Fires of the Faithful (Eliana's Song) by Naomi Kritzer

Author:Naomi Kritzer [Kritzer, Naomi]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780307484918
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2009-02-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

Knock, and the door will be opened. Sing, and you will be heard. Dance, and you will be received. I am ever with you.

—The Journey of Gèsu, chapter 9, verse 2.

Giovanni’s training ground was mostly concealed by two of the highest walls anywhere in Ravenna. It had probably once been the corner of a blacksmith’s shop; I could see the remnants of the furnace. The two open sides were screened by a couple of taller tents. I couldn’t believe that Teleso didn’t know this was here, but maybe it served some purpose for him, like riots and Old Way rituals.

It was a cramped space to use for physical training. A half dozen skinny young men stood pressed against one of the walls, watching as Giovanni shouted at a seventh.

“Severo! You’re holding it wrong. It’s a sword, you turnip, not a hoe. No, not like that! How can you be so stupid?” Dropping his guard, Giovanni strode over and readjusted the boy’s grip on the wooden stick he held. “Left hand here, right hand here. This isn’t that hard, you idiot. Now, defend yourself!” The boy swung the stick up, holding it clumsily at one end, trying to mimic Giovanni’s stance. Giovanni also wielded a wooden weapon, carved a little more artfully. “No! Not like that! Oh, you’re hopeless. Give it to Michel. Michel! It’s your turn.”

Severo returned to the wall with obvious relief, passing the stick to Michel.

“No!” Giovanni howled. “You just handed him the blade, you idiot! Michel, give it back to him. Severo! This is the hilt. That is the blade.”

“That’s a stick,” I said.

“You stay out of this,” Giovanni snapped without turning; he must have noticed us as soon as we came in.

I fell silent for a moment, then turned to Lucia. “What is he doing?”

“Training them to fight with a sword,” she said.

“Where are they going to get real swords?” I asked. Lucia shrugged. “Giovanni! Why are you training them on swords?”

“What business is it of yours?” he said, but Michel, grateful for any distraction, had dropped his guard and was waiting with interest for the answer. “What other weapon would I train them on? Crossbow?”

“You were a university student, weren’t you?” I said to Giovanni. Dueling was something of a gentleman’s art; conservatory students were warned about this in passing during the lectures on courtly etiquette. Young men from that class were tutored in fencing from an early age; even the physician at the conservatory had a sword, though he seldom carried it.

I stepped onto the training ground. Michel was about the same age as my eldest brother Agrippo had been when I left home. Agrippo was the brother who brawled over the girl and wound up with the cracked head. At least, he was the first of my brothers to brawl over a girl and wind up with a cracked head. I gave Michel a tentative smile and he smiled warmly back.

“Give me your ‘sword’ a moment, Giovanni,” I said.

“Get out of here!” he said.

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