Barsoom Tales I - COMPLETE
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Unattainable Ideal
Collette de Maynard ran for her life. Her bootsoles skidded over rain-slick cobblestones as she careened around a corner, cursing the name of Isaac del Valencia all the way.
Why the idiot thug couldn't have left well enough alone escaped her utterly. She'd been looking at lifelong wealth, honour and security until he chopped off Juan Antonio's hot-air-filled excuse for a head. The bastard. If he'd just waited a day, the King would have signed the agreement. By the time he found out about the affair his Queen was having with Juan Antonio, the deal would already have been in place. And Collette would be on a Salejo beach, reading congratulatory letters from Pilar del Orofin. Juan Antonio's mother.
But now Pilar had turned against her.
Collette ran. Pavairelle was a big city, and she knew a lot of people here, but the del Orofin family had a long, long reach. And Pilar was plenty angry about the death of her son. If Collette hadn't read correctly the glance from Fernandez, she'd have gone straight to her room -- and been in bed when the two Kishak thugs broke in, instead of hiding on the opposite roof to see what might happen.
Paranoia. Collette cultivated it.
She raced past shuttered windows and into an alley, paused, heaving, watching carefully back the way she had come. The street glittered, empty and silent. Collette let her breathing slow down fractionally and then sprinted off again. She was sure somebody was watching her.
This wasn't the first time Collette de Maynard had needed to run for her life. She grinned to herself.
It probably wouldn't be the last.
*****
The thin Naridic man held back his sobs as he pinned the scrap of paper with one hand, writing madly with the other.
Dearest Child:
I have only a few moments to scribble these lines, and I can only hope that the Shaeric captain of the airship will deliver them to you.
Your brother is dead. The Emir's Hejani came for his students and he was shot down in his lecture hall. They have dragged his body away, I know not why.
My dearest, sweet Arrafin, my only consolation is that you are safe. All is chaos here. The al Gebel Library is burning, I can see the flames from here. The Kishaks have taken Sirhan and everyone says they will be here in a week. The Emir has gone mad -- he sees spies everywhere, especially among the intellectuals. I am afraid that I (and your brother, and you, Arrafin) are part of that group he suspects so much.
Thanks to Mullah that your mother did not live to see this!
Do not return to Al-Tizim, child, until I write to you that it is safe. I will be staying with our old friend Sarras, at his home, for the next while. With Kateb gone I can't go home.
If anything happens to me, Sarras will let you know. He will look after you if I am no more.
Go with the wind, child. I love you.
Your father,
Reyhan al Fasir beni Hassan
Still containing himself, Reyhan folded the paper and handed it to the bold Shaeric waiting. "Take this to the del Maraviez house in Pavairelle," he said, "They will find her."
Later, sounds of violence in the streets outside, huddled with his old friend, Reyhan lost his composure. The death of his son overwhelmed him. He prayed for Arrafin.
*****
Countess del Istanzic rocked in her carriage as it spun up from the Docks to her estate in Palace District. She smiled in smug satisfaction. A deal that let her make a vast sum of money, irritate the del Maraviez, weaken King de Beliard and put the most feared mercenary company in the world in her debt was a deal to be savoured.
In a matter of days the Sunset Hope would arrive, bearing its stolen cargo of del Maraviez muskets. Once the money from the Dark Talons arrived, she could have the guns shipped to them and their mutiny against King de Beliard of the Gap. The del Maraviez robbed from. The King embarrassed and destabilized. The Dark Talons grateful to her. And thousands of florins pouring into her lap.
She leaned forward and pulled aside the curtain, watching the night-time streets rattle by. The alleys seethed with dark figures. Except for the main streets, Wharf District had become choked with Naridic refugees, fleeing the advancing Kishak armies in the deserts to the south. Bodies sleeping in doorways or camped in alleys had become commonplace. A squad of Kishak soldiers stood at a corner, kicking a ragged bunch of refugees as she watched.
If tensions continued to mount here the way they seemed to be doing everywhere else, soon Pavairelle would be seeing riots and looting. The Jeddakar's troops were getting more unpopular by the day, while Prince del Viandour's favour with the citzenry grew and grew. The Countess leaned back in her cushions and wondered how she would be able to make a profit off it all.
*****
The emeralds would work. The very very old man smiled.
His was not a pleasant smile. Not the kindly smile of a loved grandfather. Not the confident smile of man who knows of what he speaks. Matai Shang's smile raised hairs on the backs of necks, made dogs growl and whine, and, quite possibly, curdled milk.
A child began to scream nearby.
