Authors: Ysabeau S. Wilce
“As long as the Haðraaða family prospers, the Working remains strong. So is it because the Haðraaða family no longer prospers that some of the Sigils have weakened?”
“Ayah so. What else?”
“Well, she says that until the Word of the Family falls silent, the Working can’t be abrogated, undone. The cage won’t open until the last Haðraaða is dead, when there is no longer a Head of the House. I guess by
cage,
she means the Working.”
“Ayah so.”
“But there are no more Haðraaðas. And there is no Head of the House Haðraaða anymore. So shouldn’t the Loliga have gone free?”
“One would think so.” Lord Axacaya was smiling, slightly, the same smile that Mamma gets when she knows the answer and is waiting to find out if you do, too.
“Does Paimon count? Is he the Head of the House Haðraaða now?”
“Paimon is an immaculate egregore. He is not a Haðraaða, he only serves the family, his interests allied with theirs. It’s the blood that counts. He cannot be the Head of the House.”
“Maybe she means
House
literally—’as long as the House stands.’ That could be Bilskinir, the House Haðraaða.”
“No, she means the family itself, its members. She’s speaking in symbols.” Lord Axacaya was still smiling. He must think I was an idiot.
I took another sip of my wine. It was good, sweet and spicy. What did Arch-Calculator Mox-Mox always say about word problems? Break down the components and figure them out one at a time. I read through the paragraph again, thinking, and suddenly it was obvious.
“They aren’t all dead! There must be a Haðraaða living somewhere!”
Lord Axacaya grinned. “That’s it exactly! I knew you’d figure it out.”
“That’s why the Loliga isn’t free! There is still a Haðraaða alive! He’s the Head of the House.”
“Or she.”
My earlier disappointment had changed to excitement. Maybe we could all be saved yet. “But how shall we find this Haðraaða? Do you think Paimon would know? I didn’t see him at Bilskinir this time, but I could go back and find him. He must know who his own Head is!”
“From what you have told me, Paimon knows. But I have sent messengers, in various guises, here and Elsewhere, and still he does not respond. You say you did not see him when you were leaving Bilskinir this last time. I think he must have been badly damaged in the earthquake. Though he appears strong from the outside, fourteen years of abandonment have taken their toll. We can expect no help from him. We must identify this person on our own.”
“But where will we start? He could be
anywhere!
And we are running out of time; you said so yourself!” Something else occurred to me, something rather unhappy “If the Loliga is to be free, then he’s going to have to die, this person. I don’t think he’s going to like that idea very much. Maybe he even knows already and that’s why he is hiding.”
“Don’t you worry about that,
pequeña.
I think he—or she—will understand how important it is to save the City.”
“But we don’t have much time. How are we ever going to find him?”
“Never fear, darling. I have had my suspicions for a while,
pequeña,
and now, with the help of the
Diario,
you have confirmed them. I know who the Head of the House Haðraaða is.”
“You do? Who is it? How do you know?” I sat up, almost sloshing wine on Georgiana’s
Diario
in my excitement.
“Soon, soon! There is much yet to do, and you look exhausted. We are almost done, and you must rest.”
“I’m all right, really!” But I ruined my protestations by yawning tremendously. A great wave of slugginess was beginning to wash over me, swamping my excitement with torpor. My dinner suddenly weighed heavily in my tum. A nap did sound like a nice idea. A very short nap. Just enough to take the edge off ... But I didn’t have time for a nap...
“Look at how you can barely keep your eyes open,” Lord Axacaya teased me. And it was true. In a delicious haze, I felt Lord Axacaya lift me up as though I were a baby, the slick smoothness of his skin, water-bottle hot. His lips pressed to my forehead. A little galvanic buzz passed from him to me, which left me feeling listless and warm, as relaxed as a wet noodle. The rhythm of his gait was as soothing as a rocker, and he was humming, deep in his chest, the sound a soothing burr. Within seconds I was asleep.
S
PARKS OF PAIN
brought me out of my happy dreams of sunlit warmth and Lord Axacaya’s hot embraces. I groaned and wiggled, but the sparks only got more painful. Not sparks, pinches. Extremely pinchy pinches. A gust of cold air blew over me, and I protested.
“Get up, Flora! Get up right now!” Idden stood over me, tossing aside my covers.
“Lemme alone, Idden, I’m sleepin’.”
