Votive (18 page)

Elder Maggiore sighed. ‘That we didn’t know where they were, that they were lost to us? They were. It was only because there was one who sought us out. It was from her that we learnt about Tallow; she revealed to us the ambigious nature of the prophecy and what the Estrattore were doing; just as we are doing now, they were manipulating it for their own ends. In telling us, she sought to give the prophecy a chance – maybe even restore balance; or maybe we’re still being duped and I am nothing but an old fool. But I fear with what’s happening now, what some of the Elders intend, we’ve all failed. We hover on the brink, Katina.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Because I believe that you and Dante, with your Obbligare Doppio, can influence fate. Oh, not in narrow, conventional ways, but by allowing destiny to take its course – and I’m not the only one. You are both Bonded to Tallow. You and Dante will protect her interests – not those of the Bond Riders or the Estrattore or anyone
else – just Tallow – the child of the legends. That’s what has upset the other Elders so much. You have, out of nowhere, overturned their well-laid plans. In doing so, you’ve given the prophecy a chance to unfold according to fate or free will, not somebody’s determined outcome.’

He fell silent. There was something he wasn’t revealing. Katina chose not to press him. Not yet.

Sitting down next to her on the bed, he continued. ‘You’ve seen the changes in those who trickle through the Limen over the years. They don’t think of others, only themselves. They no longer seek to fulfil their Bonds, but hide, timid and lazy, caught in the lust of their relationships, of the liberties they experience here, hoping they will never be called into Vista Mare. They’re prepared to forego their sacred promise, to commit sacrilege, and all for a false freedom.

‘We cannot go on this way. Our life has no meaning. What we do here has no purpose except to gather wealth and power – just like the nobiles of Serenissima we claim to despise. Look at us.’ He gestured to his robe of office. ‘Look at me. We’re nothing but pale imitations of what we left behind.’

‘What can I do?’ Katina asked finally.

‘Find Tallow before either the Riders who Elder Nicolotti sends or the Estrattore do – for I have no doubt they will all try to use her to influence the outcome of the prophecy. If that happens, then all hope is lost.’

‘What’s Elder Nicolotti got to do with this? What Riders?’

Elder Maggiore leant so close, his lips touched Katina’s ear as he spoke. ‘Elder Nicolotti is one of those who will seek to influence the outcome of the prophecy. He has persuaded some of the other Elders that Tallow should be
our
weapon and he will use what ever resources he has at his disposable to ensure he has her.’

‘So, he’s the one behind the plan to use her to release the souls trapped in the pledge stones?’

‘Sì. And, as I said, in doing so, create a new order, a new world with him at the helm. Imagine it, Katina, thousands of souls all with unnaturally long lives.’

Katina pulled away and regarded him gravely. ‘And his Riders? I am guessing you’re referring to Santo and Stefano?’

Elder Maggiore patted her knee. ‘You do not disappoint, Katina. You’re right. I do not presume to understand the nature of Stefano or Santo’s Bonds, but it seems that whatever they are, Nicolotti has suborned them and is using them for his own purpose – a purpose in which you, or at least your new Bond, feature strongly.’ The twinkle in his eye darkened. ‘You must be careful. For some reason, even beyond this –’ he reached for her hand and turned it gently so the new mark could be clearly seen ‘– you pose a huge threat to Nicolotti’s intentions.’

Katina’s fingers curled protectively over her scar.

‘What about the Morte Whisperers? They hunt for her as well.’

Elder Maggiore’s eyes slid to the door. ‘Ah, the Morte Whisperers. Sì, we know. They grow in numbers. They wait until we stray beyond Settlement and they take us.’

‘What are they, Elder Maggiore? Do you know? Or is that another secret you keep from us?’

He regarded her for a long time before speaking. ‘You’re asking the wrong person, Katina. Find the Estrattore, then ask what they know of the Morte Whisperers.’

The candle flickered and the shadows in the cave lengthened, casting Elder Maggiore’s face into darkness. Ask the Estrattore? What did they have to do with the nightmarish creatures that took whatever remained of a person’s life-force and consumed it? She shuddered. There was so much
she still didn’t know and already her heart was heavy with what she’d learnt.

‘What’s going to happen to me and Dante now, then?’ she asked finally.

‘That I don’t know. I wish I did. I wish I could reassure you. I will do what I can to influence the trial in your favour. That is –’ He hesitated.

‘Go on.’

‘If you will help me, help those of us who believe in the prophecy – those who believe that in order for balance to be restored, Tallow must be able to choose freely.’ His eyes were liquid flint.

Katina could not shake the notion that she was either being moulded into a shape she detested or sacrificed for a cause she wasn’t sure she believed in. But trapped in her cell she could do nothing to influence either the direction or outcome. Outside, she had a chance and that meant Tallow had one too. ‘I will help you,’ she said.

