Hearing it clatter far off, Marta could not be sure it shattered, but took joy in Graff’s strangled gasp. Her moment of pleasure turned fleeting as the Render suddenly repelled her Breath with enough force to throw her off and several feet away.
The two shot to their feet, the glassman still struggling to join them on unsteady legs. The Render without his weapon and glassman scarcely conscious, Marta knew she might finish them both off. But she could feel her mental plans for her Armor disintegrating around the edges. Each second she wasted on these two wastrels took her daughter farther from her.
Her odd Armor provided her first few steps, but it fell apart around her by the third. Marta summoned her faithful rabbit legs, using the appendages to leave the Render and glassman to their bloody end. She cared not which survived, only that one would die.
***
She lost them for long, interminable minutes, each one away from her charge burning worse than the Render’s glass dagger or the lead shot still worming their way through her legs. Unable to ascertain their location on the street, Marta aimed upward. Scaling a building without any care as to who might see her, she bounded up and up until she found herself four stories high. From there, Luca’s path was easy to ascertain, the streets showing a path of distress in the wake of his hurried escape.
He pressed the crippled carriage east, but from her vantage, Marta saw a complication he could not: his course aimed him at the Osterdock Bridge. Although the sun still hung new on the horizon, the bridge was already crowded and nigh impassable.
Cursing their luck and the Render who ruined her plan, Marta thrust her hurt aside to leap to the next rooftop and then another. Unlike the carriage constrained by the streets, Marta cut a mostly straight path across the rooftops. But soon they became too high to scale, Marta losing sight of her companions as she returned to the streets.
By the time she reached the western end of the bridge, she feared she had lost them for good after discovering the abandoned carriage engulfed in the flow of perturbed passengers. Hopping atop the carriage’s roof, she scanned the area to find the five halfway down the bridge at its apex. To her surprise, instead of pressing on through the glut of traffic, Luca uncoiled the rope from Marta’s haversack, one end already tied to the bridge itself. Unsure as to his plan, she shoved forward through the crowd.
His intention made sense soon as she arrived, her rope dangling over the side and low enough that the drop to a barge passing below would not be fatal. Isabelle was already halfway down when Luca looked up from the heated exchange between Valentine and Clement to grace her with a grin.
“I do believe I would not mind going blind now that I’ve seen your face up close again.”
Marta smiled despite herself. When they first met, his phrase had been a distraction, but this time she believed it genuine.
“If you remain here, you will certainly be executed,” Valentine chided Clement.
“After an uncomfortable inquisition, I’m sure. But if Ed hasn’t burned any evidence I’m privy to, I’ll be gobsmacked. So I either die here or somewhere else. But I’ll die either way soon enough, and I’d rather choose where than leave it to these traitorous bugs.”
“Of all the cowardly ends,” Valentine countered, Marta not bothering to listen further as she looked over the edge to see Isabelle make the drop to the awaiting barge. The elder Valentine wanted to go with them, that much was certain, and she at least had some idea as to plumbing Caddie’s condition. True, it involved Gazers, but it was something, at least, which was more than Marta possessed. It was possible she could still deliver Caddie to Carmichael for protection, but after such a public interaction with the Covenant Sons and battle with the infamous Render, she needed to feel him out before making her decision.
Either way, she could linger no longer as the barge floated on.
“Shoot or give up the gun,” Marta announced. “You have a ten count to decide.”
Valentine clutched Clement’s arm, her face melting with concern. “If you have ever bore me or the cause any affection, you will see this through.”
Clement ground his teeth. “Very well.”
“Glad that’s settled.” Luca looked down to the awaiting Isabelle. “Can you make the climb?”
Clement nodded, but Valentine winced. “I’m afraid I will—”
Marta summoned her odd Armor, scooping the old woman and Caddie into either oversized arm. The landing would not be easy, but it would be quick. Her legs compacted for the jump when Caddie nearly flew from her grip.