“You’re drugged is what you are, Tinks. Come on.” She yanked on my arms, and despite myself, I sat up, blinking. My head felt like marbles were rolling around inside it, clanging against my skull. Idden thrust a flask against my lips and sloshed it until I opened my mouth and drank, then sputtered. Ice-cold unsweetened coffee.
“Come on, snap to it. We gotta get out of here!” Idden said urgently. “Shake it off. Get dressed.” I stared at her blearily; she flapped a wad of clothing at me. Looking down, I saw I was only wearing my chemise, and I hoped fervently that Lord Axacaya had had nothing to do with
that.
(Well, most of me hoped so, that is.)
“What are you doing here, Idden?”
“Saving your bacon, Tinks.”
Then her earlier words sank in. “What do you mean
drugged
?”
“The tortillas! They had a Knockout Sigil mixed into them.”
“But why would he drug me?” I asked, still bewildered.
“To keep you from freaking when you find out he’s planning on killing you, that’s why!” She threw the clothes at me and began to shove my boots on my feet.
“Are you crazy?” Now I was awake and staring at Idden incredulously She was dressed a la Birdie, in a white pleated kilt and a feathery cape. When I squinted, the familiar lines of her face shimmered and then vanished beneath the outline of an eagle head.
“And why are you wearing a Glamour that makes you look like a Quetzal?”
“Look, I’ll explain it all to you later, but we got to split now. Firemonkey and Cyrus are set to create a diversion in about three minutes, and we gotta be ready to take advantage of it. Come on, Tinks—move!”
“I can’t leave,” I protested. “I have to help Lord Axacaya save the City.”
“Freeing the Loliga won’t save the City,” Idden said. “Freeing the Loliga will only mean that everyone in the City will continue to be a Birdie slave.”
“How do you know about the Loliga?”
“It’s not important. What is important is that the only way to free the City is to allow it to be destroyed.”
“You’re insane, Idden.” I snatched my stays away from her, trying to put them on as she dragged me toward the window. “Let go of me. What’s wrong with you? Idden!”
“I hope you are still good at climbing, Tinks.”
“Stop!
Tell me what’s going on, and
don’t call me Tinks.”
I twisted out of her grasp. “Are you crazy? What the fike is wrong with you?”
Idden said slowly and clearly, “The tortillas were drugged. Axacaya is going to sacrifice you to his Butterfly goddess. You can stand around and wait for that to happen, or scarper with me. Your choice.”
“Where did you get such a crazy idea, Idden? That’s insane! Lord Axacaya and I—”
“We have our sources, Flora. Impeccable sources.”
“Well, your source is full of hoo.”
“Don’t be an idiot and trust him, Flora. He’s playing you. You’ve got him all wrong.”
“No, Idden,
you’ve
got
him
all wrong—you and Mamma both. Lord Axacaya is only trying the save the City, and so am I. And you—”
Idden pushed me so hard I had to climb out the window or fall. So climb I did, grabbing on to a tree branch, oranges hitting me in the face. I let go and landed awkwardly, almost squashing a flock of chickens, which fluttered out of my way, protesting mightily. Idden landed gracefully behind me. She hadn’t bothered with the tree, just jumped, the show-off. “This way, Flora!”
I didn’t go that way I dodged the well in the courtyard, trampled through an herb bed—the air filled with the pungent smell of cilantro—ducked under the water ollas dangling from the porch roof, and into the door just beyond them.
“Flora!” Idden was right behind me, but I didn’t look back. Mariposa’s
cocina
was sunny and warm, full of the delicious smell of cooking beans; an
abuela
sat before the fire, mixing masa. She looked up, startled, as I careened by her and out the other door. Then down a whitewashed hallway, Idden still behind me, and into the Main Courtyard, fragrant with orange and lemon trees, and colorful with purple bougainvillea and red geraniums. Past an astonished-looking Sitri in the Receiving Gallery and into Lord Axacaya’s conjuring room, where I found him sitting cross-legged, grinding away at a
comal.
“Axa! Axa!” I puffed.
He put aside the
comal,
filled with some sort of a red paste, and stood. “What’s wrong,
pequeña
?”
“Are you going to murder me? She said you were going to murder me!”
