The Blood Burns in My Veins by Megan Derr

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

"Be nice to people on your way up because you might meet 'em on your way down."

― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

 

 

Forthwind stood under the threadbare awning of the tavern and shook off the worst of the early morning rain, combing back his drenched hair and retying the ribbon undone by the deluge. Once he was reasonably certain he wouldn't make a complete mess, he pushed through the tattered curtains and stepped inside.

The place smelled absolutely amazing—like steamed pork, cabbage, fragrant spices—but it looked like it was on the verge of closing. The floor hadn't been swept in days, the tables were rickety, stained, and even cracked in places. Only reed mats were laid out for guests to sit on, rather than comfortable cushions, and the only light seemed to be from the cloud-covered sun.

At the back of the place was a door with a shiny steel lock, half-hidden by plants that were the healthiest, liveliest thing in the room.

"Welcome!" called out a thin, croaky voice.

"Good morning," Forthwind replied.

The old man behind the counter froze, and then slowly turned around. He stared a moment, but Forthwind was used to that. Even in a place like Verona, they apparently did not see many people with black-brown skin, even though most people here had brown skin of some degree.

"Not often I see a foreign face around here."

He probably didn't see any face, but Forthwind kept that opinion to himself. "I'm exploring the city, and your steamed buns smelled good."

"Oh?" If the old man knew him for a liar, given it was nigh impossible to smell anything in the rain, he didn't betray it. "Three for a lira, and they're fresh. Pork today, though, if you're one of those who doesn't eat that. I know some foreigners don't."

"I eat everything. Dōmo, grandpa-san. That's how you say it around here, right? I'm book-taught your language, but that's not really useful for talking."

The old man smiled, and it reached his worn, ragged eyes. "Just so, signore-san. Sit, sit. I've just made a pot of tea, as well."

Forthwind did as he was told, and was more than happy to pay for an unwise number of dumplings. Verona was a strange place, but its food was incomparable. Well, the dancing cuttlefish pasta had been a bit much, but everything else so far had been magnificent.

"What kind of tea is this? It's not something I've had here so far."

The old man preened slightly. "My own blend: roasted rice tea with yuzu zest, and a touch of honey after brewing."

"It's marvelous. I grew up on heavy, sweet black teas. The continent seems mostly to prefer their ridiculous tisanes and flower teas. This is quite refreshing. Dōmo." Forthwind set down his cup, rested his hands on the edge of the table, and bowed slightly. "My name is Faria Forthwind."

"A pleasure to meet you, Faria-don. I'm Janshai."

"Oh, I'm not nobile, but dōmo, Janshai-san. Is it always so quiet this time of morning?"

Sadness filled Janshai's face briefly. "These days, yes. It wasn't always so, but…" He shrugged. "Misfortune and bad choices. The Winds are capricious and send all to the Deep eventually."

Forthwind scoffed. "I cannot see why one like yourself would ever be in the gods' disfavor."

Janshai snort-laughed. "That is young thinking. Gods are easy to anger and hard to please. Eat up." He refilled Forthwind's tea, then hobbled off to help an old woman and young child who'd drifted in, chatting with them at the table they'd sat at.

The tea was indeed good, but Forthwind barely tasted it as he lost himself in thought. He'd come here expecting to find a crotchety old bastard, not a sad old man weighed down by the world. But what in particular weighed him down? That was what Forthwind needed to know.

He glanced briefly over his shoulder, at where the little girl was playing with a small wooden doll while Janshai and the old woman spoke in low tones that unfortunately didn't carry. Whatever they were talking about, it wasn't improving Janshai's mood. That worked to Forthwind's favor, as people who were upset had less control, and people with less control let information slip more easily.

Even then, however, it would take some delicate maneuvering. Extracting deeply personal information was a tricky art. People would gladly talk all day about their illness, how they broke their leg, how fed up they were with a husband or child, how much fun they were having with a secret lover… but the stuff that gnawed at their hearts, that took work to reach.

He was just finishing his fourth dumpling when Janshai shuffled back to his table. "So what brings you to Verona, Faria-san?"

