( STORY )
from: CHAPTER FIVE ~ A TRAIL OF BLOOD
characters: Jenyeva (POV), Belasca De Cinza, Salvador
It is the night of a secret meeting in Ladroa's Bosque between the Grey Stripes and the Los Mendigos beggar gang. In order to foil an assassination attempt against the young Lady De Cinza, Kian has asked Jenyeva to go disguised as De Cinza to draw out any would-be killers. Due to the threat of treachery from within the Grey Stripes, only Belasca's trusted Phinska maidservant knows the truth of who wears the lady's mask.
The ruse succeeds. A dozen bravos lurked in the wooded shadows next to a lonely Bosque backroad, but were violently intercepted by Jack, Kian, and the others. However, now Jenyeva finds herself impersonating Lady Belasca De Cinza - surrounded by unsuspecting Grey Stripes, and entering a delicate negotiation with the leader of Los Mendigos...
THE MEETING in the BOSQUE
When she stepped into the small stone building, the first things she noticed were the uncomfortable warmth and the smell. During rougher times, Jenyeva had slept on the streets and led a pickpocket's life. She was no stranger to the funk of humanity, but this was different. The midnight air of Ladroa had been cold and damp, but inside the old stone shack, the sweat of a dozen bodies in unwashed clothing mingled with notes of pungent tobacco and foreign spices.
Before her sat the captains of Los Mendigos; a few of them were middle-aged, but most were not much older than herself; lean young men and women with dirty skin still brown from the summer months spent outdoors. Most of them wore colourful scarves around their necks or in their hair. Their wrinkled clothes were embroidered with old ethnic motifs or patches of motley, and accented with beads and handmade jewelry. They lounged around the hut, draped over old crates and broken furniture, and even over each other in the cramped quarters. Two dangled their feet from the low-hanging rafters overhead.
At the center of the hut, their leader squatted on an old bushel of thatch, with a gnarled walking staff gripped upright in one hand, like a king holding court. A wineflask was tied across his chest and a quilted patchwork mantle, somehow both shabby and majestic, was thrown over his shoulders. He was the oldest among them, his face a thicket of iron-flecked whiskers and his brow webbed with creases - but he was likely still younger than he appeared. At his feet was a small metal brazier full of roasting chestnuts, which he stirred idly with an old stiletto.
To his left crouched a young man with tattooed arms and the beginnings of a short dark beard. A scarf was wrapped around his head like a turban, and his eyes darted to each of the people in the Grey Stripes party in turn.
The hut had already been crowded, but with the arrival of De Cinza's six-person entourage, the sudden closeness of everything was almost unbearable. Jenyeva kept her head low, not daring to look up at those present - not yet. She tried to draw in a long deep breath, but the fine, closely-fitted lady's dress she wore rebelled against her, cruelly forcing the air back out of her lungs. It felt difficult to move in everything she was wearing now, and she tried not to shift uncomfortably under the gaze of all assembled. The delicately-etched plaster mask she wore was already beaded with condensation inside, and now seemed to suffocate her. For a brief moment she was afraid she might swoon, and immediately felt stupid for it.
A small steely hand on the back of her arm steadied her beneath her cape. Tzeyna, the Lady De Cinza's taciturn Phinska valet, did not look to her or change her expression, but the sharpness of her grip restored focus.
Juan-Geraldo, the most senior surviving Grey Stripe, whispered to his lieutenant to stand watch outside. The man seemed relieved and stepped out, and for a brief moment the hut felt marginally less crowded. When the door closed, the beggar chief raised his eyes.
“Welcome to our shelter, traveler." said Salvador with pronounced ceremony. “The nights are growing cold in the Bosque. Warm yourself by our fire, and share in our bounty..." His smile twisted slightly. With a deft flick of the stiletto he held, he launched three chestnuts from the brazier in a puff of cinders, and sent them flying across the hut towards Jenyeva.
A blur of movement danced in her periphery, and with a soft rustling of fabric, Tzeyna was suddenly between Jenyeva and the leader of Los Mendigos. A long, curved knife had appeared in her hand, as if from nowhere. A small, quiet chorus of metal-on-leather hissed as daggers were loosened in sheathes around the room.
