Andrei

While recovering at the church, news of my otherworldly tantrum spread through Oskari like a case of the Waste. Those who were injured in the storm rallied for two days and two nights alongside others who’d only heard the stories. No big surprise. I’d expected the outpouring of fear and hatred. However, I hadn’t expected the fear and hatred to take a positive turn. Inspired to protect their families and their egos, the villagers were driven by fear to take a stand. It was a long time coming, but together they founded the local guard with someone called Joseph Lobodin at the head.

Moreover, twenty-eight babies were conceived in the wake.

Once I’d recuperated from my injuries, I stepped outside the church to find little else in the village had changed. The labourers perhaps worked longer hours to ensure their homes would be structurally sound for the winter, while the farmers spent their days gathering the last of their meager harvests. In tight-knit clusters, the village children came together with their unrealistic dreams of one day being as powerful as a Partisan.

I couldn’t fault the children for having fantasies, but I wouldn’t extend my blessings to any one of them—even if I could. The strength and constitution equivalent to that of four men, thanks to my father. Element and particle manipulation, thanks to my mother.

Gifts, but not toys—especially in the wrong hands.

Councilwoman Oranen refused to include me in the curriculum with the other Celestian, so by the time I’d had my tenth birthday, even the smallest emotional upsets would result in disaster. Combat classes with the other Amali were humiliating. I couldn’t seem to get a handle on my own strength, and the lessons would often end with someone’s hand frozen to their sword, or with my sparring partner stuck in the mud.

This was the reason for nearly a decade spent in solitary confinement where I learned to repress emotion in favour of logic. Clearly, I hadn’t mastered that, either.

As I walked toward the Widow’s Peak, I didn’t utilize the back-alleys. Plenty of the locals may have wanted me dead, but none had the gumption to make it so. Besides, Oskari had enough of its own problems without bringing down the wrath of Palisade. That said, the walk was uneventful. There were only cold but distant stares from those who wandered outdoors, and curious noses pressed against windows from those indoors.

The Widow’s Peak was empty except for its staff. It was still early in the day, and there was an unfortunate draft coming in through the broken window. After fixing my hair and straightening my robes, I mustered the courage and approached the bar.

Ivana looked up from her work—accounting, from what I could tell.

“That was some show you put on, Brother.”

“I never meant for any of it. I should have refused the man’s challenge.”

The proprietress of the Widow’s Peak rolled her eyes and shook her head. “That asshole would have found some other reason to start some shit. He’s nothing but trouble on a good day, and it was about time somebody made it worth his while.”

“I’d like to apologize nonetheless.”

Ivana shrugged. “Apology accepted.”

I wasn’t expecting forgiveness to come so easily, and I wasn’t sure what more to say.

“Did everything work out with the vagrant boy?" she asked. "I went looking for him when things got rowdy, but one minute he was there, and the next he was gone.”

I hadn’t seen Finlay at all since that fateful night, so I was being truthful when I said, “He must have slipped out before things got out of hand.”

“Well, if you see him again, give him my best.”

Something about the conversation with Ivana didn’t feel quite right. The nagging feeling persisted as she continued, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“By the way, have you spoken with Captain Lobodin recently?” she asked.

“Except for Father Belaia, I haven’t spoken to anyone recently.”

“Then you might not know anything about this yet, but two people have gone missing in as many days, and one of my portraits from the atrium upstairs has been stolen.”

This was news to me. “Who’s gone missing?”

“One of your parishioners, and one of Captain Lobodin’s recruits.”

This was alarming, but it could also be explained in a number of ways. Yes, it was rare for anyone to leave the village on their own, but it wasn’t impossible.

“Perhaps they were lovers who turned to theft in order to fund a new life in the city.”

“That’s a cute story, but somehow I doubt the events are related. Frankly, I’m more interested in the portrait than the people. Just doing my part as far as they’re concerned, so if you hear anything, pass it along to our new Captain.”

“Of course, and while I’m here, is there anything else I can do? Anything whatsoever to repay you for the damages?”

Ivana sighed. “Fine, if you really want to do something—how about a new window?”

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As I walked the One Road from Oskari to Jaska, I mulled over the feeling I’d been having since meeting with Ivana. I’d spent enough time worrying to know it wasn’t worry. I’d spent enough time feeling anxious to know it wasn’t anxiety. It wasn’t fear or attraction. It wasn’t shame or guilt. I simply couldn’t place it, so for the time being, I stored it away and thought about Feargus Finlay instead.

I suspected the Strachan had professional reasons for making himself scarce. He had been sent to help, and I was all but certain he would resurface when the time was right. As it happened, the time was right when Oskari was roughly one hour behind me. My elusive companion emerged from the forest, and in a split second, I had so many questions.

“Isn’t this painting great?” he asked.

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As I said, I had so many questions.

“Where have you been? And why do you have that?”

Rather than answer, Finlay had other plans. He hoisted the portrait up. “I can’t say I’ve seen a purple suit afore, but this man wears it like a champion. I’d buy whatever he’s selling. Although it’s strange, isn’t it? He looks Amali but his hair is blonde like a Strachan. Or maybe an Endican.”

The details Finlay pointed out were absolutely interesting, but it was the chain around the man’s neck that intrigued me the most. It was identical to the chain around my neck, intricate key and all. I supposed this answered my second question.

Feargus peeked his head around the side of the painting. “Reckon you could connect the dots while we walk? It’s a long way to Jaska.”

My thoughts were spinning so fast I was unable to come up with a coherent argument as to why we shouldn’t start walking, so we did.

“Couldn’t you have just told me about the portrait? Did you have to steal it?”

“After that arm-wrestling stunt you pulled, I didn’t think you’d be going back to the Peak to see it for yourself any time soon. But look at you go, Mister Formal Apology. You’ve got some steel berries under that dress, Strauss, I’ll give you that. But I should also give you a piece of professional advice: misdirection doesn’t have to be so violent.”