"Just want to see the world. I had a relative who died and left me a modest fortune; decided I'd use it to do the things I've always dreamed of. Back home, Verona is one of those places people talk about all the time. The legendary city-state of the empire! Home of the famous Ishikawa family. The best ships in the world are blooded by Ishikawa, and their own ships are unstoppable. I wanted passage on one, but I could not bring myself to pay the cost." Forthwind laughed. "I could have bought a few horses for the price of one ticket, though to be fair, it was for a world-travel ticket. But even single-journey passage made me wince."

Janshai's face clouded. "Yes, the Ishikawa family are the finest stregoni dell'acqua in the world, and even their greatest detractors cannot deny they earned that place fairly."

"You sound like you disagree."

"No, not at all." Janshai shuffled from foot to foot. "You probably heard of the tragedy some years ago."

"The feud that led one boy to kill another? People love to discuss it. There are stories and plays and more inspired by the events." Forthwind laughed. "There was a street play I saw once, where the characters were named Rome and Julian, and they were madly in love and tried to run away together. A whole ridiculous plot where they were going to pretend to be dead, but one thought the other was really dead and killed himself, and then the second woke from the drugged sleep they were in, saw their true love dead, and stabbed themself. Their families ceased feuding in the wake of the tragedy. It was quite silly."

Janshai's skin took on a sickly gray tone. "It happened close to here. I saw the Ishikawa boy's body. The blood. Fifteen years and I remember like it was yesterday. There was much tragedy, and nothing silly, about it. People should not make light of such things."

"No, they shouldn't," Forthwind said quietly. "My apologies, Janshai-san. I did not mean to make light. I hold such things in contempt, to be honest. My own father was arrested for something he did not do and died in prison—partly of old age, but mostly of neglect. They would not allow me to see him or send him more than the occasional letter. Anything else I tried to send was immediately confiscated. The Isola del tasso is cruelly strict about such things."

"I am sorry to hear that," Janshai said, going even grayer.

Forthwind rose and urged him to sit down, refilling his own teacup and pressing it into Janshai's hands. "You don't look so well. I am sorry to have distressed you so."

"No, no, it's not you. The bad memories plague me all the time. Does that happen often, people dying in Tasso like that? I had heard the Ferro boy died of illness, but I didn't… I thought it was bad luck, not…"

"Not practically inevitable? I'm afraid that's why they usually send their trickiest offenders there—the ones who cannot simply be executed, for one reason or another. They send them to Tasso and let them rot, almost literally."

Janshai stared at the table, his hands around the teacup but not really holding it, swaying slightly. "That poor boy. He didn't deserve that."

Forthwind gently touched his arm. "Who didn't deserve what?"

"The Ferro boy. He killed the Ishikawa boy, or so that's what everyone decided. But I… they used to come here for dumplings, to spend time together. I didn't see what happened, only saw the body, but they were—were friends." He closed his eyes, swallowed, then opened them again. "I wish I had said so, back then."

"You didn't? I don't believe you, Janshai-san. Look how kind you've been to me."

Janshai smiled, sour and sad. "You have a good heart, Faria-san." He patted Forthwind's hand, then slowly rose. "Dōmo for listening to a sad old man and his regrets. I'll pack you up some buns to take with you."

"That isn't necessary."

"I insist." He shuffled off, and Forthwind let him go.

Across the room, the old woman and little girl were playing some sort of game that involved black and white stones. Well, it more looked like the old woman was trying to teach the girl. Forthwind made a note to ask later what the game was; he was always looking for new ones to play.

A few minutes later he was on his way back across the city, a paper bundle of dumplings in his bag. He stopped at a vendor's cart for a cup of yuzu juice, then finally headed home—well, what stood for home at the moment.

The rooms they'd taken—the ones they actually used, not the ones for show—were above an old shoemaker's shop, the owner a handsome, fierce woman who was more than happy to neither ask nor answer questions for the money she was being paid.

He took out the dumplings and set them on the table, then finished off the yuzu juice and threw out the waxed paper cup. He helped himself to the pitcher of sangria that had been left out. Kind of their landlady to make it for them. The nights were always pleasantly cool, even chilly, but the days were as miserably hot as they were back home. Though at least here the ocean was never more than a short walk away.

Forthwind had just started on a second glass, lounging out on the balcony overlooking the ocean, when he heard steps. Though the tread was familiar, he summoned his magia in one hand, keeping it low and out of sight.

Then the door opened, and a familiar figure stepped through.

