When Sofia told Giovanni he could safely return to work, she did not mention the price. If being a leader meant anything, it meant sacrifice.
“I’ll marry Gaetano.”
The Doctor was surprised to see her on the rooftop. They hadn’t spoken since he had made her deliver his response.
He smiled. “Then we shall have peace.”
“Doc, I know your peace. All this time I wanted to be just another Bardini, and you wouldn’t let me. I understand why now, but you have to let me be my own woman. I won’t be Morello’s, either. I need you to promise you’ll give this alliance a real chance.” She did not mention the other reason.
“You’re growing up, Sofia. It’s hard to let go.” He rubbed his chin. “I promise!”
That morning she practiced with passion. She even pushed Lucia out of the square a few times.
The nun remarked on her improvement during meditation. “Lucia’s my best student,” she said, watching Sofia, “and she’s studied for years, but you can already defeat her.”
“Which fight were you watching? She still wins most times.”
The nun chuckled. “Ah, but you’ve been holding back, haven’t you? You could beat her—you could even beat me if a lack of faith didn’t restrain you. You’ve embraced hate for so long that now you’re its prisoner.”
“I came here to learn fighting, not be converted. What’s faith got to do with anything?”
“That’s what it takes to drop your flag. Lucia has it. Do you know how she came to be here? Her family was killed in a raid, just like Isabella’s.”
“But she’s a southsider.”
The nun let her realize the implication.
Sofia’s hand went to her dagger. “If that were true, she would have killed me on the first day. I couldn’t have stopped her.”
“Is it so unbelievable?”
“Bardini don’t hide in shadow like Morello. We’re fighters, not butchers.”
“You’ve let yourself be sheltered from the truth.”
Sofia snatched up the glass and threw it. “Liar!”
The nun avoided it effortlessly, but it smashed the window, and harsh daylight invaded the chapel.
“I only went along with this nonsense to learn Water Style!” Sofia kicked the table at the nun.
The old lady moved gracefully out of the way, then went on the attack. “Foolish girl. You hide your skill, but you cannot conceal your thoughts.”
Sofia blocked a barrage of kicks, backing out of the chapel to get some space. The nun didn’t let up, advancing on her, whirling her sleeves the way she had before.
“The Doc’s right: you’re either traitors who knew the Wave was coming or liars who didn’t.” This time Sofia wasn’t distracted by the nun’s sleeves; she dodged and then grabbed one, pulled the old woman forward, and kicked hard. The nun staggered and grabbed a branch to prevent herself from falling.
“I know what Doctor Bardini thinks of me! When your father died, he refused to let me teach you Water Style. So I waited. I know how proud the Scaligeri are; the only way you’d submit to learning was if I beat you.”
“That’s why you broke my arm?”
“Reverend Mother!”
Sofia turned. Lucia had appeared at the entrance of the Baptistery, drawn by the noise.
“Here’s your little acolyte; why do you need me? You remind me of the Doc, you know that? I’m sick of being manipulated by old men and old women.”
“Stay back, Lucia,” the nun said. “Let’s see what she really knows.”
“I’ll show you!” Sofia focused as they traded punches. The nun was still superior, but she wasn’t toying with Sofia anymore.
“If you saw this coming, why did you teach me?”
“You’ll have to understand that yourself.”
“Have I hurt your feelings?”
“No. I’m just not going to be around much longer.”
The nun suddenly stepped around Sofia’s arms and planted two fists into her torso. Sofia flew back and landed just outside the square.
The nun did not press her advantage.
“The sooner, the better,” Sofia spit. She pushed Lucia out of her way. “Both of you, stay out of Bardini territory. Stay away from me.”
Sofia watched the deal done from an abandoned tower. So many torches were assembled on the bridge that it looked like a great shining hourglass.
While their masters stood face to face, discussing terms and making a great display of their amity, Morello and Bardini bandieratori waited on the banks for a war cry that never came.
In the shadows, Sofia’s face burned with shame. Every man in Rasenna could hear them trading her like livestock, haggling over the price. The deal was done; only the exchange of goods remained. The Doctor spit on his hand. Morello overcame his fastidiousness and shook it. War asks only blood; peace demands sacrifices more brutal.
“What were those lights on the bridge last night, another shipment?”
Fabbro and Vettori looked at each other. After they told him, Giovanni went straight to the Baptistery. His foremen seemed to think the deal was the best thing for Rasenna: even if the Small People north and south were content to live and work together, they’d have no choice but to follow if the Families went to war.
“Signorina Scaligeri understands the choice she’s making. And it’s about time,” Fabbro said vehemently. “Why should the Small People make every sacrifice?”
The nun was in the enclosed garden with a younger novice, performing a kind of slow-moving dance together.
“Sister, they’re making Sofia marry! I think she’s doing it to protect me. It’s wrong. I thought you could—” Giovanni stopped as the Reverend Mother turned around. “How did you get that black eye? Oh—”
“This is nothing,” she mumbled. “I had a brother once.”
“You asked me once before if I would fight for her. Well, I’m ready to do whatever it takes.”
“You’ll get your chance. She will not marry.”
“How do you know?”
“How do you know your bridge will bear an army marching over it? Because you have studied such things. I too have studied. It’s hard to describe things that are shifting, but Sofia’s destiny is even stranger than yours.”
She glanced at the girl. “Go into the chapel, Isabella. I’ll follow shortly. Captain, imagine a line, curved like a wave. It could be a man’s life, or a town’s, or a nation’s. Now imagine a second line, rising when the first falls, a reflection—the intervals can be minutes or centuries. When they intersect, wonderful or dreadful things happen. One thousand three hundred years ago, Christ was born, and His birth intersected with the reign of a wicked and jealous king. If the currents had met a year earlier or a year later, the child might have escaped the sword. What kind of man would He have become? His Mother spread the Word, but She could never do what He was meant to, and so we remain unredeemed. Bernoulli ensnared the buio with a song of absolute power. Their first sin, like Man’s, was murder.”
“But the first sin was—”
“A lie to justify the Curia’s ignorance. Engineers have committed many sins, but seeking knowledge was never one. God wants us to understand His creation. All sins are forgivable but for murder; after Cain slew his brother, paradise was lost. Now we have tainted the water. Murdered, murderer, and Messiah, the same person. Man and buio, fallen together, together we must be redeemed.”
“But the Christ did die—”
“At the wrong time! The choice must be understood! That is what makes a sacrifice.”
“Sister, what has this to do with me or Sofia?”
Her head hung heavy with age. “Time has a direction, just like a river. In the flood of centuries, there are moments when History can change course.”
He looked down. “What if you’re wrong? If one of us is not—”
“We are none of us what we seem. Our nature is hidden to us until the hour comes.”
“How will I know when that is?”
“You’ll know. The earth itself will shake.”
As the hot season ended, a storm rose up in northern Etruria. With the indifferent hunger of locusts, the Twelfth Legion crossed down the peninsula. Towns paid tribute, and in return Concord brought not Justice but Law, a thing like Nature’s violence: containing no hate, no love, and no mercy. Feuding factions made peace and prayed together till the storm passed.
All sought shelter, the good and the wicked together. Some were passed over, some perished. And the storm moved on, on toward Rasenna.