Suddenly one of the men broke from the group and turned his horse toward Teo. Drawing his sword, he spurred his mount into a gallop. Teo reached down for his knife. The Clansman barreled straight at him, his eyes fixed in a bellicose stare.
As the rider drew near, Teo recognized him as the man who had leaped onto his rowboat from the Exterminati ship. His face was contorted into an angry snarl. Although Teo gripped his knife, he wished he had a longer blade. A good sword could make the difference between life and death, but a knife wasn’t much use in a situation like this—except for one thing.
Teo flipped the knife up and caught it by the tip. He had spent many hours tossing knives into tree trunks with his buddies from the Fifth Regiment. Usually he could best them in any game of accuracy. Now he drew upon that skill in a much more deadly contest.
Cocking his arm behind his head, Teo waited for the right moment. He would have only one chance. To wait long enough to make an accurate throw was to remain within the sword’s reach if he missed.
But Teo rarely missed.
The knife took the rider in the heart, exactly where Teo intended. The man’s face twisted into a look of surprise. His sword slipped from his hand as he swept by, though Teo still had to dive out of the way to avoid the charging horse. When he scrambled from the ground he saw the man lying flat on the pavement. The hilt of the knife protruded from the center of his chest. He twitched but did not stand up.
Teo collected the dropped sword, then approached his enemy and knelt. The man panted between gritted teeth. Beads of sweat lined his forehead.
“What do you want with her?” Teo demanded. “Speak up!”
The man’s determined silence made Teo desperate. All these mysterious activities had gone on long enough. Teo wanted to know what the Exterminati and Clansmen were up to—and he wanted to know now.
“Tell me what you’re doing with those women!” he shouted.
When the man didn’t reply, Teo’s eyes fell to the knife’s hilt. He grasped it. One agonizing twist would wrench the information from his enemy by force. As the Clansman’s gaze followed Teo’s hand, his body stiffened. He began to breathe faster in anticipation of even more pain.
Teo couldn’t do it. He took a flask from the man’s belt and unscrewed the lid. After dribbling whisky into the dying man’s mouth, he put the flask in his hand, then stood up and turned to pursue the other riders.
“Hey,” the man grunted.
Teo swiveled his head and looked down.
“The women . . . they’re brides . . . for the fire god.”
Brides for the fire god? Was that some local euphemism for prostitution?
“Quick!” Teo urged. “Tell me where they’re being taken!”
The Clansman had just opened his mouth to speak when a crossbow bolt hissed through the air and impaled him. His body flinched, and his eyes fluttered shut. Another hiss was followed by the clatter of a bolt striking brick. Teo ducked behind an empty fish stall. Three crossbowmen pinned him down, one firing while the others cranked their weapons. A nearby alley led to a maze of narrow streets.
Teo stared past the crossbowmen at the Bay of Napoly. The Exterminati caravel floated in the harbor. Two similar ships rested beside it now. Down in the water, Teo could see the little rowboat whose evil occupants held Ana in their grip. He was considering how to set up a combined attack on the three caravels when his eyes noticed an unexpected detail.
The ships’ anchors had been raised.
C H A P T E R
9
The putrid bilge of the caravel made the hold seem like a paradise. Ana had been taken deep within the bowels of the ship. Hand pumps and bailing buckets lay scattered about. Her captors opened a hatch. “No! Please!” she cried, but the men pushed her into the hole anyway. The hatch slammed shut above her.
At first she had been too terrified to cry. The cold darkness and the tight confines stirred up memories Ana wished she could forget. Bilge water clung to her ankles, sludgy with tar and algae and excrement. The stench was noxious. Ana’s stomach lurched. She gagged twice, then added to the filth all around her.
Tears finally came to her eyes, though she dared not touch her face to wipe them away. Ana let them drop from her cheeks, the pure water mingling with the foul, until she could cry no more. At last she stumbled forward to where the keel curved up and the nauseating brew was shallower. Sitting out of the muck as much as possible, Ana resigned herself to a long, torturous journey.