Matai Shang sat, wizened and nearly helpless, perched amidst a great mechanical construct of legs and levers and spines, looking like a gigantic steel spider. Shang had not been able to walk unaided for centuries. His mind still burned with feverish intelligence, and he cackled as his schemes began to unfold.
The little girl's pleading rose high and then cut off. Blood sprayed. Unsightly minions grovelled and cringed. Shang ignored them.
The table before lay strewn with charts and calculations, and he surveyed the work with satisfaction. The emeralds would work. His calculations were indisputable. All that remained was to build the device, test it, and then use it against she who had most unwisely rebelled against him. Scars still ached within him at the memory of her treachery, even as the image of her beauty triggered blind desire.
He would possess her again. Yuek Man Chong, the Demon Goddess, would be his once more.
Shackles rattled, iron on stone. Another child was drawn forth. The stink of blood and urine filled the air.
Matai Shang, very very old, surrounded by death and pain and foulness, began planning his victory.
*****
Kimiko lowered her knife and pointed at Kendorik. The crowd shrieked in delight.
Kendorik, ever graceful, bowed to her and cleaned his rapier, turning his back on his gasping opponent. He joined his friends, the portly Captain Staznoyan and the towering Yshakan woman Mallitza, accepted their congratulations, and made his way off down the street. Kimiko Torokan, High Blood Sister of the Pavairelle Sanctuary, sheathed her wavy-bladed knife and watched the lithe, profoundly handsome man walk away.
Her face gave no sign of her inward appreciation of Kendorik's fine appearance. In her high-collared, shimmering kimono of blood-red silk, Kimiko had long since ceased to display any emotion whatsoever, as befit a member of the Blood Council. She watched Kendorik's unfortunate opponent sag, his breath shortening as the end of his life bore down upon him. Duelists' Street was as ever packed with shoppers, gossipers, drinkers, dancers, singers, tradesmen and waiters and at times it seemed like everyone in Pavairelle was here, wandering between stalls and sidewalk cafes, under the spreading cherry trees that shaded the long, curving boulevard.
Another victim of the handsome duelist's sword. Kimiko turned her icy gaze on the poor man's supporters, nodded to her attendants and strode away from the scene. The duel was over. The Blood Council was no longer needed here.
Why the idiot thug couldn't have left well enough alone escaped her utterly. She'd been looking at lifelong wealth, honour and security until he chopped off Juan Antonio's hot-air-filled excuse for a head. The bastard. If he'd just waited a day, the King would have signed the agreement. By the time he found out about the affair his Queen was having with Juan Antonio, the deal would already have been in place. And Collette would be on a Salejo beach, reading congratulatory letters from Pilar del Orofin. Juan Antonio's mother.
But now Pilar had turned against her.
Collette ran. Pavairelle was a big city, and she knew a lot of people here, but the del Orofin family had a long, long reach. And Pilar was plenty angry about the death of her son. If Collette hadn't read correctly the glance from Fernandez, she'd have gone straight to her room -- and been in bed when the two Kishak thugs broke in, instead of hiding on the opposite roof to see what might happen.
Paranoia. Collette cultivated it.
She raced past shuttered windows and into an alley, paused, heaving, watching carefully back the way she had come. The street glittered, empty and silent. Collette let her breathing slow down fractionally and then sprinted off again. She was sure somebody was watching her.
This wasn't the first time Collette de Maynard had needed to run for her life. She grinned to herself.
It probably wouldn't be the last.
*****
The thin Naridic man held back his sobs as he pinned the scrap of paper with one hand, writing madly with the other.
Dearest Child:
I have only a few moments to scribble these lines, and I can only hope that the Shaeric captain of the airship will deliver them to you.
Your brother is dead. The Emir's Hejani came for his students and he was shot down in his lecture hall. They have dragged his body away, I know not why.
My dearest, sweet Arrafin, my only consolation is that you are safe. All is chaos here. The al Gebel Library is burning, I can see the flames from here. The Kishaks have taken Sirhan and everyone says they will be here in a week. The Emir has gone mad -- he sees spies everywhere, especially among the intellectuals. I am afraid that I (and your brother, and you, Arrafin) are part of that group he suspects so much.
Thanks to Mullah that your mother did not live to see this!
Do not return to Al-Tizim, child, until I write to you that it is safe. I will be staying with our old friend Sarras, at his home, for the next while. With Kateb gone I can't go home.
If anything happens to me, Sarras will let you know. He will look after you if I am no more.
Go with the wind, child. I love you.
Your father,
Reyhan al Fasir beni Hassan
Still containing himself, Reyhan folded the paper and handed it to the bold Shaeric waiting. "Take this to the del Maraviez house in Pavairelle," he said, "They will find her."
