Breath of Angel (27 page)

That night Melaia lay on a mat, her cloak drawn up against a chill breeze that bore the sharp scent of smoke from the campfire. An owl cooed its deep, round night song. Hundreds of stars sailed the sky, keeping silent watch. Melaia took note of all she could see and hear and smell, then tried to clear her mind and sink into the reaches of her spirit.

She sensed the clear water blue of Livia and the rich, warm brown of Jarrod as they leaned against tree trunks nearby, talking softly. But beyond them, she sensed colors of all kinds in waves that shifted and flowed in a broad stream southward.

Jarrod rose and strode toward the campfire.

“Livia?” said Melaia. “Are the Angelaeon gathering here?”

“You’ve sensed them? They pass us tonight and will encircle Qanreef. But they’ll remain a certain distance from the city. If they move too close, Lord Rejius will sense them and may call in more malevolents. The Angelaeon wish
to avoid a battle.” She stretched out on the grass near Melaia and gazed into the sky. “There are worlds upon worlds out there. Each with its own Wisdom Tree and stairway to heaven.”

“Where the Angelaeon are free to come and go,” mused Melaia. “Where there’s no blight, no need to raid, no need to war.”

“We only wish it,” said Livia. “Worlds have a way of blighting themselves, stairway or no.”

“Jarrod showed me the stargazers’ hill at Aubendahl.”

“And he told you about the beltway of stars coming into alignment?”

“He told me the stargazers say we may have a year, but no more than two, before our beltway is open to receive the stairway to heaven.”

“Before that happens, the Wisdom Tree will have to be restored,” said Livia.

“For the stairway’s protection?” asked Melaia.

“Exactly.”

Exactly, exactly, exactly
, echoed the trees.

A rustle among fallen leaves on the forest floor announced the presence of a small creature scurrying home, and Melaia pulled her cloak around her tensing shoulders. She could no longer still her spirit enough to sense the angels’ colors. Instead, she could think only that her chance of finding the harps and restoring the Tree in time was as remote as the most distant star.

The heat of the seacoast became more oppressive the farther south the wagons traveled. Before they reached Qanreef, Caepio directed the rigs off the road and into a whispering grove of eucalpa trees, where everyone disembarked to prepare to enter the city.

Melaia placed her hand on the white flaky bark of a tree.
We die. We die. We die
. She withdrew her hand and stared up at the leafless tree. Was it truly dying? Perhaps with their guardian gone, the trees were falling to the blight.

She wove her way to Livia. “Is it true that the blight is greatest in the south?”

Livia tied a wide gold sash around her waist. “I’ve heard that the blight began south and east of the Dregmoors and slowly expands northwest.”

“Then there’s more damage here and in Qanreef than in Navia or Redcliff.”

“True. The farther north, the less the land is affected by the blight. Thus far.”

“Chantress,” called Caepio. “Your mask.”

He helped her don the face of a lioness. Pym was masked as a frog, Trevin as an eagle. Livia slipped on a smiling white face, and Jarrod wore its frowning twin.

So it was that in the early afternoon a pageant wagon full of masked players, drawn by four prancing horses, emerged from the eucalpa grove and made its way to Qanreef road. Not long afterward, a smaller wagon carrying a band of bedraggled peasants rambled out of the same grove and took to the same highway.

From the almond eyes of the lioness, Melaia watched the countryside change. Dried grasses replaced woodlands. The ground became sandy. Long-legged coastal birds tiptoed in jerky motions through marsh meadows baking in the sun, and a lone dark bird rode the currents high above.

But while Melaia stared at the surroundings, other travelers on the road stared at her and her companions. People shouted greetings. Carts that normally would have passed them trailed them instead. Caepio saluted the onlookers, sang, and quoted lines from plays. Once in a while he reminded Melaia and her friends to wave and nod and generally act like actors. Melaia found it hard to remember, for she was distracted by a growing awareness of the cordon of Angelaeon around them as well as the rising hope of finding Hanni and the girls.

