Mother of Lies (47 page)

The priest went to the bier and covered his eyes to pray.

Speaker Quarina frowned at the Werist, then extended the frown to include Oliva. “Stand back, please.”

Oliva took a few paces backward. So did Purque—
thump, thump
—deliberately ignoring the hint that he should withdraw completely.

The justiciar bit her lip, but did not comment. She began the ritual. “Witness, who is that?”

The seer was male, surprisingly—a youngish man wearing a simple black robe and a white blindfold. When he spoke the formal reply, his voice was high-pitched and quavered with emotion that Oliva had never heard from a Witness before.

“This is our doge and he is dead.”

Quarina turned to the herald. “Let the trumpets sound.”

The scribes were already sitting cross-legged under the candles, producing clay and boards and styli.

It was finished. Oliva could leave. But when she turned to go, her path was blocked by scrawny Berlice Spirno-Cavotti wearing a strangely sly expression. Oliva and the Mutineer’s mother were definitely not on intimate terms and never had been, yet now the woman moved as if to embrace her. Oliva was too startled to dodge.

And even more startled by the whisper in her ear. “We bring wonderfully good news, my lady!”

Oliva recoiled.
Good
news? On this day, of all days?

“Oh, what is that stupid girl doing?” Spirno-Cavotti said loudly, gripping her arm and turning her. “Do go and speak to her, my dear.”

Her dear?
Her servant was furtively heading for the columns and the rain-washed darkness beyond, still clutching her washing. Speaker Quarina was dictating something utterly incomprehensible to the scribes. The Werist was watching the proceedings. Berlice’s eyes were urging:
Do as I say!

Too bewildered or battered to argue, Oliva said, “You, girl! Where are you going? Come here!” She strode toward the girl, who edged away from her instead of responding to the summons. Oliva caught up with her in the shadows near the columns and found herself looking at eyes full of tears, set in a face strangely familiar. Her long-dead sister Pina? No. Just a chance resemblance. It could not possibly be—

“Mama!” A whisper. Then brazen trumpets began to wail from the palace roof, strident screams in the night. Echoes rang back from the temples and mansions of Celebre. The air in the hall seemed to tremble as the city itself cried out its loss. Now the girl could speak louder. “I’m Fabia, Mama! The Witness is Dantio. Chies is safe. Benard is well, but chose to stay in Vigaelia. He’s a wonderful sculptor. And Orlad, I mean Orlando—he’s probably out there in the grounds, but he’s a Werist, so that ice devil mustn’t see him. I must go and warn them, er, him!”

Fabia? Chies? Benard? …
Werist?
Now Oliva recalled Piero’s strange rambling discourse on the night Marno Cavotti had broken into the palace:
Remember we used to say Orlando was the fighter?
he had said. And that Fabia had looked just like her. Had the gods been speaking through the dying doge?
The Winner.
He had said that much later. Their children had been returned to her, but not to him.

It seemed to Oliva then that the hiss of rain swelled to a roar and the floor tilted under her feet. The Witness sprinted across the hall and caught her before she fell. The candles faded for a moment, then came back. She stared in disbelief at the two young people holding her. The girl, so like her younger self. The boy had lifted his blindfold and was smiling, yet his eyes were bright with tears. She knew him now.

“Dantio! My son!”

“We’re back. We’re all well, all your children.”

Too late!
she thought. Just a pot-boiling too late. No, half a year or more too late. Piero would not have known them had they come even in late summer. Their arrival now would do little good, but at least they were home, safe. The priest and the herald arrived to help. Dantio replaced his ritual blindfold. They carried her to the black-draped throne and sat her on it, ignoring her protests. The priest went back to mumbling prayers. Berlice smirked surreptitiously from the far side of the catafalque: what sort of double game was she playing? Trying to find the winning side? Quarina was still dictating her gibberish to the scribes, but she kept flicking amused glances toward the group around the throne. She must be in on the secret too; she had brought the Witness.

