Shadows of Ivory

by T L Greylock

  The origin of Carrier abilities is unknown, as is the manner in which they manifest. There is no discernable link from parent to child, indeed a family might exist for generations without producing one or might never produce one at all. Nor is there evidence that a child’s environment affects the emergence or strength of the abilities. Strength is, however, the one aspect that can be reliably observed, tested, and studied. We will examine this and the scholarly works that preceded us in section three.

  As Dionnaro demonstrated and has been replicated by several noted scholars since, some Carriers have been found to possess the ability without knowing it exists within them. Equally unreliable is the age at which a Carrier’s abilities emerge. An inconclusive—and imperfect—study undertaken by Arenault and Indomicus attempted to prove that exposure to severe stress, pain, or traumatic events, either direct or as a witness, could trigger the development of the ability within a person. We will discuss these parameters, both known and suspected, in greater detail in section four, but the general conclusion that must be made is that our understanding of Carrier abilities remains limited.

  To date there is precious little information—beyond anecdotes and legends—regarding Carriers whose abilities lie with neither fire nor water. Without evidence to support these theories, we will leave them to the playwrights and artists and those who might wish to frighten small children into good behavior. The most recent anecdotal evidence from our Seven Cities stems, naturally, from the mystery and fear surrounding the Alescuan dynasty. We will note simply that claims have been made in support of Carriers who can create and control metal (be it common iron or the purest gold), air, and, most disturbing of all, blood.

  Chapter Twelve

  “He’s a bit of a bore, though.”

  “Is Firenzia taking in strays now?”

  They were, perhaps, not the kindest words to ever come out of Eska’s mouth, but in her defense she was hot, sweaty, and waist deep in a hole in the ground. She held a hand up to shield the sun from her face and looked up at Alexandre with an expression she hoped was more steely than squinty.

  “What am I to do with him, Sascha?”

  She looked past the Arch-Commander to where Perrin Barca stood just beyond the edge of the dig site, the bright sunlight flaring over the tall grasses surrounding him. Though he was little more than a silhouette, she could see his head was down, gaze fixed firmly on his feet. Despite herself, Eska was reminded of a contrite dog.

  “He’s harmless, Eska, and he has nowhere else to go.” Alexandre reached down to offer a hand to help Eska out of the hole. Sighing, she abandoned her spade—which she had been wielding rather uselessly given the injury to her right wrist, though the harrow root had done its work—and accepted his assistance. Brushing dirt from her hands, she looked once more at the Barca Alexandre had brought to her.

  “Take him back to Arconia with you,” Eska said.

  “I would, but I’m not going back to Arconia. Not yet anyway. Besides, I will have his sister in my custody.”

  Eska looked sharply over at him. “The Vismarch released her to you?”

  Alexandre nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Because I asked him to.”

  Eska tried to read whatever was hidden behind Alexandre’s eyes—and failed. “Why not take them both, then?”

  The Arch-Commander of Arconia studied Eska for a moment. “After the Barcas were taken into custody, I received word of something curious from the officers who made the arrest. One is a Carrier and she had an interesting story to tell. Come, let’s find some shade.”

  For a moment Eska considered stubbornly insisting that any story he had to tell could be told right there, but Eska knew Alexandre and knew he was not just seeking shade—he sought privacy. Whatever he had to say was not for the ears of the Firenzia crewmembers working nearby. She glanced back at Perrin and watched as one of Alexandre’s officers handed the youngest Barca his few possessions, no doubt confiscated upon his arrest. Perrin received them without a change in demeanor, the knife sliding onto his belt, the long coat slung over one shoulder.

  Eska looked back at Alexandre, then nodded and they traversed the site to a small tent, a water station. Two barrels of cool water waited there and Alexandre used the copper dipper to fill a pair of cups.

  Eska drained hers quickly, filled it a second time, and poured the contents down the back of her neck. “All right, tell me this story.” She brushed a tendril of sweat-dampened hair behind her ear.