Later, sounds of violence in the streets outside, huddled with his old friend, Reyhan lost his composure. The death of his son overwhelmed him. He prayed for Arrafin.
*****
Countess del Istanzic rocked in her carriage as it spun up from the Docks to her estate in Palace District. She smiled in smug satisfaction. A deal that let her make a vast sum of money, irritate the del Maraviez, weaken King de Beliard and put the most feared mercenary company in the world in her debt was a deal to be savoured.
In a matter of days the Sunset Hope would arrive, bearing its stolen cargo of del Maraviez muskets. Once the money from the Dark Talons arrived, she could have the guns shipped to them and their mutiny against King de Beliard of the Gap. The del Maraviez robbed from. The King embarrassed and destabilized. The Dark Talons grateful to her. And thousands of florins pouring into her lap.
She leaned forward and pulled aside the curtain, watching the night-time streets rattle by. The alleys seethed with dark figures. Except for the main streets, Wharf District had become choked with Naridic refugees, fleeing the advancing Kishak armies in the deserts to the south. Bodies sleeping in doorways or camped in alleys had become commonplace. A squad of Kishak soldiers stood at a corner, kicking a ragged bunch of refugees as she watched.
If tensions continued to mount here the way they seemed to be doing everywhere else, soon Pavairelle would be seeing riots and looting. The Jeddakar's troops were getting more unpopular by the day, while Prince del Viandour's favour with the citzenry grew and grew. The Countess leaned back in her cushions and wondered how she would be able to make a profit off it all.
*****
The emeralds would work. The very very old man smiled.
His was not a pleasant smile. Not the kindly smile of a loved grandfather. Not the confident smile of man who knows of what he speaks. Matai Shang's smile raised hairs on the backs of necks, made dogs growl and whine, and, quite possibly, curdled milk.
A child began to scream nearby.
Matai Shang sat, wizened and nearly helpless, perched amidst a great mechanical construct of legs and levers and spines, looking like a gigantic steel spider. Shang had not been able to walk unaided for centuries. His mind still burned with feverish intelligence, and he cackled as his schemes began to unfold.
The little girl's pleading rose high and then cut off. Blood sprayed. Unsightly minions grovelled and cringed. Shang ignored them.
The table before lay strewn with charts and calculations, and he surveyed the work with satisfaction. The emeralds would work. His calculations were indisputable. All that remained was to build the device, test it, and then use it against she who had most unwisely rebelled against him. Scars still ached within him at the memory of her treachery, even as the image of her beauty triggered blind desire.
He would possess her again. Yuek Man Chong, the Demon Goddess, would be his once more.
Shackles rattled, iron on stone. Another child was drawn forth. The stink of blood and urine filled the air.
Matai Shang, very very old, surrounded by death and pain and foulness, began planning his victory.
*****
Kimiko lowered her knife and pointed at Kendorik. The crowd shrieked in delight.
Kendorik, ever graceful, bowed to her and cleaned his rapier, turning his back on his gasping opponent. He joined his friends, the portly Captain Staznoyan and the towering Yshakan woman Mallitza, accepted their congratulations, and made his way off down the street. Kimiko Torokan, High Blood Sister of the Pavairelle Sanctuary, sheathed her wavy-bladed knife and watched the lithe, profoundly handsome man walk away.
Her face gave no sign of her inward appreciation of Kendorik's fine appearance. In her high-collared, shimmering kimono of blood-red silk, Kimiko had long since ceased to display any emotion whatsoever, as befit a member of the Blood Council. She watched Kendorik's unfortunate opponent sag, his breath shortening as the end of his life bore down upon him. Duelists' Street was as ever packed with shoppers, gossipers, drinkers, dancers, singers, tradesmen and waiters and at times it seemed like everyone in Pavairelle was here, wandering between stalls and sidewalk cafes, under the spreading cherry trees that shaded the long, curving boulevard.
Another victim of the handsome duelist's sword. Kimiko turned her icy gaze on the poor man's supporters, nodded to her attendants and strode away from the scene. The duel was over. The Blood Council was no longer needed here.
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
First off, it's not "this demon goddess". It's "The Demon Goddess". She gets cranky. And believe you me, you do NOT want to make Yuek Man Chong cranky.
But as to connections... ah, that would be giving away too much, now, wouldn't it?
But as to connections... ah, that would be giving away too much, now, wouldn't it?
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
Etienne felt a sudden sting in his fingertip. He looked down to see a tiny needle, tip glistening, extended from the lock on the cover of the book.
"Oh, crap."
