand clamped over Donalds’ mouth and the other gripping his gut. Marta made sure to note the guards. Facing outwards for potential attack, they did not notice the monster in their midst.
The glassman did not make for much of an obvious monster, the woman in a new, clean dress Marta suspected belonged to the dead woman whose Breath surely fueled the creature now. In fact, were one not aware of what she was, she would appear quite lovely. Even her smile was shown a deceptive white as she looked Marta up and down, paying particular attention to the uniform.
“A soldier now? I declare, you wear something new each time I find you. But I will always find you, no matter what face you wear. Too strong a scent to ignore. So strong I thought you might have Yerak here with you, but again you disappoint. But what game do you play at now?” She tightened her grip on Donald’s gut, her other hand hardly able to stifle his groan. Then his eyes began to flutter, and Marta wondered if that was how she looked when the glassman invaded her mind.
“Glassman,” Marta whispered, catching Jewell’s wrist as he immediately reached for his pistol. She doubted his aim or if even a single shot could put the monster down. To kill her, Marta needed her close enough for her odd Armor to tear her in two. But searching her mind, the plans again shunned her. She did not care though as she stepped forward. They always arrived when in need, and she would risk the gamble if it took this monster hunting her daughter off the board.
“You want my secret? Let me whisper in your ear.”
“No,” the glassman replied with a shrug. “I believe my prize lies elsewhere.”
The glassman closed her hand, her fingers ripping through the quartermaster’s flesh to grab ropes of his entrails. Releasing her hand over his mouth, she let him scream as she tossed the visceral in Marta’s direction. His impending death produced a piteous sound, one long and loud enough to draw the guards’ attention.
A smile on her lips, Bernice dropped her victim and disappeared back into the black, leaving only Marta, Jewell, and a dying man for the soldiers to find.
Chapter 30
Weodmonad 11, 566 (One Year Ago)
Luck ever on his side, Luca still feared the day he would reach for it and find only dismay. He knew the idea made no sense, but he still could not push the thought from his mind. To date, every gamble landed in his favor, but with his wedding to Jaelle only months away, he fixated on the notion that he would somehow falter at the foot of his prize. The closer he came, the more he feared, and he began to believe deep in his bones Isabelle’s sudden appearance was a harbinger of doom. Jaelle’s brave façade reflected his own, but both refused to give voice to the danger awaiting him in returning to the tolmen Dama.
Isabelle remained unfazed, at least as far as Luca mentally gleaned. Usually he could discern her thoughts without even looking up, but she kept them hidden upon arrival. He suspected it was due to the kiss she freely gave, but he did not return, yet she avoided all attempts at communication as they took the train down the Sagle Line. Luca expected the pain of the ley headaches to be his constant companion for four days until reaching the terminus at Nacpa. Isabelle instead rose before the day was out, telling Luca to have their horses transferred to a western-bound train on the Ichmul line at Ceilminster.
“How does that get us to Dama?”
=Do you trust me?
She offered nothing more, simply waiting until he rose, collected their belongings, and hailed the conductor. His headache scarcely settled in on their western route when Isabelle announced they would disembark at the next stop. He knew the name Lilydale from his stints on the ley as a town nearly midway between Ceilminster and Oreana, but not what it signified to Isabelle. She again replied only by asking if he trusted her, and again he lied and said he did.
Isabelle turned their horses south, and though Luca knew this to be the general direction of Dama, it would take them months to reach it at this rate. Expecting her same repeated inquiry in response, Luca did not broach the subject again. For three days and two nights, he talked about anything and everything but their destination. To his unending string of words, Isabelle remained silent, not even broaching her dreams in the morning. Such rare silence worried him all the more, the man spouting even more words to fill the void. By the time they reached the outskirts of the Tendoy mountain range separating Mimas from Nahuat, he feared he had already begun to repeat himself. If they continued on any farther, they would hit Hammond, but Isabelle called a stop:
=Nahu home.
Her clear thought after so many days of silence surprised him almost as much as her false claim. “The Nahut are south of here in Ingios territory. Near where I found you.”
=Nahu home from long ago. Before Newfield.
“And this is where you live now?”
She ignored him, producing a bottle of rum from her pack and a rare smile. Equally wary of each, Luca still accepted them both.
***
The setting sun lighting up the mountains like a slow nodus, and aided by the liquor, Luca almost forgot his troubles. This was certainly Sol’s country, and though he did not believe in the deity, for a brief moment, Luca understood why it would sacrifice itself to create life worthy of beholding this sight. The open spaces brimming with beauty in all directions diametrically opposed his constricted existence in the city, and even thinking on Gatlin brought his troubles rushing back. The rum running through his veins assisted in pushing them aside for a little longer, at least. The danger in Dama, his impending nuptials, and ascending to a true position of leadership in the tribe when Jaelle became matriarch could wait for one night more.
Despite her slight stature, Isabelle downed more than him, and he feared she would soon be spilling her innards after the drowsiness set in. Afraid of her nodding off, Luca reached to secure the bottle when Isabelle suddenly stumbled up. The sunset silhouetting her with an ethereal glow, she paced back and forth.
