Votive

Votive - By Karen Brooks

This one is for the beloved Sara (Douglass) Warneke,

with whom I have shared the best of times and the worst.

My dearest, most courageous, loyal and wittiest of friends –

thank you, lovely lady, for being in my life. Long ago,

Sara pushed me down the path, one she lovingly prepared for

me and many others, and for that (and for so much more),

I am forever grateful.

Votive: a small candle often burned during a religious or other ceremony

Votive: given or dedicated in fulfilment of a vow or pledge

Votive: dedicated, consecrated, offered, sacrifice


My candle burns at both ends;

It will not last the night;

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends –

It gives a lovely light!

Edna St. Vincent Millay

‘First Fig’





‘BY THE GODS! STOP!’

Katina stumbled into the clearing. Blood soaked the front of her shirt. Debora and Alessandro cried out and raced to her side. She shook them off and stared in horror at the spectacle before her. ‘I said, stop!’

She strode forward and struck the knife that had been about to slice open Baroque Scarpoli’s neck from Santo’s hand. It flew through the air before skidding to a halt in the dirt.

‘What are you doing?’ growled Santo, scrambling to collect his blade.

His partner Stefano made a noise of disgust and released Baroque, shoving him face first into the ground. The spy sprawled helpless, his hands and feet bound. ‘Where have you been?’ Stefano spat at Katina, his face inches from hers. ‘I waited for you at the pledge stone. But you never came.’

Katina swiped the spittle from her cheek, her mind racing as she searched for an answer that would satisfy him.

Before she could, Baroque, their captive for over a week, groaned. Santo scooped up his knife and landed a vicious kick in his side. ‘You can make enough noise now, can’t you? But you won’t tell us what we need to know.’ He thrust his boot into him again and bent down, dragging him to his feet by the collar, his dagger poised.

‘That’s enough!’ Katina pushed Santo hard in the chest. He staggered backwards and would have hit the ground forcefully but for Stefano. Katina went to snatch the knife.

‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ drawled Stefano, stepping protectively in front of his partner, his hand shielding the blade.

They locked eyes. Tension made the air between them contract.

Katina shook her head but she lowered her arm. ‘Back off, Stefano,’ she growled. ‘Now is not the time and you know it. Call off your … lover.’ Her gaze slid to Santo, who slowly regained his feet, his face twisted in fury. A shift and whisper of movement behind her followed by a soft intake of breath let her know Alessandro and Debora, her own partners, had her back.

‘Now. Why don’t we all calm down?’ Katina said, moving away before anyone could challenge her, making sure she was positioned between Santo, his knife and Baroque. With deliberation she turned and, drawing her own dagger, knelt down and began to cut Baroque’s bindings.

‘What in the gods’ name are you doing?’ shouted Santo. ‘Let’s just slit his throat and get the hell out of here!’ Stefano had to prevent Santo from launching himself at Katina. Alessandro also blocked his way.

Katina stopped, her knife held out like a sharp finger. ‘Not until I say so. In case you’ve forgotten, I am in charge.’ Her voice was low and deadly. ‘Anyhow, Santo, don’t you think there’s been enough death already today?’ Her eyes bored into him.

He gave a bark of laughter. ‘We had instructions to kill the chandler, Katina. Remember?’

Katina held his gaze a fraction longer before she resumed cutting Baroque’s bonds. They were tight. ‘The Elders did not say that Dante’s death had to be so –’ she searched for the right word ‘– brutal. That particular bit was your contribution – your only one as far as I’m concerned.’

Santo frowned and shot a look at Stefano, who shook his head. He laughed again. ‘You’ve become weak, Katina. Your last stint here in Serenissima sapped your courage. It’s diluted your loyalties. You’ve developed affection for those who are our targets. And now you’re protecting someone who was trying to interfere with our mission.’ He flipped his hand towards Baroque. ‘Why, he’s nothing but a filthy spy!’ With a snort, he walked away.

Out of the corner of her eye, Katina watched as he began to untether his horse from the nearby trees. While it riled her, Santo had a point. She was not the same anymore; her feelings had been engaged and her eyes opened.

Baroque’s bonds fell to the ground. Debora knelt by his side and began to rub life back into his wrists. Katina worked his gag free. It rested against his neck like a noose.

Stefano gazed judgementally at Katina. ‘Santo’s correct. You’ve changed. You’re too soft.’ He lingered briefly, as if he had more to say, then joined his partner.