Arrafin frowned as the half-Kishak collapsed. After poking him a couple of times, she looked worriedly around the room, went to the door and peered down the hall.
No one. Etienne lay motionless on the carpet. Chewing nervously on her lower lip, Arrafin made her way down the hall to where she could hear voices. The carpet under her feet grew warm as she stepped into the sunlit office where two Saijadani people were glaring at each other.
"Um. Etienne fell."
Marques and Isabella turned to look at the slight Naridic girl. Barrel-chested and dressed in Pavairelle style, with a brocade waistcoat, three-quarter cloak and soft boots with the tops turned down, Marques del Maraviez smiled warmly, lines crinkling in the corners of his eyes. Marques had come to Pavairelle twenty years previously, with the intention of simultaneously expanding the del Maraviez fortune and staying as far from Las Familias politics as possible. He had largely succeeded at both. The del Maraviez house in Pavairelle, where Arrafin now stood (and Etienne now lay), was one of the finest residences in the city, a four-story square of white marble in the Saijadani style, with an open courtyard in the center. It was also a peaceful house; the feuds and vendettas that laced the Familias in Saijadan had almost no impact on Marques here, far from the homeland.
Isabella was a different sort. Tall and thin, predatory with her dark eyes and sharp nose, Isabella del Maraviez, Marques' niece, gave very little indication of friendliness. Still in her early adulthood, Isabella had risen far in the family hierarchy, largely due to her uncanny ability to predict (and take advantage of) political shifts and trends. Her dark gown and lace collar gave her elegance but no warmth.
Marques frowned at Arrafin's words.
"Is he alright?"
"I don't know. He won't wake up. I don't think so."
Marques charged from the room and back down the hallway, shouting alternately for the doctor, his guard and Etienne. In seconds a small crowd had gathered in the library, watching the doctor attempt to revive the young man. Marques fretted. His expression cleared as Etienne groaned and the doctor rose to his feet.
"It's poison. I've administered an antidote, but he'll need bed rest for several days. How did this happen?"
Arrafin, a little intimidated by all the people around, pointed at the book. The doctor peered and nodded.
"Aha. Some sort of trap on the lock."
Marques whirled on the Naridic girl.
"What's in that book?"
"I don't know. He... Etienne was trying to open it."
One glance at the book and Marques drew his rapier, bringing the pommel down smartly on the lock. With a metallic crack the lock shattered and the book fell open.
"What the... What is that? Is that even writing?"
Arrafin studied the strange markings, her fingers drifting over the characters.
"I think it's Lohanese. I don't know for sure, though, and this, here, this looks like some kind of mathematical..."
Arrafin's voice trailed off. It WAS math. The pages were filled with formulae more complicated than anything she'd ever encountered. And Arrafin was something of an expert at math. She was better than anyone she knew, even her brother Kateb, at math. But these formulae, these calculations... they lingered just beyond her ability to understand.
Whatever this book was, nothing had ever been more important to Arrafin than to learn the secret of the mathematical truths it represented. She entirely forgot everyone else in the room, entranced by the play of familiar symbols amidst all these unknown characters. Numbers raced through complex patterns across pages and pages of dense theorems and operations.
These calculations MEANT something. Arrafin was sure of it. She had to understand this.
"Can anyone translate this?"
She was not aware of the commanding tone suddenly taking over her voice. Marques was watching the doctor and two house guards take Etienne out the door, but he turned at her question.
"Lohanese, you said? Why not take it to the Blood Council?"
Arrafin was down the hall, clutching the book to her chest and muttering to herself, before it even occcured to her to wonder if Etienne was going to be all right.
*****
Elena:
You have never met me, but I have been your protector ever since that second night you left home. The night of your wedding.
You must believe that your departure was no accident, though neither was it by anyone's particular design. You have, through no fault of your own, become a pawn in a game in which the pieces are often casually discarded. The danger to you is great, present and I can no longer protect you. Your enemies have learned of your existence from me, and their plans depend on your destruction.
The floor was wet. Elena shuffled her boots, controlling her squeamishness at the slick, oily feel of the filthy floorboards. She knocked again, more insistently this time.
Believe that I would not frighten you in this way had I any other option. There is a secret society spanning the world that has put into motion forces beyond your imagination. Once I myself was a member, but I fled their embrace the same moment you fled your wedding celebration. Now they have found me, and learned all that I know. I have escaped them again, but I do not flatter myself to think that I will be allowed to live much longer.
Doubtless I shall be dead by the time you read this. I wish I could advise you better. They must destroy you to prevent the fact of your existence from coming to light. Under other circumstances I might suggest approaching the Blood Council, or simply returning home to confront the situation there, but I fear they will have already moved to block those avenues to you.