Everything had been so peaceful at Shepherd Nicklas’s house. Ana had slept soundly there, with a clean body and a full belly, confident that in the morning the port authorities would free the imprisoned sisters. But things didn’t work out like that. Somehow the Exterminati had learned her whereabouts. They were being helped by the beefy thugs who belonged to the Clan. Ana had been wakened in her bed by a predawn raid. Poor Nicklas had been roughed up, but he was a strong man and would survive the mistreatment. Ana didn’t even have time to don her outer garment before she was hauled outside in her chemise and set on a horse.
“Oh, Deu! How long?” she cried to the darkness. Though Ana’s question was prompted by fear of the arduous journey ahead, she let her plaintive cry become more than that. How long will wickedness reign? How long will the nations set themselves against the Eternal One? How long before good men finally triumph and righteousness prevails? Ana had no answers to those questions. None at all.
Time slipped by unmarked. The smell was horrendous, making Ana retch and gag. She longed for fresh air. Weary, she reclined against the sloping hull of the ship. By bracing her feet against one of the transverse ribs, she found she could keep herself out of the dirty water. Soon the rocking motion of the ship lulled her into an uneasy sleep.
A hard jolt awakened her. Ana had no way to know how long she had slept. The ship had entered rougher seas now, making it pitch more than before. Ana slid against the slick wood of the bilge, tossed back and forth by the merciless waves.
An unexpected memory pricked her mind. When she was being taken on horseback to the ship, she thought she had heard someone shout her name. But the voice hadn’t said “Anastasia.” The word—if it was real—was Ana. Only one person called her that.
Could it be? Is Teo following me? Is he on the way?
Ana struggled to believe it. Her thoughts went back to the moment in the ship’s hold when, through the sisters’ hymn, Deu had reminded her of Jérémie 29. “Mighty Deu,” Ana prayed, “help my unbelief! I know you have plans to give me a future and a hope. Please, Iesus, speak to my soul and let me know you’re with me.”
The ship crested a wave, then dipped hard into a trough. The impact was even more forceful than the one that had awakened her. Above her head, a piece of the hull planking broke loose. A tiny ray of light pierced the darkness.
Rolling onto her belly, Ana wriggled up to the hole. Caravels like this one didn’t have much of a draft, so the hole was above the waterline. Ana cleared away more of the rotten plank with the heel of her hand until the opening was the size of a saucer. The horizon rose and fell as the ship heaved, and seawater splashed her face, but Ana didn’t mind. She had what she wanted: clear sunlight and fresh, sweet air. Closing her eyes, she let the breeze caress her cheeks. And then she knew.
Help was on the way.
The Midnight Glider was in its berth. Teo ran up the gangplank. “Marco!” he yelled, but there was no answer.
He tried again, checking the captain’s cabin and the head. Still there was no sign of Marco or anyone else.
Teo went up on deck. He heard a heavy snore reverberating in the ship’s boat. One of the crewmen was inside, snuggled up with an empty bottle.
“Hey, sailor!”
The man didn’t move.
Teo reached in and shook him, awakening the man with a start. “Where is everybody?”
The pirate squinted at Teo through bleary eyes. “The brothel, I guess.”
“Which one?”
“Right there
. The Comfort House.”
Shaking his head, Teo walked down the gangplank to the pier. He entered the bordello, which was silent at this early hour.
“Marco!” Teo yelled, shattering the stillness.
Heads peeked from the doors, mostly female. Teo frowned. “Marco, if you’re in here, get up now!”
“Take it easy. I’m right here.” Marco appeared in the bordello’s fancy lobby, shrugging into his navy blue jacket. After running his fingers through his hair he looked debonair enough to go out on the town.
“Why aren’t you on the ship?” Teo demanded.
“I stayed there a long time, but you never gave the lantern signal like we agreed, then you rowed away without the women. I had no idea when you’d return or what your new plan was. All I could do was wait for you to show up again.”
“At a house of prostitution?”
