Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones

by Vox Day

  At least Father hadn’t overreacted to her indiscretion and married her off to some aging greybeard, or worse, a stripling boy too young to even win election as tribune yet. It was a pity that neither House Falconius nor House Andronicus had any young men near to her age. It was even more of a pity that House Valerius seemed to have a surfeit of them.

  But there was little chance that she would be forced to marry any of them, since there wasn’t a man in Amorr who despised the stiff-necked Valerians more than Aulus Severus Patronus. Her father wasn’t a man much given to refighting past battles. But even now, twenty-some years after the fact, he still occasionally complained of the vote in which the Senate had declared that Valerius Veheminus was worthy of the accolade “Magnus.”

  “Has the lord princeps spoken to you of your marriage yet?” Tera leaned into her shoulder in order to stir her from her thoughts. “I was wondering if you might be betrothed this winter, as well.”

  “Father hasn’t said a word to me about it. But there are suitable men in House Crescentius, House Tarquinus, and House Volsius. I think I should prefer to marry into one of the Houses Martial, you know.”

  “I supposed you would almost have to.”

  “Not necessarily. But I think it’s much better to be married to a man like my brother Regulus than one who is always in the courts or the Senate. Regulus spends nine months of the year wandering around the provinces killing provincials, or reminding them that they are liable to be find themselves facing the sharp end of a sword if they refuse to pay their taxes. And then, when he’s in the city, he spends nearly all his time in the Forum or at the baths. He hardly bothers Volsilla at all.”

  “I think the people of the provinces must be very stupid indeed.”

  “Why do you say that?” Severa didn’t quite follow her friend’s train of thought.

  “Well, they always seem to find it so very difficult to remember that if they don’t pay their taxes, sooner or later someone is going to come and be sure they do. And you know, Regulus is very handsome. I was so unhappy when you told me he was going to marry that Volsian girl. I thought she was so much prettier than I was. Although I don’t think so anymore, now that she’s gotten fat. Is she nice?”

  Severa shrugged. “She’s nice enough. She spends most of her time fussing over the children, so I don’t see her very often. Father gave them a domus after the wedding, but it’s over near the Trentanian Hill. I think he was glad to get Regulus out of his hair. He used to say that Regulus was more quarrelsome than any ten plebian senators.

  “Do you think he’ll have you marry a Volsian too? I should think you’d be more interested in Crescentius Rufinus’s older son, Publius.”

  “Father says he’ll be elected Aedile this winter.”

  “Really? That’s in his year too. And Rufinus isn’t just an ex-consul. They say he would have been elected censor if he’d put his name forward. Don’t you think he’s handsome?”

  “Yes, he’s rather good-looking. Though he’s no Clusius.”

  “Clusius wasn’t tall and rich and powerful. Publius Crescentius will surely make consul one day. And afterward…wouldn’t it be wonderful to be governor’s wife!”

  Severa smiled. “I suppose it depends upon the province. Can you imagine being married to the poor man who is supposed to be governing the Cynothii right now?”

  Her friend shivered. “I’d be terrified! I heard that after they defeated the city legion, they put the consul’s head on a spear! I’ll bet they would have done it to the governor and his wife too, if they hadn’t fled first.”

  Severa wrinkled her lip. That was what came of the Senate sending out governors from the lesser Houses. She’d rather risk her own head on a spear than suffer marriage to such a coward. At least the Valerian House legions would set things right there in the spring. Even her father would admit that the one thing the bloody-minded Valerians did well was fight.

  Then she heard something in the distance. Severa frowned. It was a sort of dull roar coming from somewhere, although she couldn’t tell if it was from in front or behind. They were in a narrow street that connected the Quadrata to the river, but it turned a corner not far ahead, and so there was nothing to see except brick, stone, others who were passing through, and five shopkeepers standing outside their shops, engaged in desultory conversation.

  “What do you think that is?” she asked Tera.

  Her friend looked around with a worried look on her face. “I don’t know?”

  But when Severa looked at the shopkeepers, she saw their faces betray alarm, and almost as one, they turned and ran inside, slamming and locking their doors behind them.

  “Oh, Goddess, this isn’t good,” she breathed.

  “My ladies,” one of the guards called out as they ran toward her and Tera. “We have to go back. Do you hear that noise? That’s a riot ahead!”

  The two girls looked at each other, perplexed. It sounded more like water rushing than a human-made noise.

  “A riot?” Severa said. “Really?”

  “What are they rioting about?” Tera asked.

  “Who gives a damn!” the other guard said, grabbing her arm. “It’s coming this way!”

  And indeed, the roar was growing louder. It was clearly coming from the direction in which they had been headed, and now Severa could hear the sound of things crashing and being smashed.

  “We’d better go,” she told Tera.

  But it was already too late.

  Six or seven poorly dressed plebians came running around the corner, and fast on their heels were perhaps thirty or forty more plebs, not any better dressed but better armed with staffs, clubs, and other impromptu weapons. They seemed to be pursuing the smaller group. And indeed, when one of the men caught his foot in a cobblestone and fell, some of the pursuers stopped and began beating him. Severa stared, shocked by the violence and unable to believe what she was seeing.

