The Storm of Life

by Amy Rose Capetta

  Cielo flicked a page in her book and shifted into a form I’d never seen my strega take, one that made a giggle flutter out of Xiaodan. Mimì raised her eyebrows all the way to her hairline as Cielo pranced from rock to rock as a chamois, with short brown fur to protect against the cold, black horns curled backward until they were almost touching the tips of the ears. The goatlike antelopes that graced these mountains had heart-shaped hooves that sent my strega leaping from rock to rock as the rest of us struggled upward at half the pace.

  When we reached the next ledge, Cielo was waiting for us with a leather skin filled with fresh water.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked.

  “I had time to visit a nearby stream,” Cielo said.

  “Cheating,” Vanni huffed.

  Cielo’s smile soured. “If you start calling one drop of magic cheating, soon enough the accusation spreads and it all becomes cheating, and the only way to be fair is to live in a dry, magicless world. Is that really what you want?”

  “Well, no, but . . .” Vanni started, then went quiet. Cielo’s words had flattened the life out of his protests.

  “She will do that every time,” I said. “So step carefully.”

  Just as I said that, Mimì slipped on the path behind us, crying out. “Damn every single flake of this snow to a hell with extra fire. In Salvi, we would never pretend a place like this is habitable.”

  Vanni fussed with his cloak, his ego clearly as bruised as Mimì’s swollen ankle. The Neviane was part of his family lands, and by the look on his face, Mimì might as well have insulted his grandmother. “In Salvi, all you have are dust and a few withered orange trees.”

  “And not a single good opera house,” Xiaodan added.

  “I see that my people are too poor for you to respect,” Mimì said, her argument sure-footed even when the fur-lined boots Signora Moschella had gifted her were not.

  Cielo put an arm around Mimì and handed her the rest of the water. “The stream is a quarter mile in that direction,” Cielo announced to the rest of us.

  “That’s not fair!” Vanni cried.

  Cielo swirled her green-and-purple cloak around to show Vanni the stitching on the back. “This is a map of Vinalia. Please point to any spot on it that has ever obeyed the rules of fairness.”

  Vanni huffed toward the stream, Xiaodan a step behind him.

  I hovered between the two sets of streghe, not sure where I was meant to stand. I had grown up in a noble family. My childhood home was undeniably a castle. But the Uccelli was a region as poor as Salvi, and even the di Sangro family had gone through years with barely enough to eat or clothing thick enough to keep us warm when winter snarled at our doors.

  The cold of these mountains called up the times when Beniamo would take chunks of ice that grew from the trellises in the kitchen gardens and throw them at me. If he hit me, it was easy enough to blame it on winter.

  The cry of an owl crowded out my memories with fear. When I looked up, all I could see was the unruffled sky.

  I looked to Cielo with dread moving through me, like a hard rush of wings. “An owl should not be flying in the daytime.”

  “Beniamo is not an owl anymore,” she said, a newly crafted balance in her words meant to chase off my fear without making me feel like an idiot. She hadn’t quite mastered it yet. “It must be . . . some other bird.”

  “An owl’s cry is distinct,” I said, turning to Mimì to recruit a new ally. “Wasn’t that an owl?”

  Mimì pinched her face to listen, but then Vanni and Xiaodan were back from the stream, the force of their sulking so powerful it distracted me. Xiaodan was mumbling something about how she had endured more hardship than the rest of us put together, but the words were so quick and quiet that I could not pick most of them out, and when I stared at her straight on, she stopped talking at once.

  I did not want to pretend that there were no differences in our company, but I feared the ones we had would grow long as cracks in ice, splitting us apart. I needed these streghe, needed one thing in my new life to stay whole.

  We were less than a mile from the town of Zarisi, and the pass was only a few miles beyond. “Let’s keep practicing as we travel,” I said, an idea that Mimì countered with a long groan.

  “I know my magic,” she said. “It was passed down to me upon the death of Salvi’s greatest strega when I was twelve years old. I don’t need to practice.”

