Fires of the Faithful (15 page)

I took the path out to the new-plowed fields, lighting my way with witchlight and keeping my eyes on the path. There would be couples out in the fields, honoring the Lady, and I had no wish to watch. The path led over a hill, with an olive grove beyond. As I reached the crest of the hill, I heard something—the beat of a drum.
Wham. Wham. Wham. Wham
. Somebody banishing the Maledori? I listened for a moment and heard the unmistakable rhythm of an Old Way song.

The drumbeat was coming from over the next hill. I stepped off the path and let my witchlight go out, picking my way quietly through the olive grove. The path led up a steep slope; I crept to the top of that hill and lay down on the damp earth, resting my chin on my arms as I looked down at the people below. They were also dancing, but the words they were singing were
not
to the Lady.

“Arka, v’Bara, v’nehora kadosha. Arka, v’Bara, v’nehora kadosha.” The chant was low and breathy. I didn’t recognize the tune.

There were perhaps twenty dancers in the circle, both men and women, with a violinist and a drummer in the center. The violinist wasn’t very good; he kept falling behind the beat and having to skip a note or two to catch up. The dance was simple, not too different from one of the dances I’d done earlier. Moving left:
skip, slide-skip, slide-skip, slide-skip
. Then right:
skip, slide-skip, slide-skip, slide-skip. “Arka,”
skip,
“v’Bara,”
skip,
“v’nihora,”
skip,
“kadosha.”

I caught my breath, realizing what I was watching.
Dancing
, I thought.
Of course
. The Redentore music had always made me want to dance.
But the Fedeli. Didn’t the Fedeli come here, as they came so many other places? How did they keep this secret?

The dance stopped and one of the women from the circle stepped forward. She signaled, and in unison each person knelt to touch the ground where they stood, then rose and crossed themselves. “B’shem Arka, v’barah, v’nehora kadosha,” the woman said, and everyone murmured, “Amen.”

She continued in the Old Tongue, but I couldn’t catch individual words. Everyone in the circle had clearly done this many times—they crossed themselves, knelt, and stood on cue. The woman—priestess?—leading the service raised her palms to the sky as if she were praying to the Lady, then gripped them into fists and pulled them down through the air.

One of the others from the circle stepped in to the center and picked up a white bundle from beside the violin player. The priestess lifted off the white cloth, revealing a silver platter with a chalice and a loaf of bread. She took the bread in one hand and the chalice in the other, and lifted them to the sky. “Iyt gufay,” she said, in a clear voice that rang across the misty field. “Iyt damay. Achal. Ashti. V’chaya ad alam-almaya.”

“Amen,” the others in the circle said, and crossed themselves.

The priestess took a sip from the chalice, then set it down and broke off a piece of the bread.

Behind me, in the olive grove, I heard the unmistakable high-pitched peal of Giula’s flirtatious laughter.

The dancers heard it, too, and froze. “Scatter,” the priestess hissed, and the dancers melted into the shadowed
fields. The priestess hesitated a moment longer, pouring out the wine onto the ground where the violinist had stood. “B’shemah,” she said. She looked up, and for a moment I thought she saw me; she looked straight in my direction. Then she followed the rest into the darkness.

“Giula,” a boy’s voice called from the olive grove. “Where’d you go?”

“I’m right here, Marco,” Giula said. She giggled again, then shrieked; Marco must have found her. Turning quietly, I could see them in the olive grove. Marco reached to circle Giula’s waist with his hands, and she dodged aside with another giggle, running over the crest of the hill and down to where the dancers had been. “I’m
sure
this isn’t the way back to the village,” Giula said.

Marco slid carefully down the hill after her. “What makes you think that was where we were going?” he asked. He drew her toward him and dipped his face down to kiss her.

Giula pulled away briefly, still teasing him, then kissed him back. Marco dropped his cloak to the ground, spreading it out, and reached to loosen the drawstring at the neck of Giula’s robe.

This was exactly the sort of thing I had wanted to
avoid
watching. I stood up quietly to head back through the olive grove and met Persco on the path.

“What are you doing out here?” Persco asked.

“I—” The explanation was too long to get into. “I went for a walk,” I said.