The force twirled Marta around, her inhuman strength the only thing keeping Caddie in hand. Coming to a disorienting stop, she spotted Graff not ten feet away, the man reaching forward for another drawing.
“Go! I’ll cut it when you’re down!” she screamed.
Luca lunged for the rope, Graff almost casually turning and catching the Dobra in his invisible grip. Her head and heart both condemned her for not ending the Render when she had the chance, leaving Marta to wonder if this inability was another weed she could not see. Her hands occupied, she would be hard-pressed to hurt him, but perhaps she could provide Luca and Clement the chance at escape. Her single step towards Graff yielded fruit as the Render released Luca to track her.
“No, you go!”
Marta heard the click of Luca’s lockblade, looking back to see him swipe at the rope. Quick as he was, Graff proved swifter as Luca went suddenly stiff, the rope still intact. Crushed in the Render’s grip, the Dobra still managed to speak. “Clement!”
The Tinker reached for the rope, Graff altering the aim of his drawing to catch Clement. The momentary distraction gave Luca his chance, the man slashing his imbued lockblade through the rope and severing any opportunity for Graff to follow them down.
The Render released Clement and looked them over with his living eye. The battle swinging back to their advantage, he blithely awaited their attack to determine his riposte. She only had one option available, but detested it as she caught Luca’s eye.
“Go,” the Dobra said. “I’ll deal with this bug.”
Her landing hit hard, Marta hating herself for making the jump even if at Luca’s behest. Looking up from the barge, she could still catch his grin. His sacrifice would buy them a bit more time, but also his swift death. Like all her victories, it rang hollow.
Beside her, Isabelle clutched her chest as she looked up to Luca. Flowing ever-farther away from the fray, Marta only hoped the distance was not already too great for him to catch her final goodbye.
Chapter 36
Septembre 17, 567 (Two Months Ago)
Luca could not comprehend why he fought contentedness so long. Their days in the wild blended together in a single wondrous sense of routine. Each morning for the first few months, the two of them would begin their morning with the slow day-long walk around their territory. Where exactly they ranged depended on the day before, their trek perhaps down to the stream for water or to the south to check the snares Isabelle laid along the rabbit runs. The horses required attention and perhaps the corral some tending to, but in truth each day was a slow circle around their space, their home acting as the lodestone they revolved around.
Each day was just like the last, the seasons sneaking in so subtly Luca did not notice summer melting into autumn until Isabelle stowed his old clothes, providing him new ones made from warm hides and insisting they increase their take to shore up their stores. Winter’s snows brought both cold and a cessation to their daily circuit, but they were happy in their hole. The inhospitality kept them safe not just from the vengeful Cousins and Wanders but from civilization at large, which she still referred to as “Dobra.” Boredom became their only adversary. His morning throw of the bix sticks being his only memory of home, Luca resumed his whittling after mentioning his old diversion, only for Isabelle to already have a knife and wood squirreled away. The wood itself was nothing special, but the knife superb, and Luca wondered what other treasures she kept hidden. Isabelle quieted this
line of questioning with her closed-mouth kisses, but he noted how her eyes glittered.
His skills were not what they once were, but the ceaseless winter hours acted as the whetstone to sharpen them on. His first attempts were chess pieces, which he then attempted to teach to Isabelle. She took to the rules right away, but showed little care as to the strategy, so after a week of straight losses, she lost interest, and his beautiful board sat neglected. Without anything in particular to whittle, Luca carved a veritable menagerie of wooden creatures to decorate their home, hiding the new ones for Isabelle to discover. Each one she found earned him a flurry of kisses.
