Eternally Yours (36 page)

The day was quiet, subdued. There were things that had to be done, animals that needed tending, apocalypse or not. Our work was hurried, almost silent, and very tense.

Many of us were too anxious to eat, but River insisted, going on about blood sugar and energy levels and whatnot. I picked at my sandwich, trying to get a few swallows down.

“We think our enemy is trying to wear us down, scare us—put us off-balance so that when they attack we’ll be considerably weakened,” said Joshua. His appetite hadn’t been dimmed—he was on his second sandwich.

“So far it seems like a good plan,” Jess said drily.

“Yes,” River agreed. “It does, doesn’t it? Joshua, Reyn, and
Daisuke, as our three most experienced fighters, have developed some countermeasures.”

“Oh good,” Brynne murmured. I wondered if she was still interested in Joshua or if the little swordsvaganza had upset her too much. After this life-or-death thing, we would have to chat.

“We will take turns keeping two people on watch in the cupola on the main building,” said Joshua.

“I didn’t know you could get up there,” Amy said.

“You can,” said River. “The glass has a film on it so that we can see out, but no one can see in. There’s a telescope up there, and someone will be on lookout at all times, with a partner to relieve him or her. I wish this had started before the trees began to leaf out—it would have been easier to see.”

“You need a Gatling gun up there,” I said, poking at a piece of bread.

“I wish,” said Reyn, and we met eyes for a second.

“We will also be doing some focusing exercises,” said Anne. “We need to be calm and alert—we can’t let fear fog our abilities.”

Too late, I thought glumly.

“We will be practicing spells of war,” Asher said simply. “Disarmament, subterfuge, illusion, and weapons.”

“In addition to these, we’ll keep as normal a schedule as possible,” said Solis. “We need to eat. The animals need care. We need to look as if we think the cars were just one more sally, but not like we’re actually prepared for war.”

You know, in addition to never caring enough about anything to want to fight for it, I also just don’t
like
war. Sometimes it brings people together, makes people rise to their finest hour, blah blah blah—but mostly it’s just really scary, incredibly destructive, and humanity at its worst. I hate it, don’t want to be around it, don’t want to experience it in any way. This totally justified my lifelong pattern of flight: It was so much easier and less painful. I mean, I was hating being part of this. Part of River’s troop.

But if I didn’t stay, I knew that there would be no more hope for me ever, and my life would be a grim, bleak, endless wasteland of despair and loneli—

Okay, okay, you’re right, that’s pushing it. Basically, staying
was
better, though it was harder and more painful. I hate life contradictions like that.

Reyn had written up a list of who would do what when—people were assigned to watch or lessons or practice, and then I noticed my name hadn’t been called yet. It was a little like being the last one chosen in school, though I don’t know what that’s like.

“Nastasya? Can you come with me for a minute, please?” River stood up.

“Sure.”

In the hallway River headed toward her office, and I saw that Ottavio was already inside. Jeezum, what now? Like my nerves weren’t rattled enough. Swallowing a sigh, I followed her. Her office was quite small, and with Ott taking
up much more than his fair share of space, I felt a little hemmed in.

Weirdly, River locked the door after us, turning the key slowly and silently.

Uh… what was going on?

Then River ran her fingers lightly along the underside of her desk. She said a few words, and the wooden side of her desk rose, like a hatch. I stared. I’d been in her office lots of times—I’d
seen
her pull those file drawers out. Silently she pointed, and I bent and looked. There were stairs going down into the darkness. This was a trapdoor to a hidden passage.

River reached in and flicked a switch. A dim string of lights illuminated at least twenty stairs. Ottavio motioned for me to go down.

“You first,” I whispered.

Dark gull-wing eyebrows slanted severely over his long, straight nose. But he went, swinging himself through the small opening and then standing up once he was on the stairs.

River gave me a nudge.

Okay, I’ve gone through underground tunnels before, like in France during World War II, and that speakeasy in Chicago. In general, they get my vote. They’re good things. But my very first experience with a hidden tunnel had been the night my family died. I’d been standing there in a burning room, my feet soaked with my mother’s blood, and I’d seen a
door open—a door I’d never seen or known about. My father’s steward and his wife had saved me. I’d snatched my mother’s broken amulet from the edge of the fire, wrapped it in a cloth, and tied the cloth around my neck so I would have my hands free. It had burned through the cloth and seared its image onto my neck, and that was my scar that will never heal.