Persco gave me a careful smile. “I’m heading home now, if you’re ready for bed.”

“I am,” I said, and fell into step beside him. “I don’t know if Giula’s coming back tonight.”

Persco laughed lightly. “The door stays open on festival nights. Giula can follow in her own sweet time or watch the sunrise with Marco, if she prefers.”

I trailed Persco back out to his house, and he made up a bed for me by the hearth. “Sleep well,” he said. I fell asleep quickly, but roused several times during the night as the door opened and closed. I woke at dawn to find Giula curled up next to me. Persco’s wife was awake and making breakfast. I got up to join her. We were alone; on mornings after festivals, even farm families kept irregular hours.

“Good morning,” she said. “I’m Rafina; I don’t think we met last night.”

“I’m Eliana,” I said as Rafina served me a bowl of porridge. She looked familiar. When she looked into my face to give me my porridge, I realized who she was—the Old Way priestess I’d watched last night.

“You’ve come from the Bascio conservatory, haven’t you?” Rafina asked as she sat down to eat her own porridge. I nodded. “But you’re in robes, not new finery—why did you leave?”

“We were caught with boys,” I said.

Rafina looked up sharply, and I could tell that she didn’t believe me. I lowered my eyes and looked at my porridge.

“The Fedeli came to the Conservatory at Mascherata,” I said. “We’ve heard they went elsewhere in Verdia afterward. Did they come here?”

“Yes,” Rafina said. She said nothing more, but when she took my bowl, she stole a quick look at me with narrowed eyes, and I realized that she suspected
me
of being on their side. Her hostility was palpable, and for a moment, I was tempted to take out Bella’s cross and confess my own heresies to her. On the other hand, if the Fedeli returned, Rafina might well be arrested, and I didn’t want my name on the list they might tear out of her.

I wondered, if the Fedeli
had
been here, how the villagers had kept them from finding out about the Redentori. Perhaps the entire village was made up of apostates, who
all stood together and protected each other. If that was the case, they must have been able to justify pledging their loyalty to the Lady, or they’d all be dead.

It occurred to me that perhaps the practice had spread
after
the Fedeli came through.

In any case, Rafina seemed unlikely to discuss it with me. In the dawn sunlight through the windows, I stole another look at her, and she turned and looked me full in the face, as she’d looked at me last night. For a moment, even knowing how foolish it would be, I nearly told her everything. But then there was a rustle and a groan from the hearth as Giula started to get up. “Thank you for your kindness, signora,” I said.

“It’s nothing.” She rose, picking up a second bowl to fill with porridge for Giula. “The Lady has taught us hospitality. We know our duty.”

Giula moved slowly that day. I would have pushed her harder, if I hadn’t been so tired myself. My violin case felt like it was filled with sand, and I was tempted to eat all of my provisions right then to lighten my load. “We aren’t covering enough ground,” I muttered. It had only taken five days to walk from my home to Bascio when I came to the conservatory with my brothers; it was going to take me at least a week to get home now, maybe more. Hearing me, Giula quickened her pace for a few minutes, but we fell back to a slow trudge soon enough.

We were worn out by midafternoon, and started resting at every opportunity. “Where did you stay at night, when you came to the conservatory?” Giula asked.

“Houses. My brothers asked for hospitality.” Donato and Rufo had escorted me out; whenever we were well out of earshot of anyone, Rufo had made elaborate mock-threats about what he’d do if anyone refused us a comfortable bed.

“Did you ever stay at an inn?”

“When we passed through Pluma. They didn’t trust city folk.”

Giula smiled. “My father paid for an inn, every night.” I must have looked shocked. “We’d had a really good harvest that year. Also, he kept talking about how once I got into an orchestra, I could support them, send some of my stipend home.” Her face grew sober. “I hope he isn’t angry.”

“Are you the only musician?”

“The only good one,” she said with a giggle, cheerful again. “But, you know, I have a cousin who’s headed for the Circle. She’s …” Giula calculated for a moment. “… almost twenty. She just became a provisional member of the Circle; she’ll probably be a full member in another few years.”

I shivered; the air was growing chill.

“My mother was always jealous, of the money they got,” Giula said. “And my cousin didn’t have to go nearly as far away for her education.”