Katina quietly released her breath. Shooting Debora and Alessandro looks of gratitude, she sheathed her dagger and helped Baroque sit up. The marks of their interrogations were livid on his flesh. His lips were cut, his nose broken; one eye was so puffy, he must have been barely able to see out of it. His clothes were ruined and the patches of exposed flesh were a combination of bruises and dirt – it was hard to distinguish which.

‘Senta, Baroque Scarpoli.’ She pushed the gag over his head. ‘This is your last chance. Tell us who you’re working for. Why you’re following Tallow.’

The spy’s one functioning eye twinkled.

‘I told you. I even told them,’ he said, indicating Stefano and Santo. ‘I work for myself. But no-one will believe me.’ He made an attempt at a chuckle. Blood sprayed the air and his cheeks. He spat on the ground and a tooth dislodged. ‘I didn’t need to lose another,’ he said dourly. He took the gag from Katina and used it to wipe his mouth before letting it fall in the dirt. He rubbed his wrists, wincing as circulation returned.

Katina rose to her feet, never taking her eyes from him. That he’d been tracking Tallow was beyond debate – they’d been watching him watch her, and that meant he knew the girl was an Estrattore. But who had hired him and for what purpose remained a mystery. Stefano and Santo were right: they should dispatch the spy now. But something made her stay her hand, and it wasn’t only the image of Dante’s death – a sight that played over and over in her mind. If Santo hadn’t killed Dante, would Tallow have come with them? Would they be loitering here in front of the Limen, afraid to return to the Elders with news of their failure?

Katina glanced at the Limen now, a nacreous sentinel in the fading light. A misty rain began to fall, deepening its radiance.

After Tallow had jumped into the canal, they’d tried to find her. Combing the fondamenta, attempting to appear indifferent while desperately searching the canals, the water-stairs, and every paline that rose out of the lagoon, in the hope they’d find her clinging to one. They checked nearby rami and calles, but there’d been no sign. The mob that had been cowed into silence was furious – one of their own, a young chandler on the cusp of manhood, had been callously killed, and by a Bond Rider.

When the soldiers arrived, they’d had to end their search, leave Serenissima quickly and covertly. It would be a while before they could openly return. They’d have to wait at least until memories of what they’d done – what Santo had done, corrected Katina – faded.

‘You couldn’t have stopped him,’ whispered Alessandro, understanding where her thoughts had taken her. Reaching out, he gently kneaded Katina’s shoulders. ‘He believes he was following orders.’

‘He was,’ said Katina. Her tone was bitter, angry. She didn’t understand why Dante had to die. It made no sense. She kept her concerns to herself. ‘Only no-one said the young man’s death had to be so dramatic, so public.’ Not when a knife across the throat or a dagger slipped between the ribs would have served equally well.

Aware Baroque was listening to their every word, she bit back what she wanted to express. Who else knew about Tallow? And what did they want? If Baroque was working for himself as he claimed, then it would be for the reward the Doge offered and, if that were the case, he would have kidnapped the girl already. But he hadn’t. He’d been following her, gathering information, just as they were. Katina didn’t like what that signified one bit.

If they killed Baroque, her questions would never be answered. They needed him to believe he’d convinced them with his tale of working alone. That he’d escaped Bond Rider justice … this time.

Katina sheathed her dagger. ‘In light of what’s happened, killing this man would be … ill considered.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Stefano, leading his horse over. ‘Are you mad?’

‘We need to find Tallow. When we can return to Serenissima – ‘her eyes flashed at Santo ‘– that will be our mission. This man found Tallow once. He can do so again. More than ever, we need ears and eyes in the city, ones that will not turn an Estrattore over to the Cardinale or the Doge.’

‘But he’s a spy! How many times do we need to say it? He works for soldi, not out of allegiance.’ Santo kicked a stone in frustration.

‘Which means he works for whoever pays the most. Am I not right?’

A smile pulled Baroque’s lips. ‘Sì.’

‘And, if we paid you enough, would you work for us?’

‘You have my word. On my honour,’ he said, placing a hand over his heart.

Santo guffawed. ‘Honour? What would you know about honour?’