Relaxing his magia, Forthwind said, "Ciao, Dante."

"Ciao."

"You should have some of the sangria; it could almost have come from Mama's table, it's so good."

Dante yawned and went over to the pitcher. "I'm impressed there's any left." He poured a glass and joined Forthwind on the balcony.

"I haven't been here long," Forthwind replied. "How's your day been?"

"Exhausting, but that's hardly surprising. How did the visit to the Neko Tavern go?"

Forthwind sipped his sangria and stared out over the water, which glittered with so much sunlight. "I found a place half a step from closing, and an old man with a broken heart full of regret and remorse. When the subject of you came up, he quite fell apart."

"Hmm." Dante stared out over the ocean, but it wasn't hard to tell he wasn't seeing a thing. "What else?"

A bird swooped, crashing into the water, and came up a moment later with a fish nearly twice its size. "Something illegal is going on, I'd bet my balls."

"You don't have balls."

"I have them in spirit," Forthwind replied. "There was a door with a lock that probably cost more than everything else in that place combined, and the wood was new, strong. An old woman came in, hard eyes and a mean mouth, clothes that said she could afford to eat in much better places. They talked, too low for me to catch, and the old man wasn't happy about whatever she said. If I had to make a wild guess—"

"You've never guessed wildly in your life," Dante cut in, a brief smile appearing at one corner of his mouth, lending warmth to his eyes for a bare moment. Forthwind counted it a victory.

He grinned. "True. I'm too smart for that. The place smelled of spices, far more than is used in the dumplings. They were scattered in the rushes and hanging from the ceiling. Ostensibly, to make guests hungry, but also to cover the smell of papavero."

Dante's mouth flattened. "I see."

"I'll leave you to brood on it. What are we doing the rest of the day?"

"Going to see about an old friend," Dante said.

As ever, the frost in his eyes and the ice in his voice sent a chill down Forthwind's spine. But he'd given up talking Dante out of revenge a long time ago. In his place, Forthwind honestly wasn't certain he'd be much better.

Not that it mattered. Dante had brought happiness to Forthwind's father in the last years of his life. For ten years, Dante had been like a son to Faria, when Forthwind had been unable to fill that role. His father had died relatively happy, despite all the indignities he'd suffered in Tasso. For that, Forthwind would do whatever Dante asked, even help him on this mad quest for revenge.

"Sounds fun. Do I need to change clothes?"

"Not this time. We'll both be changing this evening, though."

"Sounds like even more fun," Forthwind said with a grin, and finished his sangria. He carried the glass inside and set it next to the nearly empty pitcher. "Do I need a sword?"

Dante just gave him a look that suggested that was a stupid question. Forthwind rolled his eyes. Why had he bothered asking? According to every stregoni di ferro who specialized in swords, one must have a weapon, preferably a sword, at all times.

But weapons only slowed Forthwind down when the fight was in earnest.

He didn't bother to add to the dagger he carried for practicality as he followed Dante back down the stairs and onto the street. "So where precisely are we going?"

Another hint of smile flickered across Dante's mouth. "We have to go to the Isola della vita. Did you want to go by bridge or by boat?"

"Really?" Forthwind bounced on his toes. Since their arrival, they hadn't gone further than the two major islands of Verona: Isola del sangue dell'oceano, which was primarily sacred and secular buildings, including the Palazzo delle stelle, the Tempio delle acque profonde, and the Palazzo della magia; and the Isola delle ossa, which was where Verona began.

The history was actually a rather morbid one. Back in the early days of the Kitonia Empire, a city had been struck by a devastating plague. To keep it from spreading, every single person in the city had been banished to a group of islands located several hours off the coast. They'd been abandoned there with minimal supplies to make the place their new home.

When the empire had thought to check on them a year later, they'd arrived to find the island full of nothing but bones, some of them still in the tattered remains of the clothes they'd been wearing when they'd died. But the houses they'd built had stood strong, and the animals and crops had survived, so the primary island had been turned into a prison colony run by monks, with the idea they would reform the prisoners.

Instead, the prisoners, the monks, and the pirates who'd found the islands a useful place to hide united, rebelled, and declared their independence. The Kitonia Empire hadn't been much pleased by that, but when they were paid taxes—in arrears and for the next decade—they were content to leave the newly-dubbed Verona to its own devices on two conditions: the taxes kept getting paid, and there would always be an imperial presence to keep an eye on things.

