Votive (12 page)

Briefly she wondered what it was the Maleovellis would ask her to distil into the candles. In exchange, she’d be educated and trained. It seemed fair to her – so long as they didn’t ask her to kill anyone. Katina had made it very clear that was something Estrattores were forbidden from doing.

Could she trust anything Katina had said to her? Or was she like everyone else in her life so far, prone to letting her down, misleading, rejecting her, being so afraid they either beat her to within an inch of her life or failed to defend her from harm despite promises to the contrary?

In fact, the only people who had shown her any kindness, any form of understanding or respect, offered any hope, were the Maleovellis. She sighed. Unbelievable.

What about Dante? What about his family
?

A great void opened inside Tallow, an emptiness that she now knew she’d been trying to fill with all the different things she’d seen and experienced in the last few hours. She’d been using them to avoid facing that which now tore at her heart, ate at her soul. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

‘Dante,’ she whispered into the night. ‘Amore mio, forgive me.’ His face floated before her, the tousled black hair and sparkling coal-dark eyes. A sob broke the quiet of the night. ‘How can I do this without you?’

From anger to anguish, the emotions roiled within her. She began to quiver. If she didn’t work out how to control herself, how to moderate and live with the pain of Dante’s absence, the guilt of his death, she’d be no good to anyone, and she knew that he would not want that. Of all people, he would understand the choices she’d been given and what she now had to do. Out of everything her life had been so far, out of Dante’s death, good must come. If not, she couldn’t bear it.

But how? If she fell apart every time thoughts of Dante intruded, how could she manage?

In the corner of her eye, the little harlequin twinkled. She moved away from the window and picked it up, bringing it back and holding it up to the moonlight, an offering like they used to make to the gods of old. She recalled how the figurine had made her feel the last time she held it. Then, it struck her. She knew what to do.

Before she changed her mind, she poured as much of her love and feelings of loss for Dante into the ornament as she could. She extracted from deep within herself and distilled everything: regret for a future that would never be, remorse that their friendship, no, their love, had been no more than a harbinger of death, into the glass. Purging the pain, the blossoming of desire, the longing, the many memories that together shone like a ripe sun, she placed them one by one into the harlequin. The colours glowed, the intensity making her blink and half-close her eyes. She didn’t stop; she kept going until she was a gasping, hollow puddle against the sill.

When she’d finished, she staggered to the bureau and placed the harlequin, the vessel for all her feelings for Dante, on top. As she regained her breath and equilibrium, the colours ceased swirling. Reaching inside herself, she tentatively felt for Dante’s presence. He was there, but it wasn’t painful. The emotions that had made her chest feel as if it were going to explode were now like words she would recite but not feel. Her love had been placed inside the harlequin where it would remain forever, like a Bond inside a pledge stone, hidden in plain sight.

Stroking the diminutive dancer, she knew that while her insides no longer burned with loss, what she’d done didn’t change her love. No, she might become a courtesan, but she would never give her heart to another.

In some respects, that was why being a courtesan was an appealing idea. Tallow was no innocent. Not only had she witnessed the passion between a man and a woman during hurried trysts at Carnivale time, but as an Estrattore she’d also felt the range of emotions they experienced. From utter lust to indifference and even hurt, she’d touched them all. Courtesans, unlike many women and even men, were able to control with who and when they shared these things. So far, she’d had no influence over her life; her new one would allow her that at least.

Tallow knew that the Maleovellis were keen to exploit her talents, use her skills to improve their own situation. Why, everything she brushed against screamed of their neediness, their desire for soldi, for power and control – especially of her. A wicked grin spread across her face as she remembered Giaconda’s gloves. For some reason, the Maleovellis believed if they did not directly touch her, or she them, she could not extract and therefore read them. What they didn’t understand was that she’d never needed direct contact with their flesh; everything in their casa carried remnants of them. She was able to glean the degree of debt they were in from merely holding the quill she’d been given to sign the colleganza. From that she sensed the vendor’s surprise when the Maleovellis had paid with coin and Salzi’s relief that this time he didn’t have to ask for a chit. In holding a vino glass, a dinner knife, stroking a table, never mind Giaconda’s dress, Tallow was able to assemble impressions of her new family. What she’d gathered so far was not alarming. In fact, it was all too familiar – greed, desire and secrets. Just like so many of the popolani in the Candlemakers Quartiere. For all the book learning of Jacopo, all the research he’d done on Estrattore, she was still an unknown quantity. But the Maleovellis would bring them back – that was the condition of their agreement. The
return of the Estrattore. Only for that could she do what she knew would be asked of her. No price was too high. She glanced at the harlequin.

