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aided the women in the
village while they were tending the sheep or weaving cloth.
Ketsia and Nicoletta spent the next couple of hours with their hands buried
deep in the rich soil. Nicoletta did talk to her plants, her soft, crooning,
murmurings often making
E
Ketsia laugh helplessly. She nurtured and encouraged the drooping stalks.
For some she added mixtures into the soil; others she left alone. Ketsia
observed her closely, unable to discern exactly what she was doing. Although they
both laughed about it, Ketsia was clever enough to know that something she
couldn't see or understand was happening. The plants really did seem to respond
to Nicoletta's voice and ministrations. And sometimes she did sing to them, her
beautiful voice rising on the wind.
Overhead a dark-winged bird swooped low over the pair. Nicoletta lifted her
head to look at the raven, a faint frown on her face. She stood up slowly,
moving away from the plants to turn her attention to the wind. It whispered
continually to those who could interpret it's murmurings. She stiffened
slightly and caught at Ketsia's shoulder. Very quietly she put a finger over
her lips to signal to the child to be quiet. "Stay right here,
piccola.
Do not move until I come back for you."
Ketsia's eyes widened, but she nodded dutifully. No one would ever really
want to defy Nicoletta. She could heal the sick; she could do things no one
talked openly about. Obediently, Ketsia sank into the bushes and remained as
still as a stone.
Nicoletta went back toward the cliffs, moving quickly, every sense alert.
Far below she could see the figure of man moving in a furtive manner, skulking
from bush to boulder, his body bent as if seeking to hide. She scanned the
cove, could see no other movement, but knew something was not right. Her heart
began to beat fast. The sun was beginning to set, staining the sky a pinkish
orange. The sea grew angry, the water dark, waves climbing higher as they
rushed at the shore and splashed at the rocks.
Her hand went to her throat protectively. Something terrible was about to
happen. She was too far away to prevent it; she could only stand on the cliff
watching helplessly as the drama unfolded on the beach far below her.
The wind rushed off the sea, a low, keening moan that seemed to rise into a
howl of warning. She couldn't take her eyes off the scene as the sea rose up,
pounding the rocks relentlessly in anticipation.
She saw him then, Don Giovanni Scarletti. He moved swiftly, fluidly, like a
powerful hunter, his shoulders straight, his head up. His body rippled with
sinewy muscles beneath his elegant clothing. The wind tugged at his wavy black
hair, leaving it tousled like that of a small boy. Yet he looked every inch a
man, ruthless and dangerous, far more powerful than any other she had ever
encountered.
Nicoletta turned her attention to the fellow now crouching behind a rock. He
hadn't moved at all. Don Scarletti glided unknowingly past the hiding place,
his attention fixed on something she couldn't see. From off to the right, where
she knew the caves were, another man emerged, calling out a greeting, a smile
on his face. Nicoletta couldn't hear him, but the two men seemed to be friends.
It was obvious that Don Scarletti trusted him.
She could barely breathe, and her heart was pounding so hard that she could
hear its frantic rhythm. The wind whipped her hair across her eyes, and by the
time she had captured it and held it back tightly, the two men were shaking
outstretched hands. It was then that the one hiding behind the rocks moved.
Slowly. Stealthily. He inched his way along until he was directly behind Don
Scarletti. She saw the last rays of the sun glint off the stiletto in his hand.
The sun plunged into the sea, and the sky went bloodred for a second time, the
terrible portent of death.
Nicoletta cried out a warning to the don, but the wind whipped her voice
from her, back into the mountains and away from the roaring sea. But even
though it
village while they were tending the sheep or weaving cloth.
Ketsia and Nicoletta spent the next couple of hours with their hands buried
deep in the rich soil. Nicoletta did talk to her plants, her soft, crooning,
murmurings often making
E
Ketsia laugh helplessly. She nurtured and encouraged the drooping stalks.
For some she added mixtures into the soil; others she left alone. Ketsia
observed her closely, unable to discern exactly what she was doing. Although they
both laughed about it, Ketsia was clever enough to know that something she
couldn't see or understand was happening. The plants really did seem to respond
to Nicoletta's voice and ministrations. And sometimes she did sing to them, her
beautiful voice rising on the wind.
Overhead a dark-winged bird swooped low over the pair. Nicoletta lifted her
head to look at the raven, a faint frown on her face. She stood up slowly,
moving away from the plants to turn her attention to the wind. It whispered
continually to those who could interpret it's murmurings. She stiffened
slightly and caught at Ketsia's shoulder. Very quietly she put a finger over
her lips to signal to the child to be quiet. "Stay right here,
piccola.
Do not move until I come back for you."
Ketsia's eyes widened, but she nodded dutifully. No one would ever really
want to defy Nicoletta. She could heal the sick; she could do things no one
talked openly about. Obediently, Ketsia sank into the bushes and remained as
still as a stone.
Nicoletta went back toward the cliffs, moving quickly, every sense alert.
Far below she could see the figure of man moving in a furtive manner, skulking
from bush to boulder, his body bent as if seeking to hide. She scanned the
cove, could see no other movement, but knew something was not right. Her heart
began to beat fast. The sun was beginning to set, staining the sky a pinkish
orange. The sea grew angry, the water dark, waves climbing higher as they
rushed at the shore and splashed at the rocks.
Her hand went to her throat protectively. Something terrible was about to
happen. She was too far away to prevent it; she could only stand on the cliff
watching helplessly as the drama unfolded on the beach far below her.
The wind rushed off the sea, a low, keening moan that seemed to rise into a
howl of warning. She couldn't take her eyes off the scene as the sea rose up,
pounding the rocks relentlessly in anticipation.
She saw him then, Don Giovanni Scarletti. He moved swiftly, fluidly, like a
powerful hunter, his shoulders straight, his head up. His body rippled with
sinewy muscles beneath his elegant clothing. The wind tugged at his wavy black
hair, leaving it tousled like that of a small boy. Yet he looked every inch a
man, ruthless and dangerous, far more powerful than any other she had ever
encountered.
Nicoletta turned her attention to the fellow now crouching behind a rock. He
hadn't moved at all. Don Scarletti glided unknowingly past the hiding place,
his attention fixed on something she couldn't see. From off to the right, where
she knew the caves were, another man emerged, calling out a greeting, a smile
on his face. Nicoletta couldn't hear him, but the two men seemed to be friends.
It was obvious that Don Scarletti trusted him.
She could barely breathe, and her heart was pounding so hard that she could
hear its frantic rhythm. The wind whipped her hair across her eyes, and by the
time she had captured it and held it back tightly, the two men were shaking
outstretched hands. It was then that the one hiding behind the rocks moved.
Slowly. Stealthily. He inched his way along until he was directly behind Don
Scarletti. She saw the last rays of the sun glint off the stiletto in his hand.
The sun plunged into the sea, and the sky went bloodred for a second time, the
terrible portent of death.
Nicoletta cried out a warning to the don, but the wind whipped her voice
from her, back into the mountains and away from the roaring sea. But even
though it
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