“Must go and warn Orlad,” Fabia whispered.

“No,” Dantio said. “They’re watching from the bushes. That Werist is suspicious. They won’t come in while he’s there. He’s worried, too. Why is the Werist so worried?”

“Stralg,” Oliva said. “He thinks Stralg is on his way.”

Dantio groaned. “Oh, is that who I keep seeing on the periphery?”

CHIES STRALGSON

would never have found the Eligio place by himself—not without going to cottage doors and asking directions, and he was very reluctant to do that with Aunt Saltaja at his side. She was too memorable, too unpredictable, too unscrupulous. There would be dogs, perhaps even the sort of violent men who would kill strangers to steal their chariot, and he certainly did not trust his chthonic powers to defend him. Not yet, at least.

As it turned out, Saltaja knew exactly where to go. “How do you do this?” he demanded. He had much to learn.

“I asked the Mother, of course. Sleep on the cold earth or near it, and pray Her to send you the right vision. Shed a little blood first, if it’s important. She will teach you. Turn left after the ford.”

It was dark when they arrived. He did not see the buildings until he almost drove into a rail fence. He reined in with a yelp of surprise. No dogs barked.

“You’re not trying,” the hag grumbled. “Chosen can see in the dark. Go and fetch the man. Control him and bring him.”

Chies squeaked, “I can’t do that! I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do. You’ll never learn until you try. I’ll hold the reins. Go!”

He peered down at where the ground must be but saw nothing. It was a murky night, with rain beating on trees overhead, black as tar under them. Chosen could see in the dark? Not this Chosen. He tried a quick prayer.
Holy Mother Xaran, let your servant see in the dark.
Still nothing.
So that I may serve you? Please?
Ah, that was better! He did not understand. No spooky goddess-light shone around him, yet he could now see the ruts and puddles and heaps of dung. He jumped down and headed for the house. Now he knew it was true. Sesto had not died in vain. His death had made Chies one of Her Chosen—able to prowl the night, control people, cast the evil eye. Also, liable to be buried alive. Better not to think about that bit.

Still no dogs. Sesto had said this Eligio man was a rebel agent, so he might not want dogs barking in the night to alert neighbors. Faint candlelight showed through grass cloth shutters. Chies began to raise a fist and was suddenly frozen by terror. Who would answer his knock? A gang of huge horrible hulking Werists? Cavotti himself could be lurking in there! Chies could imagine what would happen if he tried to put the evil eye on someone like the Mutineer. A giant like him would break his neck with one hand. He felt ill.

Yet a worse danger was waiting behind him, out there in the chariot. Maybe he should just run away from both of them? He could be home by morning. No, he did not think that would work. His aunt was not a very patient woman. He must do this!

Holy Mother give me courage … to serve You.
Serve Her how? He had given Her Sesto. But that had been the admission fee. What else would She want? He drew a deep breath.
Holy Xaran, tonight I really will take the woman. I will Control her myself, or them, if there’s more than one. I’ll get it up and bounce them, I swear. Let me control the men in here and I will rape the women, to your honor. I will be worthy of my father, mighty Stralg!

That thought gave him a great surge of excitement, and he rapped his knuckles hard against the planks.
Evil comes calling.

The chink of light under the shutter disappeared. He heard a step, a rattle of chain. The door opened a crack. No light showed. He could see an eye looking at him, and suspected an extrinsic would not see even that. The homeowner spoke first.

“Is that you, Gievo?”

Eeee!
Gievo? Who was Gievo? Gievo was a password, that’s what! And Chies didn’t know the other half of the code. Again he almost panicked. His knees trembled with an overpowering urge to run. How could he put the evil eye on someone he could not see?
Oh, Mother!
But probably the man could see him.

“My chariot has a loose wheel …”

“Go away or I’ll call my brothers.” The door slammed shut.

In a panic, Chies uttered a silent scream:
Open that door!

