Tallow (15 page)

'TALLOW? WAKE UP. OH, PLEASE,
give me a sign that you can hear me.'

Tallow's eyes slowly fluttered open and Pillar fell back against the wall of the casa in relief. 'Thank God!' he said in a broken voice. 'I thought for a moment I'd lost you, too.'

Sitting up slowly, Tallow looked around. They were in a dark, narrow ramo. The buildings were so close together that sunlight was a foreigner; moss and rising damp were the regular inhabitants. The cobbles felt wet to the touch and the few doorways and stairs leading into houses were rotting. Not surprisingly, apart from a couple of emaciated stray cats, there was no-one else around. A familiar dank smell forced Tallow to screw up her nose.

'Tallow,' she said, recognising the odour of her namesake.

Pillar nodded. 'That's right,' he half-laughed. 'Can't mistake it, can you? We're in the Chandlers Quartiere. We took so long, Carlosa refused to take us back to our canal, despite the extra ducat. Can't blame him. We're lucky he brought us this far. More than most would have done.' He glanced at Tallow. 'How are you feeling? When I found you by the pledge stone, I couldn't wake you. I had to carry you back to the traghetto. Carlosa had smelling salts, but even they didn't work.'

Tallow tried to stand, but her legs kept buckling beneath her. Pillar gripped her elbow, holding her steady until she found her feet. 'How long have we been here?' she asked.

'About half an hour or so. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't carry you around the quartiere. Attract too much attention. I thought about going to a farmacista or summoning a dottore, but I didn't want to answer any questions.'

'A farmacista? For medicine? Why?' Following the direction of Pillar's gaze, she touched her ears. They felt swollen, strange. Then she remembered. The blood – the agony. They'd been hurt badly. She examined her hands. 'You cleaned the blood away. Thank you.'

'Blood? What blood? The only thing I saw when I got back to the pledge stone was you curled up in a ball, unconscious, and your ears all misshapen. They look burnt. Shocked me to pieces, it did.' He shook his head. 'No good comes of visiting pledge stones. Never did, never will.' He shifted his feet awkwardly. Tallow was trying to recall what had happened. She couldn't keep her fingers away from her ears; they felt alien.

'The whole thing's my fault, you know,' said Pillar miserably. 'I shouldn't have chased after the Bond Rider, but I thought –' Pillar paused. His eyes had a distant look.

'You thought it was your father, didn't you?' finished Tallow.

Pillar took a moment to reply.

'Yes.' He swallowed hard.

'Was it?'

Pillar shrugged. 'I don't know. Couldn't be sure. When they've lived in the Limen a while, they all start to look the same. Could have been anyone.'

Tallow remembered the tall man with the intense blue eyes. He'd turned when Pillar had called. 'Look,' said Pillar, trying to change the subject. 'Let's put what's happened behind us. I really don't want to talk about it. If your ears aren't too painful, how about I find some food. Then we'll catch another traghetto home.'

'My ears don't hurt at all,' I said. 'Do they really look that bad?'

'No,' said Pillar. 'Not bad, just different. You can see something's happened to them. And they're still very red. You stay here. I'll duck into the piazzetta behind us; I'm bound to find something to eat.'

True to his word, Pillar found a vendor selling sweetmeats and returned moments later. Side by side, they sat on the sleepy fondamenta, their legs dangling over the water, and ate their pastries.

They chewed in silence for a while, watching the play of sunlight on the water. 'So, what's this about blood?' asked Pillar finally, wiping his hands on his vest. He lowered his voice even further. 'What happened to you back at the pledge stone?'

Tallow tried to explain. But how could she find the words to express the horror and outrage she'd felt, the hope that she knew her presence offered? Nonetheless, she tried.

When she finished, Pillar just sat, unmoving. Tallow fiddled with her ears, pushing her hair down over them, waiting for Pillar to speak.

'Whose voices do you reckon you were hearing?' he asked finally.

'I don't know for sure,' said Tallow, avoiding a direct answer. She couldn't tell Pillar what she thought to be true.