  “You know how to use that magic by yourself,” I agreed. “But if we are to take on the whole Eterran army, we need all of our powers together, in a sort of concert.” I turned to Xiaodan, hoping that as an opera singer, she would understand. “Harmonies work together. If any of our notes clash . . .”

  “We die,” Vanni said.

  “That’s not really like music,” Mimì said.

  “Don’t you feel a tiny death when a note is out of place?” Xiaodan asked.

  “No,” Mimì said flatly. “I feel a large death when the world is on fire and no one is dousing it. And I would like to avoid feeling an actual death soon, so I suppose we should keep working.”

  “All right,” I said, pointing to where Cielo climbed the rocks ahead of us, in girlish form but still with the zest and impeccable balance of the chamois. “I want you to work together to sneak up on Cielo.”

  “Why?” Vanni asked, clearly dreading the assignment.

  I patted both of Vanni’s shoulders. “If you can tip Cielo’s balance, you are ready to turn the tide of any army.”

  * * *

  We reached the town of Zarisi at midday, and the nearness of the pass seemed to flood our steps with importance. The town was tucked in a small crevice that could barely be called a valley, surrounded on all sides by sharply angled rock. Sun clanged down on the snow, creating a blare of reflected light. The town itself was dark and cramped, with cobbled streets and houses so thin they looked famished.

  “Teo and I should go make friends with the back alleys of Zarisi,” Cielo said. “The Capo’s men will be all over this town.”

  Xiaodan started to breathe with a hitch, her chest rising against the weight of her plum wool cloak. “You should be safe,” I said. “Especially with Vanni in your ranks.”

  Xiaodan stared at Vanni, her fingers plucking at the air; it seemed to be what she did to test the waters of someone else’s emotions. She dropped her hands and frowned. “He’s too afraid to protect us.”

  “Vanni protects us just by existing,” Mimì reminded her. “That’s what it means to be a man in Vinalia. The rest of us have to work harder.”

  Vanni made a slight blustering noise—but had no argument to back it up with.

  “Meet us at the far side of town in an hour,” I said to the three of them. “Grab as much food as you can.”

  “Olives,” Cielo blurted.

  “If they have them,” I added.

  Vanni and Xiaodan started off. Before Mimì could join them, I pulled her aside. We’d been traveling in a pack for days, and there hadn’t been a single chance to speak alone. Now that I had one, my question leapt out.

  “You agreed to this trip so readily back in Castel di Volpe. Why?”

  Mimì crossed her arms, gripping her elbows. She felt the cold keenly, and the warmly smiling girl I had met in the Capo’s court now wore a frozen grimace. “On Salvi, we don’t believe in unification. It’s no secret, I know, but that doesn’t mean other people understand how it feels. Every day since the Capo took power has been like a funeral for our people. Salvians want Lorenzo to declare his own war against Vinalia, but to do so would be as good as herding everyone on our island to a cliff and pushing them into the sea.”

  “So don’t declare war,” I said, already feeling that my answer was wrong without knowing why.

  “The people will unseat Lorenzo if he doesn’t stand against the Vinalian throne,” Mimì said. “Th
e Altimari family has ruled Salvi for twenty generations, and I know that’s not a good enough reason to keep a ruler in place, but . . . Lorenzo is good for Salvi.”

  “That’s not hard to believe,” I said, thinking of how he dealt with the rest of us in Amalia. “He listens to everyone—most of the young family heads listen only to their own impatience and certainty.”

  “And with his mother’s family, Lorenzo is the first family head with Ravinian lineage in a hundred years,” Mimì added. “That means something to a great many people.” I knew from my time at court that Lorenzo’s mother was Ravinian, and Mimì shared that heritage, though her family had been in Vinalia for a great many generations. Ravinia sat across the Mare Terrano, the northernmost country on the Rivan continent, which meant that trade and travel back and forth between the two lands were hardly rare. But seeing Ravinians in power on this side of the Terrano still was.

  “If we fight tomorrow—if we win—do I have your promise that Salvi will be independent?” Mimì asked.