This tunnel was really quite like my first tunnel.

“Go,” River urged.

This was
River
talking to me. Though I had no idea what this was about or what would happen now, I crouched down, went through the hatch, and stood up on the stairs. Ott was already twenty steps below.

Large eye hooks were screwed into the stone wall, and a thick length of rope swooped from hook to hook. I held on to the rope as I made my way carefully down the stone steps—they’re always stone, aren’t they?—feeling River right behind me.

Guess what. At the bottom of the steps there was a small room-size space, and from that space three tunnels branched. Each one darker than hell. I mean, kill me now.

“This is a Stephen King movie,” I said.

River patted my back. “No, my dear. This is your complicated, exciting, real life.”

Actually, doing dishes and milking cows was starting to sound pretty good about now.

“Who knows about these tunnels? Where did they come from? What do you use them for?”

“Just a few of us, so of course don’t tell anyone,” said River, answering my first question. “I started work on these when I first bought the property almost ninety years ago. I got them to where I wanted by the late sixties. I like having options.”

“Huh,” I said, trying to wrap my mind around this new development. “Ott? Aren’t you afraid of me knowing about this?”

His lips pressed together. I bet his jaws ache by the end of the day. Every day. “Yes, of course.”

“We made a bet,” said River. “So don’t let me down. I
will
share the pain.”

Well, now I was intrigued.

“They’re a maze,” said Ottavio. “So pay attention: Take the right tunnel. When it forks, you take the right tunnel again. In that tunnel you’ll see…”

My jaw dropped open as my brain scrambled to keep up, but River put a hand on Ottavio’s arm. “There’s an easier way, dear.”

Thus it was that Ottavio, king of the House of Genoa, and
moi
, heir to the Iceland house, and River had a group mind-meld.

We moved into the left tunnel, which was unlit. I felt a cool breeze wafting over my face and hair, so I knew this
wasn’t a dead end—there was circulation coming from somewhere. Quickly River drew a large, perfect chalk circle on the stone floor. Ott and I stepped into it, and River closed it behind her. It was much darker here, and Ottavio made a quick gesture with his hand at chest height. A small, crackly blue light ignited and hung there, in the middle of the three of us. I couldn’t see anything burning—the light existed by itself.

River smiled at my disbelief. “They call it witch fire,” she said. “You can even throw it at people.”

“That is
awesome
,” I said, staring at it. See?
This
is the stuff I wanted to be learning—not another freaking ointment you can make from mint.

Ott looked pleased with himself.

We held hands. River’s was cool and familiar, fitting into mine. Ott’s was large and steely. River murmured words to help us focus on the light and clear our minds. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted my brain synapses to be intermingling with Ottavio’s—but I had to trust River. I mean, I
had
to, right? Because if she wasn’t exactly what I believed she was, then my life truly would be over. I truly wouldn’t have anything to believe in, and I would have to call it a day.

I was getting to be definitely intermediate, if not advanced, at falling into a meditative state as fast as a sneeze. It felt like I’d taken only about five deep breaths when the dark walls receded into the distance. I felt warmer and more comfortable, and I saw River and Ottavio as if we were
standing outdoors somewhere in muted light. All of the weight and dread of the upcoming battle slipped off our shoulders like a heavy jacket.

I was anxious about Ottavio and reflexively shut down when I felt his consciousness edge mine. He shut down, too. River put on her patient face and slowly sang us both back into relaxing and trusting.

It was like being on a roller coaster, a slow roller coaster—I was both driving and being driven, watching myself take this journey even as I was experiencing it. Ottavio poked around in my memories a bit. I felt his solemnity at the deaths of my family, felt him accept who I was and acknowledge that if I ever learned anything and wasn’t a total screwup, I would be very strong indeed. He wondered if I had taken my family’s powers when they died, and of course I hadn’t—hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t known that it could be done.