Pillar took a deep breath. 'They say that the souls of the Bond Riders are trapped in the pledge stones. When men and women make their pledge, give their Bond and release their blood into the stone, part of their soul goes in there too. It waits inside for the Bond to be completed or broken.'

'And then they're set free.'

'Used to be. That's what the Estrattore would do: extract the essence of each Bond Rider and return the portion of their soul that they'd given to them. It used to be that once Bond Riders had fulfilled their pledge, they had a choice. They could either return to their old lives or remain in the Limen – the only mortals that ever could. At least, that's what they say. Nowadays, there's no-one to free them. So they remain trapped.'

That explains the anger, the fear,
thought Tallow.

'Why do people still make pledges then? Why do they still become Bond Riders if they can't be freed once their Bond is met?'

'Some have no choice,' said Pillar quietly.

Tallow saw the look of sorrow flash across Pillar's face. 'I know you don't want to discuss it, but that's what happened to your father, wasn't it? He had no choice, did he?' It was all starting to become clear – Quinn's melancholy, her resentment, her fury; Pillar's patience, his grief.

He stared out over the canal. 'That's right,' he admitted finally. 'It seems so long ago now and, in hindsight, so foolish.'

'Will you tell me what happened?' asked Tallow quietly.

Pillar sighed. 'I haven't told anyone before, you know. Not even Katina, although she persisted.' He shook his head. 'Mamma insisted we keep it a secret. Don't know why, really. Guess there's no need for that any more. Not now. I –'

He took a deep breath. 'Basically, the reason my father became a Bond Rider was all because of a ridiculous enterprise. You see, he was always looking to improve our business. Grand dreams he had. People say he was very talented, much more so than I am. No-one could mould a candle like him, no-one could make wax so pure – that is, no-one except you.' He gave Tallow a quick smile. 'Why, even his tallow candles looked like they were fit for the Doge's palazzo.

'One day, my father heard about an amazing wax being produced in Vyzantia, one that had very few impurities and could be used on its own or flaked and added to others. Taken from the palm trees of that country, it had a beautiful sheen. It was cheap to extract and the wax burnt slowly as well. Being the type of man he was, he couldn't resist trying it. It was going to revolutionise candlemaking, give the ordinary citizens and the rich something special. So, he entered into a colleganza – you know, a partnership – with a couple of the wealthier merchants and a nobile, Paolo Maggiore.'

'From Casa di Maggiore?' I asked. I knew he was one of the nobiles who had a house on Nobiles Rise, near the Doge's palazzo.

'The very same. We were so proud to have a connection – we humble candlemakers with this grand nobile. Maggiore put a good deal of money into the expedition and even loaned my father extra, so his share would be the greater. They were both convinced of the eventual success of the journey.

'When the ship was attacked by pirates and sank off the coast off Kyprus, everything was lost. Maggiore called in the debt. The merchants were able to write off their losses; for papa, it wasn't so easy. It was either sacrifice the business, or find some other way. Without discussing it with my mother, he Bonded himself to Maggiore – sold his soul so his debt would be extinguished and our little candlemaking business would survive. So his wife and son would have something to call their own.'

'But how did he do it? I mean, Bonding is against the law. How did he get away with it?'

Pillar choked back a laugh. 'Soldi, Tallow. It was soldi – money. It doesn't just buy and sell products, but a person's soul too. Everything is for sale.' He shook his head and stared at the canal, wading through memories.

Tallow waited.

'Maggiore bribed whoever it took so Papa could reach the pledge stone. You don't need an Estrattore to make a pledge, only to release the Bond afterwards. For Papa, it was easy. Slice open a vein and make his bold promise, worded carefully by Maggiore to ensure Papa kept it. In seconds, his fate was sealed.'

'And yours too,' added Tallow quietly. She resisted the urge to put her arm around him. Why, his story wasn't dissimilar to Antonio and Lizzetta's. What if Antonio was forced to become a Bond Rider, or Lizzetta? Self-righteousness surged through Tallow, causing her spine to straighten and her shoulders to square. Any doubts she might have had about helping them were quickly quenched by Pillar's tale.
Fancy being made to pay a debt with not only your life, but with your family's as well.
How sad that she'd never known Pillar's father; never been able to help them.