  So that was why she wanted to be here facing the Eterrans with me. Mimì saw it as a possible way to secure Salvi, especially if we could take down the Capo. I admired her plan. I admired her.

  Snow started falling, swirling over Mimì’s head and landing in her black curls. She ignored the cold, keeping her eyes fastened on my reaction. I wanted to say yes, but the word stopped halfway up my throat. “That’s not mine to choose.”

  “I suppose it’s a matter for your father,” Mimì said, with no small amount of scorn.

  I shook my head, feeling the slice of cold along my cheekbones. “The people of Salvi should find their own way, with help from their own leaders, and not have this chosen for them in some back room or secret pact. When we take down the Eterrans and the Capo, I promise to let them decide what happens next. Though, even if Salvi is not part of Vinalia, I hope that we will stay allied.”

  “Of course,” Mimì said. “The five families always work together.”

  “I wasn’t speaking of the five families.” My magic spiked, as if it too had felt the touch of the cold and turned harder, sharper. Clearer. “What if we are the sixth family?” I asked. “One whose members were not born but chosen by one another? A family of streghe?”

  Mimì’s smile, the one that had burned as bright as a miniature sun at the court in Amalia, and again at Mirella’s wedding, returned. “I have an ungodly number of cousins, but I guess I could live with a few more.” She shook the snow out of her curls and drew up the burgundy hood of her cloak as she turned to face Zarisi, and the promise of the pass beyond. “Now let’s hope we survive our first family outing.”

  * * *

  Cielo and I scribbled a crude path through the alleys of Zarisi. If I had expected a mountain town bursting with trade and travel and soldiers, I had been wrong in all ways but one. Men in green-and-black uniforms were strewn throughout the streets, but everyone else appeared to be missing, leaving Zarisi covered in a quiet to rival the fresh snowfall.

  “The villagers know the pass is in danger,” I said. “They’ve taken their chances elsewhere.” This was a sort of bad news I could hold in my hands, turn over to feel the weight of it, inspecting it from every angle.

  “Vinalians are not skittish colts when it comes to invasions,” I said. “Their stubbornness means they often stay put until the last minute or much later than that.”

  “The only ones who stay now are weighing their lives against profit each day,” Cielo added. “A foul mathematics. Do you think there is still a decent bakery open? I would give my left foot for a piece of warm bread.”

  “Is that really all you can think about?” I asked.

  “No,” Cielo said. “There is also the hateful truth that I haven’t had coffee in two days.”

  We hadn’t been alone in two days, either. I backed Cielo into the wall behind us, her body against the cold stones, and apologized for the discomfort by pressing my warmth into her. One of my legs between hers, I pushed. “Do you feel more awake now?”

  “Yes, but I will need more stirring.” I kissed her and slipped my hands beneath the silky layer of her cloak. She pulled back slightly, just enough that I could smell the last of the olive oil cakes on her lips as she whispered, “Is there a way to add sugar? A dash of cream?”

  “Vinalians don’t foul their coffee with cream,” I said.

  “I am no ordinary Vinalian,” Cielo said.

  I added sweetness to the kiss, light touches of my lips. And then I opened my mouth, pouring my body farther into hers, my hands finding the top of her pants and plunging deep, a richness that could not be denied. As I moved my hand and Cielo’s breath moved in counterpoint, I kissed my way from her lips to her chin, dripping warm kisses down her neck.

  I stopped when I reached the line of blood. It had faded past red, all the way to brown. When my lips brushed that line, I felt the harsh scab.

  My own neck felt suddenly exposed. My mind flinched at the memory of the knife, cutting more than skin. “What are the Bones of Erras?” I asked, hovering an inch away from Cielo, my hand as still as stone against her body.

  “Nothing you need to worry about,” she said, kissing my temple, arching against me, trying to convince my hand to take up its good work. But now that I was trapped in the memory beneath the abbey, I could not live fully in this moment.

  Cielo let out a small slip of a groan as my body broke away from hers. She stayed against the stones, combing fingers through her mussed hair as she said, “The Bones of Erras are a story I learned from my teacher Malik, who kept little altars to the old gods all over his workshop.”

