“Where is that thing?” Luciano muttered as he hung in the air, twenty feet above the ground, eyes searching desperately along empty rooftops. After just a few seconds the earth reasserted it’s will and he dropped back down on it with a heavy thud.
“You see anything?” Weyland asked him, absently rubbing the palm of his left hand with his right thumb.
“Well, it’s not on that side of the street at least.” Luciano pivoted on his heel and crouched down, gathering strength in his legs, then he leapt up once again. His Gift carried him up once more and the town of Cosentia spread out below him. The snug cottages had stood along the Valentine river for a half a dozen generations, solid stone walls with airy thatched roofs along streets that paralleled the river’s course for about half a mile.
While the landscape was pleasant and peaceful Luciano didn’t have eyes for much of it. He was scanning the tops of the houses carefully. Halfway through his latest jump he spotted it. When he next landed beside Weyland he pointed to a house just a little to their right. “It’s on the roof, right in the middle of the thatch.”
Weyland nodded and stretched his right hand, palm out towards the stone peak of the roof. He clenched his hand and his own Gift grasped the stone wall and dragged him upwards. Since they were children Weyland’s grasp had proven a remarkably safe way to move things. Others in Cosentia had the same gift but ran the risk of breaking the things they grasped or yanking their arms out of socket when the weight of an object proved more than they expected. Weyland never overburdened himself. At the same time, he could pull a crystal goblet across the whole town in five seconds without even cracking it.
Unless a wall got in the way. No one was perfect, after all.
Of course, an object the size of a house was too big to move so Weyland was dragged to the peak of the roof by his grasp, casually hopping off the cobblestones and onto the stone wall and running up it sideways as he let his Gift pull him along. A moment later his right hand rested flatly against the wall and he came to a stop. Though Luciano was used to seeing him do such things he still found his brother an odd sight. Young and lanky, fair blond hair and scraggly beard whipping in the autumn breeze, bright yellow tunic and red pants painted in muted tones by the light of the setting sun, Weyland looked even more out of place than normal.
Unbothered by the odd figure he cut, Weyland dragged his head over the top of the roof and stretched his left hand out over the edge of the roof. Luciano couldn’t see what Weyland was doing but he knew the motions all the same. Weyland would Grasp the small bundle of cloth tied into a round ball by cord then draw it to himself. When it got close, he’d whip his hand around and release his Grasp, sending it flying. Luciano counted out the timing to himself. Then he took two steps down the street and leapt up and forward fifteen feet to catch the ball on his chest, bounce it off one knee and grab it in both hands. He landed on the ground to a smattering of applause from people passing on the street.
Luciano sketched a quick bow, whipping his shapeless cap off the top of his head and waving it before his knees like he was a traveling Maestro. Then he tugged the cap back on over his black curls and trotted back to Weyland. His brother had let himself down the side of the building, grasping the wall at intervals of two or three feet and sliding down until his palm was flat against his target, repeating it over and over again until he reached the ground. Luciano casually dropped the ball and kicked it over towards Weyland’s head.
Weyland stretched a hand out and grasped the ball, dragging it off course and looping it around his back then slingshotting it back at his brother. Luciano bounced it off his forehead and kicked it to Weyland again. Back and forth it went as the two boys worked their way north towards their home on the banks of the river, the lay of the land and the passing of the ball as familiar to them as their own hands. So Luciano was surprised when he kicked the ball straight at Weyland’s stomach and it actually connected. Of course, the ball was just loosely packed cloth so it bounced off harmlessly but he didn’t understand why his brother missed such a simple catch until he followed the line of Weyland’s eyes up, over his shoulder and towards the river.
Or rather, where the river should have been.
Instead of flowing water, a towering serpent of brackish liquid stretched up and out of the riverbed, looping around one of the three bridges that crossed into Cosentia and staring down into the town’s central square. Icy hands grabbed hold of Luciano’s stomach. Every man and woman was born with a Gift but not all Gifts were as common as his leap or his brother’s grasp. Few indeed were those who could invoke. Certainly Luciano had never met one or even heard of one visiting the town. There were far greener pastures for people who could bind the spirits of a place to their will and invoke their powers in the physical realm.