'How long has he been gone?' she asked.

'Since I was nine years old. I remember him, though. I remember the laughter that used to ring in the house, the visitors, and the candles burning brightly. They were different times.'

Tallow wanted to ask if Quinn was different then, too, but she already knew the answer.

'Do you think he'll ever come back?'

'As a child, I spent every spare minute by the Pledge Stone of Casa di Maggiore – yes, Tallow. That's the stone that holds his pledge; that's why I knew where it was. I wasted so many days just wandering around the woods, calling for him. But I know now that he will never come back, not until an Estrattore releases him – him and everyone else. There was a time when I thought that would never happen. The Estrattore were gone, banished. Dead. But now ...'

Pillar's eyes rested upon Tallow. Through her glasses, Tallow studied his expression. There was an earnestness about Pillar that Tallow had never seen before; that, and desperation.

Tallow shivered, and it wasn't just because a cold breeze swept along the water, shattering the smooth surface into a crazed green and white jigsaw. This chill came from within: a presentiment, a warning. Soft, seductive voices wove their words into Tallow's mind.

Like the morning winds that blew off the mountains, clearing the dense fogs over the canals and exposing their glittering emerald waters, it all became clear to Tallow. The reason Pillar and Quinn had kept her under their roof all those years had nothing to do with pity or fear or even a desire to train a cheap apprentice. They had kept her for another, more selfish reason.

Pillar and Quinn wanted Santo back, and they would do whatever it took to get him.

Tallow battled the emotions constricting her chest. This new knowledge coloured,
tainted,
everything she had ever known. Pillar wanted her to release Santo from the pledge stone. That was why he'd risked
everything –
his life, his mother's – to hide and raise her; that was why he'd allowed Katina to train her. She was sick to the stomach. She'd never really believed that Quinn cared about her; but there were times when she'd thought that Pillar did. There'd been times when she was so close to him. They'd had a sense of togetherness and shared purpose – but even that had been a lie.

Tallow jumped to her feet, her eyes blazing. She threw what remained of her sweetmeat into the canal and watched surprise begin to register on Pillar's face.

'Tallow, what is it?' His query seemed genuine.

For a moment, the look of shock on Pillar's face gave her pause, but then her emotions brimmed over and the words tumbled from her. 'You... you
used
me!' Tallow cried. 'I thought you really cared, but I don't mean a thing to you. I'm like a broach or a sieve in the workshop. I'm just a tool to you!'

Catching her breath, she recalled with a stab of guilt how patient Pillar had been, how sympathetic when she received her first scorches and burns from the boiling wax, and how proud he'd been when Tallow produced her first candle. She remembered the times Pillar had snuck up to her room to tend to her after Quinn had given her a beating. But why hadn't he ever stopped his mother? He was strong enough; he'd stood up for Katina the other night without a second thought ... why not her?

Never her. Was it because, as Tallow now suspected, he wanted her beaten into submission so she'd be obedient to their every whim? So she would one day go to the pledge stone and risk her life to release Santo?

Tallow's life had always been a masquerade, she knew that: the boy who was really a girl; the candlemaker's apprentice who was really an Estrattore. But it was an even greater façade than she'd ever realised. She'd been kept browbeaten and hungry, trained to be useful, tolerated under their roof until she could serve her real purpose. That was why Pillar had been so attentive to Katina. He'd needed Katina, another Bond Rider, to help him find Santo. And, once he was found, he needed Tallow to free him.

Rage built inside Tallow. The whispers grew to a crescendo.

'No. Tallow! You have it all wrong.' said Pillar, slowly getting up. 'Calm down and let me explain.' He reached for her, but seeing the expression on her face, his hand fell to his side. 'Why are you looking at me like that?'

All at once, voices exploded in Tallow's head.

Instead of answering Pillar, she turned and, with her hands clutching her head, ran.