The tenement building shuddered with shrieks and cries of anger, or of hunger. Children wailed. The stairs groaned with constant traffic, hollering pedlars, women swearing, and somehow the noise made the stink even worse. Elena longed for her farm, the clear water of the brook by the barrio.
Thoughts that brought her back to where she was and why.
There is something that may help you. Your host knows of a club run by a woman from his hometown. Go there, and ask for the Mystic whom you met before. You may get some questions answered, and I hope receive some help.
I wish you good luck. I am aware of how useless that sounds.
Blood Sister Nariko Masamori
Elena cursed the Blood Council. Whoever this Sister Masamori was, she had no right meddling like this. The idea of secret societies and vast forces made her sneer. The idea that anyone could be interested in a perfectly ordinary farm girl from New Castille was one only a fool would entertain.
She knocked again and promised herself this would be the last time.
She thought of that terrible vision, or whatever it had been, of seeing herself marrying Daniel. Herself, but not her. Plain as day, standing there at the altar, and everyone clapping. Not a dream or some fevered hallucination. She had seen herself.
There had to be an explanation. If Katir Shoran had it, then Elena decided she'd wait here all day. This was the address the club owner had given her, and Katir Shoran was the name. She'd wait here all day.
She didn't have to. The door opened and a tiny lady, crinkled and stiff with age, peered up at her with alert eyes. Without speaking the Kishak lady gestured for Elena to enter.
"Sister Masamori sent you."
Elena started as the words entered her head without sound. She nodded.
"Do not speak. Those who seek you can command the senses of beasts and the memories of vermin. A mouse will not understand what you say, but it will remember the sounds and these people could withdraw the words from the animal's mind."
The apartment was much more presentable than the conditions outside had indicated. Elena sat on a threadbare but clean sofa and watched in amazement as the old lady made her way to the kitchen, only to emerge with a plate of strange, glistening items that were evidently food of some sort. With a cautious smile, Elena took one.
"Masamori saved me from the fate our enemies have planned for you. I know what happened. You discovered that you had been replaced, is it true?"
Elena could only nod. It was a kind of cookie. It was good.
"The same with me. I was taken immediately afterwards, I know not where, to a prison where other women, women of all races, were kept. The prisoners included Saijadani, Hinsuan, Lohanese, Naridic and Kishak. But the guards were all Lohanese. Masamori was one of them. They had us raped, over and over, by men, also of all nationalities. If we became pregnant they took us out, to a comfortable room, until we'd given birth. Then we were returned to the cells. To the rape."
"You understand? They were breeding us."
Elena opened her mouth and the old woman lashed out with her cane.
"Do not speak. Now they are seeking you. Sister Masamori has hidden you but she is discovered now and you are at risk. She has asked me to help and I will."
With shaky hands the old woman removed a heavy iron pendant from around her neck. Elena reached forward to take it.
"Never take this off. While you wear it, you cannot be found by sorcery."
"There's no such thing--"
Elena winced. The cane was hard and the old woman was a lot stronger than she looked.
"You have seen what you have seen and you insist there is no sorcery? You know better than that, Elena de los Santos."
*****
Isaac had always hated formal wear. Just the idea of attending a ball was enough to make him break out in six kinds of uncomfortable sweat. But having to stand perfectly still while a bunch of strutting fools made a mockery of his appearance was something he would never have borne had it not been Isabella who'd insisted.
Though he had to admit, he was beginning to wish Marques del Maraviez was their boss. The older man seemed a sensible enough chap, and was generous enough with his brandy and cigars to earn Isaac's approval. Staying in the del Maraviez house was no great hardship.
He glared as the two bodyguards, Dominic and Vladimir, entered. Big guys, no question. And devoted to their job of protecting the man of the house, who of course followed them in.
Marques grinned.
"Isaac, you'll be the belle of the ball."
Isaac growled. Marques laughed.
"Be a good sport, son. Enjoy your youth while you have it."
The del Maraviez moved to a window and looked down at the street, smiling at Dominic as the big man moved to a flanking position. The smile remained as he pointed to the door.
"Out. All of you. No, not you, del Valencia."
When it was just Isaac and Marques, the older man sighed.
"I knew your grandfather, Isaac. We fought together against the Kishaks, with Ramon. Your grandfather, he put together the counter-espionage group, did you know that? The sneakiest, meanest, nastiest bastard I ever did meet. We were good friends."
Isaac frowned as Marques seemed to search for words.
"We fought Nevakada agents. For years. There's nothing nastier than intelligence work in wartime... "
Again the old man paused.