‘About as much as you,’ snapped Baroque, finally hauling himself to his feet and making an effort to stand straight. He pulled what remained of his clothes around his body. ‘You snatch me from the streets of the Chandlers Quartiere and drag me over here to the mainland and start beating me, making wild accusations, crazy assumptions. Where’s the honour in that? You attack me, and why? Because I am following a little boy.’

The Bond Riders glanced at each other. Katina’s eyebrows shot up. ‘A boy? You know he’s a great deal more than that.’

‘So what if I do? That doesn’t prove I’m working for anyone other than myself.’ He looked around at their sceptical faces. ‘Senta, listen: I swear, I am working for myself.’

He looked at each of the Bond Riders in turn. ‘I promise I will not reveal any of this. Just let me go, please. I will look for this boy for you. I will find him and, when I do, I will tell you. No-one else but you.’ Ignoring the others, he stared long and hard into Katina’s eyes.

‘Upon what do you swear?’ she asked.

Baroque’s breath caught. ‘On my dead brother’s soul,’ he whispered.

In the dimming light and steady rain, Katina could not see the spy’s features clearly. Her eyes flickered over the other Bond Riders. They weren’t happy with what she was doing – that was clear in their faces. Well, Katina didn’t trust him either, but killing him served no purpose except to sate some sick blood-lust. The gods knew, enough had been spilled. She resisted pulling her shirt away from her body and ripping off her gloves.

In that instant, she made up her mind. She would bear the consequences of this decision. Anyhow, if the Elders didn’t like what she’d done, she could always return and finish off Baroque Scarpoli. It was her other choice she was more worried about.

‘Very well,’ she said to the spy, ‘consider yourself hired. You now work for us.’ Debora and Alessandro glanced at each other, faces drawn in displeasure. Stefano and Santo began to laugh.

‘You stupid cavola,’ said Santo in disgust.

Stefano folded his arms across his chest and regarded Katina carefully, taking note of her appearance. ‘Where were you? You never did answer me. How come you took so long to get here? And why do you have blood all over you?’

Debora stared at her. ‘It’s not yours, is it?’

‘No.’ She hesitated and then changed her mind. ‘All right. If you must know, it’s Dante’s. I went back –’

‘What?’ The word slipped out of everyone’s mouths. Alessandro slapped his thigh in frustration. Debora made a noise of exasperation and turned away. Santo and Stefano hovered between leering at the discord between the partners and fury.

‘To make sure he was dead.’ Katina raised her voice. ‘I wanted to …’ She searched for an explanation, to tell them what had compelled her to return. ‘To say sorry.’

Stefano’s frown deepened. ‘You’re not serious.’

‘Sì, she is,’ Santo mocked. ‘Our leader, the apologist.’ He wound his horse’s reins around his wrist and leapt into the saddle. ‘What are we waiting for?’ He looked down at the group. ‘I’m not going to argue over this. Not anymore. She can bear the consequences.’ He nodded towards Stefano. ‘Let’s get out of here before she makes us surrender ourselves to the Signori di Notte or the Cardinale.’

Stefano didn’t move. ‘You’re not telling us everything, are you?’

Katina remained silent.

‘You’ve become unpredictable, Katina, and that’s not good in a Bond Rider.’

When she didn’t respond, he clicked in exasperation and, with practised ease, mounted his stallion. ‘Where’s your horse?’

‘Birrichino? He’s back at the pledge stone. Why?’ Katina wrapped her arms around her body.

‘You have to go back for him?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Her voice was steady.

‘So you won’t be making the crossing with us.’

‘No, but I won’t be far behind.’

‘What? Like last time?’ Stefano nudged his horse and headed towards the Limen. ‘Well, I’m not waiting for you.’

Santo followed. ‘Me neither.’

Katina shrugged at their backs as they trotted out of the clearing. She waited till they were out of earshot. ‘I deserved that.’ She swung to face Debora and Alessandro. ‘You don’t need to wait for me either. I’ll see Baroque on his way and join you shortly.’

‘We’ll stay with you,’ said Alessandro, taking Debora’s hand.

‘No,’ said Katina. ‘I need you and Debora to cross with those two. I don’t trust them. They’ll be in the Elders’ ears before I have a chance to explain. I need you to prevent that, at best – moderate their tales at worst.’

‘But –’ began Debora.

‘No. No buts. Go. I need you on the other side more than I need you here.’ She glanced skywards. ‘The rain is a blessing and will cover our tracks. I’ll be careful. I’ve done it before.’