=We will speak marrow true.
Her face hidden in shadows, Luca could read nothing of her features or Mind, but he suspected they would finally broach their bloody kiss.
=Dreams are strange things. They weigh nothing, but can crush. You cannot touch them, but they push you. They are not, but they will be. Like parents. We do not choose them, but they decide us. You understand?
Isabelle finally leaned in close enough for Luca to see the longing in her face. Her words were nothing but nonsense, but he dared not offend her sincerity by saying as much.
“Yes.”
=This is a good place for dreams. Nahu bones buried here, and their Breath stays close. When the people still lived here, the ancestors lived forever in new flesh. But then the Newfield came and people left. The Breath had no new bodies and are lonely now. That is why they speak to me. They have no one left. Sad. Confused. Forgotten, but still need to speak. Why would Nahu leave what they once loved?
Her alienation and pain was plain, so Luca reached to reassure her. “You will always have a home with me. As soon as Jaelle and I are married, I’ll insist Simza bring you back permanently. You will be our daughter, will be brought into the tribe no matter what Simza says.”
Isabelle snorted.
=You see, but do not understand. Without a people, I am free. Without family, no ancestor controls me. They speak to me because they have no one else. They need, but I need
no one. This is marrow true freedom, but you cannot see it because you are Dobra. Weighed down by that, but you do not feel it. Could be free out here, but instead choose weight. Why?
Perhaps the rum kept him from following her reasoning, so he held out his hands. She made no motion to accept his embrace, instead stalking behind him. Brushing the stubble springing from his cheek, her hand then dropped to the straight-blade knife at his waist.
=Do you trust me?
Luca reached out with his Mind, but Isabelle gave him nothing. He swore he could hear her heart thundering as she awaited his answer.
“Not now. Not when we’re drunk. Any other time, but not now.”
Suddenly her feelings flooded him. He could not see her face any more than he could understand the words in her head, but he knew her heart bordered on breaking.
Isabelle disappeared by the time he turned, the girl slipping off into the dark. Luca followed her at a distance to give her enough space in case she sobbed, but not too much in case she became truly distraught. She did neither as she leaned against the nearest tree, aimed her thumb at the sunset, then took three paces. Using her hands, she tore into the earth. Within moments the sack appeared, Isabelle untying the neck to unveil the stones within. Even in the diminishing sun’s last light, Luca saw the strange rocks stolen from Dama.
“You went back? Alone? Why?”
=So you will not be away for long. Wedding gift.
With a whoop, Luca scooped her up. She was stupid for risking her life that way, but in doing so, saved his. Even the interminable two months away from Jaelle would be reduced to little more than a week due to Isabelle’s foresight.
She stiffened at his touch, Luca sensing her longing not through his Mind, but her breath against his cheek. Such a sacrifice on her part deserved something, a token kiss at least, and he was glad when she did not demand it.
***
His head ached when Luca awoke to regret the rum’s revenge. Despite consuming just as much, Isabelle appeared untouched, already having saddled their horses by the time he ignored his morning shave in favor of heaving. Barely breaking long enough for a morning meal and dried herb she swore would aid in his recovery, Isabelle beat a hasty retreat from the former Nahut lands.
Despite the ache that came with the length of their travels along the ley, Isabelle awaited the stevedore who offloaded their horses with baited breath upon reaching Gatlin. The girl’s emotional gamut typically only ranged from indifference to contempt in the city, but Luca swore she bordered on giddy as he took the lead to thread their way through to the new Ikus enclave.
The scattered wine and brandy bottles mingled with the decaying decorations told the tale of a grand celebration, the rock candy and peppermint sticks crunching under their horses’ hooves, designating it a wedding. The streets seemed strangely dead though, his kin nowhere to be found as he arrived at Simza’s symbolic vurd in the middle of their square. The banner lolling across it was torn, but Luca still made out the names Gideon and Jaelle Chunvin easily enough.
Although incapable of reading, Isabelle still barked her laugh.
Chapter 31
Blotmonad 29, 567
Even with Caddie beside her, her companions surrounding her, and armed guards stationed around the walls, Marta anticipated their doom at any moment. Neither the doddering Tinker, Clement Hansel, nor the ancient Weaver and mistress of the manor, Valentine Greene, could assuage her overriding fear that they were busy picking at flowers while Waer rode them down.
Escaping the army stockade proved easier than expected, Marta summoning the voice she commanded her troops with during the Grand War and ordering the guards to hunt down the glassman. When they stared stupidly, she screamed it was the one woman in their midst not wearing a uniform, and they went to work. Directing their defense against an enemy already long gone, Marta hopped up to her cart and fled in the ensuing confusion. Donald’s dying cries faded behind her, but she did not look back.
Luca and Ed waited at their chosen rondeaux, the former’s grin disappearing when she spoke. “Have her bring my daughter. Now.”
“Daughter?”