Elder Maggiore drew in his breath sharply, his shoulders straightening as he withdrew from her slowly. Katina felt as if she’d just passed an important test. ‘Bene, bene. Eat, drink, build up your strength.’ He lowered his voice one last time. ‘All that matters is the prophecy. That it should be allowed to unfold without interference from those who feel they have a stake in it; that Tallow be able, when the time is right, to choose. What the fates decree, we will then have to accept, whoever we are. Whatever we believe.’

Katina bowed her head.

Elder Maggiore stood and shook out his robes. ‘Well, Katina, I don’t know if I’ll be able to visit again. I will try. But take advantage of the food – do not reject that which is offered, will you?’

He stared at her earnestly.

‘No. I’m not yet so foolish,’ said Katina, rising to stand
beside him. ‘I am even grateful.’ She took the Elder’s offered hand and kissed it. He lifted her face and touched his lips to her forehead warmly.

‘Gods be with you, my daughter.’ Without another word, he left.

The door clicked and she heard the key turn in the lock. Katina stood in the centre of the cell staring vacantly at the spot Elder Maggiore had last occupied, his words, his hopes, his fears, his information echoing in her ears. Her head was full of everything she’d been told; the answers she’d so longed for had been given. Only with them came more questions and more doubts and foreboding.

With a long sigh, she lit another candle before collapsing back onto her bed, placing her hands behind her head. She studied the ceiling, noting the way the candlelight enlarged her silhouette, causing it to fill the uneven rock face, distorting her form. It was how she felt inside – altered, transformed. She would never be the same again.

Everything Elder Maggiore told her she went over, sifting the information bit by bit, slotting pieces into the puzzle. What had once seemed so straightforward was more elaborate and challenging than she could have imagined. Nothing was black or white, but everything, like the Limen itself, was in shades of grey. Disagreement among the Elders, the Estrattore; conflict within: all of them working at cross purposes, which led to secrets, betrayal and worse. Why was she surprised? Why should the Bond Riders be any different from anyone else? Since when did large groups of people agree about anything?

It occurred to her that she hadn’t asked about Dante. Not that she needed to. The Bond they shared let her know he was doing well – better than well. It was a wrench being away from him, especially now, when she had so much to share, information she could not impart to Alessandro or
Debora for what that knowledge would do to them; the danger it would place them in.

As her thoughts roamed, a great pair of eyes filled her vision, silver ones staring at her own with such love and trust that it took her breath away. In them, she knew if she looked hard enough, she would find her own face.

Only she wasn’t so sure she wanted to see it, carved as it was into an expression of suspicion, weighed by new understanding and graven dread.

‘Oh, Tallow,’ she said softly. ‘What have we done?’

T
IME FLEW BY SWIFTER THAN A PETREL
, and with its passing came the heavy snows and thick blue mists that wrapped the city in soft, pale blankets, obscuring everything in their wintery embrace.

I had been with the Maleovellis for over three months, and in this period I had learnt much. But it was my time with Baroque that, above all else, I enjoyed, and not only because of the conversations we shared and the emotions we plumbed. I could relax with Baroque, let my guard down. After that first lesson, when we were both awkward with each other – like dancers who didn’t know the steps but who had been flung together to perform, day by day – bit by bit, Baroque’s and my relationship shifted. Whether it was the little scraps of gossip that would trip from his tongue, information about the Doge, his family, other nobiles and the life in the palazzo that he divulged, or that he could make me laugh, I was uncertain. All I knew was that one day, I anticipated my time downstairs in a way I hadn’t before.

Jacopo may have read about Estrattore and be considered the family authority, but it was Baroque who instinctively knew how to teach me.

From him I acquired knowledge, not just about the Estrattore and potions and herbs, but also the fierce Sultans of the Ottoman Empire and their bloodthirsty
legionaries, the Kings of Moroko, Aquitaine, Konstantinople and Hibernya. About the sand people of Banghazi that ruled the dry lands across the Mariniquian Seas with their dark, smooth skins like Hafeza, and the courageous warriors who dwelled in the Contested Territories of Judea. He did not tell me with words so much, but by bringing me samples of produce such as cloth from a merchant who traded across Vista Mare, or the dried seeds of fruit that had tumbled out of a barrel brought from Hellas. Every day, I would enter the workshop and he would either gesture to a new object on the table or he would pull something from underneath his jacket – a piece of wood, an earring, lace, grains of dirt, salt or spices; seemingly innocuous, they were like plunging myself into a vat of experience.

He also kept his promise to the Maleovellis and taught me that which he did not wish to – the tricks of his former trade. I learnt how to crush the petals of certain flowers and herbs to cure fevers, make a laxative, create feelings of great well-being and aid sleep. I also discovered how these same flowers, when mixed with the ground root or bark of other plants, could be malignant.