"They killed my son. Long ago. Now, well, Consuelo and I are too old for children now. Etienne... The boy is like a son to me, now. I..."
Isaac swallowed as Marques looked up, smiling.
"Look after him, del Valencia. I can't lose another son."
*****
"They're insane. All of them. Completely insane."
Isabella laughed. Nevid shook his head, oblivious to the startled looks of the servants. Their cold, forbidding mistress laughing? Unheard of.
"Elena thinks she has magic powers. del Valencia wants to kill every del Orofin in the world. That Arrafin girl... she's the craziest of them all."
"Magic powers?"
Nevid took a deep breath. He couldn't have Isabella thinking he was losing his mind. THEY were the crazy ones. Not him.
"I'm just not sure that being with these people is such a great idea. I don't feel like I'm contributing much to the Family."
"Listen to me very carefully, Nevid."
Isabella leaned forward and steepled her fingers, resting her elbows on the tabletop. The office seemed to grow darker, colder, as she studied the young man across the table from her.
"These people matter. They're important. Important to the Family, and important to Saijadan. I need you to stay with them. I need someone I can trust telling me what they're doing."
"But why-- "
Nevid fell silent as Isabella held up a hand. Her chair scraped on the tiles as she sat back.
"In time, Nevid. You will be a member of the Family soon. Then I can explain more. Until then, trust me."
Nevid looked up into unreadable dark eyes. He nodded.
"Yes, Isabella."
"Oh, crap."
Arrafin frowned as the half-Kishak collapsed. After poking him a couple of times, she looked worriedly around the room, went to the door and peered down the hall.
No one. Etienne lay motionless on the carpet. Chewing nervously on her lower lip, Arrafin made her way down the hall to where she could hear voices. The carpet under her feet grew warm as she stepped into the sunlit office where two Saijadani people were glaring at each other.
"Um. Etienne fell."
Marques and Isabella turned to look at the slight Naridic girl. Barrel-chested and dressed in Pavairelle style, with a brocade waistcoat, three-quarter cloak and soft boots with the tops turned down, Marques del Maraviez smiled warmly, lines crinkling in the corners of his eyes. Marques had come to Pavairelle twenty years previously, with the intention of simultaneously expanding the del Maraviez fortune and staying as far from Las Familias politics as possible. He had largely succeeded at both. The del Maraviez house in Pavairelle, where Arrafin now stood (and Etienne now lay), was one of the finest residences in the city, a four-story square of white marble in the Saijadani style, with an open courtyard in the center. It was also a peaceful house; the feuds and vendettas that laced the Familias in Saijadan had almost no impact on Marques here, far from the homeland.
Isabella was a different sort. Tall and thin, predatory with her dark eyes and sharp nose, Isabella del Maraviez, Marques' niece, gave very little indication of friendliness. Still in her early adulthood, Isabella had risen far in the family hierarchy, largely due to her uncanny ability to predict (and take advantage of) political shifts and trends. Her dark gown and lace collar gave her elegance but no warmth.
Marques frowned at Arrafin's words.
"Is he alright?"
"I don't know. He won't wake up. I don't think so."
Marques charged from the room and back down the hallway, shouting alternately for the doctor, his guard and Etienne. In seconds a small crowd had gathered in the library, watching the doctor attempt to revive the young man. Marques fretted. His expression cleared as Etienne groaned and the doctor rose to his feet.
"It's poison. I've administered an antidote, but he'll need bed rest for several days. How did this happen?"
Arrafin, a little intimidated by all the people around, pointed at the book. The doctor peered and nodded.
"Aha. Some sort of trap on the lock."
Marques whirled on the Naridic girl.
"What's in that book?"
"I don't know. He... Etienne was trying to open it."
One glance at the book and Marques drew his rapier, bringing the pommel down smartly on the lock. With a metallic crack the lock shattered and the book fell open.
"What the... What is that? Is that even writing?"
Arrafin studied the strange markings, her fingers drifting over the characters.
"I think it's Lohanese. I don't know for sure, though, and this, here, this looks like some kind of mathematical..."
Arrafin's voice trailed off. It WAS math. The pages were filled with formulae more complicated than anything she'd ever encountered. And Arrafin was something of an expert at math. She was better than anyone she knew, even her brother Kateb, at math. But these formulae, these calculations... they lingered just beyond her ability to understand.
Whatever this book was, nothing had ever been more important to Arrafin than to learn the secret of the mathematical truths it represented. She entirely forgot everyone else in the room, entranced by the play of familiar symbols amidst all these unknown characters. Numbers raced through complex patterns across pages and pages of dense theorems and operations.
