Fires of the Faithful (14 page)

I
’m leaving,” I said.

Domenico looked at my travel sack and the red wool knotted as a belt around my waist. “You aren’t thinking of going after her, are you?”

“No,” I said. “I want to go home.”

“I know you’ve always hoped to play in Cuore,” Domenico said. “Don’t think that you wouldn’t have other options.”

I shrugged. “As a scholarship student, I am supported by the Circle.” I paused for a moment to steady my voice. “I don’t want their money. And—” I paused again. “I want to tell my family what caused the famine.”

Domenico nodded slowly. “Be careful,” he said. “There were people executed last fall in Cuore for their heresy against the Lady’s Gift.”

I nodded and started to leave.

“Wait,” Domenico said. He took a small leather pouch out of his desk drawer and dropped it into my hand; it had a meager but solid weight. I started to refuse, but he closed
my hand over it. “You’ll need this to get home,” he said. “You’d have gotten a stipend next year, anyway.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Tuck it well out of sight when you pass through cities,” Domenico said.

“I will,” I said. I started to leave again, then turned back. “Did you know?” I asked.

“No,” Domenico said. “We all knew that Mira had never been a seminarian, but we also knew that she paid in coin. No one wanted to look too closely.” He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Do you think we should have tried to find out?”

I felt the tears I’d been holding back rise to my eyes. “No,” I whispered. “I just think she should have hidden better.”

Domenico turned his face away. I started again for the door, but Domenico reached out and pulled me quickly into a rough hug. He whispered something in the Old Tongue, and then let me go. “Be careful, Eliana,” he said. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

I left Domenico’s study before he could make me cry again.

An hour later, I had food and a blanket; my spare robe was tucked into my sack, along with the letters from my family and a few other personal things, and my violin was slung across my shoulder. I took one other thing—the box of Mira’s letters. I told myself that I had to take them so that no one else would find them. Her violin was gone. I checked under Mira’s pillow; the whistle was gone, too.

It was almost noon when I shouldered my pack and turned toward the gate. The road sloped down the hill, past the dorm, the chapel, and then the north practice hall. I stepped briefly inside the north practice hall, standing in
the ensemble hall where I’d played the Old Way songs with the others, and where I’d sat with Mira those two nights when she was ill. Sunshine filtered in through the cracks in the walls, illuminating the one fresco that hadn’t crumbled away. I studied the image—a terrified-looking young man clutching a faint glow to his chest. I assumed it was Gaius with the Lady’s Gift, though again it seemed a strange depiction of Gaius. “You had it right, though,” I whispered. “You were right to be afraid. Damn you for bringing us that sort of gift at all.”

Back outside, I heard someone shout, “Eliana, wait!”

I turned to see Giula running toward me. She carried a pack as well, and I could hear the jingle of a coin pouch from somewhere under her robe as she ran across the courtyard. “I’m coming with you.”

“Giula, don’t be—”

“I’m coming
with
you,” she said. “My family deserves to know about what caused the famine, just as yours does. Even if you don’t care for company, would you leave me to travel alone?”

“You’d be a fool to leave,” I said.

“And you aren’t?” she asked.

“You don’t have my reasons.”

Giula shook her head, stubborn. “I have my own reasons.” She shifted her pack on her shoulder. “Our villages lie in the same direction. I’m coming with you.”

“You’d better not slow me down,” I said.

She snorted. “You’re just as soft as I am. Don’t worry. I won’t slow you down.”

The brown dust road wound out of Bascio and around the curve of the hill, and then the conservatory was hidden from view. Bascio’s silver-green olive groves spread out before us, with the deeper green of evergreen forest beyond.
The sky overhead was blue, fading to white at the horizon. We could just make out the next village, rising on a hill far ahead. Maybe we could walk there by evening.

Giula and I sat down under a tree after what we reckoned to be about an hour. It probably hadn’t been that much; wishful thinking was making the sun seem lower in the sky. “I think my boots don’t fit right,” Giula said. “They’re giving me blisters.”

I was starting to get blisters, too, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “You’d just better not slow me down,” I said again.

“Tell me when you’re ready to start walking again, and I’ll be ready.” Giula rubbed her shoulders. “My violin never seemed this heavy before.”