We don’t want your money; we want our daughter back
. The furious words of Mira’s mother’s letter echoed in my head.

“I’m the best in my family at magery,” I said.

“Me too, except for that cousin,” Giula said. “Why do you think that is?”

“Concentration,” I said. “We know how to concentrate. That’s all it really takes.”

“Is that really it? And they make it sound so hard and impressive.” Giula sniffed.

“Any sisters or brothers at the seminary?”

“Well …” Giula dropped her voice. “Actually, you know, my oldest brother was once a priest.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and it really looked like he might have prospects.
His first posting, well, it was a small town but it was close to Pluma. The word was, it was a posting that could lead to other things, if you know what I mean.”

“So what happened?” I asked.

“He and the priestess fell in love,” she said.

“So was this a problem?”

“It was a problem when the priestess got posted to the other side of Verdia.”

“Oh,” I said.

“And the new priestess was old, and ugly, and smelled like onions. He said. So he quit. And so did the priestess he was in love with. It was a bit of a scandal; it kind of embarrassed the people who’d done him favors, they were quite put out. So he moved away, and they settled down quietly. It’s been all right; they have four children now.” She smiled happily. “I thought it was terribly romantic, even if it was scandalous.”

I smiled too, thinking of Giula’s brother, wondering if he was as silly as she was. Probably not, if he’d been a priest with “prospects.”

Late in the day it started to rain, and we sought shelter in a roadside chapel. It was dimly lit and smelled of stale incense. We sat down near the door, trying not to drip water on the smiling icon of the Lady. Giula wrung out her skirt on the stone floor by the door. “What did you think of Rafina?” she asked.

“She was nice enough,” I said.

“I got the feeling she didn’t like me,” she said. “Do you think maybe Marco was her daughter’s sweetheart or something? I’d hate to think I made trouble.”

I was pretty sure that wasn’t the problem, but I rolled my eyes anyway. “Maybe you should have thought of that
before
you slept with him.”

“Why do you assume I slept with him? Just because you saw me flirting—”

“I overheard you in the olive grove,” I said.

“Well, what were you doing there?” she demanded indignantly. “Spying on me?”

I rolled my eyes again and tried to wring some of the water out of my robe. “The rain’s slacking off. We should get moving again,” I said.

“Oh, come on,” Giula said. “Let’s just sleep here.”

“I was hoping for a host who could feed us dinner,” I said.

“But I’m tired of walking,” Giula said. “I
know
you don’t want me to slow you down, but we’re not getting much farther today
anyway
and I don’t want to go back out in the rain just to
look
for a house.”

“Why don’t you pray to the Lady,” a man’s voice said from near the altar, “and if She sees fit, She will arrange shelter for you.”

We turned around. Our eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and now we could see a man sitting in the front of the chapel. He glared at us with dark, sharp eyes, and I shivered.

“Of course,” I said, edging away from him without meaning to.
What did he overhear?
I thought, trying frantically to remember exactly what Giula and I had said to each other. I raised my hands to the shadowed ceiling of the chapel and closed my eyes. “Lord and Lady, if You see fit, please see to it that we have a roof over our heads and food to eat tonight.”

“You see?” the man said. His voice was like the low, steady drone of a bass string instrument, smooth and silky. “She only wants what’s best for all of us. And tonight She must want for you to have food and shelter, for I will be happy for you to stay with me.”

Liemo—he reminded me of Liemo, the mage who had come to collect Mira. I was too frightened of him to refuse, and Giula gladly accepted—she was willing to go back out in the rain if his house was as close as he promised. Back in the last of the daylight, I got a good look at him. He wasn’t tall for a man—shorter than me, with no gray in his hair. Not at all like Liemo, really, but there was something in his voice, something in the way he carried himself, that said that he was a man accustomed to power. This was not a village priest.
No
, I realized as I recognized the insignia on the sleeve of his tunic. Fedele. He was one of the Fedeli.

Giula looked stricken as we trailed behind the man on the muddy path. I clasped her hand, trying to send her the message,
just smile and tell the same lies I do and everything will be fine
. Only one night, I thought. Let him do the talking.