These calculations MEANT something. Arrafin was sure of it. She had to understand this.
"Can anyone translate this?"
She was not aware of the commanding tone suddenly taking over her voice. Marques was watching the doctor and two house guards take Etienne out the door, but he turned at her question.
"Lohanese, you said? Why not take it to the Blood Council?"
Arrafin was down the hall, clutching the book to her chest and muttering to herself, before it even occcured to her to wonder if Etienne was going to be all right.
*****
Elena:
You have never met me, but I have been your protector ever since that second night you left home. The night of your wedding.
You must believe that your departure was no accident, though neither was it by anyone's particular design. You have, through no fault of your own, become a pawn in a game in which the pieces are often casually discarded. The danger to you is great, present and I can no longer protect you. Your enemies have learned of your existence from me, and their plans depend on your destruction.
The floor was wet. Elena shuffled her boots, controlling her squeamishness at the slick, oily feel of the filthy floorboards. She knocked again, more insistently this time.
Believe that I would not frighten you in this way had I any other option. There is a secret society spanning the world that has put into motion forces beyond your imagination. Once I myself was a member, but I fled their embrace the same moment you fled your wedding celebration. Now they have found me, and learned all that I know. I have escaped them again, but I do not flatter myself to think that I will be allowed to live much longer.
Doubtless I shall be dead by the time you read this. I wish I could advise you better. They must destroy you to prevent the fact of your existence from coming to light. Under other circumstances I might suggest approaching the Blood Council, or simply returning home to confront the situation there, but I fear they will have already moved to block those avenues to you.
The tenement building shuddered with shrieks and cries of anger, or of hunger. Children wailed. The stairs groaned with constant traffic, hollering pedlars, women swearing, and somehow the noise made the stink even worse. Elena longed for her farm, the clear water of the brook by the barrio.
Thoughts that brought her back to where she was and why.
There is something that may help you. Your host knows of a club run by a woman from his hometown. Go there, and ask for the Mystic whom you met before. You may get some questions answered, and I hope receive some help.
I wish you good luck. I am aware of how useless that sounds.
Blood Sister Nariko Masamori
Elena cursed the Blood Council. Whoever this Sister Masamori was, she had no right meddling like this. The idea of secret societies and vast forces made her sneer. The idea that anyone could be interested in a perfectly ordinary farm girl from New Castille was one only a fool would entertain.
She knocked again and promised herself this would be the last time.
She thought of that terrible vision, or whatever it had been, of seeing herself marrying Daniel. Herself, but not her. Plain as day, standing there at the altar, and everyone clapping. Not a dream or some fevered hallucination. She had seen herself.
There had to be an explanation. If Katir Shoran had it, then Elena decided she'd wait here all day. This was the address the club owner had given her, and Katir Shoran was the name. She'd wait here all day.
She didn't have to. The door opened and a tiny lady, crinkled and stiff with age, peered up at her with alert eyes. Without speaking the Kishak lady gestured for Elena to enter.
"Sister Masamori sent you."
Elena started as the words entered her head without sound. She nodded.
"Do not speak. Those who seek you can command the senses of beasts and the memories of vermin. A mouse will not understand what you say, but it will remember the sounds and these people could withdraw the words from the animal's mind."
The apartment was much more presentable than the conditions outside had indicated. Elena sat on a threadbare but clean sofa and watched in amazement as the old lady made her way to the kitchen, only to emerge with a plate of strange, glistening items that were evidently food of some sort. With a cautious smile, Elena took one.
"Masamori saved me from the fate our enemies have planned for you. I know what happened. You discovered that you had been replaced, is it true?"
Elena could only nod. It was a kind of cookie. It was good.
"The same with me. I was taken immediately afterwards, I know not where, to a prison where other women, women of all races, were kept. The prisoners included Saijadani, Hinsuan, Lohanese, Naridic and Kishak. But the guards were all Lohanese. Masamori was one of them. They had us raped, over and over, by men, also of all nationalities. If we became pregnant they took us out, to a comfortable room, until we'd given birth. Then we were returned to the cells. To the rape."
"You understand? They were breeding us."
Elena opened her mouth and the old woman lashed out with her cane.
"Do not speak. Now they are seeking you. Sister Masamori has hidden you but she is discovered now and you are at risk. She has asked me to help and I will."
With shaky hands the old woman removed a heavy iron pendant from around her neck. Elena reached forward to take it.
"Never take this off. While you wear it, you cannot be found by sorcery."
"There's no such thing--"
Elena winced. The cane was hard and the old woman was a lot stronger than she looked.