The first imperial presence had been Hachiro-principe, and he'd brought his lover with him, a stregona di ferro of incomparable ability and master swordsmith. Rumor had it all her children had been his, though they'd each married other people. To this day, the Ferro family loved to brag about their connections to the throne.

Not long after Verona was acknowledged as a mostly-independent state, another powerful family arrived to take advantage of the new player on the global board: the Ishikawa family, amongst the most powerful stregoni dell'acqua in the world. They might not have tenuous blood ties to the throne, but not a single imperial ship sailed without Ishikawa blood, which made them and their new home of Verona extraordinarily powerful.

Which hadn't sat well with the Ferro family, and so a feud had begun. All across Verona, the people were roughly divided between those who supported Ferro, those who allied with Ishikawa, and the few who tried to steer clear of the whole mess.

One of the families which had been allied with Ferro was the Nakajima family, who'd been horse masters for as long as Verona had existed. They were also one of the few families who could trace their ancestors all the way to some of the banished plague victims. A blood and bone family: not necessarily wealthy or powerful, but respected.

Nakajima Brom had been Dante's best friend growing up, right up to the moment when Brom had betrayed him.

"I always thought they were here on the Isola delle ossa."

Dante shook his head. "No, but they kept an auxiliary stable here, so the nobile had horses immediately to hand. He also let them rent space for their own horses, since most of the houses around here were not built with such things in mind." Dante frowned. "The stable that used to be down the street from the Ferro house is owned by someone else; they said they bought it at auction more than twelve years ago."

"I see." That did not bode well for the Nakajima family. Auction meant creditors, and nothing good led to creditors taking properties. "Did they say anything about the Nakajima?"

"No. All I've gathered so far are rumors of financial ruin and the father dead."

"Sounds like justice found them already, then."

"We'll see. So by bridge or by sea?"

"Bridge."

Dante seemed pleased, though it took a lot of practice to be able to read his face, and they headed through the bustling throngs to the south end of Isola delle ossa to the Guiding Star bridge, one of five enormous bridges that connected the major islands to each other. Water was the only way to reach the rest of the islands, which varied in size from roughly half as large as the main islands to little more than boulders sticking out of the water.

The bridge was one of those made of several arches, Forthwind didn't know the term. They were made of gleaming white stone that was almost hard to look at in the sunlight, the walking areas made of beautiful cobblestones and lined with all sorts of colorful plants. Benches were scattered, shaded from the sun with brightly-colored awnings, and people lingered as often as they came and went, buying food from carts or bringing along their own baskets.

"It's beautiful. I've never considered a bridge a place to linger before. They're only good for crossing." Sometimes to another location in this world and sometimes, as in his mother's case, a way to cross to the next world.

Dante's fingers rested briefly on his back in quiet comfort. "You continentals have all the space you could ever need. We of Verona have precious little of it, and so find use in every scrap. The view is unparalleled; even the nobile house do not have a view like this."

"It's something else, that is true." It would have been nice to linger, enjoy themselves like everyone else.

But there was vengeance wanting, and Dante with a goal would be stopped by neither man nor god.

As they reached the opposite end of the bridge, Dante swept out an arm and with another of his whisper smiles said, "Welcome to Isola della vita."

It certainly smelled like farmland, but that wasn't an insult to Forthwind's mind. The smells reminded him of home, of waking at dawn to tend the cows, working the field on all but the rainiest days, listening to his mother sing, his parents banter, the hired workers making jokes and singing along.

Before his father had drawn the wrath of the wrong man, and shame had driven his mother to suicide, and Forthwind was left with nothing but a broken life and a shattered heart.

He'd watched the man who'd destroyed his family flourish, burning for revenge. But he'd longed for his father more, and revenge would not give him that. All he got was the rare letter, from a man who had for so long seemed depressed and broken. Until he started to speak of a new prisoner and began to sound like his old self, healing Forthwind in ways that vengeance never would. A man named Carac, who was also imprisoned for a murder he'd not committed, and Forthwind's father had feared for him and the way vengeance had grabbed hold of his heart and was poisoning it.

The gentle, unspoken admonishment that Forthwind should not do the same was there, and gradually Forthwind had heeded the advice. Even when Dante had shown up and told him so much and offered vengeance, Forthwind had heeded his father's wishes and refused.