BLINDLY, I RAN. I DARTED
down rami and across campi. I had no idea where I was going, just that I wanted to rid myself of the pain that flared every time I thought of Pillar and remembered what happened at the pledge stone; Katina gone, the voices pleading and demanding, the despair, and what rescuing me had meant to Pillar. I wanted it all to stop.

I dodged and wove between the crowds in the piazzetta, between market stalls and businesses. I dashed over a bridge and into another section of the quartiere. Everywhere I ran the overpowering smell of render accompanied me. Its familiarity added to my anguish. It was a cruel reminder of what I was, what I had been, and, now Katina had left, the purpose I could no longer escape.

Finally, I came to a stop. Bending over, my hands clutching my knees, I took deep, ragged breaths. The torment in my head was finally gone. The voices were now nothing more than a wretched memory.

My breathing slowly returned to normal and I took off my hat and wiped my forehead. Sweat ran down my face. My glasses momentarily fogged and I had the illusion of standing in the midst of a dream. Everything was coated with a fine opaque film. Nothing was clear – you could pretend that one thing was really another.
If only life could be like that too,
I selfishly thought, which led me to think about what I'd just done.

Bolted like that, fled from the one man who had never done anything to hurt me. Recalling the thoughts that had filled my head, I couldn't understand where they'd come from. Time and distance made them seem hasty, stupid even. So what if Pillar wanted me to release his father – was that so wrong? I, who yearned for family more than anything else, should understand. And yet, in a few seconds, I'd tarnished everything Pillar had ever done for me.

Pillar would be worried about me. He wouldn't understand what had prompted me to flee; I wasn't sure I did either. But I knew with certainty he would be looking for me. I'd have to find him and apologise.

When I'd regained my composure, I tidied myself up and took in my surroundings. This entire quartiere was as foreign to me as another country.

I was standing in a sunlit area near one of the many entries into a rather large campo. There was the usual brick well, around which stood a number of women with buckets, chatting while they waited their turn to take their fill, and children playing games on the cobblestones.

The smell told me I was still in the Chandlers Quartiere, and the number of soap shops in the campo confirmed this. Above the campo rose the steeple of their local basilica. I remembered seeing it as I waited for Pillar while he bought the sweetmeats. I had a landmark.

Straightening my shoulders, I started to cross the square. I would find the church the steeple belonged to and return to the canal and, hopefully, somewhere along the way, find Pillar as well. Moving closer to the well, thirst overcame me. I put on my best smile.

'Buon giorno,' I said cheerily to the women, executing a small bow. 'I was wondering if I might please have a drink.'

The women stopped talking and, as one, turned to look at me. Even the children paused in their games. My face became hot again.

'Well, well. We have a stranger in our midst! And what can we do for you other than quench that thirst, polite young sir?' asked one of the younger women. She wore a white low-cut blouse and a pretty blue skirt. Her knitted shawl had slipped from one shoulder, taking the shirt with it. She bent towards me, revealing more of her generous bosom. I gulped. The women tittered.

'Do not tease him, Guilia,' said a red-haired lady with big green eyes. 'Look at the way his tongue lolls. Look how hot his cheeks are, how dry his mouth!'

They laughed.

'From the looks he's giving us, I don't think it's just water he thirsts for!'

'Even his pretty spectacles are steaming.'

There were more laughs.

'How old are you, boy?' One of the older women pressed forward and put a small, full tin cup in my hand.

'Grazie,' I murmured, gulping down the water gratefully.

The woman waited patiently for me to finish. I wiped the back of my sleeve across my mouth and handed her back the cup. 'There's a look about you that suggests you're older than you seem. But perhaps it's those golden glasses you wear?'

'A young man of mystery,' trilled the red-head.

'Where are you from?' asked Guilia. 'And why the spectacles? What's wrong with your eyes?'

No-one in our sestiere had ever questioned my glasses. They'd accepted Pillar's explanation that they had been a present to me from his cousin. But these women didn't know Pillar or Katina. I could rely on no-one to protect me but myself. The woman started to close around me, touching and stroking me.

I tried to avoid their ministrations. 'They're to protect my eyes from the ... the ... sun. I'm allergic to the sun,' I said hastily and with more courage than I felt, began to back away, laughing with the women, fending off their roaming hands.