Yet clearly someone had done just that with the spirit of the Valentine River.
Weyland grasped their ball and dragged it back into his hand in an absent minded fashion then shoved it into Luciano’s arms. Then the two of them dashed down the street, watching the banks of the river. There was something hypnotic about the rushing of the misdirected river water, the gradual sway of the twisting serpent and the surreal atmosphere of a spirit made manifest that drew the boys in. The small houses and mills lining the side of the river opened as the crossroad gave way to the bridge spanning the river.
On the bridge was a man in a worn traveling cloak over chain mail who carried a tall, gnarled, heavy cane. Four gems were embedded on the top of the cane, one of which glowed with a pale green light while the other three reflected the illumination in their dark, polished faces. The green light cast strange, sinister shadows over the man’s face and salt and pepper hair.
The mayor of Cosentia, Phillipe Mender, was there by the bridge. Phillipe was white haired and stooped, with none of the force of personality or very obvious power of the stranger. He didn’t look intimidated, though. “Who are you, stranger,” the mayor demanded of the other, “and why have you roused our river from it’s restless slumber?”
“I am Julian Treivaggio Renician Borgia,” the stranger intoned, his voice reminding Luciano of a pompous Herald who thought his title made him important. “I come on behalf of the Borgias to place this village under our protection.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd of Cosentians who were gathering around the bridge. Luciano caught the name Borgia repeated over and over again but the whispers were too quick and quiet for him to glean any significance to them. Even Phillipe looked a little intimidated by the name. “Respectfully, Signor Borgia, the people of Cosentia are subjects of the Prince of Torrence and while we understand the influence of your family, the city of Renice is far away across the troubled waters of Lum. What protection can you offer us that Torrence cannot?”
“What protection does Torrence offer you now?” Julian countered. The towering water serpent slowly wrapped itself around the bridge as Julian swaggered off of it, the liquid coils tightening until the stone grated and rumbled ominously. “Do they watch the roads for danger? Are there no bandits in the mountains or thunder eels in the waterways? In this moment of peril, what benefit does Torrence have for you, pray tell?”
Phillipe snorted. “Will the Borgias be any better?”
“To purchase the protection of Papa Borgia is to purchase back your very lives from a watery grave,” Julian sneered. He pushed past the mayor to strut down through the town square, raising his voice until anyone near the bridge could hear him. “What is Cosentia? A town on a half forgotten tributary of the least important river ever to feed the Gulf of Lum.”
Some people muttered displeasure but Luciano thought it odd none of them spoke louder than that. He’d often heard that a peasant in Torrence was worth a dozen nobles in Renice or Lome. Then again, in the face of a living river such sentiments were very difficult to hold on to.
Julian continued his steady circuit around the square. “What do you have to offer Torrence? Plain women? Wine vinegar? Fish that, no matter how fresh when first caught, will be rotting and putrid by the time any worthy of that city receives them? You’re nothing more than the caretakers of a few rundown bridges. No one even cares whether they still stand. What is beyond them? The lowlands and vineyards those roads once led to are long since lost to the waters of Lum. The only thing you’re good for is to give us what few pitiful coins you have in exchange for another day of life.”
Luciano and Weyland were caught up in an ever-growing press of townspeople watching the drama. A few paces in front of them, Petrucio Ironhand, the blacksmith, snorted under his breath and muttered, “And all this one’s good for tiresome speeches. Is he an Invoker or a Blowhard?”
