by Cate Glass
“I want the Cavalieri dead,” I said. “Every one of them. And every philosophist working with them. Though—”
“—we have yet to decipher our bridegroom,” said Placidio. “He knows what we are, but didn’t give Neri away. He’s found himself and the girl a way home, but I’d not trust that Cavalieri vixen were she buried in a stone vault.”
“I agree,” I said. “So we need to get Dono and Livia away with us.”
“Where’s Neri?” said Dumond. “Would be nice to send him into the keep for a glimpse of what’s doing there.”
“He ran off as soon as he had me over the rim,” I said.
Placidio hissed displeasure. “He’d best not be haring about. Before he came to us, the fool moved our weapons stash from the keep. They’re stacked near one of the dead fellows under a fallen branch. Wouldn’t have found them even then if he’d not left his luck charm on top of the stack where I couldn’t miss it. By the time he set us loose, he felt fevered, so I told him to get back to the grotto and wait.”
“So how do we fetch our bride and groom from yon beehive?” I said.
“We’ve plenty of arms, and you and me fit to wield them. But it sounds like more than three Cavalieri are left.”
The rain had stopped and the moon sailed through the retreating clouds. I hated the rain, but the light had me nervy and imagining sentinels.
“There was at least ten of ’em to begin,” said Dumond, grunting as he shifted position. “Two came up the path like they were lost … got me distracted … and then they pounced from everywhere at once, like a frenzy of scorpions. Maybe I damaged one. The world went blurry pretty fast. I know they posted watchers at the path so none of us would get away.”
So at least seven left and we weren’t sure how many were in the keep and how many lurking in the dark like we were. “So we need to wait until they all fall down drunk before we attack,” I said.
“Dumond, you should get to the grotto,” said Placidio. “See to Neri. Get a drink. Be rested and ready as they’re like to be hot on our tail when we join you.”
“Hate to desert my partners,” he said. “Feel like the old man you named me. Would be nice if Teo could lend a hand.”
“’Tis a difficult road Teo walks,” said Placidio. “We must respect it.”
“I look forward to hearing about that road someday,” I said. “For now I’ll do my best not to walk off any cliffs.” I nudged Dumond. “Go on to the grotto. None can do what you can, and we want you seeing straight when you do it. After all, there’s only seven give or take a few: one for me, the rest for Placidio. I think we’ll do fine.”
Dumond laid a hand on each of us. “Thank you for behaving yourselves for the Skull Knights. Knew you would … but after that hour, I can tell you exactly how deep is the Great Abyss, and I could draw the likenesses of each of the daemoni discordia. I’ll get you out of here. If they’ve left the horses alive, we’ll be home before morning.”
Placidio and I retreated to visit the arms cache he’d found. Clever of Neri to get them out before the Cavalieri got their hands on them. Yet it left me curious. Down in the pit Neri had brought us the same poor-quality blades the Cavalieri had stripped off us.
“If Neri had already carried all of our weapons out here, why didn’t he bring one of these better swords to you in the pit instead of this relic you’ve got on?” I said. “Here’s your spada de lato, your poignard, and Livia’s Lhampuri recurve dagger, all better for fighting and hiding.”
“Sometimes there’s no understanding how the lad’s mind works,” said Placidio. “Though it’s generally in the right direction, the steps are no better ordered than the path of a water beetle.”
At least he’d brought belts and sheaths, too. I’d just buckled on the Lhampuri dagger when a woman’s shrill scream split the night, quickly followed by a man’s. A whip cracked, releasing a round of whoops and jeers.
But the jeers were quickly silenced by a ferocious, exultant bellowing. Loud enough to crumble the stone, its brazen malice scraping my bones.
“Damnation,” breathed Placidio. “Who is that?”
We raced through the skeletal wood, dropping any weapons we could not wield immediately. New shouts and screaming grew into pandemonium.