Marco’s face reddened. “What am I supposed to do? A man has needs, you know.”
“But what about Vanita?”
“Hey, come on! It’s not like she and I—”
Teo cut him off, turning toward the door. “Just get your sailors aboard the Glider. I’ll round up the knights. It’s time to go.”
“Why? What happened?”
“The caravels left, and I have no idea where they went.”
“All three? Just like that?”
“Yes, right after dawn, which you would have known if you had been watching.”
“I told you, I did watch for a long time. But then it grew late, and I needed some sleep.”
“Well, I hope you got some good ‘sleep’ in here.”
Disgusted, Teo made his way to the inn where the ten Knights of the Cross were housed. Unlike Marco’s pirates, they didn’t carouse with women—though Teo wouldn’t have put it past some of those who remained at Marsay with Odo.
After rousing the knights, Teo walked to the Port Authority building and barged through the front door. His sudden entrance startled the dozing watchman, who was finishing the night shift.
“I need to know where those three caravels are headed,” Teo snapped.
“That information is restricted. Get out.”
Teo was in no mood for an argument. He brushed past the bleary-eyed watchman and picked up a register book with the word Itineraries engraved on the spine.
“Hey, leave that alone! You’re not allowed to—” The watchman caught himself, looking at Teo more closely. “What’s your name, stranger?”
“Teofil of Chiveis.”
“Is that so? Alright, listen up, Teofil. Just give me a little consideration and I’ll let you take a look.”
Teo gladly emptied his pockets of all the coins he had. The watchman counted the silver in his palm and seemed satisfied. He turned away and stared out the window while Teo flipped through the itinerary book to its most recent entry. Large bold letters identified the caravels’ destination as Eastport, Sessalay. Teo felt the claws of tension release some of their fierce grip. At least now he knew where to go.
“That’s all I need,” he said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the watchman replied without turning around.
All hands were aboard the Glider when Teo returned. The crew set some canvas on the mainmast and shoved off. After clearing the bay and entering the open ocean, Marco ordered his men aloft to make more sail on the yards. He was rigging his ship for speed. Teo grabbed one of the passing sailors. “Tell the captain to head for Eastport,” he said.
The trip to Sessalay was a three-day journey. At first Teo avoided Marco because his irritation still simmered beneath the surface of his emotions. But on the second day, after the evening mess was over, a whispering in his head told him he ought to seek restoration. Though Teo resisted for a while, he finally approached Marco’s cabin and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” came the gruff voice.
“A friend.”
There was silence for a long moment, then the door opened. Marco’s face was unreadable. “Come in.”
Teo entered the great cabin and settled into a padded seat by the window. Normally Marco would offer him an after-dinner drink, but he didn’t do so now. Teo’s mind flashed back to a time when he was grieving deeply and Marco’s friendship in this very stateroom had meant more to him than a glass of gin ever could.
“You here to scold me again?” Marco asked.
“I’m here to apologize. I shouldn’t have lectured you in front of your men.”
“And in front of a bunch of two-bit whores. You made me look like a fool.”
“I’m sorry. I mishandled that. I let my anger get the best of me.” Teo hesitated. “But you were a fool.”
Marco walked to a liquor cabinet and retrieved a bottle. Teo couldn’t see if he was preparing one drink or two. Finally he turned around again, holding two glasses. He offered one to Teo. “You’re right. I was.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Teo said with a grin. Marco broke into a broad smile as well. The two men clinked glasses and knocked back their shots.
“You have to remember, I’m a pirate,” Marco said, pulling up a chair. “I don’t command my crew like an admiral. I don’t have naval law to back me up. My men are attached to me only by personal allegiance. I have to give them a long leash.”
“I understand that. But what about your own decisions?”
“You mean to go to the bordello?”
“Yes, and at the worst possible time.”
“What can I say? I’m a man. I have needs.”
“Are those needs stronger than your loyalty to Vanita?”
Marco studied Teo’s face. “Sometimes,” he admitted at last.
Teo didn’t say anything.