Debora stared at Katina, who refused to meet her eyes. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ The brief silence was laden with meaning.

‘So do I,’ whispered Katina.

Katina watched as her partners mounted their horses and then stepped between them, grabbing Alessandro’s hand where it rested on the pommel, reaching over to link with Debora’s.

Alessandro sighed. ‘You’re up to something and I don’t like it one bit. But I also recognise that tone. I’ll do what you ask, but I’ll be waiting.’

Katina looked at his dark hair pulled back in its long ponytail, the brown eyes and broad shoulders. She noted the determined jut of his chin. She stood on tiptoe as he bent towards her and pressed her lips against his. ‘You’re not the only one who recognises tones,’ she said softly against his mouth. ‘Wait. If you must.’

‘We must,’ said Debora, placing her other hand over Katina’s. Then she kicked her horse into action. Alessandro was right behind her.

‘See you on the other side,’ called Debora, using the traditional Bond Riders’ farewell.

They urged their horses into a canter, catching up with Santo and Stefano quickly. Kicking up leaves and dust, they charged alongside the Limen, gathering speed. The unearthly glow of the shifting barrier made them appear wraith-like. Katina heard, carried on the wind, the words Stefano chanted to open a rift. From where she stood she saw the air change, dragged towards the hole in the fabric of time, sucked into its hungry maw. One by one the horses and Riders leapt into the opening and, with a great dragging sound, the fracture sealed.

‘The other side,’ whispered Katina. Then she turned to Baroque. He stood gaping at what he’d just witnessed.

‘Amazing,’ he said.

She smiled at his reaction. Even after all this time, she felt the same way. Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she considered his appearance. In the growing dark, he was a shambles. ‘You’ll need to invent a story about bandits or some such.’

‘Then I’ll just tell the truth and say it was Bond Riders. You’re all a bunch of bandits anyway.’

Katina grunted. ‘You may joke, but I have put myself at great risk for you, Baroque Scarpoli. The others, even my own partners, would rather you were dead.’

‘I know. Believe me, I’m grateful.’

‘Hmm. We’ll see if that means anything.’

‘Why did you, then? You know, save me.’

Katina thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know, really.’ She gave a half-laugh. ‘Call it instinct – or stupidity. Something told me that you have an important role to play in all this.’ She dismissed her words with a wave of her hand. ‘For now, I want you to let me know if you hear any news of Tallow – anything at all.’

Baroque took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It snaked out of his mouth in a long rill of white. ‘Sì, Signorina Bond Rider. And how do I find you? You said yourself, it will be a while before you can return to Serenissima. The loss of the chandler will echo throughout the city. Bond Riders will be a byword.’

‘Not for long, Baroque Scarpoli. We too are part of Serenissima. The division,’ she said, gesturing to the Limen, ‘is only superficial.’

Baroque started to chuckle. It was dry, broken. ‘You really believe that? Oh, Signorina, the division is deep, and I think you Bond Riders look for an excuse to make it permanent.’

Katina frowned. Baroque was right. The mark of difference between Bond Riders and humans was more than the strange anomaly called the Limen. It was internal, it was social; it was physical as well. She became aware of his eyes upon hers. When she spoke, her voice was sharper than she intended. ‘You may leave messages for me at the Taverna di Segretezza – do you know it?’

‘In the Tailors Quartiere?’

‘Sì. Ask for Signor Vestire. He owns it. He’s a friend of the Bond Riders. He will know how to contact me.’

Baroque nodded. ‘I’d heard rumours of the tailors and the Bond Riders.’

Katina flashed a smile. ‘Even Bond Riders need clothes, and they are good to do business with,’ she said plucking at her shirt. The smile disappeared. ‘If you have news, I will come, though you may have to be patient. Messages do not always travel as swiftly as they should between our worlds. But know this: if you break our agreement – if you do not come to me, Baroque Scarpoli, I will hunt you down. However long it takes. Like you, we have our own way of extracting information. Only we don’t do it quietly with whispers and behind closed doors. I will take away that which I have just returned to you – your life – and with no thought for where or when. Capisce?’

Katina knew Baroque was considering the seriousness of her threat. ‘Capisco. I understand,’ he said faintly. He shivered. The rain was becoming heavier and night was setting in. A cold gust of wind blew through the clearing, howling along the Limen, distrupting the billowing mist.