Jenyeva exhaled slowly and placed a careful hand on Tzeyna's back, motioning her aside. Salvador had not moved. He only looked on with a practiced weary curiosity. Jenyeva searched for words. The right quip, a retort -- anything to take control of the moment. Words were always difficult for her to find.
Far more difficult for her than snatching chestnuts out of the air.
She held up a gloved hand, and in it were all three chestnuts, still steaming. There was a ripple among the assembled Mendigos; stifled guffaws and a few low whistles. Someone in the rafters gave a slow clap. Jenyeva's mind was racing, still searching for a response. Instead she simply blinked her eyes behind her mask, in a slow feline flutter that she hoped would seem like bored nonchalance. Then she tossed the chestnuts to some of the gathered Mendigos.
Salvador glanced around at his followers, and the younger man beside him cocked an eyebrow. Salvador leaned forward. “Will the lady - our honoured guest - not remove her mask? May our unworthy eyes not look upon the face of the daughter of Don Rafael de Cinza?"
Jenyeva took a deep breath. Her hand made to remove her mask, but a nudge from Tzeyna stopped her. At that moment, a small Mendigos lad had slipped through the door and wriggled forward to Salvador, his face perplexed. He began to whisper a message, but was interrupted by the entry of two new figures. One was a man, blond, unmasked and lean-faced, with alert dark eyes. He wore a mail shirt under his tunic, and hand-axes at his belt. The other person was a young woman, her brown hair mostly hidden under her plain hooded cape, and her face behind a half-mask. She folded her cape and handed it to one of the Grey Stripes men, his own face agape in confusion. She stepped past Jenyeva and Tzeyna to stand at the center of the room.
“Please indulge my late arrival, venerable Senor Salvador." Her voice was dainty, but assertive. “I do hope that you didn't subject my proxy to any tiresome antics in my absence?" The girl gave a wry smile, partly visible beneath her mask.
“Your proxy--?" Salvador's incredulity betrayed him, but he was quick to regain lost ground. “Is this how you come among us for parlay, milady? Our camps are bonded by oath. Why mount this... elaborate deception?"
She sniffed slightly. “Senor Salvador, the Bosque is known to be dangerous after dark. In fact, it has only just reached by ears that on this very night, in a grove not far from here, a dozen men met with horribly violent deaths." She paused as a murmur went through those assembled. She then lifted the mask from her face, and passed it to Tzeyna. “If I were deceiving you, Salvador, then the true Belasca de Cinza would not be standing before you now."
She was smaller and younger than Jenyeva, her face softer and plainer, but with a bearing and accent that conveyed importance. Her attire was elegant but austere, more befitting a married Iagosi woman than a young girl, with only vents of grey silk poking through her brown, slashed-velvet sleeves to signal the Grey Stripes livery.
Salvador sized her up, and nodded, “You do have the look of your father about you. So, you've finally emerged from hiding, milady?"
“You think I am I hiding, Senor Salvador? I assure you, I've been quite busy since I returned to Ladroa, though perhaps not in the circles that you are accustomed to, Master Beggar. Everyone is telling me that I must move carefully, but I still have so much to rebuild. For this reason, it is good that you requested this meeting; it is past time that we spoke on the matters between our families."
Salvador tilted his head back, literally looking down his nose at her. “And what does a girl your age know of the matters between our families? Time was, I dealt with Jorge Ballenero on such things. Are there no other senior officers of the Grey Stripes that I should be addressing instead?" His eyes darted to Juan-Geraldo, then to the other Stripes men. Most looked away, while Juan-Geraldo simply stared ahead, unflinching.
Belasca's tiny brow knitted as she spoke, “Senor Salvador, I am the last De Cinza in Ladroa, and I speak for the Stripes. Captain Ballenero was like a second father to me. He made sure I understood what our order was -- but more importantly, where we came from. Very recently, I have come to understand just how far from that path we strayed. The Grey Stripes were almost destroyed, not just because of Cortazaro's treachery, but because we foolishly made a place for vile men like him at our bosom. We must take a lesson from this, and change our ways."