Two Cavalieri darted through the open ruin toward the keep just as we arrived. They halted abruptly when they spotted us in the mottled moonlight. Placidio, sword in one hand, main gauche in the other, never slowed, engaging the larger man at full speed. The force of his rush pushed the skull knight back two body lengths. My own swordwork was still that of a beginner, thus my primary duty was to taunt, engage, break off, and delay until someone better could take on my opponent. That I did.
The lanky young cavalieré must have had fewer hours of practice than I’d suffered in my first month with Placidio. I gave him a lesson in feint high, strike low, and was going in for a second strike when Placidio slammed his fist into his opponent’s jaw and laid him out flat. Almost without pause, he kicked my fellow’s backside, staggering him so I could bring my sword hilt to his temple. The scrawny Skull Knight collapsed.
“Round to the courtyard,” Placidio whispered. “I’ll finish these two.”
I did not ask if he planned to kill them. My conscience had no room for Cavalieri.
The din from the keep had lessened in volume, but was no less horrific. Wails of madness, groans of agony, growls of fury. One cry might have been Livia’s but I couldn’t swear to it.
I raced around through the courtyard, seeing no signs that the mayhem had spread down the grotto stair. Instead, the mayhem was in the yard itself. Gravel-voiced Bagi and his youthful assistant sprawled on the broken flagstones, almost floating in a lake of dark blood. Both bodies were riddled with deep gashes. Entrails floated loose beside each slashed belly. Their positions … the fouled weapons … the absence of any bloody footprints beyond them testified that they had slaughtered each other.
As I throttled my urge to vomit, Placidio rejoined me.
Abruptly, a last shout from the keep broke off.
In the sudden quiet, Placidio pressed me to a broken column, then crept to the doorway and peeked inside. Pulling back quickly, he beckoned me to his side.
The display of blood and hacked limbs beyond that doorway was straight out of my nightmares. Six lay dead inside, the count only possible because human bodies possessed only a single head. Livia, her body rigid with terror, stood with her back to a wall, fists clutched to her ears. Remnants of rope dangled from her neck and wrists. Her bedgown was missing; her chemise splattered with blood. Impossible to say if it was hers.
Donato stood in the middle of the room, arms extended to either side, fingers spread, as he glared at the only two living Cavalieri. Each of them—the capo, Mannia, and a craggy woman whose jawbone could have sliced bread—held a sword at the ready. Both faces were twisted in hatred, yet neither of them moved until Dono twitched one finger of each hand. They screamed in mindless rage as they attacked—not Dono, but each other. Viciously, crudely, in wild madness, rather than anger or calculation or mastery.
“Stop this,” shouted Placidio. “Lay down your weapons. Donato, what’s going on here?”
The women paid no heed. As they destroyed each other, our one-time captive pivoted to look at us. A knife gash creased one of his cheeks, but even as we watched, the trickle of blood slowed and the skin knit itself together.
“I am sorting,” said Donato, his voice lower and smoother than his usual, as if he were commenting on a display of shoes. “The one there”—he pointed to Livia without looking at her—“shines. She does not bear the flame of eternity, and her physical being is unexceptional. Yet her every word shimmers like the stars of the Wain in the long night. She could amuse me for a generation. These other creatures sanctioned brutish cruelty aimed at her. Even so, I offered forgiveness to those who erred, telling them that one of their number might prove worthy of my favor. But you see what they’ve done? Turned on each other, a
s is so often the way of humans.”
“This is not Donato,” I whispered into Placidio’s shoulder, choked with fear. I recognized that voice and knew, at last, why Donato di Bastianni feared his dreams, and his anger, and his life.
Donato leaned sidewise to peer around Placidio, and when he spotted me his pleasant face, so often expressionless, was transformed by a radiant smile. Gold fire sparked in his dark eyes. “Oh, my lovely! How is it we meet here on this plane?”
How in all understanding had Donato encountered the Enemy? And what were we to do? Knock him senseless? Chain him? Then again …
For the first time since the rain had begun, I felt warm inside. We oughtn’t harm Donato … or the one devouring me with Donato’s eyes. Mayhap I could persuade him to leave the dull, incurious human. He treasured me.