Katina pointed through the trees. ‘Head in that direction. You’ll find boats moored past the reeds. You can take one and return to Serenissima tonight.’

Baroque frowned. ‘I thought you were going back to the pledge stone?’

‘Not with you,’ she said. ‘We part company here. Now.’ She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a purse and threw it to him.

Baroque caught it mid-air. He weighed it in his palm, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. ‘Bene. You have my promise that as soon as I have information about the boy, I will make contact.’ He bowed, stiffly. He began to hobble towards the trees, shoving the purse deep into his coat.

After a few steps, he paused and turned. ‘I always knew you Bond Riders had secrets.’ He blinked the rain out of his eyes. ‘But they always seemed to be concerned about this world, about the one you left behind. But this, this business with Tallow. This is something different, isn’t it?’ He noted the expression on Katina’s face. ‘The chandler is dead because of that fellow … What’s his name? Santo, wasn’t it? I haven’t had the pleasure before. Hope I never do again.’ He felt his face gingerly, wincing as he encountered a bruise. ‘He was a good young man, Dante. Decent. I think he and Tallow shared … affection. You Bond Riders accept that sort of thing, don’t you?’

Katina didn’t respond.

Baroque sighed. ‘I want to know what you’re up to. What’s going on. Maybe, when I find the boy for you, I will. The world stirs. Where some see tragedy, others see opportunity. What do you see, Signorina Bond Rider?’ He looked as if he was about to say more, then changed his mind. ‘Grazie mille for what you did. You saved my life. I won’t forget that.’

‘Make sure you don’t.’ They stared at each other for a few seconds more before Baroque grunted and, with a nod, moved away. ‘Oh, one more thing, Scarpoli,’ Katina called.

Baroque halted and looked over his shoulder.

‘Tallow’s a girl.’

Baroque’s good eye widened and his face broke into the semblance of a smile. ‘Bene, bene, bene. I see. Of course. That explains a great deal. Sì. Sì. A ragazza. Grazie mille again.’ His broken laughter was eventually swallowed by the trees.

He made a racket as he departed. Above the noise of the rain, Katina heard the snap of branches, the mulch of damp detritus underfoot and Baroque’s chatter as he tried to frighten away any lurking creatures. Katina couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for him. Still, only by setting him free could she find out exactly who was paying him and why. ‘I’ll find you yet, Tallow. One way or another,’ Katina promised the darkness.

Minutes passed. Except for the gentle patter of rain, it was silent.

At last she was alone. She took a deep breath and recalled every move she’d made since the day began. It all led to this moment. Releasing Baroque was nothing compared to what she was about to do. Was she sure? Was it the right thing?

Just as she knew freeing the spy was correct, she knew that her next action was imperative. Everything she did, she did for the Bond Riders – and for Tallow.

Plunging back into the forest, Katina ducked and weaved between the trees, her eyes accustomed to the dimness but her pace slowing as exhaustion took hold of her. She’d been lying to Debora and Alessandro when she said the blood wasn’t hers. Some of it was, and the loss was affecting her now. She pulled at her gloves. The blood was drying, making the leather stick to her skin.

A gentle snickering interrupted her thoughts. Picking up her pace, she reached her horse in a few strides. ‘Hello, boy. You miss me?’ She ran her hands along Birrichino’s smooth neck, patting his flanks, relieved to see the sweat she’d raised with their earlier dash out of Serenissima had all but disappeared.

‘Good boy.’ His life-force felt strong, despite today’s exertions. She hoped it was enough to get them through the Limen. She hoped she could summon the strength to breach it once more.

She quickly checked the huge bundle she’d strapped to Birrichino’s saddle. The reason she was late. The reason she’d returned to Serenissima alone.

Just as her intuition had told her to release Baroque Scarpoli unharmed, so too it had told her to retrieve what should not be left behind.

First tightening the straps that held the roll in place, she undid Birrichino’s tether and hooked it across the pommel before throwing herself into the saddle.

‘You ready, boy?’ she asked. ‘Time to go home.’ She urged him forward, wondering what price she would pay for her decisions today.

Cold, or a prescient awareness, caused a shudder to wrack her body. She gripped Birrichino more tightly, his warmth offering reassurance. Still, as she passed through the trees, she sent fervent prayers to the gods, for if they did not stand by her now, then nothing on Vista Mare or in the Limen could.