Salvador nodded sagely, and scratched his chin. “Well, it does seem like you've wasted no time taking the reins of the organization -- now that nobody else remains. But where were you when the blood of Grey Stripes men was running in the streets? When Cortazaro took the Grey Lodge, who was it who protected your people?"
Her eyes flashed. “Ballenero saw the rift coming within the Stripes when my father did not. He knew there would be blood, and he sought to protect me by sending me away. He may have thought me still a child - perhaps I still was at that time - but that was almost a year ago, when I still had a family and a home. Ballenero said he would avenge my father and set things right, so when I learned of the Captain's death by treachery, I knew I could not stay away. I needed to return to Ladroa, as... a matter of honour. They say there are no orphans in Los Mendigos because you are all as one blood - one family. I expect you all understand such bonds." Belasca gestured around to all the others in attendance.
She fixed Salvador with her glare and gritted her small white teeth. “So, which is it, Salvador? Do you think I am some callow, frivolous waif? Or am I a scheming architect of all my family's woes? Should I have killed Cortazaro myself with these small girlish hands? Or perhaps I should I have waited longer, just to see if you would eventually do it?"
Jenyeva felt the chill that went through the room. Salvador lowered his head a moment and chewed his lip. Finally he answered. “Forgive my manners, Donna de Cinza. We Mendigos speak plainly. I did not wish to give offense, but there is a serious matter between our people. Just now, I needed to know who I was truly dealing with."
Belasca wrinkled her nose and nodded slightly before answering. “Then be satisfied that it is I you are speaking with, and no other. And please do feel at liberty to speak plainer still, Senor."
Salvador looked thoughtful. “Our fight was not with the renegades called the Reborn, but we readily gave sanctuary to Ballenero's loyalists in the Bosque. At our own risk, we hid them away from the knives of their former comrades. I know there are few Stripes left, but there would be fewer still had they not taken shelter at our fires."
“A hundred years ago, it was the other way around, no?” Belasca retorted. “Was it not your forefathers who sought refuge during the Purge of Ladroa, and was it not the first Ballenero of the Grey Stripes who granted it?"
Salvador smiled mirthlessly. “Yes, at the cost of our faith. Our ancestors were forced to renounce our Prophet and convert to the Wheel of Braius... and also pay the Stripes tribute for such a privilege."
“Just so.” replied Belasca. “The Reclamation was a holy war. The Daramadi cult corrupted the Holy Trine with the worship of a dead Sankadian Prince they claimed was a true prophet. I've studied the histories of the Trine, Salvador. The price of heresy back then was death, but the first Ballenero saw a different way in Ladroa. Do you now find fault with his choices?" Belasca cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “But forgive me, Salvador... I did not see you for the pious man you surely are. No doubt, you must spend one sunrise and one sunset each week prostrate in the Terceto's Tower of Aramad, yes? Forswearing women, dice, meat, and alcohol?"
A couple of stifled chuckles and knowing glances circulated among the Mendigo lieutenants, but all were silenced by a harsh look from Salvador.
Belasca's smile faded, and she looked thoughtful. “From your words, I understand that you wish to be released from your debt to the house of Ballenero and to the Grey Stripes? Is that it?"
“Released, you say? Do we wish to be released?" Salvador looked meaningfully around the room, and nodded. “Oh, we do."
Belasca blinked twice and smiled weakly. “I confess, I am... relieved. I felt burdened by the knowledge of all your people have done for us. The old debt has certainly been repaid. I see no reason for the young men and women of Los Mendigos to feel chained to such an obligation, which was made long before their birth. I believe we must put such old debts to rest, and be free to make our own choices. To make a new way. Is it not so?"
This last question was not directed to Salvador, but to the room, returning the gaze of every Mendigo watching her. “But still, our two fraternities are linked by history. If anything has been demonstrated recently, it is that the unity between our groups is strength. I also say that the Grey Stripes of Ladroa will no longer prey upon their own people. Ladroa is a city of passion and freedom. Let the rich come here to taste our liberty and our pleasures, but we need not be crushed by them, or forced to squabble and betray and exploit one another for stolen scraps!"