Well, perhaps one. But she could not change that. Not now.

She came away from the window and wearily climbed into her bed. The fire was a mound of glowing embers in the hearth, radiating warmth and reassurance. She snuffed out the candle and, easing herself under the covers, focused on the fireplace. The coals glowed and the flames crackled, a familiar lullaby that eased her into an exhausted, but content sleep.

D
ANTE FOLLOWED
D
EBORA AND
A
LESSANDRO
as they led Katina’s horse between the trees, away from where he’d first regained consciousness. He was trying to take stock of events and come to terms with what Katina had done, the ire she’d incurred. Who were these Elders? Why were they so angry? Why were Katina’s partners so distraught? There were so many questions to ask, but who should he approach for answers? Debora and Alessandro were so … overwrought.

He studied them from behind. Their heads were close together and he heard the low mutter of conversation, but not the words. They were still reeling from what Katina had done. They were too polite to show it, but he knew they were shocked that Katina had Bonded him. Now his welfare had also been entrusted to them. Why were they so upset? Was it the Obbligare Doppio or was it that they saw him as a rival for Katina’s affections? He’d heard things about the Bond Riders, that the … relationships between them were very different and a lot more liberal than those in Serenissima. Rumours were that they didn’t marry, that they didn’t even necessarily have one partner, but a few. Sometimes, even those of the same sex. It didn’t bother him the way it used to. He’d fallen in love with Tallow when he still thought she was a boy. Were Alessandro and Debora Katina’s partners in that way? Was it sexual? If so, that would mean she and
Debora … An image leapt into his head and heat suffused his body. He studied Alessandro with renewed respect. Maybe being a Rider wouldn’t be so bad after all.

He tried to ball his hand into a fist, but the wound was too raw. He glanced at the cut across his palm – the mark of a Bond Rider – a mark of separation and belonging that would forever denote his difference and new allegiance. His soul had been sundered until such time it could be returned. Only how could that happen now there were no Estrattore? Except Tallow. Tallow changed everything. For him, and the Bond Riders and, if what he felt deep inside was to be acknowledged, for the future of Serenissima as well. But it was because of her that the adventures denied to him as a chandler were now available. He knew he should probably feel infuriated, if not betrayed by what Katina had done. But instead, he felt gratitude.

The prospect of what lay ahead made him excited in a way he’d never been before. What made him rejoice the most was that, at the heart of it all, was Tallow. While he didn’t really understand what a Bond meant, let alone the nature of the Obbligare Doppio, he could already feel it transforming him. Awareness of his body, of his weariness and the injuries he’d sustained but which Tallow’s power cured were like a bad dream. His previous life, only a matter of hours old, felt like a childhood memory, only harder to grasp. Nothing seemed real anymore, except what he could see in front of him. Here. Now. Debora, Alessandro, the fog, the horse, the trees, the grass and marshes – and Tallow. Unlike his fading memories, every step he took, every intake of breath, only sharpened his remembrance of her, his desire to find her, to be with her. It was acute. Was that what a pledge did? Bond you to your promise so it became a part of your very being? Or was that just his previously suppressed feelings for Tallow finding expression?

The land suddenly dipped away and Debora and Alessandro halted at the top of a precipice. Dante joined them and looked at the sight that opened before him.

Nestled in a valley ringed by skeletal trees and with a stream running noisily through it were a scattering of stagnant ponds that seemed a feature of the Limen. Vapour hovered over the area, thinning in patches to reveal what might pass for a town. Pitched in a semi-circular pattern around a huge cave mouth that was cut into the cliff opposite were a series of dun-coloured, canvas tents, some large, some quite small.

Dante was disappointed. This was not what he expected.

‘Welcome to Settlement,’ said Debora softly, half-turning and giving Dante a small smile. ‘The home of the Bond Riders.’ She stepped onto the track and beckoned him to follow. ‘It’s your home now too.’

He didn’t respond.

‘Come on then,’ said Alessandro, and started to descend.