  “As you know, Manon Barca breathed in the toxic Carrier substance she used to try to put a hole in the Argonex. She fell ill and her brother, naturally, was distraught. The officer swears she saw Perrin Barca,” here Alexandre paused, searching for words, “try to draw the toxins from her body.” He met Eska’s gaze and waited.

  Eska frowned, not understanding. “That doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t work like a snake bite.”

  “I don’t mean like a snake bite.” Alexandre ran a hand over his scalp. “I mean like a Carrier might draw water from the sea or fire from an ember.”

  Eska felt her frown deepen.

  “The officer thinks Perrin Barca Carries, Eska, though she’s quite certain he is ignorant of this himself. She thinks in that moment of fear for his sister, Perrin’s instincts took over and he tried to save her—unbeknownst to him and certainly unbeknownst to his sister.”

  “Is that even possible? Could a Carrier draw poison out of a wound, out of the blood?”

  Alexandre spread his hands, palms up. “I don’t know. She says she heard a story once about something similar.”

  Eska turned away and paced a few steps out of the tent. She stared across the site, but wasn’t truly seeing it. “And this is supposed to make me want to take him in?”

  Alexandre joined her in the sun. “I know what I’m asking of you. But let me finish. This morning, I performed an experiment. I let Manon overhear talk that it was her brother who Carried, not her, and that he had made the attempt on your ship. I then let her see him appear to be moments from being tortured for refusing to admit he Carries. And I let him see her. And in that moment, when fear and adrenaline and love for his sister might have elicited whatever skills he possesses, he did nothing. Manon cursed and made threats and sparks, as you would expect, but Perrin made no attempt to save himself or his sister.”

  Eska looked hard at Alexandre. “So you don’t think he Carries.”

  “I think he’s harmless,” he said, which was not exactly an answer. He took a drink of water. “That’s not all that happened. Manon, for a reason only she understands, said she would make no effort to save him. That he was weak. That he meant nothing to her. And she said it loud enough for him to hear. She broke him, Eska. He is a shell, a husk, a depleted spirit. What I am asking is that someone show him a little kindness.”

  Eska was quiet for a long moment as she tried to sort through the conflicting thoughts and emotions that whirled in her mind. “And I suppose sending him away on the Barca ship is out of the question?”

  “The captain and crew have been released. But the ship has been confiscated. Retribution for endangering Toridua officers.” Alexandre sighed. “Look, Eska, it’s true, he could travel overland with the crew. He could be back in Arconia in a matter of days. But think of what he has to return to.” He looked over at Perrin, still as a statue. “Nothing. The Barcas are nearly penniless. His father is in the Hibarium, never to breathe free air again. His mother has abandoned the family. His brother is dead. And now his sister is a criminal and, worse, has severed the ties of shared blood, disowned him.”

  Eska looked down at her right hand and picked at the stiff bandage, trying to find a reason to say no. Alexandre’s hand came to rest on her forearm.

  “I have not forgotten what happened to your mother those years ago. I know the reasons you have to distrust those who Carry, I know what hardened you against them and I respect that. But I also know that you are equal parts logic and compassion, that your h
eart holds both, that they join forces to make you the extraordinary person you are. And I would never ask this of you if I did not know that heart.”

  His words flowed over Eska like smooth silk and she was quite certain that nothing but his blue eyes existed in that moment. “I suppose I should be angry that you know me so well—perhaps better than I know myself.”

  Alexandre’s answering smile was easy and intimate and exactly the smile that haunted Eska’s dreams after she turned down his offer of marriage.

  “It’s really quite irritating, Sascha, how good you are at getting what you want.”

  Alexandre laughed. “I learned from the best.” But then the man she had loved leaned close and whispered, “You need only say the word, Eska, and Manon Barca will never make it back to Arconia.” The eyes that sought hers were filled with deadly promise.