In the heat of the afternoon, the pageant wagon approached the gates of the stone wall that encircled Qanreef. “Halt!” called a guard. “Unmask yourselves.”

“This is my celebrated troupe of actors,” said Caepio. “We travel in character, entertaining as we go.”

The guard eyed them. “I’ve heard of your coming. But actors or no, you’ll have to let us search the wagon.” He motioned for two soldiers to climb in as Melaia and the others climbed out.

“We carry only our costumes and props,” said Caepio. “And swords, of course. Swordplay is one of our entertainments.”

“Any instruments?”

“Timbrel. Sistrum. Reed pipe. Lute.”

“No harps?”

“None.”

Melaia could see Caepio’s jaw clenching as the guards rummaged through first one trunk, then another, just as they had when she’d spied them through Zastra’s Eye.

Meanwhile, a crowd gathered. From his pouch Caepio pulled a reed pipe. As he played, the crowd pressed in. The actor-peasants clapped and cheered from their wagon, and the people began to clamor for a performance then and there.

“Back! All of you!” yelled the guard. He barked at Caepio. “Get your actors in the wagon and be on your way before you start a riot.”

Melaia climbed back in. Her mask was moist, sticking to her skin. Her own breath added to the heat on her face. She wondered if there was any hope for a cool breeze.

Then they were through the gates, and for the first time she saw Qanreef and the brilliant blue Southern Sea. Melaia marveled at the splendor of the silky water stretched out in the afternoon sun like a bolt of cloth displayed at a bazaar.

The city sprawled all the way to the coast. A massive white gated palace commanded the eastern side of the city from atop a chalk bluff, which rose out of the sea like a giant hand offering the citadel to the sky.

“Alta-Qan.” Trevin pointed to the castle. “The heights of Qanreef.”

Melaia stared at the square towers, her mind on Hanni and the girls, who even now might be peering from the latticed windows. An urgency surged within her, tugging her straight to the palace. She had to remind herself of
Livia’s counsel to temper her impulses with wisdom. Waiting was wise. She groaned. It was also agonizing.

With effort Melaia turned her eyes from the towers. From the foot of Alta-Qan to the shore, flat-roofed houses, their white paint chipped and peeling, descended in rows like great stairs. Wilted, graying ramble-rose vines webbed over their boxy walls. Beyond the buildings stood the wharves.

Jarrod had been right. There was no wind. Ships sat moored at the docks, their sails limp in the sultry heat that blanketed the city.

The actors’ arrival, however, stirred the town from its stupor. Women leaned out their windows, and children tugged at their parents’ arms and pointed. Men on street corners stopped their conversations and stared.

“Ladies and gents!” Caepio called. “The Pageant Players have arrived! Tell your friends! Tell your neighbors! Tell the beggars! Tell the king! The players have come to town!” He eased the wagon to a stop and turned to his masked players. “A small show just to gain a following. Anyone know a dance?”

“I’m too bowlegged,” said Pym.

“I’ve stones for feet,” mumbled Jarrod.

“The Tantelais.” The eagle Trevin stood, then extended a hand to Melaia. “Lioness, do you know the dance?”

“You’re still recovering from your wounds,” she muttered.

“It’s an easy dance,” said Trevin. “I can do it if you can.”

Melaia huffed. He had chosen a dance so easy that she and the girls had taught it to themselves at the temple. She had done it dozens of times.

The crowd clapped and whistled. Melaia rose, placed her right palm on Trevin’s, then bowed her head toward him. He did the same toward her, and Caepio began a tune on the lute.

Melaia and Trevin walked in a circle. Their eyes met and held. Melaia was glad her mask hid her blush. They moved apart, turned, and came together again. Their fingertips touched, their palms pressed together. She concentrated on not trembling. They circled again. Dark, friendly eyes circling her heart. Steady … Steady … Bow.

She was sweaty, she was hot, but she would have danced with the eagle again at the next street corner. And the next.

Cheers splashed on them like a wave, and when the wagon rolled again, scores of people young and old followed, forming a procession that trailed them all the way to the wharf.

“With a crowd like this, news of our arrival will travel to the palace before we’re halfway down the street,” said Caepio.