“I’m ready,” I said, standing up, and Giula groaned and pushed herself up, bracing her back against the tree we’d been sitting under.

“Eliana?” Giula asked as we started walking again. “When did you realize that Mira was a member of the Circle?”

“Yesterday,” I said. “When they came for her.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Giula said. “Why did she leave with them, if she hated them so much?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I brushed at my eyes. “After she used magery, she just folded in on herself.”

“What happened in your room?” she asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, but Giula looked so sad and hurt when I said that, I hunched my shoulders and gave her a brief version.

“I still don’t understand,” she said when I had finished.

“I don’t either.”

“You must have known more than any of us,” Giula said. “She was your best friend.”

“I knew that she’d never been a priestess,” I said. “That’s all.”

Giula gave me a look of hurt surprise—that I would have known, and not told her—and I looked away.

“Magery causing the famine,” Giula said, when we paused to rest again. “Do you suppose that’s what the Wicked Stepmother song was about?”

I thought about it for a moment. “The stepmother would be the Lady, I suppose. The poisoned honey kills each child—” I blinked, and counted verses quickly. “Each child represents one of the provinces,” I said. “You’re right. That is what it’s about.”

Giula laughed shakily. “Whoever wrote the song sure didn’t want anyone figuring that out.”

“They wanted a song that people would be able to sing,” I said, thinking of Domenico’s warning about the people executed for slandering the Lady. “I bet it spread a long way before the Fedeli figured it out.”

“It’s too bad I didn’t think of it before we left,” Giula said. “I bet Flavia would have liked to know that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. Isolated at the conservatory, it hardly mattered whether Flavia knew or not.

As the afternoon light faded, we stopped to ask for hospitality at a farmhouse. A big bearded man threw the door open wide. “Welcome, strangers,” he said. “You’ve picked a good night to stay with us.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s the night of the planting festival. Come in and rest your feet for a while. The boys are building a bonfire in the piazza. We can join them once it’s dark.”

A festival celebration was the last thing I wanted that night, but it was too late to go back to the last village. And besides, that would have been rude. The village’s name
was Bosco. The planting festival was one of the not-quite church-sponsored festivals that so many villages had, asking for the Lord and Lady’s blessings on the just-planted crops.

Our host’s name was Persco. He led us to the piazza as night fell, enthusiastically introducing us to his neighbors. Wine flowed freely, and we were quickly made to feel welcome.

“Hey,” a young woman said to me, gripping my hand and drawing me to my feet. “The dancing’s starting.”

“I have blisters—” I said.

“It’s easy, don’t worry,” she said, pulling Giula to her feet as well. She led us over to a circle of young women. The older women—mothers and wives, I suspected—surrounded our circle and sang for us, clapping. “Blessed Lord. Blessed Lady. Send us sun. Send us rain. Send us children, send us husbands. Blessed Lord, Blessed Lady.” I listened intently. The words were new—but the tune was an Old Way melody, I was certain. I wondered if the Fedeli had skipped this village, or if it just hadn’t occurred to them that they were dancing to the Old music.

“Come on,” the girl next to me said—I still didn’t know her name. She pulled me to the right, and I stumbled as the dance started. I craned my neck to stare down at her feet, trying to match my movements to hers. Giula followed behind me, even more clumsily.

“Right-behind. Right-behind,” the girl said as we stepped around the circle. “It’s easy. Just run in the right direction.” That was easy enough, and I started listening to the music instead of watching the dancers. “Now in,” the girl said abruptly, and I was lost again. She hauled me along unsympathetically, two steps toward the center of the circle, then back out. Everyone else seemed to know the dance; Giula and I were the only odd ones out. I tried to
follow along, clumsy and off the beat. At least I hadn’t stepped on anyone’s foot yet.

“I’m just getting in the way,” I said.

“No, you’re not,” the girl insisted. “It’s easy. Now to the right again.”

Following along now, I felt a bit better. The dance was sinuous and hypnotic, with the scores of young women stepping in unison around the circle. Dancing in Bascio had always looked a bit more free-form. Giula was catching on more quickly than I was, smiling as she spun through the circle like a spindle of thread.

“Good dancing!” the girls around me said encouragingly when the dance ended. They clasped my arms and passed me a wineskin.

