Fires of the Faithful (10 page)

I snatched his bow out of his hand. “Are you completely out of your mind?” I hissed.

“What’s wrong, teacher? I heard someone playing that song and thought it was pretty.”

“Well, you shouldn’t play it,” I said. “It’s an Old Way song. It’s wrong to play it.”

“So you’ve never played it?” he asked.

“Never,” I said.

“Then how come you recognized it, teacher?” Domenico tipped his head to look at me and gave me a half-wit grin.

“Everyone has heard them played,” I said. “But no one
plays
them. It’s forbidden.”

“Ah,” Domenico said. “I think I understand now.” He took the bow back and played an arpeggio. Still playing, he said, very softly, “Teacher, some strangers came to the conservatory this week. Who are they?”

“The Fedeli,” I said.

“Why are they here?”

“To make sure that we’re good,” I said. “So long as you’re good, there’s no reason to be afraid.”

“I’ve noticed that whenever someone tells me there’s nothing to be afraid of, it’s usually because there is,”
Domenico said. “And they’ve told us an awful lot of times now not to be afraid of them.” Domenico switched to a different key. “One of those strangers says he knows an old friend of mine. Did you know that I used to live in Cuore, teacher?”

“I’d heard,” I said.

“You make all sorts of strange friends in Cuore.” He stopped playing arpeggios and started playing scales, up and down, up and down. “You learn all sorts of strange tricks there, too. Like if you try to listen in on someone talking, and there’s music in the room, you can’t hear what the people in the room are saying.”

“Is that so,” I said. I picked up my own violin and joined him in the scales.

“Eliana,” Domenico said, and the half-wit student was gone. “Be careful tonight. The Fedeli want to make an example of
somebody
. I’d really rather that it not be you.”

I said nothing.

“Mira’s avoidance of magery will put her under suspicion. As her roommate, you’ll also be under suspicion. It wouldn’t take much more than that to convince them that you have something to hide.”

“What should I be careful of?” I asked.

“Don’t give them that look of horror you gave me at the evening meal yesterday. In fact, it’s probably best if you don’t make eye contact.” Domenico sighed. “I’ll keep you out of trouble if I can, but my friendship with the Fedele priest in Cuore will get me only so far. So watch your step.”

When the lesson was over, Domenico packed up his violin and left, complaining that my demands were unreasonable, my teaching was uninspiring, and my breath stank. As he hoisted his violin to his shoulder, he winked at me
and said, “Actually, you aren’t a half-bad teacher. You should consider going to work at a conservatory, once you’re done here.”

We ate the evening meal early that night, so that we could start the festivities as soon as the sun went down. Mira and I tied on our masks and wrapped our cloaks around us, because a bitter wind blew across the courtyard. From our room, I could hear the drums beginning—a slow, deep rhythm like the earth’s heartbeat. I wondered if Flavia was one of the drummers. Down in the courtyard, Mira and I found a bonfire; people were already dancing to the drumming, their bodies jerking in unison. There were boys in the courtyard, though few actually seemed to be dancing with girls. Mostly the boys were on one side and the girls were on the other. I didn’t see Celia, and I wondered if maybe she was over on the boy’s side.

In the firelight, with the crowd and the masks, it was surprisingly difficult to tell who was who. Mira clasped my hand, and we joined the dancers. No one was smiling, which was strange; one week ago, most of the girls would have traded their boots for the opportunity to spend a night dancing with the boy students. Now, though, everyone’s attention was focused on Galeria and Cassio—and everyone wanted to be sure to look devout. The drummers took turns so that they didn’t get tired, but the dancers didn’t have that luxury. Out of breath, Mira and I slumped briefly in the shadows, out of sight. “I can’t keep this up much longer,” I whispered.

“Yes, you can,” Mira said. “We’ll take breaks. You’ll make it.”

We rose and rejoined the dancers. Flavia was drumming now, and some other instrumentalists were joining in. I spotted Bella taking a spot beside Flavia and getting out her trumpet; as I forced my tired feet to move, I felt a surge
of jealousy. Violins weren’t well suited to this sort of thing, but trumpet music carried over the crowd.