“Come, my lovely,” he said, extending a bloody hand in my direction. “Shall we take our pleasure in these forms? A prelude to the music we can make as our true beings? We can explore this world … and other worlds … together.”
No Moon House instructor could have prepared me for the heat that bathed every part of me. How sweet those lips would be. Those wondrous hands. Somewhere behind that mask of ordinary flesh was the one who had touched my hair. What was it I’d thought to beg of him?
Hands gripped my shoulders from behind. Not the hands I wanted. I tried to brush them off, but I might as well have swatted brick or stone. They drew me away from the doorway and into the courtyard.
“Friend Romy, turn around and look at me,” said the voice at my ear. Not Placidio’s voice. “Do not give him your hand. Do not invite that voice inside you. We need all the water we can bring to cool young Donato. Can you help with that?”
I dragged my eyes from the extraordinary Donato and the charnel pit at his feet. The hands of stone released my shoulders so I could turn around, but they didn’t move far.
I squinted. “Teo?”
21
“Ssshh. I beg you don’t speak that name so near him. Nor say nor think anything about me. If you must have a name, call me visitor.”
“Visitor.” I blinked, fighting to see in the darkness behind me. I couldn’t make out anything. The gold in those eyes had been so bright, far brighter than the flickering torchlight in the keep.
“It’s so hard to see in the dark,” I said. Hard to think, too. Curses, cries, and the clash of steel spilled from the keep doorway. Placidio blocked the doorway behind me, sword drawn.
“Certain, that’s true. But only for the moment. Remember what we spoke of earlier. Feel only what your own senses tell you. Keep aware of—”
“—my true surroundings,” I said, parroting the echo of a distant conversation. “My own voice must command my actions.” Mine, not that teasing, tempting sweetness.
“Feel the moisture in the air, Romy. Hear the roll of thunder, the lingering drops from the trees and bricks. Smell the wet cedars. See the moon that, for the moment, has triumphed over the clouds.”
I did exactly that … and shuddered at how easily I’d been lured away from myself. I’d not been using magic at all!
“Spirits … visitor! What do we do about Donato?” And Livia, trapped inside the keep with that monster.
Teo drew me farther from the doorway and pointed to the grotto stair. “Earlier today, we moved all your extra buckets and waterskins, flasks and pots down to the grotto. Fill them. Bring them. To keep your charge alive and whole, we must cool him down with flowing water. Alas that the rain has stopped.”
Blinking again, I met Teo’s gaze—swimming with blues and greens and all those hues I could not name. “Water. Yes. How is this possible? By the Mother, did I do this to him?”
“His state is naught to do with you. Now go. If we’re fortunate, cooling him will force the Enemy to retreat. If not—” The bleakness in his voice left no question.
“You’ll kill him.”
Teo’s complexion was paler than the moon. “I see no other choice.”
“No!”
That was not acceptable. We had brought Donato to this cursed place. Put him in a position that somehow led to this horror. What we had gleaned of his story—about Guillam and nightmares and sitting up to sleep and keeping himself apart—told me that this was rooted in his childhood. He had twisted his life to stay in control of himself. I couldn’t explain how or why, but something dreadful had happened to him, and he did not deserve to be put down like a mad dog before he could explain.
I pushed at Teo’s chest. “You told me once you were not meant for killing. When you strangled the three bargemen who beat you and left you for dead in the river, you said it was a sign of weakness. A failure.”
“I did not understand myself back then. We cannot loose the Enemy upon the world, and if this man’s body is dead, the Enemy cannot work his will through him. I am not rea—”
“You’re not ready for whatever your role in history is to be. Your safety is imperative, so you must not become entangled in human concerns. I can accept those things. But you also told me those months ago that you believed your duty was to protect the world from monsters. I don’t know why Donato di Bastianni is afflicted, but he is a part of this world, too. Isn’t it your duty, as a student of these matters, to understand what’s happened to him?”
“Ah, my friend, certain, you are right, but you just—”
“You could have killed the assassin last spring—a soul-dead man who wanted me dead—but you chose mercy. Yes, he was human, but so is Donato.” Teo could fight with strength and speed his slender frame did not suggest. His magic was beyond anything we knew. Surely he had knowledge to guide him.