“How do you do it?” Marco asked. “Anastasia is a beautiful woman. You’re clearly in love with her. How come . . . ?”
“It’s simple. My love is based on respect. That makes all the difference.”
“I guess you’re a stronger man than me.”
“Look, don’t put me on a pedestal. I’m not without temptations. I have the same urges as every other man. I adore Ana so much, it’s impossible not to desire her. But my respect has always been stronger than my desire. I’m grateful to Deu for that.”
“If I converted to Christianism, would I get that kind of self-control too?”
Teo chuckled. “Well, it’s not like a magic charm you hang around your neck. But it does say in the Sacred Writing that the followers of Iesus are a temple for Deu’s spirit. Just like you wouldn’t desecrate a holy place, so you wouldn’t act in ways that are unfitting toward a Christiani sister—even one you’re madly in love with.”
“Especially not the one you love,” Marco added thoughtfully.
“Right. I think you get it.”
“I’m going to give this some serious thought, amico. You never cease to surprise me.”
“I try to keep things interesting,” Teo said with a little laugh.
The conversation died down as the two men were lost in their thoughts for a while. Eventually Teo decided to broach a subject he had been wanting to discuss with Marco ever since they left Napoly. “I heard something strange, and I’d like to get your take on it,” he said.
Marco arched his eyebrows and waited, so Teo continued. “One of the Clansmen told me the women were supposed to become ‘brides for the fire god.’ ”
No sooner had Teo uttered the words than Marco leaped from his chair. “No! Not that!” he exclaimed.
Teo hunched his shoulders and held up his palms. “What?”
“This rescue is going to be a lot more complicated than we thought,” Marco said with a grimace.
Although Teo had assumed his worry for Ana couldn’t get any worse, it now shot up to a new level. With a nervous swallow he asked Marco to explain.
“It’s an old pagan ritual on Sessalay,” the pirate captain said. “I don’t think it’s been done for years, maybe centuries. But back in the old days the Sessalayans used to placate Mulciber b
y giving him virgin brides.”
“Mulciber is the underworld god, right?”
“Yes. The god of fire and brimstone, the god of the forge.”
“In Chiveis we call him Vulkain, but I’m sure it’s the same spirit who’s receiving the worship under different names.”
“He’s a voracious god,” Marco went on. “He hungers for his brides. Swallows them whole.”
Teo felt his heartbeat accelerate. “You mean . . . ”
“Yes.” Marco’s voice took on an ominous chill. “Human sacrifice.”
Though Teo dreaded the answer, he couldn’t help but whisper, “How?”
Instead of replying, Marco approached Teo slowly, then pointed past him out the window. Teo turned and followed Marco’s gaze. Neither man broke the absolute silence in the ship’s cabin. As Teo stared into the blackness, horror began to seize his soul.
The sky above the distant horizon smoldered with an angry red glow.
The Clan Boss wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve and leaned on his staff. The trudge up the jagged trail on Fire Mountain was hard enough, but the blistering heat made it nearly unbearable. Yet such were the sacrifices that had to be made for the glory of almighty Mulciber.
Though it was nighttime now, it wasn’t dark. The plume of lava jetting from the summit turned Fire Mountain into a giant torch. Molten rock burst from a vent, leaping out of the ground in great pulses like the vomit of Mulciber himself. The sight was spellbinding, and the Clan Boss kept stopping to watch it as he rested on his staff. Lava cascaded down the cone, blanketing the mountain in incandescent rivulets of living rock. Steam billowed up wherever the probing lava fingers touched the snow. Ash swirled about, and dark smoke, and sulfurous fumes. The place was hell on earth—a fitting home for the nether god.
The Clan Boss’s map had failed to reveal how arduous the hike actually was. Perhaps that’s because I’m old and out of shape, he thought, reminding himself to order extra water for the actual event. He gazed up the trail at his brother Tancred. The warrior’s face was swarthy and unshaven, yet the filial resemblance was unmistakable. The Clan Boss relied on Tancred to provide the muscle behind the family enterprise.
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