The serpent of the river and Julian both spun their heads to stare at Petrucio in eerie synchronization and the invoker spun on his heel and crossed the square swiftly. A strange light glinted in his eyes and the left jewel on his cane. “Perhaps the savages of Cosentia don’t understand reasoned speech any better than they know the subtleties of the great Gifts.” The crowd parted before Julian’s approach, leaving Petrucio alone before the interloper. “Tell me, you of the ignorant mouth and filthy hands, did you know that an invoker can see and hear all that his spirits see and hear?”
“Well…” Petrucio’s startled expression and suddenly sweaty skin suggested that no, he had not.
Before he could say anything else the riverine snake darted down and snatched him away, his body sucked up into the river water until it was little more than a dark shadow in the rushing waters coiling about the bridge. Julian spun, clubbing another man who had tried to shove Petrucio out of the way over the head with his cane. “Pathetic, all of you. Slinking and whispering when you think no one looks, totally unable to recognize when you are in the presence of those who are truly beyond your abilities.” He kicked the man back into the crowd. “It would be so much easier to simply buy your safety but you cannot conceive of such a thing in your feeble minds.”
The sudden and uncertain fate of Petrucio had clearly dealt a hard blow to Phillipe’s spirit and the mayor raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Of course, of course, Signor Borgia. Tell me what price Papa Borgia is demanding and we shall work out a way to pay it.”
Julain pointed in the direction the serpent had dragged Petrucio. “You can start by bringing me that fool’s wife so she can be sold. Cosentia has missed it’s opportunity to buy protection for money, Mayor Mender, for the Borgias do not abide disrespect even if it is rooted in idiocy rather than malice. We will take our price from your people this time. You can bring me thirty whores for the pleasure district of Renice or thirty laborers to work the galleys of her harbors. Or thirty of you can die today. The choice is yours.”
The crowd murmured again but Julian Borgia silenced them by slamming his staff on the ground once, the gems set there sparking with multicolored lights. “What of it? Who is here to defend you, the Prince of Torrence? Benicio Gale? Or will you call down the Kings at the Corners upon me?” He gestured up to the sky, where dusk was giving way to the first glimmers of starlight. “Perhaps the King of Stars will intervene on you behalf!”
A small choking noise next to him alerted Luciano to his brother’s growing rage. Weyland was clenching and unclenching his fists as he quietly shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet, one eyebrow twitching slightly. He put a lot of faith in omens from the four kings. Unfortunately, the small noise he made was enough to draw Julian’s attention. He crossed the last few steps to Weyland, again parting the crowd through his mere presence, and looked the boy over hard. “What is this, then?” He grabbed Weyland’s shoulder and loomed over him. The Borgia was at least six inches taller than Luciano’s brother, who was by no means small. “I know this place is far to the north but I didn’t expect the Isenkinder to be starting families here. They work hard, though. If you give me the whole family I’ll count them double.”
“Oh you will, will you?” The words were out of Luciano’s mouth before he had a chance to think about them. He realized he was still holding the ball and tossed it aside as he stepped in front of his brother, suddenly finding it hard to focus on the giant man in front of him. “Thank you, but no. My brother is too good for the likes of you.”
Julian stared at Luciano, his mouth agape, then he turned to examine Weyland, then Luciano again. Luciano was suddenly very cognizant of the difference in height between himself and his brother, who towered over him as much as Julian did over Weyland. The contrast between his black, curling hair and Weyland’s straight, yellow locks. His brother’s round, craggy face with pinkish, often burnt skin and his own thin, sharp nose and olive complexion. Julian’s gaping turned to a malicious smile. “Your brother? What a fascinating thing to say.”
“Yes, my brother. I’ll thank you to keep you hands off him. And Cosentia as well.” An instinctive spasm twitched through Luciano’s left leg, a physical manifestation of the bizarre energy suddenly coursing through his blood. “Who do you think you are, claiming our people? Weyland was born in Isenlund but he has been here these ten years since his parents caught blood lung and he’s far more claim on this village than you. You’re no one here.”