A steep path zigzagged its way down to level ground. Dante was careful to watch where he was walking: one wrong step and he was unlikely to survive the sheer tumble to the bottom, Bond Rider or not.

The lower they went, the more the mist cleared and sounds drifted towards them. Dante saw that the tents were actually quite complex. Some had flat tops, while most rose to elegant points, falling away to varying heights. Others were lavishly decorated, offering splashes of vibrancy in the dismal surrounds. It was only once they reached the floor of the valley that Dante saw green grass growing beside the brook that chuckled quietly over boulders. There were even a few pale flowers, their heads dropping so low, it was as if they were worshipping the
water. Groups of people sat outside the tents chatting; others groomed horses, some of which roamed freely, while most were tethered in the trees that ringed the campsite. Smoke rose from fires, mingling with the mist, thickening it in parts. As they walked through Settlement, the talking ceased and, one by one, all eyes alighted on him. Tent flaps parted as men and women stood at the entrance to their homes, arms folded, either whispering behind their hands or studying the newcomer in cold silence.

Dante felt their curiousity, their fear, but also a simmering scorn and distrust. The smile that he’d prepared to greet them fled, and instead he simply gave gruff nods. One or two returned them before looking away. He swallowed. This was not going to be easy.

‘Friendly bunch,’ he murmured. ‘They know how to make a person feel welcome.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Debora. ‘It’s been a long time since we’ve had a new Rider. They’ll get used to you.’

‘But not to what Katina has done,’ said Alessandro sharply. ‘It’s not you so much, Dante. It’s what you represent – the worst perfidy a Bond Rider can imagine.’

They walked for a while without speaking, accompanied only by the sound of horses snickering nearby and low voices.

‘You like your tents,’ Dante said softly as they passed yet another that had the Papermakers insignia drawn on it – an elaborate scroll with a felled tree across the centre.

Alessandro shrugged. ‘Sì, they’re convenient if we have to move suddenly.’

‘You do that often?’ asked Dante.

Alessandro thought for a moment. ‘Not in my lifetime.’ He looked at Debora.

‘Nor mine. It’s a precaution,’ said Debora quickly. ‘In
case it’s ever required. That way, we can move swiftly and take our lives with us.’

Dante absorbed this information, noting the age of the canvas, the way the colour had faded, the damage the eternal damp had wrought on the sturdy fabric, how the trees and weeds grew over and around them. He wondered if these tents had ever relocated.

A gap appeared and he saw a wide path leading straight to the huge cave mouth he’d observed from the top of the pass. Outside were guards standing to attention.

‘What’s down there?’ he asked quietly, nodding in the direction of the mountain.

‘That’s the Elders’ Palazzo,’ answered Alessandro.

‘Palazzo? What? Like the Doge’s?’

‘In a way,’ said Debora. ‘We don’t actually have a Doge, though the Elders do have a leader. Like all our leaders, he’s of the Doge’s bloodline. He’s a Dandolo. The Elders are taken from the same families as those who have seats on the Council of Ten back in Serenissima.’ She flashed Dante a quick smile. ‘You’ve heard the expression “Com’era, dov’era”?’

Dante shrugged. ‘Of course. “As it was, where it was”.’

‘Well, the first Bond Riders took that to heart. They replicated Serenissima in the ways they thought were helpful. Making laws and providing leadership were paramount; they didn’t want a kingship or oligarchy, so they settled for what they knew – a Republic. “As it was in Serenissima so it shall be in the Limen.”’ Debora said it flatly, like a mantra. ‘The Elders live in there. It’s also where our laws are made and offenders who break them are taken.’

‘So, Katina’s in there?’

Debora nodded. ‘For now.’

Before he could ask another question, Debora and Alessandro came to a halt. Debora drew back the flap of a
large tent that was striped in a lacklustre red and white like a giant paline.

‘You will stay with us for the time being, while you’re getting accustomed to your new life, and until either a sentence is served or you choose a partner.’ She gestured for him to enter.

With a glance at Alessandro, who was busy taking the saddle off Birrichino, he ducked under the heavy material and entered.

