Read Online Bite Back 05 - Angel Stakes by Mark Henwick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Henwick
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genre Fiction, dark fantasy, Paranormal & Urban
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Path.
Skylur looked out into the dim room until his eyes found mine and paused for a second.
A slight nod.
An Athanate over on the far left stood.
Old Athanate .
Some older Athanate actually looked old—let their hair go gray or their face wrinkled. Skylur didn’t, and neither did the Athanate who confronted him.
“Juanuarte Ibarre, House Ibarre,” Elizabetta murmured.
No shit.
The face was bleak, the brow heavy.
I’d learned he’d come to Maine with the Basque fishing fleets in 1657, master and owner of the whaler Catalin . He’d stayed, establishing a domain that was centered in Portland. He had a reputation for being an eccentric; when the whaling industry ended, he’d incorporated his whole ship as the front hall to his house. Others said all older Athanate liked the feel of their origin and history about them.
Just in standing, Ibarre made me think of the sea. He was a giant of a man, and he rose like a wooden ship’s prow cresting a storm wave. He wore a long charcoal-gray woolen jacket, almost a cloak, stretched across his broad shoulders. His sleek black hair was braided, bound with a scarlet ribbon. It reached down his back like an ornate scabbard.
He glanced around the room. His eyes were rain-cloud gray and cold as the Arctic sea.
“House Ibarre,” Skylur said.
“Ykos Altau.” House Altau in Athanate. Ibarre’s voice was as cold as his eyes. I had no chance of following this nomicane if they spoke Athanate.
“You’re well aware that we delayed proceedings to include the presence of a witness who doesn’t speak Athanate, House Ibarre,” Skylur said, relaxing back in his seat. “I suggest we proceed in English.”
“House Farrell, of course,” Ibarre said. “A so-called Athanate barely through crusis, ignorant of our language and ways. Let us by all means accommodate the witness.” His ice-cold gaze picked me out of the crowd, and I shivered.
Skylur just smiled.
Ibarre was Panethus, I reminded myself. Somewhere, he had kin, and they loved him. I needed, for my own sake, to see the whole man, not just the opponent in this nomicane. I needed it because I might say or do something today that would condemn him, and I would have to live with the result: a tragedy to his kin and House, balanced against a tragedy for the rest of the world if Emergence were not controlled.
Of course, he might say or do something that would condemn me instead.
A second Athanate stood up. Ibarre showed no surprise, but immediately sat back down, yielding to her.
They planned that.
Another shiver of worry.
What was this?
In a nomicane, Skylur was simply a convener. He was obliged to ensure all sides of a question were examined. It seemed like the Eastern Seaboard association were going to use that to their full advantage.
“House Prowser,” Skylur said.
Unlike Ibarre and Skylur, Amelie Prowser was one of those Athanate who cultivated a look of age. Her hair was gray, drawn away from her face, and her cheeks had the look of an outdoor woman—a farmer’s wife, maybe. Her clothes were dark and plain.
I knew she was even older than Ibarre. Still not as old as Skylur, but possibly earlier to the US than him. Her territory, if she held onto it after this, was the state of Michigan—she was the only member of the Eastern Seaboard association who didn’t actually have a domain on the Atlantic.
I knew that Ibarre had agreed to betray Skylur; I’d heard Amaral’s phone call with him. I wasn’t sure about Prowser. I’d heard Amaral call her, but I hadn’t heard what happened.
Maybe I was about to find out: the handover from Ibarre to Prowser had so obviously been pre-agreed.
Did that mean she was on his side?
“I have spoken with House Ibarre regarding these proceedings,” she said. “I share some of his concerns, and I have therefore agreed to speak on behalf of all of the unaligned Houses of the Eastern Seaboard.”
Her voice carried age and wisdom, a style of speaking and an accent of
Skylur looked out into the dim room until his eyes found mine and paused for a second.
A slight nod.
An Athanate over on the far left stood.
Old Athanate .
Some older Athanate actually looked old—let their hair go gray or their face wrinkled. Skylur didn’t, and neither did the Athanate who confronted him.
“Juanuarte Ibarre, House Ibarre,” Elizabetta murmured.
No shit.
The face was bleak, the brow heavy.
I’d learned he’d come to Maine with the Basque fishing fleets in 1657, master and owner of the whaler Catalin . He’d stayed, establishing a domain that was centered in Portland. He had a reputation for being an eccentric; when the whaling industry ended, he’d incorporated his whole ship as the front hall to his house. Others said all older Athanate liked the feel of their origin and history about them.
Just in standing, Ibarre made me think of the sea. He was a giant of a man, and he rose like a wooden ship’s prow cresting a storm wave. He wore a long charcoal-gray woolen jacket, almost a cloak, stretched across his broad shoulders. His sleek black hair was braided, bound with a scarlet ribbon. It reached down his back like an ornate scabbard.
He glanced around the room. His eyes were rain-cloud gray and cold as the Arctic sea.
“House Ibarre,” Skylur said.
“Ykos Altau.” House Altau in Athanate. Ibarre’s voice was as cold as his eyes. I had no chance of following this nomicane if they spoke Athanate.
“You’re well aware that we delayed proceedings to include the presence of a witness who doesn’t speak Athanate, House Ibarre,” Skylur said, relaxing back in his seat. “I suggest we proceed in English.”
“House Farrell, of course,” Ibarre said. “A so-called Athanate barely through crusis, ignorant of our language and ways. Let us by all means accommodate the witness.” His ice-cold gaze picked me out of the crowd, and I shivered.
Skylur just smiled.
Ibarre was Panethus, I reminded myself. Somewhere, he had kin, and they loved him. I needed, for my own sake, to see the whole man, not just the opponent in this nomicane. I needed it because I might say or do something today that would condemn him, and I would have to live with the result: a tragedy to his kin and House, balanced against a tragedy for the rest of the world if Emergence were not controlled.
Of course, he might say or do something that would condemn me instead.
A second Athanate stood up. Ibarre showed no surprise, but immediately sat back down, yielding to her.
They planned that.
Another shiver of worry.
What was this?
In a nomicane, Skylur was simply a convener. He was obliged to ensure all sides of a question were examined. It seemed like the Eastern Seaboard association were going to use that to their full advantage.
“House Prowser,” Skylur said.
Unlike Ibarre and Skylur, Amelie Prowser was one of those Athanate who cultivated a look of age. Her hair was gray, drawn away from her face, and her cheeks had the look of an outdoor woman—a farmer’s wife, maybe. Her clothes were dark and plain.
I knew she was even older than Ibarre. Still not as old as Skylur, but possibly earlier to the US than him. Her territory, if she held onto it after this, was the state of Michigan—she was the only member of the Eastern Seaboard association who didn’t actually have a domain on the Atlantic.
I knew that Ibarre had agreed to betray Skylur; I’d heard Amaral’s phone call with him. I wasn’t sure about Prowser. I’d heard Amaral call her, but I hadn’t heard what happened.
Maybe I was about to find out: the handover from Ibarre to Prowser had so obviously been pre-agreed.
Did that mean she was on his side?
“I have spoken with House Ibarre regarding these proceedings,” she said. “I share some of his concerns, and I have therefore agreed to speak on behalf of all of the unaligned Houses of the Eastern Seaboard.”
Her voice carried age and wisdom, a style of speaking and an accent of
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