Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars 2)

At her appearance beside the construction site, they fluttered away, or sank like tar into the ground, or folded in that odd way some had into themselves, vanishing from her sight. One, the most loyal of Heribert’s helpers, simply wound itself into the planks which were set tongue to groove along the north wall of the long hall. It now appeared as a knotlike growth along the wood.

“Heribert,” she said disapprovingly. “Your work finishes with sunset.”

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently, but he was not paying attention. He was setting a tongued plank into a grooved plank, clucking with displeasure at the poor fit, and planing the narrow edge carefully down.

“Heribert! How many times have I told you that it is not right that you dirty your hands in this way. That is the laborer’s job, not that of an educated and noble cleric.”

He set down board and plane, looked up at her, but said nothing. No longer as thin and delicate as he had once been—an ornament to wisdom, as the saying went, rather than to gross bodily vigor—he had grown thicker through the shoulders in the past months. His hands were work-roughened, callused, and scarred with small cuts and healed blisters. He got splinters aplenty now, every day, and could pull them out himself without whimpering.

She did not like the way he was looking at her. In a young child, she would have called it defiance.

“You will come in now and eat,” she added.

“When I am finished, Mother,” he said, and then he smiled, because he knew it irritated her when he called her by that title. As a good churchwoman, she should not have succumbed to the baser temptations, and in time she would have her revenge on the man who had tempted her.

“You would never have spoken to me so disrespectfully before we came here!”

A whispering came on the breeze, and he cocked his head, listening. Was he hearing something? Did the abominations speak to him? And if so, why could she not hear or understand their speech?

He bowed his head. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” But she no longer trusted his docility.

Had the caput draconis lied to her? Misled her? Did they mean to take Heribert from her—not by any rough and violent means but simply by allowing certain dishonorable thoughts to fester in his mind, such as the idea that he could turn his back on his duty to his elders, his kin, his own mother who had borne him in much pain and blood and who had bent her considerable power to protecting him against anything that might harm him? Would he disobey her wishes simply to indulge himself in the selfish and earthly desire to partake of such menial tasks as building and architecture? Was this the price she would have to pay: the loss of her son? Not his physical loss, but the loss of his obedience to her wishes? Would she have to stand by and watch his transformation into a mere artisan—a builder, for God’s sake! She would not stand by idly while they worked their magics on him, even if they were the trivial magics of flattery and false interest in his unworthy obsessions. They were using him for their own gain, of course, since certainly the buildings they lived in were not fit for persons of their consequence. It was infuriating to watch as those who were supposed to be her companions in work and learning encouraged the young man in these inappropriate labors as if he were a mere artisan’s child.

But she was wise, and patient. She bided her time. Her companions were also powerful, and it would not do to offend them as long as they knew more than she did about sorcery.

She bided her time, and watched, and listened, and learned.

Heribert stored his tools in a chest, ran a hand lovingly down the partially finished north wall, and with no further insolence walked away to the old stone tower where they now took their common meal.

Antonia waited until the door opened onto light and closed behind him. She lingered in the pleasant evening breeze, staring up at the sky. This knowledge did not come easily but, like all things in life, one had only to grasp and squeeze firmly enough to choke obedience out of that—human or otherwise—which was recalcitrant.

On this night high in the mountains whose breeze was that of spring, certain constellations shone high in the sky, betraying the proper season: winter.

“Name them for me, Sister Venia,” said Brother Severus, coming suddenly out of the gloom to stand beside her.

“Very well,” she said. She would not be intimidated by his solemn tone and dour expression. “At this season, the Penitent, twelfth House in the zodiac, rides high in the sky—” She pointed overhead. “—while the tenth House, the Unicorn, sets with the sun and the Sisters, the third House, rise at nightfall. The Guivre stalks the heavens and the Eagle swoops down upon its back. The Hunter begins his climb from the east as the Queen sets in the west and her Sword, her Crown, and her Staff ride low on the horizon, symbol of her waning power.”

“That is good,” said Severus, “but you have listened in your youth to too many astrologi. The Hunter, the Queen, the Eagle: These are only names we give to the stars, drawing familiar pictures on the face of the heavens. In heaven itself, they have their own designations whose names are a mystery to those of us who live here beneath the sphere of the ever-dying moon. But by naming them, even in such a primitive way, seeing our own wishes and fears among them as the young hunters saw Princess Theophanu as a running deer, we gain knowledge enough to see the lines of power that bind them together. With knowledge, we can harness the power that courses between them through that geometry which exists between all the stars. Each alignment offers new opportunities or new obstacles, each unique.”

He raised a hand, pointing. “See there, Sister. How many of the planets do you see, and where are they?”

Her eyesight was not what it had been in her youth, but she squinted up. “I see Somorhas, of course, the Evening Star, lying in the Penitent. Jedu, Angel of War, entered the Falcon ten days ago. And Mok, mistress of wisdom and plenty, must still be in the Lion, although we can’t see her now.”

Whatever pride she felt in this observation he punctured with his next words. “There also find Aturna, who moves in retrograde through the Child, his lines of influence opposite the others. There—see you?—almost invisible unless you know where to look, lies fleet Erekes, just entering the Penitent. The Moon is not yet risen this night. The Sun, of course, has set. Yet within twenty days Mok and Jedu will also move into retrograde, so that only Somorhas and Erekes move forward. Thus the planets on this night as on every night form a new alignment in relationship to the great stars of the heavens. There you see the Guivre’s Eye, and there Vulneris and Rijil, the Hunter’s shoulder and foot. There are the three jewels, sapphire, diamond, and citrine, which are the chief stars in the Cup, the Sword, and the Staff. The Child’s Torque rises toward the zenith, as does the Crown of Stars. Tomorrow we will send our companion on her way, aiding her swift travel through the halls of iron by such power as we can draw down to us through these alignments. Only with knowledge can we use the power of the heavens. Do not think it is fit knowledge for any common mortal soul who walks the earth. Only a few can truly comprehend it and act rightly.”

“That is why God through the hand of Their skopos ordained biscops and presbyters, Brother, is it not? To guide and to shepherd?”

He considered this comment in silence while he studied the stars above, looking for something, some sign, some portent, perhaps. As she waited, she became lost in contemplation of the River of Heaven, the track of sparkling dust like a great serpent circling the sky, each faint light a soul streaming toward the Chamber of Light.

At last Severus spoke, slowly now and as if to himself as much as to her. “You are accustomed to power, Sister Venia. But you must forget all you have learned in the world. You must leave it behind, cut yourself off from it, as we did. That is the only way to learn what we have to teach you.”

he was wise, and patient. She bided her time. Her companions were also powerful, and it would not do to offend them as long as they knew more than she did about sorcery.

She bided her time, and watched, and listened, and learned.

Heribert stored his tools in a chest, ran a hand lovingly down the partially finished north wall, and with no further insolence walked away to the old stone tower where they now took their common meal.

Antonia waited until the door opened onto light and closed behind him. She lingered in the pleasant evening breeze, staring up at the sky. This knowledge did not come easily but, like all things in life, one had only to grasp and squeeze firmly enough to choke obedience out of that—human or otherwise—which was recalcitrant.