  Eska hesitated, not because she truly wanted Manon Barca to suffer an unlucky accident, but because she had forgotten what it felt like when she and Alexandre once vowed to take on the world together.

  Eska forced herself to smile with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “I won’t have you turn into some sort of rogue assassin on my account. You aren’t cut out for that kind of work.”

  “No?”

  She patted the Arch-Commander’s cheek. “Assassins work in the dark, Sascha. But you, you are a creature of the light. And I know how fond you are of seeing your name crowned with glory.” Eska smiled at the faint frown of disagreement that passed over his face. “How many names are you up to?” Eska began to walk back to the trench, suddenly eager to put her mind to work on something other than Carriers and Perrin Barca. He followed. “Protector of the Seven Cities, Knight of Arconia,” Eska said, ticking the titles off on her fingers. “Scourge of Eduin, Celestial Knight of Bellara—goodness, that’s two knights—Guardian of Verdienne, Silentspear. Not to mention Arch-Commander de Minos.” She leaned close and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s a bit of a bore, though.”

  “Never heard of him,” Alexandre said.

  Eska shook her head with mock pity. “Shame. You’d get along.” Eska drew up short, her hand on Alexandre’s forearm, her gaze settling onto his familiar features. Whether driven by the pain in her wrist or the influence of the harrow root or the way he was looking at her, Eska could not be sure, but even she was surprised by the next words out of her mouth. “He’s not a bore, not really. He’s loyal and brave. He’s kind and decent.” She hesitated. “He’s a very rare sort of man.”

  Alexandre broke eye contact this time. “Do you know, Eska, he also thinks you’ve been out in the sun too long.”

  Eska shrugged, glad to be the one to make him uncomfortable for once. “Well, if I’m to take in a foster, you’d better send him over so we can be properly introduced.”

  ***

  “How long does it take a man to starve to death?”

  In the distance, Perrin Barca sat unmoving, legs crossed, head down, looking no different than he had when arriving on Alexandre’s heels that morning.

  Gabriel shuffled his feet. “Depends, my lady. If properly hydrated, a healthy man could go from new moon to full. But without water—”

  “It was a rhetorical question, Gabriel,” Eska said while flexing her wrist in its heavy wrappings. “But the Arch-Commander said he has eaten nothing in a day and the fact remains I don’t want him dying on me.”

  “Perhaps if you talked to him, my lady?”

  “I very much doubt he has any wish to talk to me. And I’m afraid if I try, I’ll be eating my words, and he’ll stay hungry.” And yet Eska sighed and began to make her way to the piece of riverbank Perrin Barca had claimed north of the camp, far enough so the sounds of the excavation site grew faint. If Eska was honest with herself, adding Perrin Barca to her list of burdens was something of a relief. If nothing else, it kept her from thinking too much of Nero’s death or the possibility of more pockets of deadly air lingering below the surface of the site. The work that day had progressed smoothly, though, and the engineer’s testing had suggested the danger was passed.

  Eska came to a halt several paces from Perrin. The young man—younger, even, then Eska had first thought—gave no notice that he was aware of her presence.

  “The sun will be hot today.” Ridiculous. The sun was hot every day in that place. Eska had hardly seen a cloud since they arrived. She soldiered on. “You should be sure to drink plenty of water.”

  Perrin Barca stared out at the river, though Eska was certain it was not the brown swirling waters he saw. More likely his mind was full of the moment his sister abandoned him.

  “I hold no grudge against you,” Eska said, changing tactics. “Or your crew. Your sister acted on her own. It is she who will go before the Archduke’s tribunal. Not you.”

  Still the young man was silent, as though he had one foot in death already.

  Eska felt her patience thinning. “I suppose you think dying in my custody would be a great inconvenience to me. I assure you it would not. Nor will news of your death cause any great disturbance to the world. Your family was never more than over-reaching smugglers and grave robbers. It does not matter to me if you never make it home.” Eska turned to go.