'Don't be shy, boy! Show us your eyes.'

'I can already tell they're lovely! Look at his little red ears, just like shells.'

'He's as pretty as a girl!'

That was it. I couldn't take it any more, I ran – again. They took my fear as that of an adolescent boy confronted with attractive, confident women, and gales of laughter followed me. Darting into a calle off the campo, I slowed to a walking pace. I didn't want to attract any more attention. At least this calle wasn't very busy – just a few people wandering in and out of shops. I breathed a sigh of relief, tucked my head down and walked.

I had only gone a short distance when I heard shouts and whoops of glee accompanied by some short yelps and whines. They sounded like they were coming from a nearby ramo. For a moment, I considered returning the way I had come, but the thought of confronting the women again changed my mind. Poking my head around the corner of the dark alleyway, I saw a group of boys standing in a circle. In the centre stood another boy, taller than the others. He'd taken off his cap and shoved it into the back pocket of his breeches. He was rolling up his sleeves. He turned this way and that, gesturing with his hands, provoking the boys to come forward. I knew I should keep moving, but I was curious about what was happening. I'd never seen so many boys my own age together at one time.

The boys were jeering and taunting, but the taller boy stood his ground. Beneath the dirt that liberally smeared his face, I could see an honest and open mien. Nonetheless, his wide black eyes offered a challenge and something else. I sensed disappointment and sadness. My heart responded. I understood those emotions all too well.

His shoulders were very broad and his arms were sinewy and strong-looking. Certainly he was more than a match for the younger boys surrounding him. Nevertheless, one of them stepped out of the circle and took a foolhardy swing. The tall boy promptly struck out with his fist and the smaller one flew backwards, his head hitting the cobbles with a crunch. He began to whimper.

That was enough. The other boys scattered in all directions. The boy who'd been hit struggled to his feet and limped after them, blood trickling from his mouth.

The tall boy ignored their cries; he didn't even bother turning around. Instead, he bent over and tended to something lying on the ground. With a shock, I realised that it was a dog. It was spread out on the cobbles, its tongue rolling out of its mouth, its chocolate-coloured coat all matted.

Unable to help myself, I ran forward and knelt by its side.

'Go away!' said the boy fiercely, drawing back his fist.

I leant back, alarmed, putting up my hands in defence. 'No! I want to help! What's happened? Is this your dog?' I spoke quickly, pouring sympathy and respect into my tone. It worked. The boy let his arm fall.

'Sorry, I thought you were one of them,' he said, gesturing over his shoulder. He touched the dog and it whined pitifully. 'Look what they did to the poor creature.'

His fingers indicated some open wounds on the dog's body, and a great gash on the top of its head. They were raw and deep. 'They're not the worst,' he said. His voice was husky. I couldn't tell whether it was from suppressed emotion or naturally that way. 'I caught them throwing rocks and kicking him. They thought it was hilarious. Bastardos!' He pressed the dog's ribs gently. The dog whimpered, its legs moving feebly.

'Is he yours?'

'No,' said the boy. 'He's just a stray. We feed him sometimes when he comes into the workshop. He's never hurt anyone.' He swiped the back of his hand swiftly across his eyes and cast me a look, daring me to say something. I pretended not to see his tears.

'What can we do?' I asked quietly.

'Do? Nothing. He'll die. They've hurt him too badly.' He cast his eyes over the ramo and then rose to his feet.

'Where are you going?' I cried. 'You're not just going to leave him here, are you?'

The boy snorted. 'Course not! I'm going to get a bit of wood or something.'

'What will that do?' I reached towards the dog and laid my hand against its fur. It was blisteringly hot. I watched the boy pace up and down the alley, peering into corners and behind piles of rubbish.

'The kindest thing possible,' called the boy. 'Make sure he doesn't feel any more pain!' He mimicked striking the dog over the head.

'No!' I whispered and watched in horror as the boy continued his search. I looked back at the dog. Great liquid eyes raised themselves to mine. Lifting his head, he tried to lick my hand. I couldn't let this dog be killed. I wouldn't.