Dancing to honor the Lord and the Lady was supposed to be spontaneous. The Lady asked us to pray with our bodies as well as our voices and our hearts, according to Mother Emilia; a scripted prayer was not sincere. That might be true, but sometime during the long, cold night, we began to move in a sort of unison: bounce to the right, bounce to the left. Right-bounce, left-bounce. It was all our exhausted bodies could manage. I could hear Bella playing the trumpet again—something appropriately syrupy—and then, suddenly, I felt a strange warmth surge through the crowd. For a moment, I thought I’d wandered into the bonfire’s warmth without realizing it. But the wind was still as cold as ever; it was a different sort of warmth that I felt—as if I had drunk hot wine. I touched my cheek, wondering if my face was flushed. Bella’s trumpet music was loud in my ears, and when I looked at her, I saw that her eyes were wide and bright behind her mask. I thought I saw light shining through her—shining out of her. And then Cassio snatched the trumpet from her hands and threw it to the ground.

Bella stumbled back a step. Behind her, Flavia’s eyes were wide, but her face was rigid. Mira squeezed my hand tightly.

Galeria stepped forward. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Bella.” Bella knelt to pick up her trumpet, then rose to face the Fedeli.

“Bella,” Galeria said. “The Lady has spoken to me, Bella. She has shown me the darkness inside you. There is a terrible, terrible darkness there.” Galeria’s voice was high, almost frightened. “A darkness that threatens to spill out of you, to infect others.”

Bella said nothing.

“You can still be saved, child,” Galeria said. “Swear your loyalty to the Lady, and all shall be well.”

For a moment, I thought that Bella was going to do it—that she would say whatever they wanted her to say. Then she threw back her shoulders. “I bear witness that the Lord and the Lady are false gods,” she shouted as loud as she could. “In the name of God, and Her Son, and Her Holy Light, I pledge my life to the truth, and nothing else!” She flipped the cross out from under her robe. “I am Redentore. If I must die for the truth, then so be it.”

Cassio yanked the cross from around her neck and threw it to the ground.
This is it
, I thought, and wondered if Mira would have a chance to steal a horse and get away, since Bella would be tortured and would undoubtedly name every one of us. But instead of binding Bella and taking her away, Cassio pushed Bella to her knees, then drew his knife and cut her throat.

Bella fell forward, and the students who had been dancing near the front leapt back from the gush of blood. Because of the crowd, I couldn’t see Bella as she died—I couldn’t see if she tried to make a cross on her breast, or if she grabbed for her throat as if she could stanch the blood. I clasped my own hands over my mouth, smothering my own cry of anguish.
This isn’t happening
, I thought.
This isn’t real. That isn’t Bella they just murdered—not Bella
.

“In the name of the Lady,” Cassio said, looking down at Bella, “I commend your soul to Her.”

I shuddered. The warmth I’d felt a few moments ago was gone, as thoroughly as a doused flame.

Cassio turned back to us. “Dance,” he said. “Tonight, we honor the Lord and the Lady.”

I might have fallen, but Mira clasped me around the
waist. “Do as he says, or we’ll all follow Bella,” she whispered. “Move your feet. They don’t expect enthusiasm—just obedience.”

I managed to shuffle my feet to the music. Around me, others did the same. Through the crowd, I saw Celia; she had turned her face to hide from the Fedeli, and her mask was wet from her tears.

I wasn’t crying, because I still couldn’t believe that Bella was really dead.

At dawn, the fire had burned down, and we were sent to rest for a few hours. The Dean announced that all lessons and rehearsals were canceled for the day. Mira and I made our way back to our room, and I collapsed onto my bed.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door. It was Flavia. She hadn’t taken her mask off, and her hands were shaking. “I saw them do it,” she whispered. “I was standing right there. I saw Bella die.”

I let Flavia sit down on my bed. “After they cut her throat, she was struggling to speak,” Flavia said. “Her body convulsed, and when she saw me, her lips moved. She wanted to tell me something. But I can’t read lips.”

“She probably just wanted to tell us to believe,” I said. I put my arm around Flavia, and she pulled off her mask, leaned her face against my shoulder, and cried.

There was another knock at the door. Giula, this time. “I can’t sleep,” she said. Her voice was flat and toneless; her face was expressionless. “I’ve been trying, and I can’t sleep.”

“Come lie down on my bed,” Mira said. “We’ll talk to you, if you need company.”

“Are they going to do that to all of us?” Giula asked.