  She was yanked backward by one of the guards, who pushed her in the back as soon as he’d spun her around. He was holding his sword in the other hand.

  “Run, you stupid girl. Run!”

  The other guard had drawn his sword too and was standing in the middle of the street, ready to meet the onrushing mob. He didn’t say anything, he merely spat and jerked his head to indicate that she should go back the way they’d come.

  Still too stunned to say anything, Severa grabbed Tera’s hand and began to run, even as she heard someone screaming behind her. In normal circumstances, even the most desperate criminal wouldn’t dare to lift a hand to a patrician’s daughter, but it was clear from the savage shouts of the rioters and the screams of those they’d either caught or dragged from the buildings that these were no normal circumstances. And the grim realization struck her that neither she nor Tera would need to worry about marrying future consuls if they were caught by these maddened animals. Even if they weren’t killed, they would surely be raped.

  “What are they rioting about?” Tera, terrified, asked her as they ran. She was beginning to lag behind.

  Severa tuggered her onward. “How would I know? We just got back to the city!”

  The shouting behind them grew louder and angrier, and Severa assumed her guards were attempting to dissuade the mob from continuing on its path. She thought she heard a scream. Perhaps one of men had struck down someone with his sword. But she knew that two men, even two well-trained men, couldn’t hold off scores, perhaps even hundreds, for long. It would be like trying to dam a river with two wagons of dirt. And no sooner had they turned a corner when the roaring unexpectedly began to grow louder, and she realized the unruly mass of men was now gaining on them.

  Or was it ahead of them now? She had no idea how big the riot was or how fast it was spreading throughout the quarter. She didn’t want to be caught, but the next worst thing to do would be to run blindly right into it. She slowed down and frantically looked around the buildings to see if there was anywhere to hide.

  “I can’t…I can’t run anymore
!” Tera protested.

  But even as Severa urged her friend on, something caught her eye and she stopped. It was a statue, an old and battered one worn down by years of wind and rain and stained by decades of avian disrespect, but she recognized it all the same. It was Saint Malachus, and it was standing outside of an old church.

  “Tera, wait, we can go in there!” She fingered the solitary earring in her left ear. This church must be one of the places that the old witch had described to her. “The saint! The mob won’t dare to come in here!”

  “Okay,” Tera gasped, half-doubled over with her exertion. “If you say so.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  Tera didn’t say anything, and she followed dutifully as Severa quickly mounted the four steps and tried the large iron handles on the dark double-doors. They opened surprisingly easily despite their massive size, and they entered a church that was rather brighter and more spacious inside than it had looked from the outside. Severa shut the doors behind them and turned to face the inside of the church.

  The colored glass of the tall, thin windows was cunningly arranged in such a fashion as to catch the rays of the sun and permit bright jeweled colors to spill across the white marble floors and polished wooden pews of the nave. But instead of a single giant tree behind the altar, there were three trees carved in stone relief. The first was a sapling of some sort, the second was a tall birch with its leaves in bloom, and the third was a gnarled oak in winter, thick knots upon its bark and its naked branches all bent and twisted.

  Severa smiled. Yes, unless she was completely mistaken, this was exactly the sort of place that had been described to her. Surely it was a sign! The goddess was looking out for her! And, as the old Salventian witch had said, it was hidden right in the very heart of Amorr itself! There were additional clues that further confirmed her hopes now that she knew what to look for. Each of the stained glass windows appeared to tell a familiar story: The Bull and the Centurion looked down from a predominantly orange-and-blue window on the novus side while the Seven Seekers were memorialized in red, green, and yellow on the opposite side. But unlike most bulls, this one had an udder. And three of the seven seekers were not only lacking beards, but appeared to be of three distinctly different ages.

  It was amazing. This church had stood here for centuries, thousands of deeply devout Immaculines had walked past it, entered into it, and even worshipped within it without ever noticing that it was not a holy house dedicated to the Immaculate at all, but an ancient shrine to the Goddess.

  “May I be of service, daughters?”

  Severa was startled by a voice behind her. She turned around and saw a short, middle-aged woman wearing an uxora, the black garment intended to signify a woman’s marriage to the immaculate.

  “Or if you have merely come to pray, please allow me to show you to the saint’s shrine.”

  “Thank you, sister,” Severa said, though Tera raised an eyebrow at her. Severa grabbed her arm and urged her to go along with the nun, or priestess, whatever she might be. “Go with her, let her show you the saint. You can pray to him about your betrothal. He is the patron saint of maidens, and it can’t hurt. I need to make confession.”

  Tera sighed but didn’t protest. “Confession? And I’m still supposed to believe your father didn’t have good cause to drag you off to Salventum? Or did you manage to find trouble out there in the country?”

  Severa fled before her friend could conclude she was pregnant with the child of a field slave or something equally absurd. The confessional was on the near side of the nave, hidden well away from the statue of Saint Malachus, in rather better condition than the one outside, that presided over the shrine on the far side of the large hall. Glancing around and feeling as if many eyes were upon her, she slipped silently into the little box-like room and kneeled down upon its well-worn wooden surface.