Julian’s smile turned into a sneer. “Let me teach you a lesson about the world outside your village, boy. Out there, kin is not something so quaint. You grew up with this child so you call him your brother? Nonsense.” He tapped his chest with his cane. The gems flashed and stayed lit as the river spirit loomed down over the three of them. “I am a Borgia, kin to Grigori Borgia, the greatest man in Renice, and though I’ve never met him the blood and oaths that bond us are unshakeable. We share a place of birth, the blood of Castor Borgia runs through both our veins and the bread and wine of our house is shared among us all during the great feasts. These are powerful portents that tie us together. What do you two have?”
“When the King of Scars took my parents to the Eternal City Luciano’s family took me in,” Weyland growled. “We’ve worked the vineyards to make your wine. We’ve climbed the mountains to the headwaters of the Valentine. We eat at the same table under the same roof. What more could you ask for?
“What more?” Julian laughed, a deep, rasping sound like the bottom of a pot of stew burning when left too long on the coals. “There is more to a family than simply spending time around one another. The hen and the goat graze in the same field but they are not related for it isn’t in their nature to share anything. So it is with you.”
The Borgia turned to grin at the mayor. “Still, I think I will take these two boys. Twenty eight more to buy your protection.”
“Or we could ask the King of Stars,” Luciano said.
An irate expression crossed Julian’s face before he composed himself and he turned to Luciano. “Boy. The river can take you if you insist on talking.”
“But you said we could call on the King of Stars,” Luciano said, pointing up to bright Polaris, just beginning to shine out through the growing dusk. “And there is his First Herald.”
“Oh.” Julian twisted his lips into something like a smile. “You want to go and join your friend’s parents in the Eternal City?”
“You say we need powerful portents to tie us together. But the Kings at the Corners of Eternity set forth a man’s future in their omens and guide his steps by their Heralds from the time we are born until the time we pass through Eternity’s gates into what lies beyond. If a shared sign is all we need to be family and we can’t share birth or blood I suppose we’ll just have to die the same day.”
Luciano shot Weyland a sly look and saw his brother was grinning back at him. “So you think if we die the same day, that makes him wrong?”
“That’s the shape of it.”
“But if he doesn’t kill us he’s a fool,” Weyland mused.
“Don’t play word games with me,” Julian hissed, pointing his staff at Weyland in menacing fashion. “You can see who the fool is when we chain you to the galleys.”
“Try it.” The boys replied in unison.
Luciano leapt into the air using the full power of his Gift. A split second after his feet left the ground he felt Weyland grasp onto him and the two of them shot upwards as the living river crashed through the place they’d just been like a runaway wave. The mass of water heaved and coiled through the town square as the two boys flew in a long, flat arc up and over the dry riverbed. At the peak of the arc Weyland released his grasp. Luciano fell down and smashed into the road on the other side of the river, his Gift allowing him to dig deep ruts in the dirt there without suffering any of the impact, while Weyland reached out one hand and grasped onto the roof of a boathouse on that side of the river then dragged himself towards it to break his fall. He landed a bit hard but rolled and came up looking okay.
The escape was short lived. The living river scooped Julian up in its coils, the churning mass of water twisting around the old stone bridge and shattering it into rubble. Then both invoker and his invoked spirit turned and rushed across the riverbed towards them. Weyland let go of the boathouse roof and reached his empty hand back.
“Aleyup!” He called.
A piece of rubble from the bridge about the size of a man’s chest shot towards Weyland, who then slung it around in a tight circle at the end of his Grasp. The serpent bobbed evasively when Weyland released the chunk of rock. But instead of throwing it at Julian Weyland tossed it towards Luciano who, in turn, focused his Gift and kicked a foot up at just the right moment for the rubble to land flat against his sole.
Then he leapt.
With nothing more than a small rock to brace against even Luciano’s gift didn’t take him very far. The chunk of stone, on the other hand, shot away from him and towards Julian like it was launched from a trebuchet. With both invoker and spirit focused on Weyland neither one saw the attack coming. The rock struck the water snake with a loud splash, shot through the water and smashed into the Borgia’s side with a surprisingly loud thud.