Isabelle’s art kept her busy, the girl adding to it daily with a wide array of pigments. The walls already suffused with huge swaths of swirls and dots, Isabelle filled the remaining spaces with smaller images. Her canvass of the cave walls mimicked no art Luca knew, but he had to admit the results were undeniably beautiful. Confined only to the earthen colors she created herself, Isabelle still found a way to make them shine within the dim light of Sandy’s Breath. Between the luz jar and fire’s flickering light, the walls undulated each night, causing the designs to dance. With every inch of the walls covered, Isabelle finally ceased to appraise her months-long endeavor.
“What do they mean?” He gestured to a three-pronged line resembling a crow’s foot which reappeared hundreds of times. Isabelle shrugged.
=It’s what the ancestors want.
It was not the first time she invoked her Nahut ancestors, it their Breath she believed still resided in the land, but Luca eyed her warily. “And how do they tell you what they want?”
=Dreams. Never say what they mean. Only that they need them. Angry at me for not being Nahu. But they’re lonely and need paintings. Memories maybe.
“Are they here now—the ancestors?”
Isabelle laughed. Alone together, gone was her guttural barks, replaced by what he could only call a girlish giggle, a sound Luca reckoned he was the only person left alive to have heard.
=Don’t know. I’m not dreaming.
Spinning in a slow circle, Isabelle took the cave and her illustrations in for several long moments. Nodding her approval, she then stepped outside to collect snow in a bucket, which she melted over the fire. Once she distilled it down to water, she dipped a rag and began scrubbing the walls.
Luca could not hide his horror as the callous water bled her images together into a messy massacre before eradicating them entirely.
“But… what? Why?” She shrugged in between destructive strokes. “But you worked all year at them. They were beautiful.”
=I know. And they will be beautiful again, just as they were last time. And the time before that. And each time they appear again. Everything repeats. We live the same day our ancestors did, just with different faces. There was no start, only the flow. Life does not go forward. It is a circle we only think is straight. I will not mourn what was lost, for it will be found again. So the ancestors say.
She scrubbed all night, Luca retiring to their bed while she worked. When he awoke in the blue of predawn, she snored beside him, but her rhythmic wheezes were not what disturbed his dreams. Instead, an echo reminding him of circles he only believed were straight when walking them resounded around his head.
***
Spring snuck up on them in no time, Luca initially unable to tell the difference between it and winter except that they resumed their morning walks. Isabelle would occasionally let him sleep late to make the trek herself, and Luca swore he would one day return the favor, but found Isabelle unfailingly awake whenever consciousness claimed him.
One summer day he awoke to find Isabelle packing. She would be gone three days, she announced, to trade for supplies in town. Luca did not offer to accompany her, so she was not required to remind him he would never see civilization again. Alone for the first time, he walked the circular route until she returned, brimming with supplies. At first, his favorite was the rum bottle she uncorked to upset their pattern. Passing it between them during dinner, frivolity overtook them as Isabelle jigged about the fire. The motion was so unlike her that Luca found himself laughing. She stopped instantly, glaring at him until she saw there was no malice to it. Then she softened, her Mind exuding emotion rather than words. Luca reached for her to join him, but she disappeared into the back of the cave to appear with a fiddle.
Years had passed since he last played the bosh, and never did he do so in Isabelle’s presence; however, she somehow knew exactly what to procure. Overcome and unable to express his gratitude in words, Isabelle did not require them as she pressed it to him. With a quick kiss, she stepped back to await her serenade. His fingers were clumsy, but Luca coaxed “Winds of Bliss” from the resistant digits. Unfamiliar with the ballad, Isabelle still gamely clutched the skirt she wore into town in the imitation of a lady. Isabelle assuming such a role looked ludicrous, so Luca laughed long and hard, Isabelle joining in with her giggle as she whirled drunkenly about their home.
The rum and dances soon became a part of their pattern, Isabelle always ending up undressed in his arms, her fingers curling in his beard as she declared her love.
***
Without noticing when, they became integrated in a way he could never have imagined in their years together on the trails. Although the other was the only person each could communicate with, they seldom spoke: each knew what the other thought, so there was no need to ask as each day followed the path laid down by the last.