“No,” I said. “They’re not going to hurt you, Giula. I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked.

I wasn’t, really—it just seemed to me like reassuring Giula as much as I could would increase the chances that we’d get through this without her losing her nerve. “Domenico told me that he thought they wanted to make an example of someone. Bella was their example. They don’t need to hurt anyone else.”

Giula shook her head, sinking down on Mira’s bed. “I can’t believe it,” she said, and I wasn’t sure if she meant that she couldn’t believe me, or if she meant that she couldn’t believe what had happened.

There was another knock at the door, and then Celia opened the door before Mira could let her in. Her mask dangled from her limp fingers, and her eyes were swollen. She closed the door and leaned against it. “They weren’t supposed to do that,” she said.

Flavia’s head snapped up. “Did you turn Bella in?” she hissed.

“No!” Celia said. “How could you
think
that? I haven’t told them
anything
!” She sat down on my stool. “But it doesn’t matter. They were supposed to give her a chance to recant—”

“They did,” I said.

“They were supposed to try harder than that,” Celia said. “They
wanted
to kill Bella!”

“Keep your voice down,” Mira said.

“I don’t understand it. Why would the Lady
want
Her servants to do that? Why?”

None of us said anything.

Celia looked at me, her red eyes meeting mine. She crossed her index fingers. “I swear that I will not go to the Fedeli to volunteer information,” she said. “I will not offer to name names, and I will do everything in my power to avoid betraying you.” She kissed her crossed fingers.

“Thank you,” I said.

Celia nodded once, then stood up and left.

After she had gone, Flavia sat up. “You know, she has a point,” she said. “If the Fedeli really thought that Bella was a heretic, why wouldn’t they have questioned her?”

I looked at Mira.

Mira shook her head slowly. “I don’t know.”

“They must have been afraid of something,” Flavia said. “I wish I knew what.”

We managed to sleep a little in midmorning, Flavia beside me and Giula beside Mira. We slept right through the bell summoning us to the midday meal. Shortly after the meal ended, there was a loud rap at our door. “What?” I called, raising my head from the bed.

“The Fedeli have ordered that everyone at the school report to the courtyard,” said a voice—one of the teachers, I thought. “Immediately.”

We piled out of bed, pulled on our boots, and grabbed our cloaks. Bella’s body had been removed from the courtyard; all that remained was a dark stain on the stones. The ashes of the bonfire had been swept away. The Dean and the teachers organized us into lines, as if we were in chapel—the boys on one side of the courtyard, the girls on the other. Mira, Flavia, Giula, Celia, and I stood together. At the end of the courtyard, Domenico stood with the Fedeli. I could see him smiling and joking, and my blood ran cold, even though I knew he wasn’t really on their side.

Once people had stopped coming out of the dorms, the teachers counted us twice, to be sure that everyone was there. Someone was missing—one of the boys—and it was determined after a few minutes of looking that he was in the privy, throwing up. He was escorted down to the courtyard with the rest of us. A freezing cold wind blew through the courtyard. I hugged my cloak around me, but
it didn’t help. Despite the sick fear in my stomach, I was very hungry. I had eaten nothing that day.

The Fedeli approached the first of the boys. “Make a witchlight in your hand,” Cassio said. Puzzled, the boy cupped his hand and summoned a feeble light. Galeria held out the symbol of the Lady, two linked circles worked in gold, and said, “Swear your loyalty to the Lady.”

“I swear that I am the Lady’s humble and obedient servant,” the boy said, and kissed the gold circles.

They moved on to the next boy, and made the same request.

Beside me, I felt Mira go rigid, though her facial expression didn’t change.

The Fedeli worked their way through the boys; no one balked at the request. Bella would have, though, I realized. Bella would have refused to swear loyalty. Even if she’d survived Mascherata, she would have been caught here, in the courtyard.

They made their way up and down each line of girls. The wind blew through the courtyard, whistling a little against the stones; I heard a door blow shut somewhere.

To my left, they had reached Celia. “Make a witchlight in your hand,” Cassio said. Celia made a light, her eyes staring straight ahead, past Cassio’s shoulder. “Swear your loyalty to the Lady.”

Celia took the symbol in her hand. “I swear that I am the Lady’s humble and obedient servant,” she said tonelessly, and kissed the circles.