At first, I found it difficult to work with these powders and pastes. I found myself gasping for air, becoming lethargic, euphoric or breaking out in a sweat and shaking so badly that I couldn’t wield the pestle against the mortar. We’d have to stop and I would flee outside and breathe in the cold air.

It took a few days to discover the source of the problem.

‘You’re extracting while you’re mixing,’ complained Baroque. ‘If you keep doing that, there’ll come a time when you’re no longer able to prevent the effect it has on your system. What if you’re mixing a poison and you’re overcome? What use is a dead Estrattore to anyone?’

Desperation entered his eyes.

‘You’re right,’ I said slowly. ‘I am extracting. Not deliberately – I do it instinctively because it helps me understand what it is I’m handling.’ I ran my hands over my face. They came away damp. ‘It’s how I used to make the candles.’

Baroque frowned. ‘I thought as much. Some of the potions we’re making, the essences we’re creating – there’s a huge difference between the effects of what a little can induce and what a larger amount can do. You must be more careful.
We
must be. You need to understand how to work these, the balance required before you can even think about distilling the effects into your own body, let alone the candles.’

He placed his hand against my forehead. ‘Hmmm. You have no fever, but you’re clammy. Would you like to stop for the day? Rest?’

I glanced through the window towards the small patch of sky above us. Although it was cloudy, the light was still bright. It was only early afternoon. ‘Can we keep going? I am so close to being able to understand what it is this plant can do.’

And so we’d resumed.

It was a relief to lose myself in the pure essence of plants such as comfrey, the sweet-scented melissa, periwinkle and the beautiful tri-coloured flower, heartsease.

Whether grinding these plants into potions or ointments or simply studying them to extract their properties, they offered me an escape that being in the casa didn’t allow. Over the weeks, I’d learnt to mine the essence of the plants and distil them to their most rudimentary form. Whereas Baroque told me that comfrey was used as a poultice to mend broken bones, I was able to discover that when I drew on its essential components alone, I could distil its quintessence in different ways. Candles infused with a little comfrey
worked to heal broken relationships as well, to make whole what had once been fractured emotionally or physically. Once the Maleovellis realised the effects of these candles, they began to burn them whenever they had the chance, working hard to re-establish old friendships, encourage partnerships. As the candles melted, so had the hardened hearts of those who once swore never to associate with the Maleovellis again.

Periwinkle, used to staunch blood, became valuable for expelling negative thoughts. Burning a comfrey candle beside one infused with a concentration of periwinkle made an irresistible combination. Nobiles entered into colleganzas with the Maleovellis, banishing their lack of enthusiasm for an association, keen to establish new and fruitful relationships with a house and family they once thought all but finished.

When tiredness overcame the household, I burnt candles suffused with a new seed that had been brought back from the provinces of Phalagonia and which Signor Maleovelli believed would make their fortune – the cacao plant. Baroque had managed to smuggle a few back from the docks to the casa for me to experiment with and I discovered that they banished fatigue, providing those who inhaled the candles with unnatural energy. As the days flew by, I relied on these more and more.

My life fell into a pattern – one that, for the time being, I could not see altering but with which, for the most part, I was content.

W
HEN THE REST OF THE FAMILY
retired to their rooms to relax for the afternoon, it was time for me to go down to Baroque. I was just waiting for Hafeza to arrive. She’d
recently taken to escorting me whenever she could. It was because of Jacopo. Lurking in the corridor outside my door had become his favourite pastime; that is, when he wasn’t occupied with another task. Not even Giaconda’s terse warnings had stopped him. I was grateful for Hafeza’s company. Jacopo, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, made me nervous.

I closed the window, latched it and crossed to the bed. I strapped my zoccoli back onto my feet. I had eaten very little at lunch, despite the five tempting courses that had been presented. I was too excited. I knew that today Baroque was bringing a special plant for me to work with. Today we were trying something that would both stretch me and test me to my limits.

Hafeza knocked just as I tied the last ribbon around my ankle. I rose to my feet, shook down my skirts and waited. Impatient, Hafeza knocked again. ‘Enter!’ I cried. I could not get used to having to give people permission to come into my room.

She opened the door and curtsied, waiting. I gave her an apologetic smile and walked as gracefully as I could into the corridor.

‘Buon giorno!’ I exclaimed as I entered the workshop.

Baroque muttered something in return. He was stooped over the bench, his hands busy pulling vials and other objects from his jacket. It always amazed me how much he was able to secrete around his body.