There was a pleasure to the pattern, a contentedness in knowing what each day would entail. It was not the delirious joy Luca envisioned in his youth, rather a steady satisfaction undercutting the need for accomplishments that once drove him. As a child, he understood why the boy swallowed by the sea ignored the coins in favor of the giant gem, but now, as a man, he could not entertain the futility in struggling after the impossible when simple pleasures were right there for the plucking.
***
He could not tell if it was late summer or early autumn when he awoke alone. The sun barely risen and therefore not unusual for Isabelle to be gone, Luca leisurely set to whittling her a mudbird after receiving an inconclusive reading from his bix sticks. They were an old Dobra trifle, a vestige of civilization same as the lockblade and Bo’s gold pocket watch, which had no meaning out in the wild, but he could not find it within himself to be quits with them.
When she did not appear at dinner, worry wormed its way inside his head. Never before had he met a more capable woman, but she had never disappeared this long before either. Grabbing Sandy, Luca made the trip down to the corral to find his horse there alone. It neighed its frustration at being cooped up all day, yet it was the lack of Isabelle’s horse that hitched his breath. Last ride to town for supplies she took both beasts. Where she was going, or why she left escaped him, and insomnia held him tight throughout the night for the first time in over a year.
Luca made the circular walk on his own the next day, his path driven by pattern as his mind chewed over Isabelle’s absence. He hoped to find her along the route until he realized she would not have taken the horse if she walked along it. What was worse, she had told him before when she was going to be away for the night, so it seemed she had no intention of remaining away this long. Images of her hurt and stranded somewhere nearby suddenly invaded his head, and Luca quickly broke his patterned path to chase down his grazing horse. Saddled up, he then rode back and forth across her domain searching for Isabelle until the darkness chased him back home alone. He hoped to find Isabelle there, but only Sandy’s trapped light greeted him, and again no sleep came throughout the night.
He set out again early the next morning, riding farther and imagining even more dire eventualities. His path jagged erratically, his voice soon raw from crying her name. Near nightfall he quit, realizing then even if she heard his cry nearby she would be unable to answer. Sleep attempted to snare him, but Luca pushed through to plan. Dividing the land into the four cardinal coordinates, he searched the s
outh side as far as he could, with the intention of tackling the west the next day. It ended in futility, as did the other directions. He then considered riding into town before realizing he had no idea what direction it resided. Weary beyond measure, he hoped sleep would soothe him, but his worry blended his dreams with his waking world. Somewhere in that exhaustion, he found himself wondering if Isabelle’s Nahut ancestors watched over her.
“She’s the only one,” he whispered, eyelids closing of their own accord. “No one else is here to listen to you. And no one else ever will. Anything. I promise you anything you want so long as you bring her back to me.”
***
Luca awoke to Isabelle pulling back the covers. Even only half-awake, he eased aside to make room as he breathed easy for the first time in weeks.
“Where were you?” he asked, each word interrupted by a kiss planted anywhere he could find skin. Isabelle brushed both his question and affections away.
=Tired. In the morning.
She descended into sleep in seconds, her hard face softening as she did. Luca watched her steady breathing the rest of the night. She cuddled close, her body moving with his and matching his motions unconsciously. Isabelle was a bona fide miracle, he marveled; a woman strong enough to thrive on her own, but for some reason beyond his ken, she chose him.
Luca finally rose before her, stoking the fire and departing on the circular walk alone. He had no intention on finishing it, instead making his way to the corral to check her horse for any clues. To his surprise, a new bay mare nickered from beside their two.
Isabelle endeavored at breakfast upon his return. It was such a welcome and familiar sight that Luca almost disbelieved the last two weeks. But something in her routine felt wrong, the way she carried herself stiff and somehow off. She kept her Mind locked tight, and Luca sought his way in when he noticed the vial of liquid and letter bearing his name in Simza’s script.
The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2) Page 35