Chapter 23 #2
Bes scratches at his jaw, where the beginnings of new stubble has already appeared. “I suppose it is a bit fantastical.”
“A bit?”
Cec comes to my aide. “Have some perspective, Bes: we’ve been around the order for most of our lives, and we’ve witnessed firsthand the gods bestowing their powers on its initiates, including ourselves.
Hawkins has never seen the ceremony. For bloody’s sake, a week ago, she didn’t even know we existed. ”
I almost laugh. “Christ, I’ve known you two idiots for less than a week? Time truly is meaningless.”
“Aye.” Cec holds up a hand, and grips the neck of the prosecco with the other, taking a long pull. “That’s lovable idiots to you.”
I pause before I speak again. “At least tell me you both know you’ve pledged yourself to a glorified religion, right? With a long, bloody, sordid history?”
“We do,” Bes confirms.
“Did you know everything about them before taking your oaths?”
Bes cups the back of his neck. “Just like we weren’t allowed to tell you much, we didn’t learn most of it until we took our blood oaths. But, yes, we understood the general importance of it and learned its history once we passed over that seal.”
I’ll admit, I’m disappointed. “Why do it then?”
“I can’t speak for Bes,” Cec says, “but I had very little choice in the matter, especially after my father took over.”
“It’s true, though technically a choice was made all the same.” Bes straightens. “Despite its glaring flaws, the order provides the means to help the world in a meaningful way. And if the gods grant you a vocation, then it gives you with a purpose, which so many are in desperate need of.”
That must’ve happened for Bes after his parents passed.
Digesting that, I ask, “Which gods do you subscribe to, then? Greek? Roman? Hindu?”
“All of them, really,” Bes explains. “It more goes back to the Tree of Life. While it’s simpler to claim the gods are the ones granting us this magic, we know nothing beyond what the leaves can do. Anything more than that is pure conjecture.”
That makes a bit more sense, at least.
“But you all gain access to each other’s knowledge once you receive the tattoo, right?” I take the prosecco bottle back from Cec. “Does that mean you can read each other’s thoughts?”
My gaze lingers on Bes, thinking about the moments we’ve shared, how I may have looked through his eyes… I don’t want anyone else seeing that. It’s a violation of my own emotions and actions without my knowledge.
“Only the information we gather, not our personal feelings,” Bes amends, and I wonder if he was thinking the same.
“Those of us who’ve been trained can parse out the information and send the Episteme only what’s necessary—almost like telepathy, but over vast distances, connected by the power of the leaves. ”
My head is spinning, and not just from the prosecco. “And they trust you to give them everything?”
Bes and Cec glance near each other. I’m missing something.
Cec answers me seriously. “They have to. Without trust, the entire system collapses.”
I click my tongue. “Must be a pretty shoddy system then.”
“If the walls had ears…” Cec mutters.
“Then we’d all be in trouble,” Bes finishes. “You more than most.”
Cec nods. “Touché.”
I laugh, the prosecco winding its way blissfully along my limbs and relaxing me.
“What about the blood oaths? How do they play into all this?”
Cec leans forward. “Right before the Italian Renaissance, one of the order’s smithies set out to forge a blade that the Valtivar could keep on them conspicuously at all times.
With the help of several Tree of Life leaves stoking the forge’s flames, she created the first cinquedea: a wide-bladed, double-edged weapon meant to be concealed. The same blade my father used today.”
I recall the way that blade pricked my finger, as if it were lit with raging flames.
“Legend says the gods came to the smithy afterward and impressed upon her that the blade she forged was prophesized to force those bitten by its sharp edge to keep their word or perish.”
A fantastical story—one I wouldn’t have believed earlier today.
“So, if you’d told me you were from the Order of Cavendi when I first asked,” I wonder, “what would’ve happened?”
“Nothing. The oath stops us from saying the words Order of Cavendi, among other things. We wouldn’t speak it aloud if we wished to.
If we said the one word bound to our oath, however—that’s different.
” Cec shows me his pinky finger, where I notice a thin scar running across the pad.
“Wherever the blade sliced us would open up and become a festering wound, spreading sickness throughout our entire bodies within seconds. Similar to gangrene, although there was no name for it back then.”
“Sounds awful.” My pricked finger pulses at the implication. “It does make me wonder why they felt the need for such a thing, given their origins were based wholly in faith.”
Bes nods. “A fair point.”
Silence pervades for a moment as I build up the courage to ask Cec something I’ve wanted to know since learning about the blood oaths: “Is it because of your oath that you lost your sight?”
Cec hangs his head before responding glumly.
“No, that happened when I received my tattoo.” He reaches absentmindedly for his upper back, where his tattoo must be hidden.
“This magic, as you call it, can come at a price. Many of the initiates gain it unscathed, but some of us”—he swallows hard—“who are less worthy may lose something to possess it.”
I reach for his hand; Bes watches the movement intently, then places a hand on Cec’s shoulder.
Now, I have a greater understanding of what I saw in the great hall when we first arrived.
About why Bes is the prodigal son instead of Cec: he’s the shame of his family because he lost his sight when he received his tattoo.
Bes, on the other hand, didn’t lose anything.
So, in Ansaldo’s eyes, Bes is more worthy than his own son.
Poor Cec… No wonder he disguises his emotions with humor like I do. Tragedy does things to a person, changes them, shapes them into something new. I’m sure losing his sight isn’t the only thing—real or perceived—to make his father treat him differently.
“Cec, you’re not less worthy,” I tell him softly. “You’re one of the worthiest people I’ve ever met.”
“That’s good of you to say, Hawkins,” he says, squeezing my hand. “Unfortunately, our doctrine would disagree with you.”
“Ansaldo mentioned healers earlier,” I recall. “Why can’t they fix your eyesight?” I glance at Bes, his lenses flickering in the firelight. “Both of yours.”
“Unfortunately, any ailments before joining the Order can’t be fixed with the magic, nor can any conditions created from the tattoos.” Bes holds up a hand as I open my mouth to argue. “Believe me, we’ve tried.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
Cec grins softly. “Water under the bridge, Hawkins. But it means a great deal that you care.”
My attention flicks to Bes, finding him watching me carefully. I don’t respond.
Once we’ve polished off our meals, I half-expect them to leave. But they don’t. Instead, we talk for a long while about inane things, the few good memories of our childhoods, some of the places the two of them have traveled to together for the order.
I catch Bes looking at me, and me at him, throughout the night. Though Cec is in the room with us, there are times I can’t breathe from how intently he watches me.
Eventually, once I’m certain I’m only going to get a few hours of sleep, I kick them out.
Shutting the door and locking it, I extinguish all but the candle on my nightstand. I fall into bed with my clothes still on, exhausted and more than a little drunk.
Laying there, I watch the shadows from the lone flickering candle cast dancing figures across the ceiling.
I’ve spent enough of my life sleeping in strange places, but this is different.
I came here to escape, to stay alive. To not get captured or killed by God Men and Blackshirts.
To find out more about the Amulet of Amun.
This isn’t a vacation for me, nor an expedition.
For a moment though, sitting there on the floor, letting myself laugh freely for the first time in a long time…
I forgot where I am and what I’m doing. For all its faults, the order has, at the very least, given me a safe place to remain alive for a little while longer.
Even if their leader tried to force me into a blood oath.
That’s tomorrow’s problem.
As my eyes flutter closed, caught in the perfect state of blissfully inebriated and bone-tired, I run through all the questions I plan to ask Ansaldo. About the amulet, about my nonna, and anything else I can think of.
But the last thing I think about before sleep takes me is how much I want to kiss Bes Belzoni.