I didn’t even care to ask how Finlay knew about the apology at this point, but I assumed he’d been waiting and watching from the wings this whole time.

“Misdirection?”

The Strachan nodded. “That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

“Our plan was to search the premises for clues.”

“Right, and that’s what I did. We had a plan, and you made it happen. No sense fretting over the how of the matter. It went perfectly, didn’t it? I mean, apart from the screaming, and the blood, and the broken window, and that poor man with the wobbly hand.”

What could I even say? “We should return the portrait to Ivana.”

“Sometimes you make a lot of sense. This isn’t one of those times.”

“It seemed important to her.”

“We’ll only be gone a few days. When we get back, you can make amends with a new window and the man in the purple suit. It’ll be great. For now, we should probably find out who this man is.”

“Are you planning to approach people on the streets of Jaska and ask?”

“Of course not. We’ll take it to the library—someone there ought to know.”

It was becoming increasingly clear to me that resisting would only bring more pain. In a matter of days, I’d gone from dreary theologian to dangerous art thief. Not exactly what I’d envisioned when I started studying to become a priest.

By dusk, we’d traveled northbound a quarter the way to Jaska. At this point, we stopped to relax and replenish. While we ate and drank from our respective flasks, the topic turned to our friends back at Palisade.

Last Finlay had seen him, Commander Reider was preparing his troops for Endica. Motivating others came naturally to the Commander—his diplomatic approach guaranteed his subordinates’ loyalty. Michael could also be unrelenting. His patience was high, but his expectations were higher.

While we gossiped, the Strachan kept his eyes peeled to the south. Our ears were tuned to the distant approach of a horse-drawn carriage.

“What about Sinclair?” As to not seem too eager, I’d been holding out asking.

“Still landlocked.”

“What does the assembly have her doing?”

“Giving archery lessons.”

“They have Sinclair instructing children? I’m not certain where my sympathy lies.”

Finlay chuckled and sipped from his flask. “Too right, too right.”

The contents of his flask smelled of honey and cloves, and after two more sips of the notorious Strachan brew, Finlay stepped away to relieve himself in the bushes nearby. The rumbles in the distance grew closer.

“I’m not sure if this helps or hurts, mate, but she misses you.”

I wasn’t sure either, and I wasn’t prepared to talk about it.

“We should go,” I said. “I feel rested enough to continue.”

That may seem like a selfish thing to say, but the break was entirely for my benefit. By himself, the Strachan would have run the whole way without stopping.

Finlay shook his head. “Nah, mate. Why walk when we can ride?”

The rhythmic thuds and splashes of hooves meeting the muddy road grew louder. From the shoulder, Finlay hopped up and down and waved above his head. It seemed over-the-top when an extended arm would have the same effect, but who was I to judge a man trying to live his best life? In due time, a familiar carriage the colour of red wine slowed and finally stopped. Sporting the same black and white attire as the night we’d first met, the driver stepped down from his place at the reins and joined us on the side of the road.

“It seems our paths are destined to cross, Brother.”

If only Sinclair were there that day, she’d have reminded me there was no such thing as coincidence. She’d have found the entire affair suspicious off the jump. On the other hand, Feargus Finlay was thrilled to make a new acquaintance in Peter, but I’d soon come to learn that not everything was as it seemed where the fun-loving Strachan was concerned.

We didn’t immediately inquire as to Peter’s destination. There only were few places one could be headed when traveling along the One Road, and Jaska was on the way to all of them. As anticipated, Peter offered to take us the rest of the way to the city, but he stopped us before boarding the carriage.

“Is that the portrait from the Widow’s Peak?”

“Aye,” Finlay said before I could think. “Ivana gave it to us.”

“She gave it to you?” Peter asked, and he sounded as surprised as I felt.

“We thought it was strange, but before we could ask why she gave it to us, the Peak broke out in a brawl. Sticking around for something like that isn’t good for our image.”

Peter’s smile reached the wrinkles around his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose it would be.”

If he questioned any part of Finlay’s story, Peter didn’t let on. He considered the portrait, and then the both of us.

“I can’t imagine why Ivana would give you a portrait of Zacharias Vonsinfonie.”

Feargus shrugged. “Not ringing any bells.”

The name rang my bells, and if the portrait were legitimate, then it might be a precious artifact. No wonder Ivana was so concerned. Zacharias Vonsinfonie—legendary composer and performance arts master said to have lived centuries before the Divide. The legends say he and his brother Sebastian traveled the once-connected lands, creating and performing music so enrapturing that none could compete with their pride still intact. Sebastian’s untimely death was the catalyst for what was known as Sebastian’s Law—an offense punishable by death which forbade all musical indulgences. At the time, the anachronistic law held up in five of Auditoria’s six territories.

“My employer would be very interested in this piece," Peter said. "Would you consider selling?”

“Who’s your employer?” My companion asked. “Wait, that was rude—asking for names before giving you my own.” Feargus Finlay extended his hand. “The name’s Jack Finnegan.”

A building pressure pulsated behind my eyes as I shook my head. I’d have to put my foot down sometime. “It would be insulting to Ivana’s generosity if we sold the portrait. She wanted us to have it.”

For a moment, I’d almost forgotten Ivana hadn’t actually given us the portrait.

In the end, Peter did not tell us his employer’s name, but he did ask that we take the time to think about meeting with him in the city later that night. And so, with the portrait of Zacharias Vonsinfonie at our feet, we traveled the rest of the way to Jaska aboard a carriage belonging to a mysterious man of wealth. It had been a long and infuriating day, and I could see nothing but long and infuriating days ahead.

I feigned sleep until it came.