Bes cups the back of his neck. “Just like we weren’t allowed to tell you much, we didn’t learn most of it until we took our blood oaths. But, yes, we understood the general importance of it and learned its history once we passed over that seal.”
I’ll admit, I’m disappointed. “Why do it then?”
“I can’t speak for Bes,” Cec says, “but I had very little choice in the matter, especially after my father took over.”
“It’s true, though technically a choice was made all the same.” Bes straightens. “Despite its glaring flaws, the order provides the means to help the world in a meaningful way. And if the gods grant you a vocation, then it gives you with a purpose, which so many are in desperate need of.”
That must’ve happened for Bes after his parents passed.
Digesting that, I ask, “Which gods do you subscribe to, then? Greek? Roman? Hindu?”
“All of them, really,” Bes explains. “It more goes back to the Tree of Life. While it’s simpler to claim the gods are the ones granting us this magic, we know nothing beyond what the leaves can do. Anything more than that is pure conjecture.”
That makes a bit more sense, at least.
“But you all gain access to each other’s knowledge once you receive the tattoo, right?” I take the prosecco bottle back from Cec. “Does that mean you can read each other’s thoughts?”
My gaze lingers on Bes, thinking about the moments we’ve shared, how I may have looked through his eyes… I don’t want anyone else seeing that. It’s a violation of my own emotions and actions without my knowledge.
“Only the information we gather, not our personal feelings,” Bes amends, and I wonder if he was thinking the same. “Those of us who’ve been trained can parse out the information and send the Episteme only what’s necessary—almost like telepathy, but over vast distances, connected by the power of the leaves.”
My head is spinning, and not just from the prosecco. “And they trust you to give them everything?”
Bes and Cec glance near each other.I’m missing something.
Cec answers me seriously. “They have to. Without trust, the entire system collapses.”
I click my tongue. “Must be a pretty shoddy system then.”
“If the walls had ears…” Cec mutters.
“Then we’d all be in trouble,” Bes finishes. “You more than most.”
Cec nods. “Touché.”
I laugh, the prosecco winding its way blissfully along my limbs and relaxing me.
“What about the blood oaths? How do they play into all this?”
Cec leans forward. “Right before the Italian Renaissance, one of the order’s smithies set out to forge a blade that the Valtivar could keep on them conspicuously at all times. With the help of several Tree of Life leaves stoking the forge’s flames, she created the first cinquedea: a wide-bladed, double-edged weapon meant to be concealed. The same blade my father used today.”
I recall the way that blade pricked my finger, as if it were lit with raging flames.
“Legend says the gods came to the smithy afterward and impressed upon her that the blade she forged was prophesized to force those bitten by its sharp edge to keep their word or perish.”
A fantastical story—one I wouldn’t have believed earlier today.
“So, if you’d told me you were from the Order of Cavendi when I first asked,” I wonder, “what would’ve happened?”
“Nothing. The oath stops us from saying the words Order of Cavendi, among other things. We wouldn’t speak it aloud if we wished to. If we said the one word bound to our oath, however—that’s different.” Cec shows me his pinky finger, where I notice a thin scar running across the pad. “Wherever the blade sliced us would open up and become a festering wound, spreading sickness throughout our entire bodies within seconds. Similar to gangrene, although there was no name for it back then.”
“Sounds awful.” My pricked finger pulses at the implication. “It does make me wonder why they felt the need for such a thing, given their origins were based wholly in faith.”
Bes nods. “A fair point.”
Silence pervades for a moment as I build up the courage to ask Cec something I’ve wanted to know since learning about the blood oaths: “Is it because of your oath that you lost your sight?”
Cec hangs his head before responding glumly. “No, that happened when I received my tattoo.” He reaches absentmindedly for his upper back, where his tattoo must behidden. “Thismagic, as you call it, can come at a price. Many of the initiates gain it unscathed, but some of us”—he swallows hard—“who are less worthy may lose something to possess it.”