Inside offered a plush contrast to the barrenness of Settlement. A huge, comfortable-looking mattress raised on a wooden platform dominated the tent, taking up almost one complete side. Scattered with an assortment of coloured cushions and a large quilt that was tumbled into feathery knots, it was almost indecent. It looked used. Dante felt the colour rise in his cheeks, as if he’d stumbled upon an indiscretion. A low table and a few comfortable chairs added to this impression. Rugs, cushions and some large timber chests, upon which sat some ornaments and unusual small painted boxes as well as some well-thumbed books, and worn scrolls lined the edges. The items looked very old.

Debora roamed through the interior, lighting candles that, as they spat to life, gave everything a warm glow. ‘This is nice,’ Dante said, trying to break the awkward silence.

Debora smiled. ‘Well, it’s your home for now.’

‘What’s through there?’ he asked, pointing to a canvas wall.

‘Storage,’ said Debora. She didn’t elaborate. ‘Over there –’ she pointed to the other side where another flap hung ‘– is where we wash. But if you want a bath, you have to go to the river – of course, downstream.’ She pointed vaguely outside. ‘Are you thirsty or hungry?’

Dante had to think. Surprisingly, he felt neither. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate or drank. ‘No, not
really, though I guess I should be. Where’s your kitchen? I can look after myself.’

Debora flopped into one of the chairs and laughed. ‘We have no kitchens, Dante. Bond Riders don’t eat or drink – not in the Limen. The need deserts us – it’s no longer necessary. Where time has no meaning, neither does anything associated with it, including that kind of nourishment. Our bodies go into a kind of stasis.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Age does not afflict us; not even sleep attends us.’ Her tone was wistful. ‘No, we seek another kind of nourishment, that which we can take from each other.’ Her eyes sidled to the bed.

Dante tried to think of something to say, but his voice stuck in his throat.

‘Though, while your body adjusts, you may feel the urge to consume food and drink; you’ll certainly need to sleep – for a few days at least. We have supplies in the central tent. I can organise something for you if you need anything.’

Dante shook his head. ‘No, grazie. Not yet.’

‘Well, if you change your mind, let me know.’ Debora slid off her boots. ‘There’s also a hot spring in the Elders’ Palazzo. You can’t go there yet, not until you’ve been formally presented and admitted to Settlement.’

‘When will that be?’ asked Dante. He wanted to sit down, but didn’t feel right without an invitation.

Debora shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ To Dante’s chagrin, tears began to well in her eyes. ‘I don’t know anything anymore.’ Her head dropped into her hands and she began to cry.

Dante hesitated only a second before rushing to her side. He put his arm around her and patted her clumsily on the back. ‘It’s all right, it will be all right. Please, Signorina … um … Signora … don’t cry. Katina is a strong lady, I could tell that. She’ll be back before you know it.’

A slight shift in the air alerted him and he raised his head.

Alessandro stood at the entrance, a strange look upon his face. Dante drew his arm away and stood. ‘Mi dispiace. I didn’t know …’

In two strides, Alessandro was beside Debora, pulling her into his arms. ‘Grazie, Dante. It’s all right. Leave us for a while, if you don’t mind. Go and explore your new world.’

Dante chewed his lip. ‘I don’t mind. I think I’ll go and wash. Clean the blood off me.’

‘Drying sheets and soap are in there.’ Alessandro jerked his head towards a chest. ‘Help yourself. While you’re gone, I’ll see if I can find one of my old shirts for you.’

Dante went to the chest and carefully removing the objects on top, opened it. He quickly pulled out a very used but clean drying sheet and rummaged till he found a bar of grey soap. Equipped, he hovered at the tent entrance.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ He looked helplessly at Debora, who was weeping quietly.

Alessandro frowned, then his face altered. ‘No.’ He smiled sadly. ‘You have done enough already.’ Dante bit his lip. ‘I don’t mean it that way,’ Alessandro added hastily. ‘You’re a decent man, Dante. The gods know, we need your kind here. You didn’t deserve this.’

As he left the tent, Dante wondered with a heavy heart what Alessandro meant.

D
ANTE WANDERED AIMLESSLY AROUND
the edges of Settlement for a while, enduring the stares and whispers of the Bond Riders. No-one spoke to him; everyone stopped what they were doing when he approached as if maintaining some great conspiracy. He had to resist the urge to shout.
Instead, he kept his head down and ended up walking away from the tents, towards the stream. He quickly disrobed and stood knee-deep in the water, daubing the dark stains off his shirt, scrubbing his body, washing off the dried blood and grit. The water turn red before it bubbled away and was refreshed.