He averted his gaze. “You don’t know what you ask.”
And then I drew my last weapon, unfair as it was. “You swore to me. I saved your life, and you swore to do whatever I ask of you until the end of days.”
He blew a soft breath. “So I did.”
He scanned the clearing skies above us. Held out his hand as if to feel the air. Closed his eyes and wrestled with himself.
“There might be a way, though it would not be without consequence. Just … be armed and prepared, both of you.” He glanced at Placidio, who was listening from a few steps away—between me and the doorway to the keep. “Macheon must not move into any other person.”
“I’ll keep the fiend distracted.” Placidio patted his swordbelt.
“Now, my friend,” said Teo to me, “fetch water, as much and as fast as you can.”
A last glance through the keep doorway showed that Donato’s attention had reverted to Capo Mannia. The cavaliera, fallen to her knees, stared at the slash in her thigh where her remaining life gushed onto the floor. As the light in Mannia’s face dimmed and she toppled, her steel-jawed opponent collapsed as well. Dono knelt beside them and laid a gentle hand on each head. “Alas for such sturdy, capable women. I asked only that they prove themselves worthy to remain in this beauteous world. This was all they could think to do.”
I backed toward the stair, my body sluggish, my feet leaden. The fingers of desire teased at my breast.
No, no, no. Turning away, I blocked the sound of him, focusing instead on the paving under my feet, the black hole of the stair across the courtyard, and Teo’s quiet commentary behind me.
“Swordsman, you must force him to take up a sword. It will connect him with the physical world which is Donato’s. Don’t fear to wound him, but don’t get too close. If you can, draw him outdoors. Just occupy him while Romy brings the water, and I prepare. I am still so very slow. She must pour it or throw it on him as we did with her. As much as they can bring…”
Every step toward the stair cleared my head, and soon I was running.
Donato laughed and called after me. “Come, my lovely, don’t make me settle for the shining clot of clay. Your spirit longs for me.”
I was halfway down the stair, feeling my way in the dark, envisioning the turns I had climbed half a day ago. Macheon the Enemy—Dragonis—was here insi
de Donato di Bastianni. And Teo had said he was not ready to face it. And I had forced Teo’s hand.…
Another turn and light gleamed from below. “We need water,” I shouted, shoving aside insidious doubt. “Fill everything. Hurry. Hurry.”
In moments, I joined Neri and Dumond, who began gathering and filling vessels scattered beside the spring.
“What’s going? A fire?” Neri, his color much too high, worked with one hand fetching vessels. Dumond knelt at the verge of the deep clear pool, dipping each one and thrusting in stoppers or tying closures with fingers that were as much impediments as useful appendages.
“Something like,” I said.
I hung straps over my shoulders, bales over my arms, and gathered flasks to my breast until I could carry no more. “Dono is possessed. The Enemy has him. Dragonis … Macheon. Teo says we need to douse him like they did me.”
Too slow, too slow, I staggered upward. Around a bend. Into the darkness. I squeezed my eyes shut to force them to adjust. Onward through moonlight and shadow, past the dead men in their clotting lake. Just outside the keep, Teo had stripped off his shirt and slops and stood naked, face upturned to the boiling clouds that were once again swallowing the moon. His marks—many more than before—gleamed silver, almost like … scales.
From inside the keep, swords crashed.
“Again, Donato,” yelled my swordmaster, exertion clear in his speaking. “Try that sequence a little slower to feel how the positions flow one to the other.” A clash of weapons followed by a heavy grunt. “I know Confraternity youths are trained in swordplay. I was.” Another clash. Another grunt. “It was my Academie years that proved I was unteachable in many areas. But the sword … that was my calling.”
I paused in the doorway.
The steel rang out yet again. “You are”—Donato snarled and spun with a quick feint and slash—“a nothing.”
Placidio blocked the move and darted to one side. They circled, stepping clear of bags, crates, and corpses. Livia huddled to the wall, arms covering her head.