I glanced outside to ensure Hafeza had gone. I tied my work apron around my dress and dragged a candle closer, peering at what he’d brought. There were a few bottles filled with powders and liquids of different shades of yellow, as well as a large cutting from a plant, which he’d laid to one side. It had pretty green leaves, if somewhat wilted, that hid a profusion of bright-coloured berries. It also had purple,
bell-shaped flowers. I reached for it immediately, only to find my wrist gripped tightly.

‘Wait,’ said Baroque, and released my hand, pulling more objects from his pocket.

‘Why?’

‘You need to be cautious with that plant.’

I raised my eyebrows and said nothing.

‘It’s poisonous.’

‘Oh.’ My heart began to beat against my ribs.

‘It’s belladonna.’

‘That’s belladonna? This lovely plant?’ My lips curled. ‘It means beautiful lady – yet it’s deadly. Who named it? A Serenissian man, no doubt.’

Baroque’s mouth twitched. ‘You
are
spending a great deal of time with Signorina Maleovelli, aren’t you?’ He took in my dress. It was a ruby red today, not unlike the robes of the senators. ‘I’m serious. It’s toxic.’

My smile disappeared.

‘Touch it carefully; remember not to extract too much. And, when you’re ready, tell me what its effects are. Why it’s so lethal.’

With less haste I picked it up, allowing the weight of the head to bow over my fingers. I inhaled sharply as sensations of great sleepiness and utter exhaustion almost overwhelmed me. I wanted to find somewhere to rest my head and shut my eyes. Instead, I pushed through this and allowed myself to probe deeper, but cautiously, into the plant’s properties. What I sensed sent chills along my spine.

I put it down very carefully.

‘It kills. The plant is noxious. It can send people to sleep – but they may never wake. When it is used in other ways, death is swift and agonising.’

‘Sì,’ said Baroque. ‘When ingested in certain quantities. Now, perhaps, you won’t make silly jokes when I tell you to
be more careful.’ I didn’t respond. ‘Hmm. Now, I want you to touch it again. There’s more to belladonna than meets the eye. It doesn’t have to kill. It can also do many marvellous things. I want you to uncover what these are. Search its properties, identify what they can do, Tarlo, and tell me what you find.’

There was an edge to his tone that I couldn’t quite fathom. I wiped my sweating palms down the front of the apron. Slowly, I touched the petals of one of the flowers and allowed my senses to open to its effects once more.

My elbow began to twitch. I tried to manage it, but before I could, spasms began to twist my body. My knees shook. I felt my neck begin to jerk. ‘Steady.’ Baroque’s voice was loud in my ear. ‘Go further, deeper.’

I did as I was told, diving into the sensations. I wrested back control of my body. ‘You’re right. There’s something else here too, Baroque.’ Pictures of women picking these lovely plants filled my head, smiling women whose eyes sparkled and flashed like jewels. I saw them pounding the buds, the violaceous juices squirting. There was excitement, not caution. These women knew something, used the liquid for … I reached for it, but whatever it was eluded me. I withdrew and took a deep breath. I resisted the urge to stamp my foot. I was so close.

‘What is it?’ Baroque bent and examined my face.

‘I was almost there, Baroque. You’re right. The belladonna has many purposes and not all are bad.’

‘Then you have already learnt something very important.’ Baroque leant over the table. The candle flickered between us, throwing our silhouettes over the crushed belladonna, turning Baroque’s face into a dark prism. ‘Remember this, Tarlo. Even that which seems to serve only evil has another side. Good and bad co-exist. One may triumph over the other; it may be that you cannot find the good; you cannot
discover the bad. But they’re all there. Sometimes you just have to search hard to find the other. When you do, expose what’s there and use it for your own ends.’

I looked at Baroque for a long moment, then at the belladonna. Baroque’s eyes were fixed to mine.

‘You’re not talking only about the flower, are you?’

Baroque sighed. ‘I am talking about the world, Tarlo. About everyone and everything around you. As an Estrattore, you have the capacity to extract both good and evil, that which is heinous and what is decent. Sometimes, you just have to search hard, look deeply to find it. Sometimes, you have to make a choice.’

Baroque’s hand covered my own. I could feel the roughness of the skin, the precious metal in the band he wore on his middle finger. Without thinking, I began to extract.

His eyes widened. ‘Don’t!’ He pulled his arm away so fast he banged it against the mortar. Pain twisted his features and he nursed his hand under his arm. ‘What do you think you’re doing? That’s forbidden!’

‘Mi dispiace! I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t help it.’

Baroque slowly withdrew his hand and shook it a couple of times. ‘Of course you can help it. I see how careful you are all the time. I know you extract when you think no-one knows. But we do, Tarlo. We do. Your touch is still clumsy. We’re not made of wax, you know. We can feel you.’ He jabbed his chest. ‘Here. It hurts. Take what you want from the objects I bring, but leave
me
alone!’ He turned away.

I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. ‘How am I to trust you if you don’t let me
know
you?’