Though Katina had told me never to practise my talents on humans, she never said anything about dogs. Without giving it a second thought, I laid both my hands against the dog's coat and slowly pressed. The dog shuddered but didn't make a sound. It was as if it knew.

I needed something to distil into the dog; I needed something strong and healthy, something to help heal its injuries and take away the pain. Keeping my hands upon it, I searched for anything that might contain what I need.

The boy exclaimed in frustration as he threw aside a piece of rotting fabric. My eyes narrowed. This was a good boy, a strong boy – what if ...?

'Hey!' I cried. I had to act quickly, before I changed my mind. 'Come here. I think the dog's going to be all right!'

'What are you talking about? That's impossible.' He released what he was holding and jogged back, dropping to his knees beside me. He peered at me with a strange expression on his face. It was evident he didn't believe me. It didn't matter; he was right where I needed him – within reach.

'Look,' I said excitedly, beginning to focus on what I needed to do. 'Put your hand here. Right here, where mine is.' I took his hand and led it to the point on the body where the dog's heart pumped weakly. 'Can you feel it?'

'Feel what?' said the boy.

Then I put my hand over his.

He didn't have a chance to pull away. As soon as my hand touched his I began to extract. Carefully and quickly, I took what I needed. I felt his energy, his enthusiasm, his care for others. I felt his heart thudding. I felt the blood flowing through his veins. And, unexpectedly, I felt this boy's great capacity for love. It was what almost made me draw away.

'What are –' he began. Then his eyes glazed. I watched his face carefully. I knew from the night I extracted from Pillar how cautious I had to be. Being an Estrattore, I'd learnt, was as much a balancing act as anything else. I took from the boy only what I sensed was needed and I gave straight to the dog.

The dog's heart strengthened, his ribs healed. I saw his wounds close. Somewhere, within his altered state, the boy saw it too. His eyes widened and a small smile played on his lips. While he didn't understand what I was doing, he wasn't going to stop me either.

In less than a minute, the dog was trying to get to its feet. I took my hand away from the boy's. He left it where it was for a fraction longer and then slowly took it away. We both stared at the dog.

The dog managed to stand. A bit uncertain at first, it wobbled and then had a big shake. It stood in front of us, tail wagging, tongue lolling and stepping towards me, licked my face.

'My first kiss!' I laughed and then threw my arms around the dog's neck. I buried my head in its long fur. The matting had disappeared along with the wounds. Even the fleas had gone. The dog barked enthusiastically.

'Shush, Cane!' said the boy, looking up at the few fine balconies that overlooked the ramo. I followed the direction of his gaze. I hadn't noticed them before. My heart lurched. But they were empty.

The boy leant forward and hugged the dog, too. The dog barked again and we both laughed.

'Is Cane his name?' I asked shyly.

'Don't know. It's what me and my grandpa call him. Zia Gaia just calls him greedy.'

'I like Cane better.' I tucked my hand into Cane's fur. The dog sat by my side, staring at me with such a look of adoration that it made me uncomfortable.

'What's your name?' asked the boy.

'Tallow,' I answered.

'You're not from around here, are you,
dorato?'
he said.

'Dorato?' I repeated a bit defensively.

He nodded towards my glasses. 'Yeah, golden boy. Dorato.' He dared me to contradict him.

I rolled my eyes and he laughed. 'No. I'm from the Candlemakers Quartiere.' The boy nodded. 'What's your name?'

'Dante. I'm ... I'm well, sort of a chandler.'

'I guessed.'

'Do I smell that bad?'

I paused, and then thought better of lying. 'Yes.'

We both laughed, then fell into a comfortable silence. Dante's eyes were upon me. I concentrated on straightening an imaginary tangle out of Cane's coat.

'What did you do, Tallow dorato?' asked Dante softly. 'How did you heal Cane like that?'

I hesitated. Katina's words came back to me.
No-one must know about you, Tallow. No-one. Whoever you share your secret with forfeits their life. Pillar, Quinn and I, we do it from choice and with knowledge. Those you choose to share your identity with won't have that luxury.