She paused, looking for a flicker of understanding in her audience. “I also admire how Los Mendigos live free -- but are you truly free if you must hide yourselves away in the woods, and be treated as heathens and outcasts? The Bosque should be your home, but not your prison. The De Cinzas still have the mandate afforded by our lordly title. I wish to forge the Grey Stripes anew, but for this we need the fire of youth more than ever. And that is something Los Mendigos has."
The patriarch looked on wryly, unmoved. “Those old times are gone, milady. The Grey Lodge was once strong in this city, but now the trade winds have changed, as they say."
Salvador reached to the floor beneath his brazier, taking up a handful of old ash. He clenched it tightly. “You bear your family title, for all that it's worth. But it is also true that your Grey Stripes holdings will need protection. You will need new soldiers. You need our numbers, but what can you offer? You act as if the De Cinza name makes you strong, but everyone here can plainly see that you are... weak." Salvador then loosened his grip, letting the ashes slip through his fingers. “We may be the paupers, but now it is you who comes begging from us. What can an old family name guarantee? In a city like Ladroa, all things are for sale. And if you are not strong enough to hold it, perhaps what you have is just... free for the taking?"
Jenyeva saw many of the Mendigos in the hut looked nervous and exchanged wide-eyed glances. Even the young tattooed man at Salvador's side seemed surprised and uneasy with such a brazen ultimatum.
Belasca shifted impatiently as Salvador spoke. Finally, she took a deep breath and shrugged. “It is as you say. I have come begging. And here, among Los Mendigos, the great beggars' clan, I will feel no shame for that. We do as we must, and I need help." She turned again to speak to the assembled lieutenants. “What I offer is an alliance of equals, not a return to oaths made by our forefathers. Our city is troubled now, but it is also a time of opportunity. We will once again earn the respect of Ladroa. The Grey Stripes will have new ships, and new holdings to manage. Under the De Cinza name, we will rebuild our influence in this city, and have no fear of the Mariscales. It has already begun, but we will need your support..."
Salvador tugged his beard absently. “Those are bold aspirations, milady. But your Captain Ballenero was betrayed by his own and murdered in the streets. Have such dangers now passed? This is not a game for pampered young girls."
Belasca favoured him with a wary sidelong gaze. “So then, do you counsel me to dissolve the Stripes? Cede our holdings to more experienced hands like yours, so I can return to my prayers and my needlepoint?"
“It would undoubtedly be much safer, milady." Salvador said softly, with a sad, disingenuous smile.
Belasca looked to the floor for a moment. Then she turned and took her cape from the man holding it. From her vantage point, Jenyeva could see the faint tremble of the girl's gloved hand, and the lump forming in her throat, though she was not sure if it was from fear or anger. However, when the young lady turned back to face the gathering once more, her tone was even. “I will take my leave tonight. Think on what I have said. I ask if the beggars of Los Mendigos will join your fortunes to ours. Nothing more, nothing less. This is not just an offer to you, Salvador. I believe all of Los Mendigos are free, after all? This path is open to all of you... you have only to choose it."
As Belasca's party gathered by the door, Salvador took a swig from his wineskin and spoke again. “I pray you consider my offer instead, milady. Heed my warning, Ladroa is a city of wolves. I am thinking only of your safety, and that of our Grey Stripes brothers with whom we have already shared our bread."
She paused and addressed him one last time. “Senor Salvador, perhaps you can you tell me this; is it known just what happened to the evil Cortazaro and his cult, who betrayed my family?"
Salvador squinted a moment, his eyes lost in the uneven crease of his bushy brows. “Nothing good. There are some rumours..."
“Yes, I'm sure there are. I have learned many lessons of late, Salvador. Among them, it is said that in order to truly know who your friends are, it is useful to appear weak... even when you are not." She raised her white mask to her face as she finished the sentence. “I wonder if Cortazaro's men learned that lesson before they died?"
With that, she turned, and with her somber followers close around her, she walked back into the cold night air.
* * * *