“Calm down,
pequeña,
calm down. Of course I’m not going to murder you.” Lord Axacaya led me to a stone stool carved in the shape of a rabbit, and I plopped down, full of wheezy relief. Idden had vanished—her vitriol against Lord Axacaya stopped at actually facing him. He sat next to me and slid his arm around my shoulders. I leaned against him, feeling the press of his warm body against mine.
“I knew she was crazy,” I said. “She is happy to think the worst of everyone, especially you.”
“That’s an unfortunate talent some people have,” Lord Axacaya answered. “But, Flora, do you not agree that the City must be saved at all cost?”
I nodded. His other hand was now on my knee and I could feel the heat even through my kilt, and it was making me feel squirmy in an extremely delightful way. “Sometimes sacrifices are required,
pequeña.
What is the life of one person compared with the lives of thousands?”
“What do you mean?”
Now his hand was rubbing my knee. I crossed my ankles and hoped he could not see me blush.
“I mean that it is too late to rebind the Loliga. She grew too strong for that long ago. She must be released. And her release will require a sacrifice. The life of one person for the lives of many Is that not a sacrifice worth making?”
I remembered now something Nini Mo had said:
Trust your gut in everything but love.
It wasn’t love I was feeling now, but something brighter and even less trustworthy And under that feeling was something even stronger: a terrible wormy wiggle of fear.
“But only the death of Head of the House Haðraaða will free the Loliga,” I said.
The worm was growing into a snake, coiling around my internal organs, getting ready to squeeze.
“But that is you,
pequeña.
Surely you know that by now!” Lord Axacaya smiled, and his hand did not move away.
The snake squeezed. “But I’m a Fyrdraaca!”
“Half of you is. But the other half is Haðraaða, and that’s the half that counts.”
“But Poppy and Mamma—they are Fyrdraacas—”
“Ah,
pequeña,
General Fydraaca is not your mother. Did you never wonder? You are the cuckoo’s egg, hidden in another’s nest. The Butcher Brakespeare is your true mother, and through her you are the Head of the House Haðraaða.”
Now I was paralyzed. I heard his words, but I didn’t understand them. How could I be a Haðraaða? How could the Butcher Brakespeare be my mother? Mamma—
“Get your hands off my sister!”
Idden stood in the door. She had let the Glamour drop completely; her face was flat and grim, and never had she looked more like Mamma. In one hand, she dangled my dispatch case. Her other hand held a gun, pointing steadily at Lord Axacaya. Mamma’s own service revolver, which she had carried as a shavetail back in the day She’d given it to Idden when she’d been promoted to captain.
Idden stepped into the room, and behind her, the doorway filled with shadowy feathery forms: the Quetzals. They were blocking her exit, but Idden made no indication she knew it.
“Well, now,” Lord Axacaya said, “speaking of cuckoos. Ave, Madama Fyrdraaca Primera. I see you have been busy skulking around, pretending to be someone that you are not.”
“Get your hands off my sister or I will shoot you. Flora, come here.”
Lord Axacaya’s hands fell away from me, but I did not move. I could not move. Axacaya’s words were still spinning in my brain.
The Butcher Brakespeare is your true mother. You are the Head of the House Haðraaða.
Axacaya was saying, “Come now, madama. I know we do not share the same politics, but surely you share my desire to save the City from catastrophe.”
“First, don’t you presume to tell me what we share—which is nothing! The City can be ground to rubble for all I care; better to die free than live as slaves! Second, Flora is no Haðraaða.”
“Look at her,” Lord Axacaya answered. “You knew Butcher Brakespeare.”
“Don’t call her that!” Idden said, fiercely. “She was no butcher!”
“You knew her. You were what, ten years old when she died? Surely you remember her well. Can you not see her in Flora’s face? The resemblance is striking.”
Idden took another step into the room. As she looked at me, her expression grew more agonized, but she answered, “She looks like Poppy! She has Poppy’s nose!”
Lord Axacaya laughed. “And the Haðraaða eyes! Don’t be a fool, Idden. Would I risk something like this if I wasn’t sure? The City of Califa is at stake, and the lives of its citizens, too. I would not act unless I was absolutely sure—and I am. Why else would the Loliga attack Flora? Why else would Paimon allow her access to Bilskinir House? Why else would she be able to enter Bilskinir through its back door? But the final proof lies with Georgiana’s
Diario.
Only a Haðraaða can read that book. To anyone else the pages would be blank.”