“Do you think this is all right, Eliana?” Giula whispered. “The music—the Fedeli—”

The girl who had brought us into the dance overheard Giula. “The words honor the Lady,” she said. “How could it not be all right?”

Giula ducked her head.

“Go sit down if you want,” the girl said, and Giula withdrew timidly. “What’s your name?” the girl asked me.

“Eliana. Yours?”

“Tercia.” She gave me an easy smile and tipped her head toward the circle. “Let’s go dance some more.” Despite Giula’s worries, she rose eagerly to dance when she realized boys would be dancing too, this time.

A circle of men and women danced around the fire next. The village priestess threw rose incense into the bonfire, and the smoke billowed out sweet and sticky over our dancing. None of the dances were terribly hard, once you had the rhythm right. “Just keep on the beat and go in the right direction,” Tercia said, and my mistaken steps didn’t seem to interrupt the dance. Finally my feet hurt too much
to continue, and I sat down at the edge of the circle, Giula dropping out as well to sit beside me.

“Hello,” a young man’s voice said. I looked up. Two boys, one fair and one dark, stood looking down at us.

“Hi,” Giula said, looking up with a shy smile. I averted my eyes nervously and said nothing. They both grinned at Giula; she was prettier than me, anyway.

“What’s your name?” the dark-haired one asked her.

“Giula,” she said, tucking her chin down and looking up past her lashes. “What’s yours?”

“Marco. What’s your friend’s name? She’s acting shy.”

“Her name’s Eliana.”

My cheeks flamed. I couldn’t bring myself to look up, although I knew that the fairer-haired boy was still looking at me. My shyness was ridiculous, which only embarrassed me more. If I’d stayed home, I would probably be married by now. Listening to Giula giggling, I half-wished I’d tried flirting a few times. I didn’t even know what I was supposed to
say
to a boy.

“Eliana? Hello, Eliana.” The fair boy’s deep voice sounded almost taunting. I gave him a quick glance up and a tight smile. He was handsome enough, in a freckled sort of way. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hello,” I said. I was trying hard not to sound nervous, and I realized as soon as the word was out that I sounded hostile instead.

“My name’s Gino,” the fair boy said. He sat down close beside me; I fought the urge to edge away. “Are you from the conservatory?”

“Yes,” I said.

“We just left today,” Giula said.

“We thought so,” Gino said. “Because of your clothes.” Giula laughed and tilted her head so that her short-cropped
curls spilled over her shoulder. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home,” Giula said. “We live south of here.”

The boys’ faces grew sober. “Are you sure you want to go there?” Marco asked. “Most people are trying to leave.” He caught her arm, gently. “You’re better off up here.”

Now Giula ducked her head. “I have to go back.” She sighed, and looked at me, but I stared at the ground. “I have to.”

There was a nervous pause. Then Giula gave Marco one of her sweet smiles that showed her dimples. “But not until tomorrow,” she said, and looked up at him, doe-eyed.

As Giula flirted with Marco, Gino slipped his arm around my shoulders. I froze rigid under his elbow, and after a moment he withdrew his arm awkwardly. “Are you enjoying the festival?” he asked me.

“I’m a bit tired,” I said, and he nodded, looking relieved. After a few minutes, he excused himself to find someone else to flirt with; I looked around to find that Giula and Marco had slipped away. Gone to honor the Lady, no doubt. I wondered if she’d come back here if she got pregnant, and wed Marco.

From the other side of the fire, another boy was looking me over. I felt my cheeks flame again and looked down, then slipped back into the shadow of one of the cottages. It was too early to go back to Persco’s house; he would be dancing here for hours yet. I was tired and wanted to sleep, but mainly I wanted to dodge the advances of the local boys.

I watched the piazza from my shadowed corner as couples paired off. The bonfire was burning down; Persco and some of the other men threw more wood on it. The girls
were still dancing, but their dance was faster now, and their feet moved in a complicated pattern of steps that I was certain I’d never be able to follow. Watching Tercia’s intent face as she concentrated on the dance, I was suddenly reminded of Mira; the wrenching pain in my stomach took me by surprise. I decided to go for a walk, away from the piazza and the boys and Tercia and the dancing. As long as I walked slowly I wouldn’t hurt my feet any worse.