Julian cried out and swayed. In that moment Weyland reached out one hand and grasped, yanking the man’s staff from his hand and sending it careening off into the distance. The serpent shuddered as swayed, sheets of water dropping off of it and running through the streets. It didn’t fully return to the riverbed but it did shrink to about half its previous size, sinking down to ground level long enough for its rider to disembark.
With a wave of his hand Julian sent the river serpent up towards Luciano, who sprang off the ground to the roof of the boathouse to the tower of the old Herald’s Hall across the street. Weyland went the other way, grasping the central of stables and houses to pull himself from building to building like a spider weaving an invisible web.
Julian kept his attention on Luciano. The invoked river had shrunken but it was still large enough to wrap fully around the tower twice as it rose up towards the roof. “This is inevitable, child!” Julian shouted. “This is not some simple flood you can outrun by moving to higher ground, this is your doom, written in the hand of your betters!”
“Eternity keeps our fates,” Luciano called back. “If you’re a Herald for it you’re the funniest looking one I’ve ever seen.”
“You don’t understand how this game is played!”
That was something they agreed on. As the watery snake’s head came even with the roof Luciano leaped out over it. This was obviously what Julian had been expecting as he had produced a crankbow from somewhere within his cloak and now aimed it at the boy, tracking him towards his landing spot.
Except Luciano didn’t land there. He stretched his body out as flat as he could make it and let Weyland grasp a hold of him from a few hundred feet down the road, swinging him in a long, pendulous arc that nearly scraped his toes off on the cobblestones. As Luciano swung past Weyland’s vantage on the stable’s roof the blond boy released his grasp, letting his brother shoot straight up under the influence of all that freed momentum.
Luciano could look down and see everything that happened in the seconds after.
The river serpent struck at Weyland, grabbing him in its mouth and dragging him into the churning waters of its body. Just before his head vanished into the water he grabbed hold of Luciano once more as he reached the apex of his jump. His brother’s gift slung him down towards the ground at a pace that would frighten most people. Leapers never feared landing, though, so Luciano focused on the target Weyland had given him in that last second above water.
Because his brother hadn’t just pulled him towards the ground. He had aimed him at Julian, who’s attention was still focused on directing his invoked spirit. The Borgia didn’t realize something was amiss until a split second before Luciano collided with him.
Luciano’s gift made it impossible for him to get hurt when falling from great heights. The same was not true for the things he landed on. Until that day he had never landed on a person before.
For a moment after Luciano crashed into Julian the serpent froze in place. Then mass of water crashed to the ground and swept away, not like water running off after a storm but like a mass of worms squirming for cover after a rock is taken from on top of them. The liquid kept to the streets, avoiding buildings and people as it rushed back towards the riverbed. It even left Weyland and Petrucio where they were.
Although for whatever reason it chose to sweep away the remains of Julian Borgia.
Luciano picked himself up off the ground and made his way to his brother, trying to control his shaking. Thankfully, Weyland rolled over and struggled to his feet at the same time. After coughing out a little water he shook his head and said, “I think that was the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
“Worse than the time I tried to catch a cardinal by jumping out of our olive tree?”
“Yeah, worse than that. I still miss that tree, though.” Weyland spat some kind of grit out of his mouth and glanced up towards Polaris. “The King of Stars seemed to like it, though.”
Luciano threw one arm over his brother’s shoulders. “So you think he’ll come to collect us on the same day?”
“Maybe. If that’s what it takes for us to be brothers, I won’t complain.”
“Let’s try not to find out for sure any time soon.”
“Right.” Weyland straightened up and started towards the blacksmith. “Let’s hope he hasn’t come for Petrucio either.”
Luciano nodded and took one last look at Polaris. It had been high in the sky the night his parents told him Weyland would be his brother. Now, here it was again. A good omen. Hopefully it would always be so.
Nate Chen Publications 