S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

Ca’Cellibrecca laughed. “You’d have me disobey the Divolonte?

No, Dhosti. I’ve already called the Guardians to the chamber. You’ll be taken first to the Bastida, where Commandant ca’Rudka will oversee that your confession is taken and any other names given to us so we may interrogate them. Afterward, you’ll be brought before the Conclave A’Teni and the Guardians and the correct punishment will be meted out. Your disobedience to the laws will be made public, so everyone will know your shame when you are cast out from the Archigos’

Temple without your tongue or hands.”

A winter storm lodged in Dhosti’s gut, howling and freezing. His face was solemn and pale as he rose from behind the desk. The gardai around ca’Cellibrecca came to quick alertness, their hands going to weapon hilts. He knew that if he started to call the Ilmodo, if he began to move his hands in the pattern of a spell, they would strike. For a moment he considered whether that would be better, but he suspected that he would only end up wounded, not dead. This battle could not realistically be won. He could not prevail here: not at this moment. Not with the Kraljiki as ca’Cellibrecca’s ally.

No, there was only one feeble hope here and that was to flee so he could fight at a different time and place, when the odds might be better.

The Kraljiki would realize soon enough that he’d placed a dangerous snake on the throne of the Archigos.

If Dhosti were to be there when that happened, he would have to go to ground now. He would have to hide himself with those who might remain sympathetic to him. He hoped he’d given Kenne enough time.

Dhosti spread his hands wide as he backed away from the desk.

Once, you’d have been able to do this easily. Once, you wouldn’t have even needed to think about it.

But that had been so many years ago. Too many. .

The floor-to-ceiling doors to his balcony were open to admit the breeze from the plaza below, three stories down. There were balconies studding the outer wall of the building below, and a pole that flew the broken globe banner of the Concenzia Faith set to the right, half a story below. He’d stood on his balcony over the years and seen the possibility that he envisioned now: a running leap up onto the railing to get some speed, then a headfirst jump to the pole. Come in above it and catch it with reversed hands-let the momentum swing you around. Release just as you hit the banner-the fall from there would be somewhat blind because of the flag, but you should be able to reach the balcony directly below this one. Run out into the rooms there, into the main hallway and down the northeast stairway.

They’ll think you’re heading for the plaza, but keep going down to the tunnels under the plaza. You mapped out an escape route from the tunnels months ago, one you hope that those following you won’t know.

You could do it. Once upon a time. You only have to do it this once more.

Once more: for Ana, for Kenne, for the Kraljica, for those who believe as you do. But you can’t hesitate. You must have faith. Faith, Dhosti.

He could feel the doubt- you’re too old, Dhosti, and even back then you used the Ilmodo, even if you didn’t realize it. All that meditation before the performance you used to do, your hands moving through the routines. .

He forced the pessimism down and away.

He took a breath. He smiled at ca’Cellibrecca.

Then he turned and ran.

He heard the shouts behind him: as he jumped clumsily, grunting, to the marble rail around the balcony, as he bent his knees and tried not to look at the long fall to the flagstones below, as he narrowed his gaze so that all he saw was the pole below and to the side.

He leaped.

He’d forgotten the strange sense of freedom that came with falling, the feeling that he’d surrendered himself to the hands of Cenzi. The wind fluttered his robes, tore at the wispy strands of hair, teared his eyes. He seemed to move in slow motion-as he once had, his body remembering the necessary positions. He saw the pole and reached out, his tiny fingers snaring the cold metal, the shock of the impact trembling the flabby, ancient muscles of his arms. The weight of his body and the force of his motion ripped his right hand from the pole, his short legs flailing to one side. Dhosti gripped the pole desperately with his left hand, but now the skewed angle took his body sideways and out.

His finger slipped. He reached desperately for the banner there and found cloth. He dug his fingers into it as he started to fall again.

He heard the sound of ripping, tearing fabric. He was still holding onto the banner, but the piece he held tore away. He could see the colors in his fisted hand and he was falling free.

He had time only to pray to Cenzi that he would not feel the pain for very long.

Ana cu’Seranta

“Out of my way, woman!”

Ana heard the muffled shout from outside the doors as they rattled in their frames and were flung open. Kenne rushed in with Watha trailing him in wide-eyed panic. Kenne’s face was flushed and his hair was tousled and windblown. He panted as he touched clasped hands to forehead. “O’Teni,” he said, then had to stop for a breath. “You must leave. Now.” The panic in Kenne’s voice was palpable.

“Leave?” Ana frowned. “Kenne, what’s happened?”

He shook his head. “There isn’t time to explain. Ca’Cellibrecca just came with Garde Kralji to the Archigos’ office. The Archigos spoke a. .” Another pause, another hurried breath, a swallow. “. . code phrase he’d given me not long ago, just in case. You have to leave, have to hide. So do I.”

Ana blinked at the torrent of impossible words. “I’ll go to the Kraljiki. .” she began, but Kenne cut off her protest.

“Ca’Cellibrecca wouldn’t move against the Archigos without the Kraljiki’s knowledge. There’s no hope there. Ana, they ordered all the Numetodo executed.”

Ana’s hand went to her neck, but the stone shell wasn’t there, only Cenzi’s globe. “Karl. .” she husked.

“Ci’Vliomani’s vanished,” Kenne told her. “The Bastida’s in an uproar. But ca’Cellibrecca’s come to bring the Archigos before the Guardians of the Faith and the Conclave. Take what you can and flee, Ana.

They’ll be coming for us next. They’re already coming. We don’t have much time at all.”

“Flee? To where?” Ana was rooted where she was. She stammered, wild thoughts chasing themselves in her head. You could go to the Kraljiki.

Surely this is a mistake. He promised you. You gave him your body. “I need to talk to the Archigos.”

“You can’t .” Kenne’s hands gripped her shoulders. His face was very close to hers. “You can’t, Ana,” he repeated, softly. “They’ve taken the Archigos by now, or maybe he’s somehow managed to get away. Either way, he’s gone. He’s given us a little time to save ourselves, and that’s what we have to do.”

“Where are you going?”

“To friends I know. Out of the city. I can’t take you with me, Ana; it’s dangerous enough for them to take me in. You’ll have to find your own way-but whatever you do and wherever you go, you have to

do it now .” He released her. Over his shoulder, Ana saw Watha press her hands to her mouth and flee from the room. “I’m leaving, Ana. I promised the Archigos that I would warn you, and I have. Get out of here. Take only what you can grab. They’ll be coming for you at any moment.”

Ana had no answer. Kenne gave her Cenzi’s sign, touched her shoulder again gently, and left. She listened to his hurrying footsteps.

Somewhere in her apartments, someone was screaming in a high, thin voice. The sound jolted Ana from stasis. She ran to her room, shedding the green robe of the teni as she went. She dressed hurriedly in a plain tashta, and stuffed a carpetbag with some of her old clothing and a purse with a handful of silver siqils and a few gold solas. She could think of nothing else to take; everything in the apartment had been there when it had been given to her.