Page 119 of Play of Shadows
Then where?Corbier asked.
Two nights ago, as the Belleza burned and the Iron Orchids fled the scene, there had been a moment where I thought I’d heard her voice, but I’d assumed it had been Shariza calling to me. It had never occurred to me that the memories of another might be haunting me.
Damelas, you must come to me, she’d said.
We have to go further back, I told Corbier.I think Ajelaine’s waiting for us.
Chapter 59
The Return
Pushing myself backwards through time was like walking along an endless hall filled with theatre sets, the images painted on them appearing and disappearing too fast for me to see. People and events rushed past like dancers on a stage, spinning in and out of view. Corbier’s memories were like a book; I could flip the pages, but never stop at one long enough to read the words written there.
The Bardatti warned you, Corbier reminded me.Your gift requires the ritual of the theatre to guide you.
And he was right, of course. A Veristor wasn’t some back-alley medium conducting séances for a few coppers. This wasceremonialmagic, so key elements had to be in place for me to have any control over where it took me. A stage was one piece of the puzzle, but far more vital were the other actors.
‘Damelas?’ Beretto asked again, blocking me from the view of the audience. Centre stage, Teo appeared to be delivering an extended monologue about how ordinary soldiers are forgotten by time, even when they’re the ones who truly win wars. ‘We can’t keep this up forever.’
I allowed myself a grin, for at last I understood how to use this gift – or curse, whichever it was. For the first time since thisnightmare had begun, I was eager to pursue it.
‘It’s okay,’ I said, and pushed past Beretto to make my way towards Teo. Ornella noticed my approach and wisely put an end to the youth’s interminable speech by pretending– rather forcefully– to drive a sword into his back. Monsegino, standing on the other side in his golden armour, began to slowly stride towards me, assuming the two of us would bring the play to its bloody climax at last.
When the duke spoke, his rich, almost playful tone belonged to Prince Pierzi. ‘How many times have we crossed blades on this very battlefield, you bloody-eyed bastard?’
Corbier’s grim satisfaction contorted the muscles of my face, bringing forth a cruel smile that matched the Prince’s own. ‘A dozen times– perhaps a hundred? A thousand?’
Monsegino dropped the broadsword he’d been carrying and unslung the scabbard of a duelling rapier from his belt. ‘Then, by all the gods, let this time be the—’
‘Not yet,’ I said.
The duke froze. The audience gasped. The other actors stared in confusion, still miming their own fights. In the past, Corbier and Pierzi were already circling each other, readying themselves for the duel that would end one of their lives. But I resisted, and by will alone, slowed the passing of those moments down to a crawl.
‘Before belligerent blood drenches sacred soil,’ I began, filling the stage with my voice and drawing all eyes to me, ‘let first the cause of our enmity be known, for it was not hate which tore two friends apart, but love.’
Monsegino wasn’t much of an actor, but he was clever, and he recovered admirably. ‘You would speak to me ofher?’ he demanded. ‘Now, when blades are drawn and our doom is fast upon us?’
It was a good enough line, but it wasn’t Monsegino Ineeded right now. Fortunately, the one Ididneed understood immediately. She surreptitiously shed the soldier’s breastplate and helm she’d put on so she could stay close to the duke and came to stand between us.
‘When better to summon a ghost,’ Shariza said, assuming the role of Ajelaine’s spectre, ‘than when the sword is drawn but the fatal blow has not yet been struck?’
Hujo Shoville couldn’t have scripted it better, I thought. Once again, I focused my Veristor’s ability to set the scene in motion.
What are you doing?Corbier asked, his thirst for vengeance losing its hold now that he saw his Ajelaine standing there before him.This isn’t how it happened!
I know, but while this may be your life, it’s my damned play, so we’re going to start doing things my way.
I brought my rapier up into guard, but walked with unnatural slowness, matching the timing of my movements to those of Corbier’s memories unfolding a hundred years in the past. In the present, I spoke a hastily composed stanza.
‘With each bitter blow given,
Let the truth be made plain–
No tragic tale of friends riven,
But the secret quest of Lady Ajelaine.’
Like the last syllable of a spell, that simple rhyme sent me hurtling back to a different time and place. . .