  “Home.” Perrin Barca’s laugh was dry and hoarse and bitter. “There is no more home.” He continued to stare out at the river. “She thinks it a secret, but I know about the third mortgage on the house at Isle de Gaustin. Once they learn of this, the creditors will descend on it first. Prime location. The right neighbors. But they’ll go after the rest soon enough. They know we’re ruined.” He looked at Eska for the first time. “And you’re right. I come from a long line of over-reachers. It is, perhaps, what we do best.”

  Eska came a step closer. “Why? Why risk so much? All for this Onandya site? I’m looking for pottery, Perrin, not treasure. Why?”

  “I no longer pretend to understand my sister’s mind. She has always been a risk-taker. Bold, determined, single-minded. Every breath she takes is for the Barca fortunes and legacy. But this, this was different.” A ghost of a smile played across his face. “This was beyond reckless, beyond reason, and I once saw my sister ride a horse through a herd of stampeding buffalo.”

  Eska didn’t echo his smile. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t find the Barca tradition for reckless behavior amusing. Your sister could have killed my entire crew. My mother.”

  Perrin Barca hung his head. “I know,” he said. “I also know my apology means nothing to you, but you have it nonetheless.”

  Eska was quiet for a moment, unsure how to bridge the long-standing enmity between Barca and Firenzia, unsure if she even wanted to. She was aware, too, that some part of her was trying to detect the Carrier blood in him, as though it might appear at any moment in his voice or his eyes or the way he plucked at the grass he sat on. A foolish notion. She tried to put a note of sympathy in her voice. “Do you really intend to starve to death out here?”

  To her surprise, Perrin Barca began to laugh. Not the bitter sound that had burst from his lungs moments before, but a full-throated laugh of genuine amusement, so forceful it bent him over until his head was tucked between his crossed legs. When he resurfaced, it was to wipe tears from his eyes, and even then it took him several attempts to speak.

  “I had thought,” he said at last, “that perhaps I should do exactly that. Probably what’s expected of me. But this morning, I found this in my pocket,” he said, withdrawing a small drawstring linen bag from inside his waistcoat, “and before I knew it, I’d eaten the lot of them.” He opened the bag and showed Eska a dozen or so date pits. “So I gave up on the whole starve yourself for your family’s honor idea.”

  Eska couldn’t help herself. She and Perrin Barca, who she would have considered a sworn enemy but a day before, laughed together until they both had tears streaming down their cheeks. All over a sack of dates.

  In the end, there was something more than humor in those tears and when at last they dried their eyes, Eska saw t
he grief and sorrow in Perrin’s face. She wondered what he saw in hers.

  Offering her hand, Eska helped Perrin to his feet. “You are not like the other Barcas I have known.”

  Sadness and humor twisted together on Perrin’s face once more. “I was always sure I was a disappointment,” he said as he brushed dust from his pants. “Not enough interest in digging in the dirt for old junk. But tell me, how many of my esteemed family members have you encountered?”

  “Too many. Your father, of course. I’ll never forget seeing Julian Barca descend upon the Varadome towing the great frieze of Parnasscus on seventeen carts—on the same day my uncle received a commendation, of course. And there was your aunt. Leandra? She told me once when I was quite young, when my father and I were attending a lecture on Theodoria’s philosophical works at the Lordican, that she’d reported my father for corruption. I had nightmares for half a year of my father getting dragged off in the dead of night, never to be seen again. And then there’s your sister. A perfect marriage of your father’s daring and your aunt’s cunning.”

  Eska glanced at Perrin to see if she had gone too far. The young man was frowning, but not at her.

  “And my brother? Victor?”

  Eska shook her head, curious as to the origin of the sudden intensity behind Perrin’s eyes. “Never in person.”

  Perrin nodded once, absentmindedly, and then his face smoothed over into a smile. “Dates, it seems, are not very filling. Could I beg you to show me where to find something of greater sustenance? In exchange, I promise not to mention the name Barca unless you bid me.”