Looking at the way it consumed Dante, he couldn't regret his choice.

Well, mostly, anyway.

Eventually they came to a stop in front of a huge stable complex that must have once been quite impressive but now looked sad and forgotten by time.

Beside him, Dante was frowning in that way that said something was troubling him, and the gears of his mind were spinning faster than a wind gauge in a storm.

Dante turned on his heel and walked across the street, and Forthwind followed close behind.

They stepped into a noodle shop, and Forthwind breathed in the pleasant aroma of fresh pasta, fish broth, and simmering tomato sauce. At the counter, Dante returned the attendant's cheerful greeting and then ordered squid ink ramen piled with shrimp, scallions, and some sort of fish Forthwind didn't recognize. But then, he didn't recognize most of what Dante ordered; seafood was a whole new world to him.

When it was his turn, Forthwind decided on tagliatelle with artichokes and cured ham. Then they threaded their way through the busy restaurant to a table in the corner, resting on plush cushions as a server brought them glasses of chilled plum liquor.

"Good place for information, I take it?" Forthwind asked, ignoring the not-terribly-subtle stares of the people around him. At least they were curious, not hostile. In his own language, he said, "Surely Verona sees plenty of people with brown and black skin."

Dante smiled faintly. "Not really. We don't have trade deals with inland countries, and I think I've met maybe two sailors from your country, and they were on a trade route that did not include Verona."

"I thought everything included Verona."

"No, we're the major power in the eastern hemisphere, but in the western hemisphere Bethte is the primary trade hub. We overlap at a few points, but all of them minor. Either you travel the Kitaria Pearl Road or the Bethte Silk Road. Few travel both. The customs, laws, and traditions are too disparate."

"So everyone is going to keep staring at me."

"Everyone is going to keep staring at you."

Forthwind sighed, but he'd take open curiosity over open hostility any day. He sipped at his drink, enjoying the smooth, sweet liquor that would provide a pleasant counterpoint to his rich, salty food. Alcohol was something else he wasn't used to; farm boys drank cheap beer and homebrewed liquor that could strip paint off walls. His mother had always flavored theirs with the blackberries she grew.

He wasn't used to so many options: grape wine, rice wine, fortified wine; liquor in every flavor he could imagine and some he could not; more beers than he'd ever known existed. It would be ridiculous if it wasn't so much fun.

When their meals came, Dante set to work in earnest flirting with their server, who looked wary but pleased that a nobile would notice him. It took a few rounds, and buying more drinks, but eventually Dante had the man softened enough that when he worked the conversation around to the closed stable across the street, the server talked easily.

"It was terrible. They were a blood and bone family, you know? But the father got desperately ill, even the stregoni del cuore couldn't seem to fix what was wrong with him. After he died, it came out he was massively in debt from gambling. The people he owed took nearly everything, and the bank took what was left. Tried to sell it to a few other people, but nobody ever managed to make a success of it the way the Nakajima family did. So it's stayed closed the last eight, nine years or so. Shame."

"What happened to the man's family?" Forthwind asked. "Assuming he had some."

"Oh, he did," the server replied. "A wife and son. They say she left, returned to her family on the continent. The son refused to go with her, and…" He hesitated.

Dante frowned, gently touched the back of the man's hand with his fingertip. "Do not tell me he joined his father? Such a sad tale."

"No, the last I heard, he still works at Blue House. I don't know if that's better or worse." He shrugged. "It's not a very good story for customers, apologies. But I, uh, am finished working in a few more minutes."

"Splendid." Dante rose and slipped away, following the server through a door at the back of the building.

Forthwind rolled his eyes and stole Dante's latest, untouched, drink. He had a feeling he was going to be visiting a whorehouse in the next day or so.

Half an hour later, they were back on the street. Dante looked pensive, bordering on brooding. So he hadn't expected what they'd heard, either. It would be interesting to see how his plans changed with this revelation, but Forthwind didn't waste breath asking. Dante revealed his thoughts when he revealed his thoughts. Instead, Forthwind asked, "So what next?"

"Now we go get some rest, because tonight we're attending a party."

"Delightful. I love this city already. All we do is eat, drink, and leisure all over the place."

Dante snorted. "Welcome to Verona."