  “The one who was killed by the Order of Prai?” I asked.

  Cielo nodded. We held still as a stray pair of soldiers came down one of the alleys that led to this dark pocket of Zarisi, which was itself a dark pocket in the mountains. The soldiers turned before they reached us.

  “Do you remember how the reign of the old gods ended?” Cielo asked as their steps faded to nothing.

  I reached back into my lessons, sifting through myths. “They fought each other, didn’t they? Brought about their own destruction.” The stories of the old gods had always seemed strange to me. They often acted more like unruly children than all-powerful deities. They quarreled with each other, plucked enemies and lovers from the ranks of mortals, and used their powers for purely selfish reasons as often as they used them for good.

  “The end was a mess of blood and magic,” Cielo said. “But it wasn’t all of the gods who turned against each other. Only one.” I shivered, even though the wind didn’t reach us here under the shelter of a house’s sharp eaves. “Erras decided that the rest of the gods hadn’t been making the right choices, and he used his godly judgment to destroy them, one by one. He killed Melae first.”

  Melae was the goddess of death, splitting those who died into spirit and flesh, and so it made sense that Erras chose her. With Melae gone, death would no longer be her domain. His plan to kill the others would be easier to hide.

  “When the last goddess, Veria, saw him coming, she could read the truth shining through his eyes. She knew that he meant to kill her. So she ran to the sea, lured him to the edge of the water, and called on the fury of the ocean to punish him for believing he had the right to kill the other gods. When Veria and the waves were done with him, only his bones were left behind.”

  “You’re saying . . . those knives were made from the bones of a god?”

  “I’m telling you what I’ve heard, which can’t be believed, but which seems to be true anyway. I wouldn’t take Dantae’s word even if it came wrapped up in a box made of pure gold, but that knife . . .”

  “What did it whisper to you?” I asked.

  “Oh, the expected things. My priestly father hating me, my mother having no choice but to leave a child like me behind.” My heart swelled painfully. Cielo shook her head, refusing my sadn
ess. “Distract me. Please.”

  “How?” I asked, aching to help.

  “You’re the one who showed me this little trick,” Cielo said, pulling me back to her. “Turn my bones to mercury and my mind to the darkness between stars.”

  This time Cielo’s body ground against mine, two great forces meeting, my hips canted up toward hers, my hands bracing her sides as we pushed and pulled each other across the cobblestones.

  And then there was an epic flash of light, and I had to blink twenty times in a row to clear my eyes. When my vision finally deepened from dazzling white back to its normal range of color, Cielo was looking at me with a perplexed little frown.

  For a moment, I thought I’d lost control of my magic. Again.

  Then Vanni leapt out from behind the corner of a house, throwing handfuls of light to the ground. Mimì appeared with a bucket of water, which she tipped along the alley and turned into a river of fire. Cielo’s body split into buzzing hornets, which split again into two little hornet clouds and dove at Vanni and Mimì, who were soon swatting at their faces and swearing.

  “What are you doing?” I cried.

  Xiaodan appeared at my elbow, smiling. “You told us to sneak up on Cielo, overwhelming the strega with magic. Best to attack when someone is distracted.”

  “You couldn’t have waited five more minutes?” I asked through a groan.

  “Best not to let an opportunity slip by,” Xiaodan said.

  Cielo came back together, all of her pieces buzzing back into place. “You,” she said, turning to me with a sting laced through her voice. “You told them to do this, Teo?”

  “I didn’t realize hornets could understand Vinalian,” I said.

  Cielo crossed her arms as if she might buzz apart otherwise.

  “They needed to keep training, and you . . .”

  “Are a formidable opponent?” Cielo asked. “An infamous strega?” A smile crept onto her lips for the first time in days. My strega was back and ready to play any game, win any hand. “Well,” she said, brushing a bit of dirt off her shirt where I’d pushed her hard against the stones. “Now that I have acquired a reputation, I will have to keep it polished.”