Marta’s look silenced him, Luca stepping out of view to summon Isabelle. Any other time she would wonder after what Dobra gramarye he employed, but such thoughts deserted her when Isabelle appeared moments later with Caddie in tow. Snatching the girl away, Marta’s eyes never stopped scanning the streets around them as they boarded the cart and rode on towards the destination only Ed remained privy to.
He directed them to the city’s outskirts, the cramped apartment buildings giving way to houses, which ceded to sprawling mansions soon enough. A minor ley ran parallel to their path, Ed turning their cart to approach one estate from the back driveway deliveries came by. The walls rose higher than the army palisade, and Marta marked attentive men patrolling them. Soon as they rode into the stables, other Sons materialized to unload their prize along with Jewell as Ed ushered them towards the house.
“Time to put paid.”
“Time indeed,” Marta echoed.
He navigated through the expansive mansion like a native, leading them not to Hendrix, but a well-stocked drawing room where Greene and Hansel awaited. Marta barely made it through the introductions before wheeling upon him.
“Where is he?”
“He’ll be along shortly. Soon as you leave me be, I’ll fetch him and your payment.”
Marta might have stepped between the disappearing man and the door, but Valentine Greene held up her hand. Decked in a black dowager’s dress, the elderly woman spoke with an aristocratic air. “Please do excuse Mr. Oldham. Manners are not his forte. Allow me instead to play hostess and assure you, for what it’s worth, we mean you all the best. His brusqueness stems from wariness I think we all share. And, as pleasant as it would be to hear them prattle on, I fear it would never do to have our two most foremost Tinkers in the same room.”
“She flatters,” Clement chuckled as he refilled his drink. “And also fears a raid would remove teacher and student.”
His statement roused memories from Marta’s time in Vrendenburg. The name Clement Hansel used to mean something before the war, and she studied him closer. He was at least twenty years Valentine’s junior, which would put him at about the right age.
“You were Hendrix’s instructor at Lisford.”
“For a while. Until I became his apprentice.” Clement gulped down his drink then poured another. “Some might think it unseemly studying under a former pupil, but I have no pride in acknowledging my betters. In fact, it is an honor he asked us here for this momentous occasion.”
Taking in the affluence of the room, Valentine’s surname resurfaced in Marta’s mind. “And you’re Valentine Greene of the Rhea Greenes, instructor at Ceilminster College.”
“Former instructor and Weaver both, alas,” Valentine admitted with downcast gaze before quickly catching Marta’s again. Despite her age, the old woman’s eyes twinkled. “My Weaving days are, unfortunately, behind me, a condition of keeping my family estate. But my knowledge of the intricacies of the art still remain, as do my memories of the scriptures, which is why I believe Mr. Hendrix chose this locale for tonight’s gathering. He has been borrowing all my books, of late, in no small risk to the cause, since discovering his dear daughter’s impending return.”
Striding over, Valentine dipped down to Caddie’s level. “We have all been awaiting you with baited breath, my dear. Won’t you say hello?”
Suddenly aware she held Caddie’s hand in hers, Marta felt the child pulling away. Though it galled her, she released the girl. Caddie was no longer her charge.
Indifferent to the crouched Valentine, Caddie began pacing. It was an unfamiliar motion, one Marta had not encountered before.
“Give her her sticks.”
When his Dobra toys did not appear, Marta looked to the unresponsive man. He gazed at Valentine in turn, transfixed.
“Luca!”
He retrieved his bix stick f
rom his coat and handed them to Caddie, but his eyes never left their hostess.
“You knew Dorothy Kohl.”
“Of course. We were colleagues, and I took over her position after her departure. Why do you ask?”
Luca glared all the harder. “What do you know of the black Breath?”
Valentine sucked air through her teeth as she regarded him a long time. “You inquire like someone who knows a bit about black Breath himself. How is that?”
“I asked first,” he replied flatly. Valentine took up the pacing Caddie abandoned, the girl, in turn, playing her inscrutable game on the floor.
“To start from the beginning? It is not explicitly scripturally canonical, but it is generally believed Waer came into being with seventeen Breaths black as the night sky. More than any of Sol’s creations, and as an abomination to all He held dear when He created life, these black Breaths allowed her to take the form of the serpent she used to attack Abet’s children. They are what she used to gift Dobradab with his cursed Listener Breath, though I suspect you know that tale all too well. They were what allowed her to create the original daemons—Vradra, Bleim, and Kor—and her children’s lack of the black Breath, which created the engels when they sought to replicate their mother’s dark miracle. And that is all the Biba Sacara says on the matter.”
“I did not ask about the scriptures or Waer. I asked about black Breaths.”
Her jaw set, Valentine clicked her tongue as she considered. “Of that there is less information. Some tales that never made it into the Biba Sacara make mention of evil men, tyrants, oppressors, and dictators. The stories say that upon their death, a black Breath escaped their corpses. But I would need to know more information as to your question to accurately provide an answer.”
“Three times now in as many weeks we’ve encountered Waer’s black Breath,” Luca answered. “But they did not come from rulers, rather a dunder general, a misanthropist trapper and preacher with airs of grandeur.”
The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2) Page 30