Sweat trickled down Melaia’s neck, and she wondered if there was a cool spot anywhere in this town. Then she saw a wrinkled woman with tangled, wiry gray hair clinging to a stocky merchant who was hawking jars of drink from a cart. One customer tasted the drink, but the merchant was losing his other customers to the crowd following the actors.

Melaia tugged on Trevin’s sleeve. “Zastra.”

“Great seas,” said Trevin. “Who’s she with?”

“That’s Baize,” said Pym. “Sells gash. I’ve run into him more than once in my travels.”

“Zastra found him, then,” said Melaia. “She has what she wants.” But she didn’t really, and Melaia felt truly sorry for her.

Caepio drew the pageant wagon to a stop in front of an inn with a ship painted on its sign and the words “Full Sail” carved above the door. The clamoring crowd pressed around the wagon.

“When’s the next show?” called a walleyed man.

“A show won’t fill yer stomach,” grouched an old woman.

A thin woman craned her neck to see into the wagon. “Who can afford it?”

“Could be it’s free!” called a little boy.

“Is the show free?” a girl yelled to Caepio.

“Which of the women is free?” asked a snaggle-toothed man. “That’ll take my mind off my hunger.”

“That
is
your hunger.” A sharp-nosed woman punched his arm. He pushed her back, and she bumped another woman, who jostled a skinny boy.

“Hey! Watch it!” someone called. The crowd began elbowing each other.

“If they get any rowdier, we’ll be arrested for causing a public disturbance,” Caepio muttered. He stood and held up his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are delighted at your attentions. We shall send a herald to announce future performances. Then come, one and all, and we’ll treat you to grand entertainment.”

Melaia straightened. She sensed a presence, wavering and rusty orange. She looked at the eye slits in Livia’s mask. Livia nodded and motioned toward the inn.

Out of the shadows, beyond the open door, swaggered a heavyset innkeep with a closely trimmed black beard. His shirt was open halfway to his belly, showing a chest covered with curly black hair. He scowled at the crowd and mopped his brow with a cloth. But when he saw Caepio, he threw his arms wide, and a broad, toothy grin spread across his face.

“Welcome, friend!” he cried. Over his shoulder he called, “To the kettle, cook! It’s Caepio at the inn now! He’s brought a whole troupe with him. Lay a feast. He’s likely to eat us out of lard and larder!”

“When have I done that, Paullus?” asked Caepio, laughing.

“When haven’t you, now?” asked the innkeep.

As the crowd dwindled, Trevin offered Melaia a hand to help her down from the wagon. She gladly took it, wondering why it was easier to be lioness and eagle together. Why was it so hard to sort out her feelings when the masks came off?

Paullus charged a servant boy to look after the wagon and horse, then led the actors through the tavern room, where customers lolled around tables.

A bony man lifted his mug. “It’s the players come to town!”

“Give us a show!” shouted a mop-haired sailor.

Paullus strutted across the room, his chest out. “They’ll be doing plenty of performing soon. For now, they need a rest from this infernal heat.”

That set the drinkers to muttering about the steamy weather. Meanwhile,
Paullus marched the troupe around a corner, down a stairway, and into a wide cellar.

Dim light drifted through a window high on the wall above a bench. Kegs lined one side of the room. On the other, strips of smoked meat hung from the ceiling. Jugs of oil crowded one corner. And it was relatively cool.

“At last,” murmured Melaia, fanning her skirt to stir a breeze.

“Ah! This is fine, Paullus, just fine,” said Caepio.

Paullus filled a mug with ale from a keg and said, “For a performer you’ve got bad timing, Caepio.”

Melaia plopped down on a bench and pulled off her mask.

Caepio took her mask and began fanning her with it. “Don’t faint on us, now.” He looked back at Paullus. “Why is my timing bad?”

“All Qanreef holds its breath, waiting for the flag to change at Alta-Qan.” He handed Caepio the mug.

“It’s of no great consequence to us,” said Jarrod. “We’ll play for whoever happens to be at court.”