Chain rattled. The door swung open. The man who stood there wore a Hero collar, but he was young and had only one arm and one eye. The eye was blinking rapidly, as if he did not know why he had just done what he had just done. A man with one arm couldn’t be too dangerous. He couldn’t even battleform.

“You will obey me.”

“Evil One take you if I do! You pox-faced, squint-eyed, overgrown little turd, you can stuff—”

You will obey me!

“I will obey you,” the man agreed. Then, even louder, “Why should I? What are you doing to me?”

“Be quiet!” Chies squeaked.

Silence.

“Call me ‘lord.’”

“My lord is kind.”

“You will not speak unless I tell you to. What is your name?”

“Eligio Lomotti, my lord.”

Enjoying himself now, Chies said, “Who else is in the house, Eligio?”

“Only my wife and children, lord.”

“Tell her to light some candles, and then you come with me.”

Chies headed back to the chariot. A moment later he heard a crash behind him as the man stepped in a rut and fell headlong. An outburst of lurid oaths ended abruptly. When he scrambled up, covered with mud or worse, Chies took his wrist and led him the rest of the way to the car.

“You deal with this and the guanacos and then come back to the house.”

“My lord is kind.”

“Come, Aunt, I’ll carry you myself.” He would not have tried that even yesterday—he had been making Sesto do all the heavy work—but he was a Chosen now and thought his abilities ought to include some manly strength. Saltaja did not object when he went to lift her, and was no great burden to carry to the cottage.
Aha!

The house was a better peasant kennel than others he had seen on his travels. The first room boasted a table and stools, a big stone fireplace, and two doors leading to other places. Metal pots sat in with the crocks on a shelf, and nets of roots ands dried fruit hung from the beams. Lingering food scents made his mouth water. Tiles on the floor were a real luxury.

The girl had lit half a dozen candles, probably about two sixdays’ normal usage. She was cowering in a corner, hugging a weepy infant. Another brat clung to her leg. Chies set his aunt down and went to the girl. She glanced up in fear and he had her.

“You will obey me, no matter what I tell you to do.”

Her eyes glazed. “I will obey you.”

She was a lovely thing, with curly hair and milk-swollen breasts. He felt tremors of excitement under his chlamys, the sort of reaction Babila produced in him. He’d never had any trouble bouncing her! Yes, tonight would be good. This one’s husband was a rebel. He deserved to have his wife raped. He deserved to have to watch.

“Call me ‘darling.’”

“Darling?”

“As if you meant it. Better. Now kiss me like you kiss Eligio.”

She put down the brat, clasped Chies’s face between her hands, and pushed her mouth on his, exploring with her tongue. Mmm! Wow! Eligio was a lucky man. When she paused for breath, Chies debated priorities, then decided he was too hungry to enjoy anything else before he ate. Sex could wait. “I want food, lots of it. The woman needs soup and help eating it.”

Saltaja had found a seat by the hearth and was leering horribly. “Think you can get it up this time, sonny?”

Oh, gods!
He should have guessed that he had not been fooling her.

“She’s going to make up for all the others.”

“No reason why not, if that’s what you want. There’s not much you can’t do now, lad, as long as you keep pleasing the Mother.”

“Would a good rape please Her?”

“Of course. And a dead rebel in the morning?”

Gulp!
“Why not?” Chies preferred to think about the first part of the program, but Papa would expect him to kill a rebel.

While he ate, he learned that her name was Carmina. If she was one-sixth as good in bed as she was as a cook, then he wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight. Eligio returned and put the two brats to bed. One of them was colicky. Chies told it to shut up and it stopped wailing instantly. Growing tired of the hatred blazing in the Werist’s eye, he ordered him to go out and stand in the rain until the mud washed off. The man obeyed without a word.

When Chies was done eating and about ready to take Carmina to bed, Saltaja told him to call Eligio back in, they had business to attend to. The rancher was soaked, of course, and grinding his teeth with fury, although he did not say anything. Sesto had been much more subservient. Chies still had much to learn about Control.