  But what was she supposed to say? She couldn’t simply blurt out that she’d been told to come here by an old Samnian woman. Even if the church harbored a secret temple to the Goddess, there was no way of knowing there wasn’t a proper Immaculine priest on the other side of the narrow wooden screen.

  Then a thought occurred to her. The Goddess was triune. Everywhere around her, above and below her, the signs and symbols of the Goddess were given in threes.

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  “I cannot forgive you, daughter, for I am neither a priest nor am I ordained.” The voice through the screen was low but feminine. “Father Hermogenus is not here today. Though I cannot grant you absolution, I am willing to lend a sympathetic ear if you are troubled at heart.”

  Severa was troubled, but only because she was unsure. The moment she’d heard a woman’s voice, her heart had leaped with excitement. But the woman’s words didn’t seem to indicate that she’d noticed any significance to Severa’s three requests.

  “I am not troubled, Sister, I am merely a maiden….”

  After her voice trailed off, there was a long pause. When the woman behind the screen spoke again, her voice was harsher, and more demanding. “You are a maiden. And whom do you serve?”

  “One who is also a maiden.”

  “And?”

  “One who is also a mother.”

  “And?”

  “One who is also a crone.”

  Another silence. Then, another question.

  “Who sent you here?”

  “We came to escape the crowd. There was a riot…but I think I was meant to come here. An old woman from the temple of Saint Malachus in a village told me to come. It was in a village in Salventum, I can’t remember the name. It started with an S. But her name was Idemeta Venfica. She was a woman of wisdom.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “By what my eyes have seen. She said she had a message for the Sisters in Amorr.”

  “A message. Are you the messenger?”

  “I am. Are you one of her Sisters in Amorr?”

  “All women are Sisters. But you may tell me the message. I am one of those for whom the message is intended.”

  “She told me to tell you to look to the skies. The black swan is flying.”

  The woman uttered neither an oath nor a gasp. Instead, she simply sat on the other side of the screen and continued to breathe in a loud and annoyingly nasal manner.

  Severa wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, perhaps a scream of dismay or a thumping sound as the woman fainted to the floor, but this contemplative silence was anticlimactic.

  “What is the black swan?” she finally asked.

  “Something you are never likely to see or hear about,” the woman answered. “And it is better that way. You do not sound like a Salventian.”

  “I am not.”

  “Then how do you come to be delivering a message from the sister?”

  “My father has an estate there. We arrived back to Amorr yesterday. I came as soon as I could.”

  “Ah, I see. And your father is?”

  Severa felt strangely reluctant to answer, but she felt it would be unwise to avoid the woman’s question.

  “Severus Patronus.”

  Another silence, then a chuckle. “So the patrician’s daughter comes bearing the peasant woman’s message. I sense the hand of the Maiden in this. The Mother has no humor, and the Crone’s is dry and cruel. How are you called, and how many earrings do you wear, little sister?”

  “They call me Severa. I wear only the one.”

  “Only one? Then you know nothing. And there may not be time for you to learn anything. Are you willing to serve, daughter of House Severus?”

  “If that is what I must do to attain wisdom, I am willing, Sister.”

  “A proud answer,” she heard the woman say, as if musing to herself. “A poor one too. And yet, the message was delivered…. Very well, daughter of House Severus, as you obeyed the Salventian woman, obey me now. You will not come here agai
n until permission is granted you. Within three days, a woman will present herself to you. You will accept her into your service, but you shall obey her as your teacher.”

  “But Sister, I cannot! My father, or rather, his majordomus, makes all such decisions!”

  “Trust in the Goddess. You and your mother will be needing dresses for the upcoming festival, will you not? The Sister who will instruct you in the wisdom is a superlative seamstress, and you need not fear your father’s majordomus will not take her on. She speaks with the voice of the Mother. Obey her in all things, and say nothing to anyone.”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “Go now, and may the Maiden enlighten you, the Mother nourish you, and the Crone guard you. You have done well in coming here, Severa. The Goddess’s blessing be upon you.”

  Severa heard a rustling as the unseen Sister left her side of the confessional. She did the same, unsettled and a little frightened. What had she done? What was the black swan? The wisdom was real, that much she knew, but it had never occurred to her that there might be a darker side to the Goddess and her worship. She had a sneaking suspicion that her father might be even less happy with her involvement with the secretive old women than he had been about her aborted affair with a gladiator. And yet, how could the old witch woman have known about Clusius if there wasn’t a real power there, and the sort of power that even an influential man like her father could never hope to understand, much less access?

  As a Moon-blooded woman, she owed a duty to the Goddess. That much was certain. But even a female member of House Severus owed her duty to the House. Perhaps she could serve both allegiances this way—not only serving the Goddess, but in doing so, giving House Severus the same sort of access into the women’s temple it had into the Church and the Alabaster Palace. The Sister had said she’d done well, and she had blessed her, after all. Her conscience clear, or at least sufficiently confused, she went to meet Falconatera.

  Her friend was waiting for her near the vestibule.