"You have seen what you have seen and you insist there is no sorcery? You know better than that, Elena de los Santos."
*****
Isaac had always hated formal wear. Just the idea of attending a ball was enough to make him break out in six kinds of uncomfortable sweat. But having to stand perfectly still while a bunch of strutting fools made a mockery of his appearance was something he would never have borne had it not been Isabella who'd insisted.
Though he had to admit, he was beginning to wish Marques del Maraviez was their boss. The older man seemed a sensible enough chap, and was generous enough with his brandy and cigars to earn Isaac's approval. Staying in the del Maraviez house was no great hardship.
He glared as the two bodyguards, Dominic and Vladimir, entered. Big guys, no question. And devoted to their job of protecting the man of the house, who of course followed them in.
Marques grinned.
"Isaac, you'll be the belle of the ball."
Isaac growled. Marques laughed.
"Be a good sport, son. Enjoy your youth while you have it."
The del Maraviez moved to a window and looked down at the street, smiling at Dominic as the big man moved to a flanking position. The smile remained as he pointed to the door.
"Out. All of you. No, not you, del Valencia."
When it was just Isaac and Marques, the older man sighed.
"I knew your grandfather, Isaac. We fought together against the Kishaks, with Ramon. Your grandfather, he put together the counter-espionage group, did you know that? The sneakiest, meanest, nastiest bastard I ever did meet. We were good friends."
Isaac frowned as Marques seemed to search for words.
"We fought Nevakada agents. For years. There's nothing nastier than intelligence work in wartime... "
Again the old man paused.
"They killed my son. Long ago. Now, well, Consuelo and I are too old for children now. Etienne... The boy is like a son to me, now. I..."
Isaac swallowed as Marques looked up, smiling.
"Look after him, del Valencia. I can't lose another son."
*****
"They're insane. All of them. Completely insane."
Isabella laughed. Nevid shook his head, oblivious to the startled looks of the servants. Their cold, forbidding mistress laughing? Unheard of.
"Elena thinks she has magic powers. del Valencia wants to kill every del Orofin in the world. That Arrafin girl... she's the craziest of them all."
"Magic powers?"
Nevid took a deep breath. He couldn't have Isabella thinking he was losing his mind. THEY were the crazy ones. Not him.
"I'm just not sure that being with these people is such a great idea. I don't feel like I'm contributing much to the Family."
"Listen to me very carefully, Nevid."
Isabella leaned forward and steepled her fingers, resting her elbows on the tabletop. The office seemed to grow darker, colder, as she studied the young man across the table from her.
"These people matter. They're important. Important to the Family, and important to Saijadan. I need you to stay with them. I need someone I can trust telling me what they're doing."
"But why-- "
Nevid fell silent as Isabella held up a hand. Her chair scraped on the tiles as she sat back.
"In time, Nevid. You will be a member of the Family soon. Then I can explain more. Until then, trust me."
Nevid looked up into unreadable dark eyes. He nodded.
"Yes, Isabella."
Ooooooo... Nevid down on the double cross. Why do I have the feeling he'll either end up killing Isabella or dying himself?
As for The Demon goddess, I made the same mistake with Zugmatoy. I kept calling her "the filthy goddess". Yeah, I didn't die too horribly.
Thanks for posting so much the last few months Barsoomcore. Very entertaining. Oh well, back to work.
-suzi
As for The Demon goddess, I made the same mistake with Zugmatoy. I kept calling her "the filthy goddess". Yeah, I didn't die too horribly.
Thanks for posting so much the last few months Barsoomcore. Very entertaining. Oh well, back to work.
-suzi
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
Ew. At least The Demon Goddess -- clean. Pretty, even. Which, when you're dying horribly, can be important.suzi yee said:
Clean? Really? She must be a daintier feeder than I imagined...
Loved the glimpse you gave us of the BBEG, by the way, but for my money, Madame Yuek is still the spookier of the two. Something about a woman who can be giggling like a schoolgirl one moment, and tearing someone's throat out the next just creeps me out.
Loved the glimpse you gave us of the BBEG, by the way, but for my money, Madame Yuek is still the spookier of the two. Something about a woman who can be giggling like a schoolgirl one moment, and tearing someone's throat out the next just creeps me out.
barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
Really? You think Yuek is spookier than Arrafin?Avarice said:
Huh.
Wait, I didn't mean that... No, uh, I mean, spookier than... Isabella? Laughter of Stones? Collette?
Seriously, Barsoom is not a world suffering for lack of BBEGAG (Big Bad Evil Guys And Girls). Lack of heroes, well, yeah, kinda. Thank heavens there's Nevid.
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