I saw River’s and Ottavio’s shared memories—some joyous, like celebrating the festival of Saint George, patron saint of Genoa; some dark and evil, as River and Ottavio plotted against business associates and other people who had thwarted them. I saw Ottavio marry and his mortal wife dying of the plague. One of the plagues.

Roberto had once been spoiled, conniving, and jealous—I saw how he changed and became the family favorite. He had an inner sweetness as well as a deep appreciation for beauty. Ahem.

Joshua had been scarred and incensed when he learned of River and Ottavio’s plan to kill their siblings. Even then he’d been tall and lean, with an almost feral, hungry look and no softness or tenderness in him. River grew to love him fiercely, protectively. He would come back from some war, and she would take him in. His physical wounds healed quickly—it was his psyche that became more and more scarred. I felt her despair and concern.

Ottavio was the oldest, then River, then Joshua, Daniel, and Roberto. Daniel was the one somewhat lost in the middle. He lacked Ottavio’s stern attention to responsibility and didn’t share River’s generous strength. He disliked war and couldn’t fathom Joshua’s dogged need for battle. Daniel did like money, though, and proved a savvy investor and manager of the family fortune.

They were fascinating insights into the family, this ancient, powerful family that had come from all over the world to be together, to stand together through whatever happened.

Ottavio saw me losing my son, saw me poor and desperate, then beautiful and rich, then poor and desperate again; being hateful, being careless and selfish. He saw Sea Caraway and the original Nastasya, with a junkie’s pallid, bony face and harsh, black-lined eyes. He saw how I tried to drown all feelings, wall myself off. How I shied away from emotion like a cat from a fire. And he saw where I was now: how I was trying, wasn’t sure I would make it, didn’t want to let River down.

I saw River, Ottavio, and their brothers make a blood pact to be loyal to one another always.

I saw a younger, dark-haired River picking up a girl from a gutter—a horse and wagon had knocked her into the muck. She was in a servant’s worn clothes, and when River pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the girl’s face, the girl flinched. And then was astonished by River’s kindness.

My eyes went wide, and I drew in a quick breath as the girl’s face appeared: She was Eva Henstrom, long before I knew her. My mind flew back—she’d said a woman had helped her. Had she mentioned the woman’s name? I didn’t think so. But it had been River—six hundred years ago.

Ottavio turned to business: He went over the layout of the tunnels, again and again, until I could walk through them blindfolded and find my way out. Along the way he showed me sigils of concealment, illusion, fear—if someone was following me, they would feel an unexplained dread and become confused and panicky.

River also imparted what she could: spells of protection and also of attack. It started to feel like too much—I couldn’t take it all in; it would soon leak out of my ears. Would I remember any of it? I didn’t know.

Slowly we surfaced from our meditation. In some ways a mind-meld is like seeing people in their underwear—afterward you know them better, are embarrassed, and yet feel warmer about the vulnerability they shared. Plus it was exhausting, and I was starving.

I tried not to sway on my feet, feeling overwhelmed and perhaps exhilarated. River looked at Ottavio.

“Do you see?” she asked softly.

He nodded, looking at me. For the first time his eyes weren’t shooting black ice; he still didn’t like me, but he believed who I was and why I was here. He believed I wasn’t the traitor.

I swallowed. “I wonder if there are any gingersnaps left.”

River smiled and rubbed my arm. “Let’s go see.”

R
iver had a friend come pick up all the horses. She arranged with the farmer next door to let our two cows, the sheep, and the goats go through a gate onto his property, so they were off our land and pretty far away. Though our enemy had already targeted the chickens once, River hoped that in a big fight, they would seem too insignificant to bother with.

I was glad the animals were gone. The idea of something awful happening to them—of me having to know that something awful had happened to them—had only increased my fear, especially after Daisuke’s story of the hex barn.

This is what war is like: You pare down, try to keep your valuables safe, and brace for the worst. It was like that wagon train to California—in the beginning people took everything they thought they’d absolutely need and regretfully left behind the things they didn’t have room for. As the trail went on, they found they could live without many things that had seemed essential when they set out. Farther on, after fording rivers, enduring drought, after some of them died and some went crazy, they found they could do without even more.